The Killer of Pilgrims

Epilogue

A week later

It was pleasant in Michaelhouse’s conclave. Rain pattered against the window shutters, and the night was bitter, but there was a fire in the hearth and wine mulling over it. Bartholomew sat at the table, reading a book on natural philosophy that Thelnetham had lent him, while his colleagues talked about the remarkable lecture Horneby had delivered that day. Bartholomew had not been there: he had been with Meryfeld and Gyseburne, discussing which of his poverty-stricken patients they were going to take off his hands.

He experienced a twinge of guilt when he thought about them. Both had been on his list of suspects for the killer-thief, but they had been entirely innocent. He was glad, and looked forward to resuming his experiments with them to develop a steadily burning lamp – assuming they only did so when they were sober, of course.

‘Our roofs have been restored to their original condition,’ reported Langelee, changing the subject to one he considered more interesting. ‘Unfortunately, the “original condition” means they still leak, but at least it is only drips, not deluges.’

‘We are back where we started,’ said Suttone gloomily. ‘All that disruption was for nothing. Worse, we owe Blaston and the mason we hired to replace Yffi for their labour.’

‘Emma gave us enough to pay them, in return for Michael keeping Odelina and Heslarton out of his official report,’ said Langelee. His face darkened. ‘Although I could not prevail on her to give us more. Still, I suppose you cannot blame her, since he declined to let them escape.’

‘Of course I declined,’ said Michael indignantly. ‘It would have been very wrong.’

‘The family did love each other,’ said Clippesby with quiet compassion. ‘Indeed, it was affection that brought about their downfall: Heslarton’s love for his daughter led him to help cover her crimes. And Odelina’s love for her grandmother gave Matthew and Cynric a chance to escape – she wanted to kill them immediately, but decided to let them save Emma first.’

‘That is one way of looking at it, I suppose,’ said Langelee. ‘But as far as I am concerned, they were all villains. I wonder whether the signacula Welfry accrued will help them on Judgment Day. The holiness may have rubbed off on their fingers when they touched them.’

‘They will help,’ said Suttone, while William nodded agreement. ‘Handling such sacred objects will see them skip through Purgatory.’

‘They will not,’ countered Clippesby. ‘The tokens were stolen, so they cannot claim any benefit from them. Besides, a person is judged on his merits, not what he manages to touch during his life.’

‘You are right, Clippesby,’ said Thelnetham, who was polishing his nails with a piece of oiled cloth. The conclave smelled strongly of perfume, and no one was sitting too close to him. ‘And–’

‘It is a pity we have lost so much from this unpleasant business, though,’ interrupted Langelee, not very interested in another theological discussion. ‘A benefactress, a host of prayers to be said…’

‘What do you mean?’ asked William suspiciously. ‘What prayers?’

‘Before Emma agreed to pay Blaston and the new mason, she made me promise that Michaelhouse’s priests would say masses for her, Heslarton and Odelina,’ explained Langelee. ‘And also for Fen, Poynton and the two fat nuns.’

‘I am not saying masses for them!’ declared William indignantly. ‘None are worthy. Did I tell you why Fen was always so wan and pale, by the way? Because he offered to sell Kendale some books!’ His lips pursed meaningfully.

‘Yes, he told us,’ said Bartholomew. ‘One by Bradwardine on natural philosophy.’

‘That was a lie. What he actually offered were banned books on alchemy.’ William hissed the last word, giving it a decidedly sinister timbre. ‘It was guilt that made him sheepish. Moreover, those fat nuns are bigamists. They say they were both wives of Hugh Neel, but how is that possible? If he took two wives, one of them should have been dead first. And as for Odelina and Heslarton…’

‘Perhaps this is why Emma thinks they need our masses,’ said Clippesby gently. ‘I have said a few prayers for them already, poor lost souls.’

‘Have you?’ asked Langelee, rather belligerently. ‘I wonder if that is why Heslarton and Odelina are not hanged, as they should have been, but ordered to abjure the realm. Perhaps we should withhold our blessings for a while. With luck, someone will murder them on their way to the coast.’

‘Really, Master!’ exclaimed Clippesby, shocked. ‘That is not a kindly thing to say.’

Langelee shrugged, unrepentant. ‘I have never made any pretensions to being kindly, and I speak as I find. Incidentally, did you know that Emma has decided to join the Gilbertine Order, and will donate all her worldly goods to the Mother House at Sempringham?’

‘Yes,’ said Thelnetham smugly. ‘Prior Leccheworth is delighted. He is even more delighted that she intends to live there, and not with us. He wants her money, but not her company.’

Ayera regarded Bartholomew disapprovingly. ‘When you pulled her tooth, her howls could be heard all along the High Street. You should not dabble in surgery – it is not right.’

