An Order for Death (16 page)

‘I wondered when you would visit us, Brother,’ said a fat man with large lips and very protuberant eyes, who followed Nicholas
through the cloister towards them. ‘I am so sorry about Will Walcote – sorry for the loss to my priory as well as the loss
to you.’

Michael inclined his head. ‘I will find whoever did this, Prior Ralph. Believe me, I will.’

‘I do believe you,’ said Ralph softly. ‘I have heard that you and Doctor Bartholomew make a formidable team when it comes
to solving murders.’

Bartholomew was not sure he liked being known as a solver of murders: he would have preferred his name to be associated with
his work as a physician, which, after all, claimed most of his time. Still, he thought optimistically, perhaps the appointment
of Timothy would mean he was obliged to help the monk less frequently in the future. Timothy seemed more proficient and eager
than most of Michael’s junior proctors. When Ralph’s bulbous eyes shifted questioningly to Timothy, Michael introduced him
as Walcote’s successor.

‘Good God!’ breathed Ralph, horrified. ‘You do not waste any time! Will is barely cold, and yet you have already appointed
a Benedictine in his place. I was going to suggest
you took another Austin canon – Nicholas, for example.’

Nicholas was mortified, and hung his head in embarrassment. But Timothy was unabashed, and rose to deal with the issue with
cool dignity.

‘I appreciate that my appointment must seem sudden, but that happened only because the Chancellor is determined to catch the
monster who killed Will. If you, or anyone else, is dissatisfied with my performance once the culprit is caught, I will willingly
resign and someone else can take my place.’

Ralph relented in the face of Timothy’s disarming graciousness. ‘I am sure that will not be necessary. I am sorry, Brother;
I was merely taken aback by the speed with which Will was replaced.’

‘Do you know anyone who had a grudge against Will?’ Michael asked, finally getting down to business. ‘I hate to ask such a
thing, but we must leave no stone unturned, if we are to bring his killer to justice.’

Ralph appeared surprised by the question. ‘I thought you would be better placed to answer that. I imagine many people objected
to the long arm of the law as personified by Will.’

‘I meant here, in the priory,’ said Michael. ‘Of course we will be reviewing his recent cases, but we need to know whether
anyone had taken against him at his home.’

‘Of course not,’ said Ralph, a little offended. ‘He was not here much, despite the fact that he enjoyed our company. He always
said that walking home to us after a day of chasing miscreants and malefactors around the town made him feel as though he
were properly escaping from his duties for a few hours.’

‘That is how I feel about Michaelhouse,’ said Michael, blithely ignoring the fact that his beadles regularly visited him there,
and that he was constantly at their beck and call. ‘So, there is no one at Barnwell who you think might have been jealous
of his success or resentful of his connections with the University?’

‘No,’ replied Ralph smugly. ‘We Austins are not given to jealousy and feelings of resentment against our fellows.’

Michael gave a snort of laughter. ‘Do not take me for a fool! I am a cleric myself, do not forget. There will be resentment
and jealousy wherever there are gatherings of people, and religious Orders are no different from secular folk.’

‘Well, I can assure you that no one here minded Will’s success,’ said Ralph coldly. ‘Indeed, it was generally assumed that
it was good for us, because through him we had a certain degree of influence in the University.’

Bartholomew could see that Ralph genuinely believed what he was saying, and the more humble Nicholas had said much the same.
It seemed Walcote was exactly as he had appeared – an affable, somewhat quiet man who had probably not enjoyed his duties,
but who had continued to perform them to the best of his ability because his priory gained prestige from his appointment.

Bartholomew supposed that Michael would have to look into Walcote’s recent cases, and see whether any of the scholars he had
caught or fined might have had a reason to kill him. His heart sank at the prospect. Students were a rebellious lot, and he
imagined that Walcote would have dealt with a good many of them over the last year. Cambridge possessed a very transient population,
and it was even possible that someone might have returned to the town specifically to exact revenge for some past incident,
and had already left.

