A Grave Concern

Epilogue

Two weeks later

‘I think Suttone will make a very good Chancellor,’ said Michael, as he stood with Bartholomew, Michael, Langelee and Cynric in St Mary the Great, where the Carmelite had just been installed. ‘I thought he lacked gravitas, but he has a lot more of it than poor Tynkell.’

The Carmelite was radiant in his new robes of office, and had addressed the University in a clear, authoritative voice that carried even to Hopeman and his resentful deacons at the back. The speech had been a masterpiece of conciliation and optimism, and every word of it had been written by Michael.

‘When do you leave, Brother?’ asked Cynric. ‘I thought you needed to be in Rochester days ago, lest the Bishop of Bangor arranged to have himself consecrated in your place.’

Michael smiled serenely. ‘I heard a rumour that he stands accused of misappropriating diocesan funds, so I felt duty bound to pass the information to Canterbury. The charge will have to be investigated, so he will not be usurping anyone’s See for the foreseeable future.’

‘So when are you going?’ pressed Cynric.

‘Tomorrow, but I shall be back after Easter. After all, I cannot leave Suttone too long.’

‘No,’ agreed Langelee. ‘Thelnetham’s machinations proved yet again just how much we need you. It was a close thing with those bells.’

‘It was a despicable thing to have attempted,’ said Michael, still angry. ‘Had it succeeded, it would have been indiscriminate slaughter – not just of Suttone, me and the other officials, but of my choir. And all for Thelnetham’s personal gain.’

‘I spoke to Cristine Lakenham yesterday,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Her stolen cloak did have an embroidered hem.’

Michael nodded. ‘I found it in Thelnetham’s room at the Gilbertine Priory, which is yet more proof of his guilt. But speaking of the tomb-makers, did you know they left this morning?’

‘What, all of them?’ asked Langelee, startled. ‘Masons and latteners?’

‘Petit and his people have gone to London, while the Lakenhams head west to Hereford. They will feud no longer.’

‘But Lakenham cut Oswald’s brass before he left,’ said Bartholomew. ‘A plain one with a simple cross – very tasteful. And the tomb-chest was the first thing we retrieved from Quy, so it is back in its place at St John Zachary. Oswald’s monument is now officially finished, and Edith is delighted.’

‘But what about Wilson?’ asked Langelee worriedly. ‘Who will trim his lid – assuming it is ever found, of course?’

‘Perhaps we should fill his chest with soil and grow vegetables in it,’ suggested Cynric irreverently. He had not liked Wilson.

Bartholomew laughed. ‘Do not worry, Master. Dick’s engineers are confident that they will find everything that was lost. They plan to fish out the treble bell today.’

‘And Dallingridge’s executors have offered to pay for it to be rehung,’ added Michael, ‘in exchange for his mortal remains. They will take them to Sussex next month, and his monument here will be dismantled.’

Cynric frowned. ‘That is a peculiar thing to do. And why Sussex?’

‘It is the Dallingridge family seat,’ explained Michael. ‘And his executors live there – which means they can keep an eye on the new tomb’s progress. The builder will not be Petit, though: they are suing him for breach of promise, and have hired a new mason instead. Dallingridge is fortunate to have such devoted friends.’

‘Especially given that he suspected them of poisoning him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But that was Cook, to gain himself a wealthy patient.’

‘Cook was a rogue,’ said Michael in distaste. ‘He killed Lucas, Reames and Peres in cold blood.’

‘Not to mention the harm he did to his patients,’ put in Bartholomew. ‘He would have let Isnard and Gundrede hang for his crimes, too – Dick was sure they were guilty.’

‘Isnard and the choir will miss you when you go, Brother,’ said Cynric. ‘He told me only last night that Cambridge will not be the same without you.’

‘Of course not,’ agreed Michael. ‘I am indispensable, as Rochester will also discover.’

‘Dallingridge is where all this started, of course,’ sighed Langelee. ‘He waxed so lyrical about Cambridge that Moleyns, Cook and the tomb-makers decided to make it their new home as well.’

‘Bringing with them their criminal ways,’ said Cynric disapprovingly. ‘Did you ever find out why he chose to write to Godrich, of all people, informing him that he had been fed a toxin, and appending a list of all the folk he thought might have done it?’

