‘A person,’ said Agatha firmly. ‘He did not specify whether it was a man or a woman, and when I asked why he wanted to know, he became vague. He said it was a matter of money he was owed. Of course, I said nothing more after that. I would not like to think of some poor soul owing that evil character a debt, and me being responsible for setting him on his trail.’ She shuddered.
‘Do you know Dympna?’ asked Michael, hopeful that she might have answers to questions that had been plaguing him for days.
‘No,’ came the disappointing answer. ‘But I have heard of him.’
‘Him?’ asked Michael, surprised. ‘I thought it was a woman. Norbert received messages from Dympna before he died, and Matt and I made the assumption they were from a lover.’
‘Norbert!’ spat Agatha in disapproval. ‘You should not make any such assumption about him. He did have a lover, although it was not a woman. There is a certain pig that was the object of his amorous attentions. Doubtless Helena will be relieved now that he is gone.’
‘Helena?’
‘Robin of Grantchester’s pig. Folk saw Norbert slipping into the back of Robin’s house at odd hours to visit her. Poor creature!’
‘How do you know he was not going to meet Robin?’ asked Michael curiously.
Agatha regarded him in horror. ‘That is a disgusting notion, Brother! Call yourself a monk? You should see Master Kenyngham and ask him to say prayers that will cleanse your mind of such vile thoughts. Robin of Grantchester and Norbert!’
‘It is no worse than you accusing him of courting a pig,’ objected Michael indignantly. ‘And I was not suggesting Norbert went to see Robin with “amorous intentions”, as you put it. They may have had business to arrange.’
‘Then why did Norbert not knock at the front door, like Robin’s patients do?’ demanded Agatha. ‘You are wrong, Brother. It was the pig that Norbert went to see.’
‘And this pig is definitely called Helena?’ asked Michael. ‘Not Dympna?’
‘You said Dympna sent Norbert messages,’ said Agatha, giving him a glance that indicated she thought he was short of a few wits. ‘Pigs do not write. Well, Clippesby says they can but choose not to. He said they dislike the sensation of spilled ink on their trotters. Do you think he will remain insane for ever, Brother, or will he become as normal as the rest of us one day?’
‘Lord knows!’ muttered Michael, declining to answer a question that might lead to so many pitfalls. ‘So, what have you heard about Dympna? You referred to this person as “him”.’
‘I do not know whether it is a man or a woman,’ admitted Agatha. ‘But I have only ever heard him associated with good things – never bad. That is why I was surprised to hear the name on the lips of a foul beast like that Harysone. What is that egg doing on the floor?’
Michael retrieved it and began to remove its shell while he pondered what Agatha had told him. Dympna, whoever she – or he – was, now provided a definite link between Harysone and the dead Norbert, along with the tench Norbert had won. Michael decided that as soon as Bartholomew had finished his sketch, he would make it a priority to show it to anyone who knew Harysone. The physician could show it to Philippa and her brother if he liked, but Michael was certain he would be wasting his time.
‘Did you know Harysone has accused Michaelhouse students of stabbing him?’ he asked casually, aware that such information would turn Agatha against the pardoner even more.
‘I heard,’ said Agatha shortly. ‘And so did Sheriff Morice. He visited Harysone just after you did, and tried to force him to make an official complaint. Harysone declined.’
Michael was astonished. ‘Harysone refused to allow the Sheriff to investigate the fact that he was stabbed? Why? I anticipated we would have problems with that – I thought Morice would claim that it was a town crime, committed against a visitor, and that the culprits should be turned over to him for sentencing. And you can imagine what would happen then.’ He ate the egg.
Agatha nodded. ‘The scholars would scream that no member of the University should be tried by a secular authority – especially if the culprit is a friar, as Harysone claims – and there would be a riot. Morice would yield – in return for a certain amount of University money passed directly to his personal coffers – but the ill feeling between scholars and townsfolk would fester anyway.’
‘Exactly,’ said Michael, thinking she had summed up the situation very well. ‘But Harysone declined to allow the Sheriff to look into the matter?’
Agatha pursed her lips. ‘Not because he wanted to avoid riots and mayhem. He said he could not afford a second investigation by Morice, and I am sure he meant it literally. Anyone who deals with Morice can expect any help to cost him a noble or two.’