Ralph began to recite a long list of Walcote’s virtues, to which Michael listened patiently and politely. It was clear the
Austin Prior had nothing more to say that could help them, and after a while Michael suggested, very gently, that they should
be on their way to continue their investigation in the town. Ralph agreed, and left the shuffling Nicholas to see them out.
Timothy walked with him, asking him for his own impressions of Walcote, while Michael nodded approvingly at his new deputy’s
initiative.

As they headed towards the gate, a bell chimed to
announce the midday meal. The canons began to converge on the refectory building, some spilling out from the chapter house
and others coming from the gardens or the nearby fields. All walked briskly and purposefully, suggesting that breakfast had
been a long time ago. A few chattered together as they walked, but most were silent, their dark robes swinging about their
legs as they hurried towards the delicious buttery smell of baked parsnips and pea soup. Bartholomew spotted a familiar figure
with tousled hair and a liberal collection of freckles.

‘Look!’ He grabbed Michael’s arm and pointed. ‘It is Simon Lynne. Remember him? He is one of the Carmelites we questioned
about Faricius’s murder.’

‘So it is,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘Only those are not a Carmelite’s robes he is wearing. That is the habit of an Austin
canon.’

‘He cannot be both,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘What can he be thinking of?’

‘I do not know,’ said Michael, watching the youth disappearing inside the refectory. ‘But we shall find out.’

‘Now?’ asked Bartholomew, pausing and preparing to visit the refectory there and then.

‘In my own time, when I know exactly what questions to put to him. It seems I was right after all, Matt. There
does
seem to be a link between the murder of Faricius and the murder of Walcote.’

Michael stepped outside the gates of Barnwell Priory and gave a sigh. The wind had sharpened since they had been inside, and
a blanket of thick grey clouds made midday feel like evening. It had started to rain, too, unpleasant little splatters that
had the bite of ice in them and that stung uncovered hands and faces.

‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ he said irritably, hauling his cowl over his head and drawing his warm cloak tightly around
his shoulders. ‘It is a long walk here, and I expected to gain more than you telling me that Walcote had been
hanged – which I already knew – and that I must look outside Barnwell to uncover the identity of his killer.’

‘That yellow stain might be important,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It may have been left there by his killer, and could help us identify
the culprit.’

‘Perhaps,’ mumbled Michael ungraciously. ‘Although we do not even know what it is, so I cannot see how it will help us to
track down the murderer. If you said it was something used by tanners or by parchment makers or some other tradesman, then
we might have been able to act on it. But all we know is that it is a yellowish sticky grease of unknown origin.’

‘The Franciscan friars know a lot about peculiar substances,’ suggested Timothy. ‘Their rat poison is famous from here to
Peterborough, so perhaps one of them might be able to identify it.’

Michael rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘I hope it was not a Franciscan who killed Walcote and Faricius. They are at loggerheads
with the Austins at the moment, because of this damned philosophical debate, so I suppose it is possible. But the Franciscans
will not take kindly to being accused of harbouring a killer.’

‘Then we shall have to be more circumspect,’ said Timothy earnestly. ‘Ely Hall has mice, so I shall visit the Franciscans
on the pretext of asking for a solution. While I am there, I shall have a good look for that yellow stuff. If I see any, I
shall report back to you, and we can then decide how to proceed.’

‘Good,’ said Michael, approvingly. ‘That may lead somewhere, and if it does not, we will have antagonised no one.’

‘And what about the presence of Simon Lynne here and at the Carmelite Friary?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘That will probably amount to nothing,’ said Michael gloomily. ‘I wanted to find
real
clues. I was hoping to discover who killed Walcote quickly – today.’

‘At least we have been thorough,’ said Timothy encouragingly. ‘We needed to inspect Walcote’s body and we
needed to visit his priory, just to be certain we had overlooked nothing. Just because we learned little does not make it
a waste of time.’

Michael looked as though he disagreed, but the priory door opened, and Nicholas sidled out, casting a quick and agitated glance
behind him before he closed it. He was already wearing Walcote’s boots, although they were too small and meant that he walked
with a peculiarly mincing gait.

‘I know something that may help you,’ he said in a whisper, even though it was unlikely that he could have been overheard
through the thick gates. ‘I did not want to mention it at first, because I promised Will I would tell no one. But then I decided
I should tell you anything that might prove relevant to his death, although you probably know what I am going to say anyway.
But I thought I should mention it, just in case you did not.’