‘Dallingridge wrote to lots of people,’ explained Langelee. ‘Including Tynkell, the vicar of St Mary the Great and the Mayor. The poison took weeks to work, and all he could do as he lay there was try to work out who had killed him. He never did though.’

Michael’s thoughts returned to Thelnetham. ‘Perhaps we should have let him back into Michaelhouse – then he might not have felt the need to prove himself by becoming Chancellor. After all, he was an excellent teacher, and his death is a waste of a brilliant mind.’

‘Where is Kolvyle?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking of another brilliant mind.

‘Gone to Avignon,’ replied Langelee with a sudden grin. ‘Some weeks ago I wrote to our Bishop and told him that Kolvyle was the wiliest scholar I had ever met. Well, you know de Lisle – ever eager for sly minds to further his own ambitions – so Kolvyle has been offered a post in his retinue. Our Junior Fellow will be gloating over his good fortune as we speak.’

‘But?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘I sense a caveat.’

‘Oh, yes. De Lisle is a fading star, beleaguered by scandal and accusation. His fall from grace has already begun, and it will not be long before he hits the bottom, taking his followers with him. Afterwards, Kolvyle will be lucky to find a village school that will employ him.’

‘My own appointment came just in time then,’ said Michael comfortably. ‘I do not need de Lisle any longer.’

‘I feel sorry for Tulyet, though,’ said Langelee, nodding to where the Sheriff stood with the other town worthies, leaning heavily on a stick. ‘He remains distressed by Helbye’s betrayal. I can scarce believe it myself. Helbye always seemed such a solid man.’

‘He liked to give that impression,’ sniffed Cynric. ‘But you should have heard him when he was in his cups, moaning and complaining. The Sheriff should have asked me about his loyalty. I would have given him the truth.’

‘But Tulyet had some good news this morning,’ Langelee went on. ‘The King is satisfied that Moleyns’ killer met his just deserts, and wrote to say that the matter is closed. The messenger is a friend of mine, and he told me that His Majesty is actually rather relieved that Moleyns is dead. They were friends, but …’

‘But what?’ asked Michael curiously.

‘But his captivity meant he was no longer as rich as he was, so he was unable to make such generous donations – at which point, he became more embarrassment than boon. Tulyet has been told to raise no monument to his memory, and to ensure he is quietly forgotten.’

‘What about Egidia?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Is she still under arrest?’

Langelee shook his head. ‘Stoke Poges has been returned to her, and she will live out her life there in quiet obscurity. Inge is dead, so she is unlikely to resume a life of crime on her own. At least, not successfully.’

‘Before she left, Dick asked her if Moleyns had a horned serpent inked on his foot,’ said Michael. ‘He did not – Thelnetham lied about that, as he lied about so much else.’

Cynric was more interested in the thieves. ‘Greed killed Inge and his cronies,’ he said. ‘If they had stolen less, their barge would not have sunk and they might have lived. It was divine justice at its best. The same is true of Nicholas – if he had not tried to kill me and the Sheriff, his leg would not have been crushed, maiming him for life.’

‘He died last night,’ said Bartholomew soberly. ‘I did my best, but he lost the will to live once he heard that Thelnetham was dead and all their plans lay in tatters.’

‘I have arranged for him to be buried next to Thelnetham and Frisby,’ added Michael. ‘Behind the Gilbertine Priory.’

‘In a muddy spot near the latrine,’ smirked Cynric. ‘Which is popular with slugs. Thelnetham would have been mortified – and it serves him right.’

A short while later, when the celebrations were over, the four Michaelhouse men were walking home when they heard the clatter of hoofs. It was Meadowman, back at last from his hunt for Whittlesey.

‘Which was a waste of time,’ muttered Cynric sourly. ‘Given that Whittlesey was innocent. Indeed, he was actually on our side, and gave Isnard a list of excellent places for begging, borrowing and stealing the supplies necessary for mending our pier.’

‘You took your time,’ said Michael, looking the exhausted beadle up and down. ‘I was worried. I sent another patrol after you, but they lost you in London.’

