Michael rounded up his beadles and ordered them to make a search for the two people who had been in the church, but he held
no real hope of finding them. It was not difficult to remain undetected at night in a place like Cambridge, where there were
plenty of cemeteries in which to hide, and taverns and alleyways into which to duck. Briefly, the monk entertained a notion
that the snow might help, and that the intruders might have left footprints that could be followed, but the ground was frozen
so hard it was barely possible to make an imprint by stamping. Normal walking made no kind of mark at all.
‘Damn Suttone!’ muttered Michael, watching Meadowman escort the two friars back to Michaelhouse. ‘I expect eccentric, gullible
behaviour from Kenyngham, but if Suttone had been more observant, we might have had this pair by now. What were they doing,
do you think?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is nothing in the Stanton Chapel that could interest them, so I suspect they were
disturbed when Kenyngham and Suttone arrived and hid there.’
‘Then they heard you scuffling with Kenyngham in the churchyard, and realised they had better escape while they could.’ Michael
rubbed his chin, fingers rasping softly on
his bristles. ‘However, the fact that they were prepared to linger suggests they had not finished what they were doing when
Kenyngham came, but that it was sufficiently important to warrant them waiting for him to leave.’
‘I recommend you post a guard and return in the morning, when you will be able to see. We should not look at the bodies of
Turke and Gosslinge now, because we may miss or destroy clues about these intruders that will be obvious in daylight.’
‘I suppose you are right,’ conceded Michael reluctantly. ‘Of course, the presence of these burglars may have nothing to do
with our investigation. They may just be opportunistic thieves.’
‘I disagree. It is common knowledge that St Michael’s does not leave its silver lying around. Consequently, there is little
for anyone to do here, except stand and pray. However, we are well endowed with corpses at the moment, and it seems to me
that the intruders were here in connection with them. There can be no other reason.’
‘In that case, we shall return at dawn tomorrow and search every nook and cranny of this building until we find the clues
we need to sort out this mess. No shadowy figures who lurk in cold churches shall gain the better of
me
!’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Bartholomew tiredly, not liking the sound of the ‘we’ who would conduct the exhaustive survey
the following day.
‘So, which of the corpses do you think warranted this pair spending all evening here?’ asked Michael. ‘Turke or Gosslinge?’
‘I have no idea. And I cannot imagine who the intruders were, either – unless you think Philippa and Giles have a penchant
for this kind of thing.’
‘Or Ailred and Godric,’ suggested Michael. ‘Or Harysone and an accomplice. But speculating will do us no good. Let us do as
you suggest and come back tomorrow – at first light.’
* * *
It was too dark to explore the church at prime, so Michael declared they should wait until after breakfast. Meadowman was
still on duty when they returned, and reported that no one had attempted to enter the church. Based on the fact that he believed
the intruders were desperate to get what they wanted, Michael had ‘mended’ the lock in a way that made it easily re-breakable,
and Meadowman had been told to remain hidden, so that he could catch anyone who arrived illicitly. But Michael’s precautions
came to nothing, and a weary, bored Meadowman had not heard a suspicious sound all night.
Although Michaelhouse’s scholars had completed their devotions and eaten breakfast, the friars of Ovyng still had to say their
morning prayers. Like the other hostels that paid Michaelhouse a fee to use the Collegiate church on a regular basis, Ovyng
had been allocated specific hours, to ensure the various institutions did not impinge on each other. That week it was Ovyng’s
turn to pray at eight o’clock, and Ailred and his students began to file into the church as Bartholomew and Michael were finishing
their examination of the chancel.
‘Looking for coins between the flagstones, Brother?’ asked Ailred amiably, not seeming at all surprised to see the fat Benedictine
on his hands and knees. ‘You may be fortunate. I often find farthings by doing just that, and such explorations are frequently
worthwhile.’
‘I do not suppose you came here last night, did you?’ asked Michael hopefully. ‘To look for pennies in the church, after everyone
else had gone home?’