‘No, it is not,’ agreed Thelnetham. ‘But a new surgeon should be arriving from York soon, so he will not have to do it much longer, thank God. His reputation as a warlock is doing Michaelhouse no good whatsoever, especially after he invented the substance that killed Ihon.’

‘The Archbishop of York is very interested in finding out what went into that,’ said Langelee. ‘Indeed, he has offered a princely sum for the recipe. We could do the with money…’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly. It was not the first time he had been approached for the formula, and he had a bad feeling it would not be the last, either. ‘I cannot remember.’

‘Good,’ said Thelnetham with a shudder. ‘It is best forgotten.’ He changed the subject. ‘I heard all the pilgrim badges have been returned to their rightful owners, Michael.’

‘All except the most important one,’ said Michael gloomily. ‘Mine. The others were under Welfry’s bed at the Dominican friary – he was so confident he would never be caught that he made no effort to hide them. He had St Simon Stock’s scapular, too, and Etone was delighted to have it back. Personally, I think it is a fake.’

‘I know it is,’ said William. He shrugged when everyone looked at him. ‘A few years ago, a Carmelite novice hacked a bit off one of my habits. I have always wondered why. Yesterday I went to the shrine, and compared my damaged robe to that holy scapular. They matched perfectly.’

‘You mean pilgrims have been worshipping something of yours?’ asked Thelnetham, regarding the Franciscan’s revolting clothes in stunned disbelief. ‘That is worse than sacrilege!’

‘It is not my fault,’ said William stiffly. ‘Clearly, the business started as a prank, but took on a life of its own, as these things are apt to do. To make the “relic” appear genuine, the jokers must have wanted something…’ He waved his hand.

‘Old and filthy,’ supplied Langelee. ‘Well, it worked, because it looked real to me. Perhaps we should fabricate something to attract pilgrims ourselves, because we are desperately short of funds.’

‘Again?’ sighed Michael wearily. ‘I do not think I can take much more terrible food.’

‘It is Bartholomew’s fault,’ said Langelee. ‘He told Walter to feed his peacock grain, rather than wine-soaked bread, and the wretched beast has devoured all the seeds we were going to plant for vegetables this spring.’

‘Really?’ asked Michael, brightening. ‘That is good news. I do not care for vegetables.’

There was a silence as the Fellows pondered their lot.

‘Tell me again, Brother,’ said William, a little while later. ‘Who dispatched whom? I did not follow your explanation after the camp-ball game. It was too garbled.’

Michael obliged. ‘Odelina killed Alice and Drax, so her father and Celia could marry and live happily ever after. Heslarton stabbed Poynton by accident during the camp-ball game, and then knifed Yffi when he tried to blackmail him over it.’

‘Odelina killed Gib, too, with her father’s help,’ added Thelnetham, who had not found the monk’s explanation garbled at all. ‘And Welfry suggested they tie a yellow wig on him, to make Michael and the Sheriff think the killer-thief was dead.’

‘I see,’ said William. ‘And Welfry stole the signacula and St Simon Stock’s relic because he thought he had leprosy and he needed them to see him through Purgatory.’

Michael nodded. ‘But before being sentenced to spend his dying days in some remote hospital, he decided to do the University a favour, and rid it of one of its more troublesome elements – Chestre, who were stirring up strife between the hostels and the Colleges.’

‘So he needled Kendale with tricks, challenging him to reply in kind,’ continued Thelnetham. ‘He thought this alone would see Chestre suppressed, but it did not. So he elected to see them accused of more serious offences instead, and ordered Heslarton to plant “evidence” as proof.’

‘He was an odd man,’ mused Michael. ‘He tried hard to calm the rivalry Kendale was inciting, by inventing clever but gentle tricks and encouraging the hostels to respond with their wits, not their fists. And he certainly saved King’s Hall with his timely riddle. Yet he would have seen members of Chestre punished for crimes of which they were innocent.’

‘I cannot find it in my heart to blame him for taking against Chestre,’ said William. ‘They are an obstacle to peace and a burden to our University.’

‘Not any more,’ said Michael smugly. ‘The fact that Neyll and Ihon almost succeeded in killing people with their camp-ball “bomb” was enough for me to close the place – along with the fact that they and Gib pushed young Jolye in the river and refused to let him out again. Kendale probably was ignorant of both incidents, as he claims, but I told him that was no excuse.’

‘Where is he now?’ asked Bartholomew, not liking the notion of such vitriol at large.

‘Oxford,’ said Michael with immense satisfaction. ‘And his surviving students with him. He claims he will be more appreciated in our sister University, but he will soon learn otherwise.’

‘But he will make trouble there,’ said Bartholomew, appalled.

‘Almost certainly,’ agreed Michael smugly. ‘And benefactors will disapprove, and look elsewhere for recipients for their largess. Perhaps we shall not be doomed to poor food for long after all.’

‘Never mind Kendale,’ said William, cutting across Bartholomew’s shocked objections. ‘I am more interested in Welfry. Did he have leprosy, Matthew? You examined his body, I understand.’

