Susanna GREGORY - A Killer in Winter

‘It was two pounds, thirteen shillings and fourpence,’ said Harysone immediately. He did not seem surprised by Michael’s demand, and Bartholomew wondered whether he had been anticipating it. ‘I will pay you next week, since I will have sold enough books by then. However, I did not expect a request for repayment quite so soon. Loans are usually made for longer periods.’

‘Your particular transaction was illegal,’ said Michael. ‘Father Ailred is ill, and made some poor decisions. When exactly did he make this loan to you?’

‘He gave me the money last Wednesday evening,’ replied Harysone. ‘I was surprised by the speed at which he obliged me. It is the only good thing I have to say about your town: your moneylenders make rapid decisions. The interest was a little high, but I suppose haste costs.’

‘Interest?’ asked Michael. ‘Dympna does not charge interest. That is its appeal.’

‘Well, it charged me,’ said Harysone firmly. ‘I borrowed two pounds, but agreed to pay two pounds, thirteen shillings and fourpence by the end of next month. By loaning me six marks, Ailred was going to gain another two.’

‘And you paid Langelee for the relic two days later, on the Friday,’ said Bartholomew to Harysone, who nodded. The physician leaned close to Michael and spoke in a low voice. ‘Ailred must have been trying to recoup his losses by charging interest. But although Harysone’s tale answers one question, it raises another. It explains why Ailred lied about his whereabouts the night the intruders entered St Michael’s: he was busy making an illegal loan. However, by last week, Kenyngham had already reclaimed Dympna and had stored it in Michaelhouse, so where did this two pounds come from?’

‘That is something we shall have to ask Ailred,’ said Michael. He eyed the pardoner coldly. ‘Why did you need to borrow money, when you seem to be doing well with your book sales?’

Harysone smiled again, showing his unpleasant ivory teeth. He fingered the bag containing what Bartholomew believed was Gosslinge’s thumb. ‘This relic of St Zeno cost me five pounds – which was more than I could lay my hands on at short notice, so I was obliged to seek out Dympna and ask for funds. Langelee threatened to sell it to someone else unless I came up with the money quickly, you see.’

‘How did you learn about Dympna?’ asked Michael.

‘I asked people,’ replied Harysone. ‘There was a fat laundress who let slip that Robin of Grantchester might help me. I was about to knock at Robin’s door when I happened to hear him muttering to someone about Dympna and Father Ailred of Ovyng. A friar seemed a better class of person than that surgeon, so I approached Ailred and the transaction was agreed – very quickly, as I told you. I was to repay it by the end of the month, but you can have it next week, if you insist.’

Robin was talking to his pig again, Bartholomew surmised, probably railing bitterly that Ailred and the others did not consider him an equal member of Dympna. So, Clippesby was not the only one to overhear the man murmuring to himself, and Harysone had also benefited from the surgeon’s dangerous and unwise habit.

‘I want it today,’ said Michael. ‘And if you cannot pay, I shall ask you to leave. The road to London is now open, and we cannot afford debtors here. In my experience, they never raise the money they promise, but become entangled in a web of ever-increasing obligations.’

‘Very well,’ said Harysone stiffly. ‘I would have paid you next week, but since you choose to be unpleasant I shall leave and you will never have it. I am weary of this sordid little town anyway. It is dirty and soulless, and I dislike the fact that you have harassed me continuously and your Sheriff has not stopped demanding money. I would not have had to borrow from Dympna if he had not fined me every time we met.’

‘For jigging like a Turkish whore?’ said Michael expressionlessly.

‘For demonstrating my dancing skills,’ replied Harysone huffily. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I shall set about packing my remaining books. Goodbye, Brother. I hope we never have the misfortune to meet each other again.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Michael, sitting back with a happy smile. The pardoner was leaving, Dympna’s remaining funds were secure with Kenyngham, and he had arrested the people who he believed had murdered Norbert and Gosslinge. Michael was a contented man.

‘Just tell me again,’ said Langelee, shaking his head in confusion. ‘Simply this time, without all the details. How did you guess that Ailred and the Waits were planning to steal Dympna?’

Langelee and the other Michaelhouse Fellows were sitting in the conclave three mornings later. A fire burned brightly, but the shutters were closed because the Waits had smashed the largest of the three windows and it had not yet been repaired. In the hall next door, the students were sitting quietly, reading or playing innocent games like chess or backgammon. Deynman had tried to induce them to do something more daring on his last day of chaos, but Michaelhouse’s students were not a seriously rebellious crowd, and most had already had enough of the season of misrule. They were keen to return to their lessons, and to settle back into the rules and regulations that governed their lives – where they would not be served green food.

‘It is not difficult,’ said Michael, holding out his cup to be refilled. Langelee stood to oblige him. ‘First, a man named John Fiscurtune was murdered by Turke. Turke bought himself a pardon, and no more was said on the matter.’

‘That is odd in itself,’ said Langelee, frowning. ‘Someone must have objected to a murder.’

‘Someone did,’ said Michael. ‘Fiscurtune’s kinsmen: his brother Ailred and his nephew Frith. Meanwhile, Turke knew he needed to atone publicly for the crime – which otherwise might prevent him from becoming Lord Mayor of London – by undertaking a pilgrimage.’

‘Frith lived in Chepe, where his Uncle John Fiscurtune secured him plenty of business,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It must have been hard to watch Turke enjoy his freedom, while Frith and his friends began to lose their custom. I imagine his hatred festered and he began to plot a murder of his own. But Turke was wealthy and it is not easy to attack such a man in a well-populated city. It was only when Turke announced his pilgrimage that Frith saw his opportunity.’

‘The Waits are thieves,’ said Suttone, holding out his goblet for Langelee to fill. He had listened carefully the first time Michael had told his story, and understood the twists and turns well enough to explain them to the slower-witted Langelee. ‘They played in the homes of wealthy merchants in Chepe – thanks to Fiscurtune – and stole small things that would not be missed. These were passed to a third party to sell – Fiscurtune himself, I imagine. As time passed, wise investment and a steady trickle of pennies amassed them a fortune.’

‘Never mind what they did in London,’ said Langelee. ‘I am interested in what they did here.’

‘The same thing,’ said Suttone, annoyed by Langelee’s dismissal of his information. ‘They stole things like inkpots, salt dishes and knives – along with gold from the King’s Head.’

‘The pilgrimage,’ prompted Langelee, looking at Michael for an explanation. ‘What happened when Turke decided to undertake the pilgrimage?’

‘When Turke and his household arrived in Cambridge, Frith was hot on their heels. It must have been a shock for Turke to see him here.’

‘He knew Frith was Fiscurtune’s kinsman?’ asked Langelee.

‘Of course,’ replied Michael, shooting the Master a glance that indicated he thought Langelee was being very slow on the uptake. ‘Frith’s mother was Fiscurtune’s sister, Isabella. And Isabella was Turke’s first wife. Turke did more than know Frith and Fiscurtune were kin: Turke was Frith’s stepfather, so of course they knew each other.’