The friars craned towards the diagram a second time, more interested now they knew it had caused the death of their colleague and was not just a weapon used to injure a pardoner. But despite their apparent willingness to help, no one was able to say he had seen it before.
‘You can take it to the taverns,’ suggested Ailred. ‘Someone there might recognise it.’
‘I know,’ said Michael sharply, not needing to be told how to do his job. ‘The King’s Head is a good place to start.’ He looked hard at the novices. ‘Why did you not tell me you were all there the night Norbert was killed?’
‘What is this?’ cried Ailred in horror. ‘What are you saying?’ He turned to his students. ‘Tell him this is not true.’
‘It is true,’ said Godric softly. ‘But the reason we did not mention it was because we did not know Norbert was there. Ulfrid has since told us he was frolicking in a private chamber with a lady while we drank our ale, but, as God is my witness, none of us set eyes on him that night.’
‘You should not have concealed this,’ said Michael sternly. ‘You must see how it appears.’
Godric hung his head. ‘I know we were wrong to visit the King’s Head. But since we could tell you nothing about Norbert’s death, we saw no point in confessing that we had broken the University’s rules. We have enough spare coins for the occasional hot ale, but we cannot afford to pay the kind of fines Father William will now levy on us.
There was a growl of agreement from the others. ‘I shall say nothing about it to William,’ said Michael tiredly. ‘However, more important than your rule-breaking at the moment is gathering information about Dympna. I am sure she is relevant.’
‘Not this again,’ groaned Ailred. ‘How many more times will you raise this subject? We have told you all we know, and I cannot see how she relates to Norbert’s death.’
‘I think she does,’ countered Michael. He eyed the students coolly. ‘So, I repeat: what can you tell me about her?’
‘No more than we told you the first time you asked,’ said Godric, watching Bartholomew take a meat knife and examine it, while Ailred sighed his annoyance at the monk’s persistence. ‘Surprisingly, her notes to Norbert were not romantic or filled with affection; they just told him to be in St Michael’s at a particular time, and were followed by a set of numbers.’
‘Why surprisingly?’ asked Michael.
Godric gave an abashed grin and gazed down at his booted feet. ‘Well, if a woman takes the trouble to write to a man, you assume she would pen something loving, to encourage him to meet her and sample the delights of her company.’
‘You have very colourful ideas about courtship,’ said Michael, eyeing him sceptically.
‘Godric believes in romantic love,’ said Ailred wearily to Michael. ‘I mentioned that before. It is as well he decided to become a friar and forgo relationships with women, because otherwise he would have been wounded deeply when he learned that not all are virtuous virgins.’
‘Many are,’ protested Godric, offended. ‘Dympna must be. She could have dispatched some grubby boy with a spoken message to Norbert, but she chose to write. That shows she cared for him: she took time and trouble to pen a message – or she hired someone to scribe it for her.’
‘Did any of you ever follow Norbert to see what happened when he met this paragon?’ asked Michael, more interested in Norbert than in Godric’s misguided ideas. Ailred made an impatient sound at the back of his throat, as though he could scarcely credit that Michael was still pursuing the subject when there were far more relevant and important issues to be considered.
‘Several times,’ replied Godric, ignoring his principal’s reaction. ‘But whomever he met was elusive. We shadowed him to the church, but when we entered through the north porch, she left through the south entrance, and when we had someone posted at both doors, she slipped away through the tower. I glimpsed a hooded figure once, but could tell nothing about her.’
‘Could it have been a man?’ asked Michael.
Godric gazed uncertainly at him. ‘Are you saying Norbert’s heart was captured by a man?’
‘Better than by a pig,’ muttered Michael, thinking of Agatha’s theory. ‘But can you say for certain that this hooded figure was a woman?’
‘Well, it was not a pig,’ said Godric firmly. ‘But it could have been a man, I suppose. It is possible it was not Dympna at all, but someone else who just happened to be there.’
‘Enough of this,’ said Ailred irritably. ‘It is taking us nowhere. You will find some tavern patron will be your culprit, Brother, not this mysterious figure who vanishes from churches. You should look into anyone who has connections to the King’s Head – including wealthy folk who hire the best chambers. Rich men murder just as capably as poor ones.’
‘Are you thinking of Harysone?’ asked Michael immediately.
