‘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
‘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.’