Ailred was astonished by the suggestion. ‘I would not do it in the dark; I would not be able to see. Once you left us, I barred
our doors and allowed us the luxury of an extra log on the fire. It was a bitter evening, and no one in his right mind would
have ventured out unless he had no choice.’
‘What would give him “no choice”?’ asked Michael, detecting a caveat in Ailred’s denials.
Ailred was becoming impatient, although whether it was
because he genuinely did not understand why Michael was questioning him, or because he had something to hide, Bartholomew
could not decide. ‘A number of things,’ the friar snapped. ‘Bartholomew has no choice when he is summoned by a patient; I
have no choice when there are sacred offices that need to be recited.’
‘But not last night?’ asked Michael.
‘Not last night,’ replied Ailred firmly. ‘We had our evening meal at six o’clock, which was fish stew, then we sat around
the fire playing merels – the board game, where you have nine holes and must use wit and cunning to prevent your neighbour’s
pieces from occupying them. Since it is the Twelve Days, and given that my previous policy of austerity seemed to produce
in my students a desire to visit taverns, I decided I should relent and allow them a little fun.’
‘Merels!’ said Michael scathingly. ‘That must have made for a thrill-filled evening.’
‘It was most entertaining,’ said Ailred, evidently unaware of Michael’s sarcasm. ‘We all enjoyed it very much, and tonight
we shall play backgammon. I have borrowed a board and game pieces from Robin of Grantchester for the occasion. But why do
you ask about our whereabouts? Have you learned something new about the death of Norbert?’
‘Two people visited St Michael’s last night, and we do not know why. It was a passing thought that you might have been one
of them, perhaps with a student. We do not know what these folk were doing, so we are not accusing anyone of anything untoward.’
‘Good,’ said Ailred firmly. ‘Because it was not me – or any of us, for that matter. You can ask my students, and they will
all tell you the same thing: we were at home last night. But now you must excuse me: I have a mass to celebrate.’
He turned abruptly, and began to lay out the vessels he would need for his devotions. Meanwhile, Godric and his students waited
patiently some distance down the chancel, whispering in low voices as they stood with their hands tucked inside their sleeves
and their cowls thrown back to
reveal their tonsures. Michael caught Godric’s eye, and beckoned him over, confident both that Ailred was too absorbed in
his preparations to notice what the monk was doing and that the student had not overheard the exchange with his principal.
‘What transpired at Ovyng last night?’ said Michael. ‘What did you do? Where did you go?’
‘We played merels,’ replied Godric heavily. It was evident that while Ailred considered the board game a risqué form of enjoyment,
Godric did not share his enthusiasm. ‘I have not played merels since I was a child, and I confess it is not what I had in
mind when I pressed Father Ailred to allow us a little levity during the Christmas season. Still, merels will be better than
backgammon, which is what he has planned for tonight.’
‘When did you start these games? Immediately after your meal?’
‘Later. Ailred had some errands to run, and I wanted to go the Market Square, to see whether the traders would sell me anything
cheaply, since the day was over.’
‘Really,’ said Michael, his eyes gleaming. ‘And what time did you all return?’
‘I do not know. Ailred buys cheap hour candles, and they burn at variable rates, so we never really know what the time is.
But I think we barred the door, with all inside, by perhaps half-past eight or a little later.’
‘Thank you, Godric,’ said Michael, grinning wolfishly. ‘However, this is not what Ailred told me, so we had better keep this
discussion between you and me, eh?’
‘What did he tell you?’ asked Godric in alarm, horrified by the notion that he might have done something wrong. He shot an
agitated look at his principal, but Ailred had not yet noticed that the monk had taken him at his word and was indeed asking
the scholars to confirm his story.
‘He told me you all stayed in,’ said Michael. ‘Return to your prayers, lad, before Ailred sees that you have gone.’
Godric hurried back to his friends, but his mind was no
longer on his devotions. He seemed pale in the dim light, and nervous fingers twisted one of his sleeves. He was late with
his responses, and his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Bartholomew watched him thoughtfully, thinking he seemed more dismayed
than he should have been by Michael’s mention of discrepancies between his and his principal’s stories. Did he know that Ailred
or one of the other students had been doing something he should not have been, and was aware that he had just ruined what
could have been a perfectly sound alibi? Or was he afraid for himself, realising that the differences in stories revealed
him to be a liar?
