The Lost Prophecies (31 page)

‘He will not stay in long, Brother,’ warned Bartholomew as they left. ‘He wants revenge, and if you do not present him with Roger’s killer soon he will go out and find himself a culprit.’

‘Bartholomew is right,’ said John. He was waiting for them outside the gate, having delivered the mallet to the proctors’ office. ‘William Bardolf is out for blood, and I suspect yesterday’s riot will be nothing if he is allowed to do as he pleases today.’

‘If anyone dies as a result of his agitating, he will stand trial for murder,’ vowed Michael. ‘His father may be the king’s favourite, but that will not save him from the full rigours of the law if he disregards my orders. I will see to that.’

‘He is on the verge of presenting “the king’s favourite” with a powerful book of prophecies,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘I imagine all manner of blind eyes might be turned in repayment for that sort of service. The only way to prevent further bloodshed is to solve these murders fast.’

John pulled the Senior Proctor and his Corpse Examiner into the churchyard surrounding All Saints’, near the spot where March had found Roger’s body. It was peaceful, and they were shielded from view by a row of trees, so it was a good place in which to talk without distractions.

‘Then you two had better start analysing,’ he said practically. ‘You need to review all you have learned, to put the clues together and see if you can come up with a viable suspect.’

Michael was loath to chat when time was so critical, but he saw the sense in his deputy’s suggestion. He took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Then tell us why you think Shirford is the culprit, Matt.’

Bartholomew marshalled his thoughts. ‘Shirford insists that Drayton was unpleasant, as if that justified his murder. And I am suspicious of why he agreed to become the book’s guardian, when it is obvious the task would transpire to be dangerous.’

‘Is that it?’ demanded Michael in disbelief. ‘I thought you had something sensible to suggest! You only have to look at Shirford to see why he accepted the Bardolfs’ offer: he is desperately poor and wants a parish of his own. This task represents a few weeks of risk in return for a lifetime of comparative ease and security.’

John nodded his agreement. ‘Furthermore, your theory does not explain who killed Neuton and Roger. Shirford cannot be the culprit, because he was locked inside All Saints’ when they died.’

‘We have only his word for that,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps he slipped out.’

‘But why would he kill them?’ asked John. ‘What could he gain?’

‘He obviously does not want Peterhouse to have the book,’ replied Bartholomew, thinking fast, ‘or he would not have agreed to protect it for King’s Hall. So he poisoned Neuton in order to frighten Peterhouse into dropping their claim.’

‘And Roger?’ demanded Michael, deeply unimpressed by his reasoning. ‘Roger was kind to him, bringing him supper and conversation. Why would Shirford kill him?’

Bartholomew was struggling for answers. ‘Perhaps he did not like the fact that Roger was of no use in interpreting the prophecies. He gave false information about the King of Scotland.’

‘Men do not kill for such paltry reasons,’ declared John disdainfully.

‘Actually, they do,’ countered Michael, who had a lot more experience of murder than his deputy.

John sniffed. ‘Well, I refuse to believe Shirford is such a ruthless villain. As far as I am concerned, Bartholomew’s theory is seriously flawed – and accusing the wrong man may lead to even worse trouble than we have already. I sincerely hope
you
have a more convincing suspect, Brother.’

‘I do: William. Why else would he be so determined to go on the rampage? He is trying to cause so much chaos that we will be overwhelmed, and the murders he committed will be forgotten amid a wider slaughter. The only way to stop him is to arrest him.’

‘But if you are wrong, the consequences will be catastrophic,’ argued John. ‘One of his kinsmen will assume command, and they are far more brutal than he. And if William is innocent, then his father will have your head – and mine – on a platter. And my prospective father-in-law, the earl—’

‘This is not the time to think about ourselves,’ snapped Michael, beginning to aim for the road.

John put out a hand to stop him. ‘I know you are keen to discharge your duty, but we
must
take time to review the situation – to use wits and logic, and ensure we take the course of action that will bring this vile business to a swift and bloodless conclusion.’

Michael knew he was right, and that relations between the two colleges had reached a critical point. A wrongful accusation might well precipitate more strife. He took another calming breath. ‘We have three murders,’ he began, ‘all connected to this damned book. At least two – Neuton and Roger – seem to have been predicted by it. Drayton’s death was seven years ago, but his killer still walks free, and I cannot help but wonder whether William has turned to slaughter again.’