Bartholomew dragged his thoughts away from the hapless scholars of Oxford. ‘No – and it is the worst part of this entire business. All his terrors about a lonely death were unfounded. He had a skin condition that I have recently learned how to remedy. Had he let me examine him–’

‘You mean a smear of balm might have prevented all this?’ asked William.

‘I am not so sure,’ said Michael, before Bartholomew could reply. ‘Odelina still would have dispatched two people so her friend could marry her father.’

‘Would she?’ asked Clippesby. ‘She confesses to killing Alice, but not Drax.’

‘She is lying,’ said William contemptuously. ‘She cannot open her mouth without poison issuing forth, and we should not believe a word she says.’

‘Isnard has a lot to answer for, though,’ said Michael. ‘It transpires that he is a smuggler, although Dick Tulyet and I cannot prove it. However, I am dismissing him from my choir.’

‘Do not do that, Brother,’ begged Bartholomew, recalling the anguish the bargeman had suffered the last time Michael had expelled him. ‘It would break his heart. And he is generous to the Blaston family, which is a point in his favour. They would starve without him.’

‘Well, in that case, perhaps I shall overlook his crimes,’ said Michael. ‘Blaston is a good man, and I should never have included him on my lists of suspects for Drax’s murder.’

The following afternoon, Bartholomew went to watch Blaston putting the finishing touches to the roof. Langelee had been overly optimistic when he said it had been restored to its original state, because tiles had cracked when they had been removed, and the guttering was now damaged. The roof was likely to be a lot more leaky than it had been, but at least it was not open to the skies.

‘Have you heard the news?’ asked Blaston. ‘The barge carrying Odelina and Heslarton to exile sank in the Fens, and there are no survivors. Word is that Isnard arranged for it to go down, to make amends for dabbling in the smuggling business.’

‘It was not Isnard,’ said Bartholomew, recalling a remark Welfry had made. ‘Welfry said that particular barge was unseaworthy. Obviously, he tampered with it before he died.’

Blaston stared at him. ‘You may be right. He had a funny sense of justice, and probably would not have liked the notion of Odelina and Heslarton escaping to France after all they had done.’

Bartholomew was sure of it. ‘I had a bad feeling that we had not heard the last of him.’

‘Celia has confessed all, too,’ added Blaston. ‘She admitted that she lied when she claimed she was with Heslarton the night Gib was murdered, reading a psalter. And that she claimed to be illiterate, when she can read very well. It was Drax who had no letters.’

‘A lot of people lied. It was why the case was so difficult to solve.’

Blaston was silent for a moment, then changed the subject to one that was more cheerful. ‘I heard it was you who recommended me for the task of repairing the Gilbertines’ refectory. It is good work – well paid – and will keep me indoors for the rest of the winter. And Prior Leccheworth says I can have kitchen scraps for the children. My financial problems are over for a while.’

‘It is a pity for Drax that they were not over sooner,’ said Bartholomew softly.

Blaston gazed at him, alarm in his eyes. ‘What are you saying? Brother Michael told me I am completely exonerated. Odelina and Heslarton are responsible for Drax’s death.’

‘But you and I both know that it would have been impossible for them to bring Drax’s corpse in here without being seen by you – and Heslarton has an alibi for the killing, anyway. You did not speak out about what you saw for a reason: that reason is that you killed him.’

‘No!’ cried Blaston. ‘I would have told you if I had spotted Heslarton and his daughter–’

‘You were afraid that if you admitted to seeing them tote a corpse into our yard, awkward questions would have been asked. Such as how did you know Drax was already dead? You were terrified that a clever man like Michael would catch you out.’

Blaston put his hands over his face, and seemed to shrivel before Bartholomew’s eyes. ‘It was an accident, I swear! I confronted Drax about his outrageous prices in Physwick’s dairy, and he laughed at me. I had a sick baby, and he laughed! Then he drew his dagger, and told me to get out of his way.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I was too angry to slink away like a beaten cur, so I tackled him, and we both fell. We landed hard, and I got up, but he did not. Odelina must have stumbled across him later.’ When Blaston looked at Bartholomew again, his face was whiter than the physician had ever seen it. ‘What will you do? Tell Brother Michael?’

Bartholomew sighed. ‘What good would that do? And you say it was an accident.’

‘It was,’ said Blaston fervently. ‘And I know God does not hold it against me.’

‘You do? How?’

Blaston pulled at something he was wearing around his neck. It was the pilgrim badge Bartholomew had brought Michael from Santiago de Compostela.

‘Because I found this in the High Street. God would not have led me to such a beautiful thing if He thought me wicked. I shall wear it for the rest of my life – or until we have another hard winter and I need to feed my family.’

Bartholomew stared at it for a moment, then smiled reluctantly. ‘In that case, you had better keep it safe. And never show it to Michael.’