Ailred completed his preparations, then turned to the waiting scholars. ‘Before we start, Brother Michael would like to ask
about our activities last night. He wants to know what we did after we ate our fish and immediately turned to our games of
merels.’
‘Nicely put,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew. ‘No leading statements here.’
‘Nothing,’ came a quiet chorus of voices.
‘Did any of you go out after the meal?’ asked Michael.
Godric stared ahead and did not answer, and Bartholomew saw his hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles were white.
No such agonies afflicted the other friars. They glanced at each other as though they were mystified, and shook their heads
to deny that they had left Ovyng.
‘And after the merels?’ asked Michael, raising his eyebrows.
‘We retired to bed,’ said Godric, meeting his eyes. The others chorused their agreement, and Bartholomew supposed they were
telling the truth about that, at least. However, according to Godric’s initial statement, the games could have started relatively
late – perhaps even after the escape of the two intruders from the church. It was entirely possible that they had fled immediately
to Ovyng and settled down to play merels until it was time to sleep.
‘And what about the interval between the meal and the games?’ pressed Michael, to be sure of his facts.
There was a brief pause as the friars exchanged more uncertain glances, and then someone seemed to recall that Ailred had
already told them the answer he wanted them to give. ‘There was no interval,’ he said, and everyone obligingly agreed, although
there were a few downcast eyes and shuffling feet: some of the friars were uncomfortable about lying in a church. Godric was
one of them; he gazed at the floor with his cheeks burning. Ailred, however, was smiling his victory at Michael, and did not
notice his colleagues’ discomfort.
‘Interesting,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew as they went to continue their search of the north aisle. ‘I think Godric is
telling the truth and Ailred is lying. Now, why would Ailred lie, do you think? I did not seriously imagine last night’s intruders
would be from Ovyng, because I cannot imagine why they would feel a need to enter by force when they own a key, but something
odd is going on. Something very odd indeed.’
When their devotions were completed, the Franciscans lined up to walk back to Ovyng, leaving the church deserted and silent
again. Bartholomew and Michael turned their attention to the nave and then the Stanton Chapel. The nave was basically bare,
and there was not so much as a leaf on the flagstones, since it had been swept and cleaned for the Christmas season. There
was a bench against the back wall, set there for the old or the infirm who were unable to stand, but there was nothing else
except the line of smelly albs and a chest so ancient and fragile that only water jugs for flowers were kept in it.
The Stanton Chapel was much the same. There was the founder’s elaborate tomb, which had been decorated with holly boughs and
a sprig of ivy, and on a windowsill stood a tiny chest containing pebbles that were supposed to have come from Jerusalem –
although Bartholomew thought they were identical to ones in the river near the Great Bridge. He rummaged through the box,
wondering whether
something might have been stored among the stones, but found nothing there.
‘This is hopeless, Brother. What did you think you might find? Documents? A knife with a broken blade? What?’
‘It was your idea to return this morning and search, not mine,’ Michael pointed out testily. ‘And I have no idea what I expected
to find. All I know is that it must have been fairly important to warrant that pair waiting until Kenyngham finished his prayers.
You know how long-winded he can be while he is about his devotions.’
‘But the intruders would not necessarily know that. Perhaps they imagined it would be a matter of a few moments, and found
themselves waiting a good deal longer than they anticipated.’ Bartholomew sighed. ‘I have finished, Brother. There is nothing
here and nowhere left to look.’
‘There is one thing we have not examined,’ said Michael, his eyes straying to the mortal remains that inhabited the chapel.
Bartholomew stared at him. ‘You think they wanted something from Turke’s body?’
Michael raised his shoulders in a shrug. ‘Why not? We were going to have another look at it last night, so perhaps they were,
too. Maybe there is something hidden on it, which you missed when you gave Turke that very cursory examination the day he
died.’