‘You think all were murdered by the same hand?’ asked John in surprise. ‘I suppose it makes sense, although it does not explain why William waited so long before claiming a second victim.’

‘He is not killing for killing’s sake,’ snapped Michael impatiently. ‘He is killing for a purpose – a purpose clearly connected to the book. I imagine he stabbed Drayton to lay hands on it, then arranged for its miraculous reappearance after the passing of what he thought was a suitable amount of time. But his plans went awry, and he was obliged to kill again.’

‘Your argument does not make sense,’ said Bartholomew dismissively. ‘It leaves too many unanswered questions.’

Michael made an exasperated gesture. ‘Then that is too bad, because we do not have time for lengthy explanations. William will transpire to be the culprit. Or rather, William and Roger together. I imagine they killed Drayton because they did not want Peterhouse to have the book. Then they poisoned Neuton in revenge for Hugh.’

Bartholomew was not convinced. ‘William and Roger are not the kind of men to wait years before capitalizing on the proceeds of a crime. You said so yourself. They are crude and impetuous.’

‘William can be patient when he wants – he must have managed patience when he was elected vice-warden, because his colleagues do not bestow that sort of honour on hotheads.’

‘I took the opportunity to gossip with some King’s Hall students last night.’ John spoke hesitantly, unsure whether he should share what he had learned. He hurried on when Michael glared at him. ‘When Roger was sick of the flux last term, William doctored him with a remedy sent by their grandmother, the French witch.’

‘Hah!’ exclaimed Michael in triumph. ‘Perhaps she sent other potions too. Such as cordial.’

‘All right,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘So Roger put the poison in Neuton’s flask after he took Shirford his supper – and it
is
suspicious that William “forgot” to mention him going out at the pertinent time – but then what? Who killed Roger?’

‘William.’ Michael held up his hand when the others started to voice their objections. ‘He was not overly distressed when Hugh died, so why should Roger be any different? His so-called grief is a ruse, so we will not think he killed his own kinsman.’

‘And what has he gained by dispatching Roger?’ asked Bartholomew sceptically.

‘Safety – no one to let slip that
he
ordered Neuton’s death. And he is right to take precautions, because Roger was indiscreet and stupid, and might well have blurted out something by mistake. However, all this would make a lot more sense if we knew where this wretched book has been for the last seven years. And do not say God was looking after it, because it is not the kind of tome that warrants divine attention.’

‘Why not?’ asked John, startled by the assertion.

‘Because I do not see Him protecting a text that describes a queen’s dalliance with a lover or a spat between colleges. These events are important to people, not to the Almighty. Ergo it is a person who has had this book for the last seven years, and the obvious suspect is William.’

‘Or Shirford,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘And we have overlooked the whisperer in our analysis too. Shirford claims he was locked in the church during the riot, but perhaps he was out with his hood hiding his face.
He
goaded Hugh and later tried to kill John.’

Michael looked dubious. ‘Shirford will desire peace, Matt. He will not want Peterhouse trying to take the book by force, because he is the one obliged to protect it.’

‘Wittleseye!’ exclaimed John suddenly. ‘
He
killed Drayton and hid the book for seven years. But somehow he lost it, and it appeared in All Saints’ to be claimed by the Bardolf brothers. That is why he maintains King’s Hall has no legal right to it. And it is obvious that Wittleseye killed Roger, because the murder weapon was in his room.’

‘All right,’ acknowledged Bartholomew cautiously. ‘Then why did he poison Neuton?’

‘Perhaps Neuton found out that he killed Drayton,’ suggested John, ‘and threatened to blackmail him over it. So Wittleseye poisoned Neuton, but was careful to ensure you noticed the lax security at the back door, so you would assume he was killed by an outsider.’

Michael frowned unhappily. ‘You are right: the evidence
does
make sense when we have Wittleseye as the killer.’

‘There is another suspect too,’ said Bartholomew, deep in thought. ‘March enjoyed yesterday’s brawl and is clearly eager for another. He encourages William, whose side he has joined, to defy the proctors, and he had access to Peterhouse
and
All Saints’ last night. Moreover, he was muttering to William today, so perhaps he whispered to Hugh yesterday.’

