Susanna GREGORY - An Order for Death

Stanmore’s features hardened. ‘You told me you wanted to make an impact on the town. The brown nag would not have achieved the same effect.’

Bartholomew gaped at his brother-in-law. ‘ You bought him that thing, Oswald? It was your idea?’

Stanmore sighed heavily. ‘Damn it all, Richard! The only condition I imposed on you for my generosity was that no one should ever know who paid for the Black Bishop.’

‘What were you thinking of?’ asked Bartholomew, appalled. ‘You must have seen that the impression your son was making was not a good one.’

‘On the contrary, Richard has secured a good deal of work since he arrived here,’ snapped Stanmore. ‘Several wealthy merchants have hired him. The black horse did exactly what we hoped. But you had better not tell Edith about this. She will be furious with me.’

‘Since we are on the subject of money, how do you afford all your fine clothes and your handsome saddle?’ asked Bartholomew of his ailing nephew. ‘I am sure Oswald did not give you funds to squander on those.’

‘The saddle came with the horse,’ admitted Stanmore reluctantly. ‘A splendid horse would be no good without a matching saddle, would it?’

‘The clothes are paid for with my own funds,’ said Richard sullenly, ‘although I cannot see it is any affair of yours. I worked hard in Oxford, and I have secured several lucrative customers here in Cambridge. I have no family to care for, so why should I not spend my earnings on clothes?’

‘Well, at least this tells us that not all your young nephew’s flaunted wealth was ill-gotten,’ whispered Michael to Bartholomew. ‘The most expensive item was a gift from his loving and very misguided father.’ He turned to Richard. ‘Never mind all this for now. I have a question to ask. What were you doing at St Radegund’s with Walcote?’

‘When?’ asked Richard, a trace of his old insolence insinuating itself into his voice.

Michael’s eyebrows drew together in annoyance. ‘Do not play games, boy. One of the items on the agenda of these gatherings was my murder. Why would you implicate yourself in that?’

‘Oh, no!’ breathed Stanmore, as he slumped into a chair with one hand pressed over his heart. ‘Not again! Do not tell me that another member of my family is involved in something criminal! I thought my brother’s fate five years ago would have warned you against that sort of thing, Richard.’

Richard hung his head, and Michael eyed him with distaste. ‘You came to Cambridge to make your fortune, and immediately set about wooing the richest and most influential men in the town. These included Junior Proctor Walcote, who invited you to one of his nocturnal meetings, probably not realising that you were the nephew of my closest friend.’

‘Walcote did not know that,’ acknowledged Richard in a low voice. ‘He was horrified when he discovered I am Matt’s kinsman. He was afraid I would tell you about his business.’

‘And why didn’t you?’ demanded Michael.

Richard rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘I only went to one meeting; then Walcote died and there were no more. The discussion included raising funds for mending the Great Bridge, and then went on at length about nominalism and realism. There was mention that you had been seen stealing from the University Chest in the Carmelite Friary, Brother, but I told them that they were insane if they believed you would do such a thing.’

‘Quite,’ said Michael, a little mollified by Richard’s belief in his innocence, regardless of the fact that it was wholly unjustified. ‘What else did you talk about?’

‘That was all. I doubt the whole thing took more than an hour. Nothing was decided and nothing was resolved, because Walcote was not forceful enough to allow any item to be concluded.’

‘Explain,’ ordered Michael.

Richard gave a wan smile. ‘He meant well, but he wanted to please everyone. No one will ever be happy with everything, and there comes a point where you just have to go along with the majority. But Walcote did not want to offend the dissenters. We made no decisions, and everything was postponed until later. Pechem told me it had been like that from the start.’

‘Walcote was weak,’ agreed Stanmore. ‘He was a nice man, who was a pleasure to have at the dinner table, but was far too conciliatory to make unpopular decisions. I cannot imagine him ever taking a stand on anything.’

‘He was a follower of nominalism, yet he readily agreed with you that realism was just as valid,’ said Bartholomew, recalling the discussion with Michael that had taken place after Faricius’s death. ‘He also thought you should have gone to interview the Dominicans the day that Faricius died, but was too diffident to press his point when you declared otherwise.’

‘He always did as he was told,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘And I can see he would have been poor at leading discussions. Very well, Richard. I accept that you are telling the truth about that. But why did anyone bother with these meetings, when nothing was ever achieved?’

‘I think the attenders enjoyed the opportunity to rant and rave to people who were of the same philosophical persuasion. Everyone loved the slander and lies that were hurled at the other side. The only things they did not agree on were those that really mattered – spending money on the Great Bridge and useful things like that.’

‘Why were you invited?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Everyone else was a cleric.’

‘Walcote needed a lawyer to read various documents. Heytesbury recommended me to him.’

‘And who else was at these nasty little covens?’ asked Michael.

Richard rubbed his eyes again. ‘Kenyngham and Gretford of the Gilbertines, Pechem of the Franciscans, and a few of their minions. It was a waste of time. What we did afterwards was fun, though.’

‘And what was that?’ asked Bartholomew.

Richard winked. ‘The nuns entertained us in ways that were quite extraordinary.’

Stanmore regarded his son in disgust. ‘I thought you would have known better than to engage in that sort of activity. And in a convent, too! What would your mother say if she knew?’

‘Did Heytesbury join you?’ asked Michael innocently. ‘If the answer is yes, then I could have my deed signed this very afternoon.’

‘No,’ said Richard sullenly.

‘Do not lie,’ warned Michael. ‘You are already in a good deal of trouble for attending these illegal gatherings. If you are honest now, I may be prepared to overlook your role in them.’

It was an empty bluster, given that there was nothing illegal in a group of scholars meeting each other in a convent, and, although it was hardly respectable behaviour, there was nothing unlawful in the frolics they had allegedly engaged in afterwards, either. But Richard’s mind was evidently not working as quickly as it might, and he gave way in the face of Michael’s belligerence.

‘Heytesbury was not invited to the meeting itself, because the business discussed was private to Cambridge, but he waited for me in the church and joined us for the fun afterwards.’

‘He would,’ said Stanmore in disapproval. ‘Mayor Horwoode told me that he was after Yolande de Blaston the instant he set foot in the town. I have never seen a man locate his prostitutes with such speed.’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘Matilde told us days ago that Heytesbury had employed Yolande.’

Michael rubbed his hands. ‘Excellent! I could not have hoped for a better way to persuade that sly Oxford rat to sign my deed.’

‘Really, Brother,’ said Bartholomew mildly. ‘I did not expect you to stoop so low. I thought you were anticipating a battle of wits with one of Oxford’s greatest thinkers, not that you would resort to blackmail because he is fond of a barrel of wine and enjoys the company of women.’