Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

There was another blast of trumpets, much closer this time, and Bartholomew could hear the rhythmic rattle of drums. The Archbishop was obviously intent on putting on a spectacle for the people of Cambridge, with music and a procession of handsomely attired churchmen and their scribes. He was sure it would be remembered for years to come, and only hoped the memories would be pleasant ones, and not of a murder that had taken place during it.

‘Really?’ asked Langelee. ‘Wolf did go missing at about the right time, but I understood it was because he had a pox.’

‘Only according to Weasenham,’ said Agatha. ‘But Clippesby has been talking about wolves these last three weeks, and he is no fool. I thought he meant animals, but he must have referred to Wolf the man.’

‘How do you know?’ pounced Michael. ‘You have not seen him since he was sent to Stourbridge.’

Agatha regarded him coolly. ‘I visited him. I know he sounds deranged, but to my mind he is far more sane than the rest of you most of the time. I need a word, Matthew. In private.’ She gave him a monstrous wink that immediately secured Michael’s keen attention.

‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew warily. ‘Do you need a consultation?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, giving another indiscreet leer. ‘But not the kind you are thinking about. I want to tell you something about a mutual friend.’

‘Clippesby?’ he asked in alarm. ‘What has he done?’

‘He has gone out. He–’

‘Gone out from where?’ demanded Michael. He gazed accusingly at Bartholomew. ‘You have not been telling me the truth, my friend! You said he ran away after he saved you from the wolf, but that is not true, is it? You helped him to hide. And where safer than Michaelhouse, where there are strong walls and a sturdy gate to protect him?’

‘I did not lie,’ said Bartholomew defensively. ‘You jumped to conclusions.’

‘But you did not correct me. Are you insane? What if the rumour spreads that Clippesby is the killer, and people discover he is here? We will be in flames in an instant, and not even the Archbishop of Canterbury will be able to save us.’

‘Do not exaggerate,’ said Bartholomew uneasily. ‘No one but Tulyet knows Clippesby was a suspect, and Rougham will say nothing. Clippesby is in more danger from others than he is to them.’

‘He is right,’ declared Agatha. ‘And he promised to stay in Matthew’s room, with the College cat for company.’

‘I do not like the use of the past tense here,’ said Bartholomew worriedly. ‘Where has he gone?’

‘He said he had been thinking about your mystery all morning, and he had reached a conclusion. He was wildly excited when I took him larded oatcakes a short while ago, and was talking about the wolf.’

‘Then Tulyet was right after all,’ said Michael. ‘Clippesby has always known more about these killings than he should have done, and now it is clear why: he is the wolf’s accomplice. Tulyet said the wolf could not have managed alone and needed help, and now I see who provided it: Clippesby, who is too addled to know the difference between good men and bad.’

‘He knows the difference,’ said Agatha angrily. ‘He knows it better than you.’

‘You have done him a grave disservice by helping him escape, madam,’ said Michael, rounding on her. ‘Your actions may lead him to commit another crime – or one he will be blamed for, whether he is responsible or not. And Michaelhouse may be forced to bear that responsibility with him.’

‘Damn!’ muttered Langelee. ‘There goes our benefaction from Islip.’

‘He said he left something in your chamber, Matthew,’ said Agatha, treating Michael to a glower for his accusations. ‘He said that you would understand what it was, and that you should go to Merton Hall as soon as possible.’

‘Damn the man!’ exclaimed Michael furiously. ‘And today, of all days!’

Bartholomew darted towards his room, heart pounding as he wondered what the Master of Music and Astronomy could have left for him that would induce him to go to Merton Hall. It did not bode well for Clippesby’s innocence. He wrenched open his door, then stopped in mute horror, so abruptly that Michael piled into the back of him and made him stagger. In the middle of the bed was a single object: a set of metal teeth.

‘I told you so!’ gasped Michael as he hurried along the High Street with Bartholomew and Langelee in tow. ‘Clippesby is our man. All this rubbish about the wolf was a ruse. There is no wolf. If Wolf is involved, then it is as a victim, and he is floating in a well somewhere with his throat bitten out.’

Bartholomew was finding it difficult to move as quickly as he wanted. People had poured into the town from the surrounding villages, and they blocked his way. Everyone was wearing his or her best clothes, so dull homespun browns and creams were virtually absent, and the streets were alive with tunics and kirtles of red, yellow, green, blue, orange and purple. There was a heady scent of perspiration and perfumes, and the more usual aroma of sewage was almost entirely absent. People’s faces were intense, determined to see, touch or even speak to England’s leading churchman, and Bartholomew was painfully aware that many of them would go to considerable lengths to ensure they did so. He heard townsfolk muttering about scholars monopolising the Archbishop, and scholars mumbling back that Islip’s time was too valuable to waste on layfolk. It did not bode well for the Visitation passing off peacefully.

‘It was not Clippesby who attacked me at Stourbridge,’ said Bartholomew, trying to move through the crowd without jostling anyone and concentrate on refuting Michael’s conclusions at the same time. ‘I was sitting on top of him when that happened.’

‘Dick was right: there are two of them,’ said Michael breathlessly. ‘Clippesby and someone else. I allowed myself to be influenced by your arguments, which were based on sentimentality: you are fond of the man and wanted him to be innocent. But he is not.’

‘All I can say is thank God you did not treat him at Michaelhouse,’ said Langelee. ‘Perhaps that is why he ordered his accomplice to kill you: you are the reason he was exiled to Stourbridge.’

‘Then why did he hit the wolf with a stone and drive him away?’ asked Bartholomew, aware of the increase in noise as Islip’s procession drew nearer. ‘He saved my life.’

‘That is probably how he wanted it to look,’ argued Langelee. ‘You have said all along that the killer is cunning, and Clippesby is a very clever man, for all his madness. Only a devilish mind would have thought to fish Hamecotes from the cistern and dump him in King’s Hall before Tulyet’s men reached it. And we know from Brother Paul that he has escaped several times.’

‘This is a damned nuisance,’ grumbled Michael, aware that his finery was becoming drenched in sweat. ‘I should be greeting the Archbishop, not chasing lunatics.’

‘Why does Clippesby want us to go to Merton Hall?’ asked Langelee of Bartholomew. ‘He told Agatha you would understand. Do you?’

‘No – unless he has guessed the identity of the killer, and knows it is someone staying there.’ A sense of unease gripped Bartholomew. ‘I hope he does not attempt to confront the wolf alone.’

‘Clippesby is the killer, Matt,’ repeated Michael doggedly. ‘And he has summoned us to engage in some kind of confrontation, after which he imagines he will emerge triumphant. We shall have to be careful he does not draw us into a trap.’

The bell of St Mary the Less began to toll, indicating that the Archbishop and his entourage had reached the Trumpington Gate. The massive cheer that went up from the crowd was audible, even at the Great Bridge.