‘Because I went on to Canterbury,’ explained Meadowman. ‘I am not sure how to tell you this, Brother, and I have been thinking about the words every step of the way back …’

‘Oh, Lord!’ gulped Michael. ‘Now what?’

‘Whittlesey,’ began Meadowman wretchedly. ‘He rode straight to the Archbishop and told him that you would not make a very good prelate after all. He said that he should be Bishop of Rochester instead.’

Michael blinked. ‘Then I had better ride there at once! Whittlesey will not snatch my mitre from under my nose.’

‘I am afraid he already has,’ whispered Meadowman. ‘He was consecrated last Sunday. I tried to come back and warn you, but he kept me in prison until the rite was over.’

Michael regarded him in dismay. ‘But Sheppey nominated me as his successor, a decision that was approved by the King. And the Archbishop, for that matter.’

‘Whittlesey has a silver tongue, and he is the Archbishop’s favourite nephew. Moreover, he is under the impression that you paid Godrich to spy on him. He believes it is because you have nasty secrets.’

‘Godrich was monitoring Whittlesey on the grounds of a forged letter from Thelnetham and Nicholas,’ objected Michael. ‘It had nothing to do with me.’

‘I told Whittlesey you were innocent, but he refused to listen.’

‘But why did he not ask me about it?’ cried Michael in bitter frustration. ‘It was hardly cause to gallop off and steal my See.’

‘To be honest, I suspect it was something he had been planning for some time,’ said Meadowman. ‘Claiming that you have “nasty secrets” is just a convenient excuse.’

‘Which was why he followed you so slyly, of course,’ said Bartholomew, tempted to point out that he had been wary of the envoy from the first time he had set eyes on him. ‘He was not watching you to see if you were worthy to fill Sheppey’s shoes, but to find a pretext for stealing them from you.’

Meadowman reached in his scrip and produced a piece of parchment. ‘I have a message for you from someone else – a monk who came to Canterbury for the installation. He visited me in prison.’

Michael took the missive with hands that shook and scanned it quickly. ‘It is from Prior Robert, head of the Rochester Benedictines, and an old friend. He informs me that Whittlesey will not rule for long, because the Bishop of Bangor is already contesting the appointment. There have been several unseemly spats, and he advises me to keep my distance.’

Bartholomew took the letter and read it himself. ‘Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, Brother. Robert says that both men are much diminished by this quarrel, and you do not want to be involved in that sort of thing.’

‘You may be right,’ sighed Michael. ‘And I was worried about leaving my University so soon after Thelnetham’s machinations. It will not hurt to oversee matters here a while longer.’

‘It will not hurt at all,’ agreed Langelee. ‘And there will be other dioceses.’

‘Not if the Bishop of Ely falls from grace,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘Because no one else at Avignon will remind the Pope that there is an eager and competent candidate for the next available bishopric.’

‘Whittlesey will,’ said Langelee. ‘Write and congratulate him on his good fortune, and claim that you bear him no grudge. He will be so relieved that he is not to fight you as well as Bangor, that you will turn him into an ally. And if Ely does fall, who will be on hand here to step into the breach?’

Michael brightened. ‘Ely would be much more convenient than Kent.’

‘It would,’ agreed Langelee. ‘And once you are installed there, you can devise a plan to pay him back for this monstrous betrayal. It is–’

He stopped speaking as Clippesby arrived. The Dominican had Ethel the chicken under one arm and the College cat under the other. Neither looked particularly happy with the arrangement.

‘A carriage has just arrived,’ he reported, and smiled at Bartholomew. ‘Matilde is in it.’

‘So,’ sighed Langelee ruefully. ‘We keep Michael but lose Bartholomew. What a pity. Aungel is able, but hardly of the same calibre.’

‘You had better go and meet her, Matt,’ said Michael, when the physician made no effort to move. ‘It is time to make your decision. And just be grateful that you have a choice – unlike me, presented with a fait accompli.’

‘Well, go on, then, boy,’ urged Cynric. ‘See what terms she offers. You can always refuse.’

‘You can,’ agreed Langelee. ‘And if you need help negotiating a better deal, then call on me. I will not let her cheat you.’

‘Follow your heart, Matt,’ said Michael softly. ‘It will not let you down.’