A Killer in Winter полностью

Godric grimaced, angry with himself at being caught out so easily. ‘A few of us,’ he replied, deliberately vague. He turned defensively to Ailred. ‘Well, what do you expect, Father? It is Christmas, and our hostel is as cheerless and cold as a charnel house. All we wanted was a little spiced ale to drive away the chill, and a taste of plum cake.’

Ailred closed his eyes, disgusted. ‘But look where it has brought you, boy. You break the rules and bad things happen. Now you are accused of letting a pardoner dance on to your knife.’

‘We had nothing to do with that,’ declared Godric vehemently. ‘We listened to him spouting all manner of nonsense about fish, but we did not argue with him. He offered to sell us his book, and we declined politely. We watched – appalled – when he began to twist and turn to music, but we did not linger long.’

‘Neither did many other patrons,’ added one of the students helpfully. ‘We were among a number of folk who left when he began his display.’

‘Did you notice anyone taking a particular interest in him or his dancing?’ asked Michael. ‘You say people left, but was the reverse true?’

‘The other pardoners left immediately,’ said Godric thoughtfully. ‘But one stayed. He watched intently when it started, and was still staring when we slipped away.’

‘One of the pardoners,’ said Michael, sounding pleased. Bartholomew was sure the monk would love to arrest a pardoner for the attack on Harysone. ‘What did he look like?’

Godric frowned. ‘I am not sure. He was smaller than me. He wore a dark cloak and a hat.’

‘Disguised?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking it was odd for someone to be swathed in hat and cloak in a crowded tavern that was likely to be stuffy. And being smaller than Godric was no kind of description – Godric was a sturdy man.

‘The landlord was having problems with snow in his chimney, so the fire was unlit. It was cold, and a number of us were wrapped in outside clothes, with hoods or hats pulled down.’ He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘That is all I remember: one man watching Harysone from under a hat.’

‘Whoever attacked Harysone left the end of his blade in his victim’s back,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Can we inspect everyone’s knife, to see whether one matches the break?’

‘Please do,’ said Ailred, gesturing to his friars to comply, although most were already producing blades from belts and scrips. Michael studied each one in turn, but, like those belonging to the Michaelhouse Franciscans, none were missing their tips. Godric’s knife was of a better quality than the rest, and the monk regarded it thoughtfully.

‘It is new,’ said Godric, seeing what Michael was thinking. ‘But I have had it for about a week, not two days. I threw the old one away, because the hilt was cracked. My sister, who is Prioress at Denny Abbey on the Ely road, sent me another.’ He brightened as a thought occurred to him. ‘She is a kind and generous lady. If I were to write to her about our condition-’

‘No!’ snapped Ailred. ‘We cannot accept alms from nuns. Supposing they deprive others in order to help us? It would be unconscionable.’

‘I do not suppose this is the knife you discarded?̵ Michael extracted Bartholomew’s drawing from his scrip and passed it to Godric, watching him intently for a reaction.

‘No, mine was plain,’ said Godric. He held up the picture for the students to see. ‘Have any of you seen this before?’

There were shaken heads all around, and if any recognised it as being the one ‘with the cracked hilt’ that Godric had discarded, no one said so. Most huddled deeper into their cloaks and denied knowledge of the thing with polite uninterest. Others made more of an effort, and at least examined the parchment first.

‘What about the blades used for cooking?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking the metal he had extracted from Harysone was from a fairly substantial implement, not from something small like the knives the friars carried for cutting their food.

‘Please look,’ invited Ailred. ‘Godric will help you. And while you play with our greasy cooking utensils, Brother Michael can tell me about the progress he has made with Norbert’s case.’

Godric took Bartholomew across to a bread oven set into the wall near the hearth. Two pots stood there, one scrubbed, clean and ready for use, the other half full of some grey material that was evidently the remains of the meal the friars had eaten the day before. It looked worse than the fish they planned to dine on that evening, and Bartholomew was not surprised that Godric and his students sought edibles from outside. The knives were hanging on the wall and the physician inspected each one with care: none was missing its end.

‘We still know very little about Norbert’s death,’ Michael admitted to Ailred. ‘Although we think we have discovered the weapon that killed him.’ He nodded to the illustration lying on the table, where the last of the friars to inspect it had set it down.

‘That?’ asked Ailred eagerly, moving forward to look at the picture again. ‘Are you sure?’