‘I want to know
anything
that could have a bearing, however remote, on Will’s murder,’ said Michael, intrigued by Nicholas’s rambling discourse.

‘I do not know whether it has a bearing,’ said Nicholas. ‘It involves certain women, but I am sure you know what I am talking
about.’

‘Women?’ asked Michael, mystified. ‘With Will? I always understood his affections ran in other directions – in yours, to be
precise.’

Nicholas lowered his eyes and gazed at the ground. ‘We did have a certain understanding,’ he said. ‘We have been close since
he arrived at Barnwell ten years ago. But that was not what I meant. Will had dealings with the nuns at St Radegund’s convent.
Did you know about that?’

‘What kind of dealings?’ demanded Michael, indicating that he did not. ‘They were certainly not romantic ones. He was too
devoted to you to indulge in that sort of thing.’

More tears brimmed in Nicholas’s eyes. ‘Thank you for saying that. But I do not know the nature of his business with the nuns.
He never told me. I assumed it was something
he was doing in relation to his duties as Junior Proctor, which is why I thought you would know about them.’

‘Well, I did not,’ said Michael shortly. ‘What makes you think these “dealings” had anything to do with the proctors’ office?’

‘Everyone knows that the students tend to congregate near the convent from time to time,’ said Nicholas. ‘I suppose they find
a gathering of ladies irresistible. I assumed his business was related to preventing that from happening.’

‘Did you ask him about it?’ said Michael.

Nicholas glanced at the fat monk with haunted eyes. ‘Of course I did. He merely treated me to that enigmatic smile of his
and said it was better for me not to know too much about what transpired at the convent.’

‘What did he mean by “better”?’ pressed Michael. ‘Safer? Or was he suggesting that it was so secret that not even his closest
friend could be told?’

‘I do not know,’ said Nicholas. ‘It had nothing to do with you, then? It was nothing you had asked him to do as Junior Proctor?’

‘No,’ replied Michael. He looked thoughtful, trying to guess what arrangement his Junior Proctor might have had with the nuns
of St Radegund’s that was so secret he would not even tell his lover. ‘Thank you for telling us this, Nicholas. If everyone
is as helpful, we might yet have this killer in front of the King’s justices.’

Leaving Nicholas to slip back into Barnwell Priory unnoticed, the monk turned on his heel and began to stride down the Causeway
with Bartholomew and Timothy following. It was a miserable journey. The rain had turned to sleet and drove into their faces,
and the wind sliced through Bartholomew’s cloak so that he wondered whether there was any point in wearing it at all. Even
the uncharacteristically brisk pace set by Michael did not serve to warm him. The countryside was grey, dead and dismal, and
there was not the merest trace of spring buds or leaves on the stunted trees.

Michael, however, seemed cheered by Nicholas’s intelligence, and walked purposefully, oblivious to the inclement weather that
buffeted him. He declared that a visit to the good women of St Radegund’s Convent was in order, and instructed Timothy to
begin his covert search for the yellow substance in the Franciscan Friary, while he and Bartholomew undertook the more pleasant
task of asking the nuns about Walcote’s business with them. Obediently, Timothy hurried back to the town, while Bartholomew
and Michael turned towards the convent.

The convent had suffered a serious fire in 1313, and everything had been rebuilt. The small community of Benedictine nuns
now enjoyed a comfortable range of buildings that included a pleasant solar, a refectory with a substantial hearth so that
they seldom ate in the cold, and a church that possessed some of the loveliest wood carvings Bartholomew had ever seen. All
were linked by a cloister, which meant the nuns were not obliged to walk in the rain when they made their way to and from
their offices.

Unfortunately, the reputation of St Radegund’s had suffered badly under the leadership of some of its prioresses. The one
who had ruled during the Death had not been popular or pleasant, but she had at least maintained a degree of order over the
women in her care. Her successors had not, and the convent had been visited by a number of bishops and other important Benedictines
to investigate allegations of dishonesty and loose behaviour.