Susanna GREGORY - An Order for Death

‘Had?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily. ‘Michael has not gone anywhere.’

‘Not yet,’ said Timothy. ‘But his days as Senior Proctor are numbered. I will take that position soon, and I shall appoint Janius as my deputy.’

‘Is that why you murdered Walcote?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Because you want to be proctors?’

‘Why do you think we killed Walcote?’ asked Janius, giving the impression that he was merely amusing himself at Bartholomew’s expense. Bartholomew wondered how he ever could have imagined that the monk was a good man, when the glint in his eyes was so patently cruel and cold.

Bartholomew spoke quickly, seeing that the longer he could engage their interest, the longer he would live, although a nagging fear at the back of his mind told him that he was merely delaying the inevitable. ‘Lynne said he heard Walcote shouting at Kyrkeby until he had a fatal seizure and died. Lynne also heard “beadles” reminding Walcote of his appointment as Junior Proctor, and urging him to force the truth about the stolen essay from Kyrkeby. No beadles would have done such a thing. The “beadles” were you.’

‘Quite right,’ said Janius patronisingly. ‘Walcote was going to let that murdering Kyrkeby go, and was quite willing to believe the lying scoundrel when he said he did not have the essay.’

‘And did he have it?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Of course he did,’ replied Janius scornfully. ‘When we pressed him, he admitted that he had been loitering around the Carmelite Friary, hoping to find one of Faricius’s friends, so that he could return it. He claimed he should not have stolen it, and wanted to give it back. Foolish man!’

‘This happened on Monday night,’ said Bartholomew. ‘By then, Chancellor Tynkell had decided to change the topic of Kyrkeby’s lecture, so Kyrkeby would not have needed Faricius’s essay anyway. He did not know it, but he killed Faricius for nothing.’

‘Walcote’s interrogation was pathetic,’ said Timothy in disgust. ‘Kyrkeby expected us to believe that he found Faricius already stabbed, and all he did was take his scrip.’

‘So, Kyrkeby handed Walcote the essay, but then his weak heart killed him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘What happened next?’

‘Walcote offered to distract patrolling beadles, so that Timothy and I could hide Kyrkeby’s corpse without being seen,’ said Janius resentfully. ‘We should never have trusted him. We were furious when we realised that he had taken the essay.’

‘So furious, that you broke Kyrkeby’s neck and smashed his skull when you hid the body?’

‘No,’ said Timothy. ‘That was not our fault. The tunnel collapsed on him.’

‘But why was Walcote prepared to hide Kyrkeby’s body in the first place?’ asked Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘Why not just say that Kyrkeby’s heart had failed?’

‘We told Walcote that he would hang for murder if he tried that,’ said Janius smugly. ‘We said we should dispose of the body, so he recommended using the tunnel he had discovered earlier. Timothy climbed through it, pulling the body behind him.’

‘I reached the other side, and was in the process of dragging Kyrkeby after me when the tunnel caved in,’ explained Timothy. ‘I suppose a combination of exceptionally wet weather and having a heavy object dragged through it caused it to collapse. Unfortunately, I then found myself on the wrong side of the Carmelite Friary walls.’

‘How did you escape?’ asked Bartholomew, glancing at the small window to assess whether he could hurl himself through it before Timothy reached him. He could not: it was too small and he knew Timothy would get him before he even turned.

‘Walcote obligingly fetched a rope from St Mary’s Church,’ said Timothy. ‘He always did what he was told. He threw it to me, and I was able to climb out.’

‘And, of course, it came in useful to hang him with,’ said Janius, chillingly cold.

‘I am confused,’ said Bartholomew, glancing at the door and realising that his chances of reaching it before Timothy acted were even less than an escape through the window. ‘You killed once to gain possession of the essay, and you killed again because you wanted rid of Walcote. Which was more important – obtaining the essay or being appointed as proctors?’

‘One led nicely to the other,’ said Timothy. ‘Faricius’s essay is a brilliant piece of logic that no one has yet seen, because his narrow-minded Order forced him to keep his ideas hidden. But now he is dead, there is no reason why Janius and I cannot take credit for them. Blind Paul obviously has not read the essay and Lynne is dead, so no one will ever be able to prove that Faricius wrote what we will claim as our work.’

‘It will make us rich,’ said Janius smugly, ‘and we will be able to use the wealth that will accrue to spread the word of God among disbelievers. If the world does not mend its wicked ways, the plague will come again. It is my intention to prevent that.’

‘And is that why you want to become proctors?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Because such positions of power will enable you to force your own rigid religious views on people?’

Janius’s blue eyes were hard. ‘It will be for their own good. If we do not want God to send another Great Pestilence, we must act now. Walcote was too weak, and Michael is a debauched glutton who is more interested in making suspect deals with Oxford than in safeguarding the spiritual well-being of the University. Neither was fit to be a proctor.’

Bartholomew gazed at him. ‘Walcote uncovered a plot to kill Michael at Christmas: your plot.’

‘Unrealised plot, unfortunately,’ said Janius. ‘That stupid beadle drank so much with the money we paid him to deliver our message to a hired assassin, that he fell into a puddle and drowned. Walcote found the document, and started to investigate. It was me who suggested that it would be kinder not to tell Michael about it.’

‘And, as everyone knows, Walcote could be made to agree to anything,’ added Timothy. ‘When Janius said sharing such information would only upset Michael, he immediately agreed to keep it from him.’

‘Walcote told the men who attended his nocturnal meetings, though,’ said Janius, peeved. ‘I have no idea who told him to hold those gatherings, but I am sure they were not his own idea.’

‘They were,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He paid for St Radegund’s room with money he had seized from Master Wilson’s broken effigy. He believed he was acting in the best interests of the University.’

‘And look what he did,’ said Janius in disgust. ‘He encouraged the two factions in the realism – nominalism debate to argue with each other more fiercely than ever. The issue would never have become so violent if he had not provided a forum for like-minded men to whip each other into a frenzy. Stupid man!’

‘It did work in our favour, though,’ said Timothy thoughtfully. ‘It showed all those scholars that Walcote was acting behind Michael’s back, and that Michael was too incompetent to prevent it.’

‘Then why kill Walcote?’ asked Bartholomew, rubbing a hand through his hair. He was finding the discussion exhausting, and was not sure how much longer he could keep it up. And why should he try anyway? Help would not be coming. Even if Cynric thought he was taking too long, there would be little the book-bearer could do. ‘Why not wait until someone complained that Walcote was not the man for the job? Michael said his days as Junior Proctor were numbered.’

‘This business with Oxford forced us to act sooner,’ said Janius. ‘We do not approve of it.’

‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Michael plans to use the information from Heytesbury to Cambridge’s advantage.’