Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

Michael nodded. ‘It would explain why the wolf tried to kill you, too. Polmorva would slit your throat in an instant, if he thought he could get away with it. He hates you with a passion.’

‘I want this clear in my mind,’ said Tulyet. ‘Chesterfelde’s death was an accident, and has nothing to do with “the wolf ”, as you so prosaically call him. We can forget Eudo and Boltone, because all they did was steal from Merton and try to kill you with a spade. But we still have Gonerby, killed in Oxford, and Hamecotes and Okehamptone, killed here. The wolf made an attempt to disguise both deaths – Okehamptone’s by making sure Matt went nowhere near the corpse; Hamecotes’s by hiding his body and sending false messages to friends claiming he was buying books.’

‘Hamecotes may have sent at least one of those himself,’ said Michael. ‘His room-mate Wormynghalle seems certain they were penned by his own hand.’

‘Oxford and King’s Hall,’ said Tulyet. ‘The wolf retrieved Hamecotes from an Oxford-owned cistern and took the corpse to King’s Hall. It is not easy to wander in and out of Colleges, with porters on guard and territorial students all over the place, so I suspect that Matt is right: whoever put him there was a King’s Hall man.’

‘You are right,’ agreed Bartholomew, thinking hard. ‘And only a King’s Hall scholar would know which of the outbuildings was abandoned, too.’

‘But he did not,’ said Michael. ‘He selected one used by Dodenho, and his secret was out.’

‘Does this exonerate Dodenho, then?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He found the body and told his colleagues about it. If he were the wolf, then he would have kept quiet about it.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Michael. ‘He could not expect to keep a corpse hidden there for ever, especially with summer on the way. He would know it was only a matter of time before someone noticed an odd smell and went to investigate.’

‘And several people knew the shed was used exclusively by him, so it would not have been long before fingers were pointed,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘You are right. Dodenho could be covering his tracks by “finding” the body.’

‘There is something odd about him,’ said Tulyet. ‘It would not surprise me to learn that he is the wolf. His crude attempts at scholarship are all anyone ever remembers about him, but perhaps he is more clever than we suspect, and he feigns stupidity because he thinks it will hide his true character. But other members of King’s Hall are equally suspect: Paxtone, because he is a physician – they travel a lot and bloody throats do not bother them; Warden Powys because he is Welsh and the Welsh are often abused in Oxford – he may have wanted to avenge the honour of his countrymen; Norton because he is no more a scholar than I am, and has no business being here.’

‘And Wormynghalle because he is too scholarly,’ suggested Michael. ‘Wolf, because he is missing and no one knows where he is.’

They glanced up as distant trumpets sounded, and all along the High Street people began to speak a little louder. The Archbishop was drawing closer.

‘Wolf,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘It was Clippesby who started referring to the killer as “the wolf”. I assumed he was talking about an animal, but I wonder if he was actually referring to the name.’

Michael sighed. ‘Damn Clippesby and his obtuse way of seeing things! Of course it is Wolf. It makes sense now: Wolf is a King’s Hall man, who travelled to Oxford, and who has been missing since the first of the Cambridge murders.’

‘We have no time to discuss this now,’ said Tulyet, beginning to move away. ‘The Archbishop is almost here, and I must be there to greet him. You, too, Brother. And Matt should change his tabard before someone sees it and thinks either he has stabbed someone or has indulged in particularly gruesome surgery. Either may result in a skirmish, and that is something we must avoid at all costs.’

They hurried along the High Street, Michael walking in front of Bartholomew in an attempt to disguise the mess of red on his chest. However, even easing politely through the crowd drew hostile glances. Bartholomew was shoved in the back as he passed a tinker, and was only saved from falling because Michael was in the way. The physician heard bitter comments about Oxford men bringing murderous and dishonest ways to Cambridge, and supposed the rumour-mongers had made it known that he had once studied in Oxford.

When they parted at the High Street’s junction with St Michael’s Lane, Tulyet stopped and called back to them. ‘I have just remembered something – I should have mentioned it before, but all this noise distracted me. When he was arrested, Boltone blamed Eudo for the dishonest accounting and for Chesterfelde. He also claimed someone else told Eudo what to write in the proclamations.’

‘Who?’ asked Michael. ‘Wolf?’

Tulyet shrugged. ‘He just said it was someone from King’s Hall.’

Bartholomew ran down the lane towards his College, Michael puffing at his side. The porter opened the door, and Bartholomew saw that he, Michael and Tulyet were not the only ones to detect the atmosphere of unease among the townsfolk: Langelee also knew that large gatherings of people might result in trouble, and had taken the appropriate precautions. The gates were secured with heavy bars, and barrels had been filled with water and stood in rows near the hall, in case of fire. All the porters and servants were armed – and silently resentful that they were obliged to remain inside, when they could have been on the High Street admiring the pageantry.

‘We will change into our finery and look for Wolf among the crowds,’ panted Michael. ‘I will not let him harm the Archbishop and damage my University.’

‘I do not like the aura of unrest that pervades the town this morning,’ said Langelee, coming to speak to them. ‘Do you think this killer will attack Islip in order to thwart our chances of gaining his favour? Is he an Oxford man?’

‘He probably has connections to the place,’ said Michael, hurrying to don his best habit. ‘I do not understand why he has committed these crimes, but I intend to stop him from harming anyone else. We can discuss his motives tomorrow, when he is safely inside the Castle prison.’

Bartholomew hauled off his ink-stained tabard and called for Agatha to give him his spare. It was in the process of being laundered, and he hoped she had not been as tardy with it as she had with Langelee’s cloak. She hurried from the kitchens to hand it to him. He pulled it over his head and straightened it impatiently, while Langelee regarded him in dismay.

‘You are not going to meet Islip in that, are you? He will think we are paupers!’

‘Surely that is a good thing?’ said Bartholomew, unwilling to admit he did not own another. ‘If he sees we have no money, he might give us some.’

‘Interesting point,’ said Langelee, looking down at his own ceremonial robes, then glancing at Michael, who was resplendent in a cloak of soft black wool. ‘I shall have to change. It is a pity, because Alyce said I cut rather a fine figure in this, but it cannot be helped, and it is all in a good cause.’

‘He knows,’ warned Michael, before the Master could leave. ‘Weasenham knows about you and Alyce.’

‘Not much escapes his attention,’ agreed Agatha, not entirely pleasantly.

‘True,’ conceded Langelee with a sigh. ‘I knew our happiness could not last for ever. But now is not the time to discuss it. I hear Clippesby has escaped.’

‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘But we do not need to concern ourselves about him, and especially not today. We are fairly certain our killer is Wolf of King’s Hall. Clippesby may only be his accomplice.’