John nodded slowly. ‘And he was in Cambridge when Drayton was killed, because he told me some tale about Drayton pilfering library books. Plus there is his criminal past to consider.’

Michael began to stride towards the street. ‘We have talked enough. It is time to act.’

‘And do what?’ asked John, hurrying after him. ‘We cannot agree on a suspect.’

‘Extreme situations call for extreme measures. Our first priority is to prevent further bloodshed, so that is what we shall do. We shall arrest the whole Bardolf clan, Wittleseye, March
and
Shirford. Perhaps it will mean trouble with Lord Bardolf and the Archbishop of Canterbury, but we shall just have to weather that storm when it comes.’

There was a sudden crash, followed by furious yelling.

‘It is too late,’ said Bartholomew, breaking into a run. ‘William must have overpowered your beadles and made a bid for escape.’

‘Not William,’ said Michael, skidding to a halt and staring at the crowd that was massing outside King’s Hall. ‘Peterhouse. They are laying siege to their enemy’s camp.’

The High Street was full of noise. The Peterhouse men were armed mostly with sticks, but they had also brought pitch torches and an ancient bow, and it was clear that they intended to shoot burning missiles over the walls. Because it was not just King’s Hall that had thatched roofs and timber-framed halls, residents from the surrounding houses were trying to stop them. The result was pandemonium, and a number of skirmishes were in progress. Meanwhile, the scholars of King’s Hall leaned out of their windows and jeered at the besiegers.

‘Fetch the Black Book of Brân,’ said Michael urgently to John. A plan was forming in his mind.

John demurred. ‘That would be unwise, Brother. Peterhouse will grab it, King’s Hall will rush to grab it back, and we shall have a riot for certain. Besides, it is nailed to the altar.’

‘Only the back cover,’ argued Michael. ‘Tell Shirford to rip it free and bring it to me. Hurry, man!’ He gave his bewildered deputy a push to send him on his way.

‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ said Bartholomew uneasily. ‘The book
is
more likely to inflame the situation than calm it. And look over there: March is organizing bowmen in King’s Hall’s gatehouse, while Peterhouse has requisitioned three carts and intends to use them as battering rams. The situation is already precarious.’

Michael’s beadles began to arrive, some gasping apologies that they had been unable to keep Peterhouse from breaking out. The monk directed them to stand between the two factions. They were alarmed at having arrows pointed at them from both directions at once, and only their devotion to Michael kept them from running away. Their unquestioning obedience, when compared with the defiance of Peterhouse and King’s Hall, was the last straw for Michael.

‘This has gone far enough,’ he roared. The volume of his yell, and the anger in it, stilled the babble of excited voices. ‘Peterhouse will go home, and King’s Hall will put up their weapons. Anyone who disobeys can consider himself no longer a member of the University.’

‘We will disarm when Peterhouse leaves,’ yelled William. March was at his side, leading cheers of encouragement. ‘Not a moment sooner.’

‘Killers!’ howled Wittleseye. ‘Poisoners! Thieves! You deserve to be roasted alive.’

‘Where is John?’ demanded Michael of Bartholomew. ‘If he does not bring the book soon, nothing will stop these turbulent scholars from attacking each other. Shirford must be refusing to let him have it. Go and hurry them up.’

Although Michael had considerable experience at quelling riots, Bartholomew still did not like the notion of leaving him. ‘I should stay and—’

‘Go! I have a plan, but it hinges on the tome. Do not just stand there! Hurry!’

Hoping Michael knew what he was doing, Bartholomew left the brewing riot and raced towards All Saints’. He ran hard, and it took but a moment to reach the church. He found John outside, perched negligently on a tombstone, humming to himself. When he saw the physician, the Junior Proctor leaped to his feet and began to hammer on the door.

‘Who is it?’ called Shirford from inside. His voice was uneasy. ‘One of the Bardolf brothers?’

Bartholomew frowned, trying to understand why John had dallied before doing as Michael had ordered – he could tell from Shirford’s response that it was the first time John had attempted to rouse him with a knock.

‘Shirford must have been asleep,’ explained John. ‘I rapped several times, but there was no reply. He has obviously just woken up.’