Susanna GREGORY - A Killer in Winter

‘So is frolicking with whores in alleyways, I imagine,’ replied Harysone tartly. ‘But it still happens. And I knew they were students because I could see Franciscan habits under their cloaks – and the landlord told me those lads were from Michaelhouse.’

‘Why did he tell you that?’ asked Michael sceptically.

Harysone gave an elegant shrug. ‘Because I asked why his inn was so attractive to men of the cloth. There were Dominicans and Carmelites here, too, if you are interested. He told me they are able to sample the Christmas spirit in a tavern, but not in their friaries.’

‘He is right,’ muttered Bartholomew to Michael. ‘Father William told me the Franciscans intend to ignore the whole festive season. They even had lectures between Shepherd’s Mass and the Mass of the Divine Word on Christmas morning, and there was no kind of feast at all.’

‘I heard the same of the Carmelites,’ replied Michael in an undertone. ‘That is what happens when you join a mendicant Order, Matt: but note that only friars cancelled Christmas, not monks. My Order did no such thing. I am not surprised mendicant students seek solace elsewhere.’

‘Why do you think it was the Franciscans from Michaelhouse who stabbed you?’ asked Bartholomew of Harysone. ‘Why not someone else?’

Harysone sighed. ‘Because the Michaelhouse men were behind me. If someone I was facing had wielded the weapon, then the knife would have been lodged in my front.’

‘Pity,’ said Michael ambiguously. He glanced sharply at Harysone, as though he had just thought of something. ‘The Chepe Waits – whom you have already said you do not know – were accused of stealing from someone at the King’s Head. I do not suppose their victim was you?’

‘Why do you ask?’ countered Harysone, fixing Michael with his glistening eyes.

Michael sighed irritably. ‘I am not interested in playing games, Master Pardoner. Did one of the Chepe Waits remove a quantity of gold from you or not?’

‘It was returned,’ admitted Harysone reluctantly. ‘And the Sheriff informed me that there was no need to press charges. I decided he was right.’

‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. Harysone did not seem the kind of person to overlook a theft. The pardoner was in Cambridge to make money by selling his book, and Bartholomew imagined he would want anyone punished who came between him and his gold.

Harysone gave an elegant shrug. ‘The money was returned – with a little extra as interest. It is Christmas, and so I decided to be generous.’

Bartholomew wondered what Sheriff Morice had discovered about the pardoner to induce him to forget the incident. He also speculated about how much the ill-fated venture had cost the Waits: now it seemed they had not only been obliged to bribe the Sheriff to keep their freedom, but had been forced to repay Harysone in full, with extra to ensure his compliance. He gave a wry smile. No wonder the Waits were so keen to remain at Michaelhouse. They were still reeling from the disastrous financial effects of their brief foray into crime.

‘The Chepe Waits seem to be connected to everyone,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully, as he and Michael walked back to Michaelhouse.

They had eaten the King’s Head pig, which had not tasted nearly as bad as the landlord had made it sound. A shallow bowl had been provided, and when Michael had finished gnawing the bones, the remaining grease and juice on the platter was poured into it and presented to the monk to drink in lieu of bread to sop it up. Michael was still dabbing his oily lips with a piece of linen as they passed through the Trumpington Gate and walked down one of the alleys that led towards Milne Street, which, as the thoroughfare where many wealthy merchants lived, was more clear of snow than the High Street.

‘Philippa and Turke hired them,’ Bartholomew went on when Michael did not reply. ‘And Quenhyth saw them with Giles, Harysone and Norbert.’

‘Frith has already admitted he was touting for business and says he spoke to a good many people in an attempt to secure work,’ said Michael. ‘And they touted even harder when Christmas was upon them and they still had not found employment. However, we must not forget the fishy connections you brought to my attention: Harysone penning a “book” on piscine matters; Turke being a fishmonger and Gosslinge a fishmonger’s manservant; and Norbert winning a tench from Harysone the night he died.’

‘It seems to me Harysone’s “fishy connections” are incidental. I had the impression Turke shunned him at the King’s Head – or they shunned each other. And the dicing game where Norbert won his tench – just like the bet Harysone had with Ulfrid when the lad won his dice – was designed to attract onlookers, so that Harysone could tell them about his book. I am not sure any of it is significant. But more importantly, Brother, what do you think of the accusation Harysone has made against our students?’

‘Ridiculous,’ said Michael, as Bartholomew knew he would. ‘But, having seen him dancing, I can understand why someone sought to put an end to the misery with steel. I shall have words with our Franciscans – especially Ulfrid, who freely admits to debating about crabs and oysters with Harysone – and I shall learn the names of the other friars who were present that night. But I cannot see anyone confessing to stabbing the man, and, unless I find an obliging witness, it will be difficult to catch the culprit. Do you think Harysone was telling the truth about Morice returning his gold with interest?’

‘I do not know, but I have the impression Morice encouraged him to be “compassionate”. Morice’s motives are the questionable ones, not Harysone’s. All Harysone did was accept the return of his lost property and agree to let the matter rest. God only knows what sordid connivance Morice engaged in to make the effort worthwhile for himself.’

‘I think Harysone agreed far too readily for the charges against the Waits to be dropped,’ argued Michael. ‘Which means either that he enjoys a more meaningful acquaintance with them than either has acknowledged, or that the gold was ill-gotten and he does not want the Sheriff looking too closely at where it came from.’

‘Or that he was feeling generous – or greedy – and decided to accept the Sheriff’s “interest” and end the matter,’ said Bartholomew reasonably. ‘Not everyone wants to take a stand against a corrupt Sheriff: it can be dangerous. I do not blame Harysone for taking the money and asking no questions.’

‘Harysone’s book is riddled with errors,’ said Michael, declining to acknowledge that Bartholomew had a point and shifting the emphasis of the conversation instead. ‘I doubt he has peddled many, so where did this gold come from?’

‘Perhaps he sold copies on his way to Cambridge. They cost two marks when he arrived, and they are now three, so, he must have sold some, or he would not have raised the price.’

‘Only a fool would buy one,’ said Michael authoritatively.

‘Very possibly. But he sells them in taverns, where men gather to drink ale and wine. I imagine some only realise they have made a poor purchase when they are sober.’

‘There is Oswald Stanmore,’ said Michael, pointing to the merchant, who was hurrying towards them. ‘What is he doing out on a cold day when he could be by his fire?’

‘I hoped I would meet you,’ said Stanmore breathlessly. He cast a nervous glance behind him, as though worried that he might have been followed. ‘I need to tell you something.’

‘In here, then,’ said Michael, opening the door to a small tavern called the Swan, which was famous for the size of its portions of meat. He leaned inside and inhaled deeply, detecting roast boar and spiced apples among the enticing odours that emanated from within. The King’s Head pig seemed to have been totally forgotten.