Susanna GREGORY - An Order for Death

‘Good,’ said Paul, as they reached Pechem’s office where there was a fire blazing in the hearth. He turned his sightless eyes on Bartholomew and gave a mischievous grin, speaking in a low voice so that Pechem would not hear. ‘Actually, I am not particularly cold, but this will warm me nicely before I retire to bed tonight.’

Bartholomew looked around at the men who had gathered in Pechem’s small room, making it feel cramped and stuffy. Paul huddled close to the flames, holding towards them translucent, knobbly hands that were streaked with lumpy blue veins. Lynne hovered near the door, as if he imagined he might be able to escape if Michael’s questions became too uncomfortable. Pechem had retired to his bed, piling himself high with blankets in an attempt to warm himself.

‘Right,’ said Michael, gazing coolly at Lynne. ‘I am not pleased that you ran away, thus withholding valuable information from me. But I might be prepared to overlook that if you are honest with me now, and tell me what I need to know.’

Lynne nodded miserably.

‘So,’ began Michael. ‘Let us start with Faricius’s death. He was stabbed and, as we have done, you reasoned that he had been killed after he had retrieved his essay from its hiding place – that someone killed him because they wanted to steal it.’

‘Kyrkeby,’ said Lynne unhappily. ‘He killed Faricius for the essay. He was due to give the University Lecture, and he needed something more inspiring than the dull tract he had compiled. Faricius told me that Kyrkeby had given him a ruby ring in exchange for the essay.’

‘So that is where that ring came from,’ said Michael, carefully not looking in Bartholomew’s direction so he would not have to acknowledge that the physician’s speculations about Kyrkeby had been correct. ‘We discovered it in Faricius’s spare scrip when we went through his belongings.’

Lynne nodded. ‘I was not there, but Horneby told me you had found it. Faricius took the ring from Kyrkeby, and promised to give him the essay later.’

‘Why would Faricius want a ruby ring?’ asked Pechem curiously. ‘He was a friar who had taken vows of poverty.’

‘Many friars forget that vow,’ said Paul from the fireside. ‘And Kyrkeby had a fine collection of jewels. He offered me some, too, if I would agree to write his lecture. I declined, because I do not consider it ethical for one man to pen work for another.’

Bartholomew recalled the jewellery among Kyrkeby’s personal possessions. Morden had thought some of the rings were missing, although he had been unable to specify which ones, and had assumed Kyrkeby had been wearing them when he had died, linking them with Kyrkeby’s penchant for women’s attire. He was wrong: one ring at least had been given to Faricius.

‘Why did Faricius agree to sell his work?’ asked Michael of Lynne. ‘Paul is right: it is wrong for one scholar to try to pass off the work of another as his own.’

‘Faricius wanted to go to Oxford,’ said Lynne. ‘Heytesbury had encouraged him to go to a place where a Carmelite could speak freely without fear of suppression by his Order, and Faricius planned to use Kyrkeby’s ring to pay for his education.’

‘Heytesbury!’ muttered Michael, his eyes narrowing in anger. ‘I might have known he was involved.’

‘He told us about it,’ said Bartholomew, recalling the evening they had spent at Edith’s house, when Heytesbury had claimed his ‘other business’ in Cambridge was poaching students. ‘He said the man he had seen was unsuitable – doubtless because by the time we asked him, Faricius was dead. He was also at Faricius’s funeral, claiming that he had admired him.’

Lynne took a deep breath and continued. ‘Faricius took the ring, and promised to give the essay to Kyrkeby. But then Lincolne nailed his proclamation to the church door, and the Dominicans marched on the Carmelites.’

‘And Faricius, being a prudent man, decided he could not risk leaving his essay in its hiding place at St John Zachary, and so he left the Carmelite Friary – via the tunnel – to retrieve it,’ concluded Michael.

Lynne nodded. ‘He had taken Kyrkeby’s payment, you see, and he felt that the essay was no longer his to stuff behind stones in graveyards. We tried to stop him, but he was adamant that he should make certain the essay was safe. When we saw his body, we realised that someone had cut the strap that attached his scrip to his belt, and that the essay had gone. I went with Horneby to check the churchyard at St John Zachary two days later – on Monday night – but it was not there.’

‘And the stone had been replaced and the bushes arranged in a way that implied Faricius had collected the thing, and had covered up his secret hole as he liked,’ said Michael.

Lynne nodded again.

‘So Kyrkeby stabbed Faricius and made off with the essay,’ said Michael. ‘But who murdered Kyrkeby? It was not the Carmelites, anxious to avenge the wholly unnecessary death of their most brilliant thinker, was it?’

‘It was not,’ said Lynne tearfully. ‘Walcote did that.’

‘Walcote?’ echoed Michael, again not looking at Bartholomew. ‘I do not believe you!’

‘Horneby and I had just climbed through the tunnel after searching St John Zachary’s churchyard for Faricius’s essay on Monday night when we heard an altercation taking place in the lane outside. Horneby said it was none of our affair and left, but I lingered. I wish to God I had not.’

‘Why?’ demanded Michael. ‘And who was involved in this “altercation”?’

‘I heard Walcote and his beadles ordering Kyrkeby to give them the stolen essay. Kyrkeby refused, because he said he had paid a good price for it. Then I heard Kyrkeby make a vile, strangled sound, as if he were trying to be sick, and Walcote urging him to stand up. At that point, I could stand no more, and I ran away.’

‘A strangled sound?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Then it was Kyrkeby’s weak heart that killed him.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Michael sceptically.

‘Because he would not have been making strangled sounds if Walcote had hit him on the head – there would probably have been a thump and then nothing at all. And there would have been no strangled sounds if Walcote had broken Kyrkeby’s neck. All that damage must have been caused when the body was pushed inside the tunnel.’

‘So, Walcote did not kill Kyrkeby?’ asked Michael. ‘It was an accident?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Bartholomew. ‘If Walcote frightened or agitated Kirkeby to the point where his heart gave out, it may well be deemed that the death was not natural. But the real evidence is that Lynne says Walcote talked to Kyrkeby after he made this strangled sound, urging him to stand. It sounds to me as though Walcote was alarmed by the sudden seizure, and that he had not intended to harry the man so.’

‘Harrying was not Walcote’s style,’ agreed Michael. He turned to Lynne. ‘You say you were inside the Carmelite Friary when all this was taking place. The walls are high, so I know you could not have seen over them. How do you know it was Walcote demanding this essay from Kyrkeby?’

‘I recognised his voice,’ said Lynne. ‘He caught me using the tunnel the week before, so I was familiar with it.’

‘You said Walcote’s beadles were there, too,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Are you sure it was Walcote who was badgering Kyrkeby, and not them?’

‘I do not recall who said what exactly,’ admitted Lynne. ‘But Walcote did a lot of the talking, because he was the Junior Proctor. That is what his beadles kept saying.’

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Michael. ‘You say the beadles kept telling Walcote he was Junior Proctor? I can assure you that he knew.’