Next to Chapman was the man who had kept the record of the Cambridge trial so many years ago, the ginger-haired clerk called William Langar. He had clearly done well for himself, because he was by far the best dressed of the quartet, and his fingers were adorned with so many rings that Bartholomew could only suppose he hired a scribe to write for him now. His eyes were dark and unreadable, and Bartholomew had the sense that he was deceitful.
The last person was a burly matron with a square face and small eyes, who gripped a stave as though she was considering braining someone with it. Lora Boyner, thought Bartholomew, recalling the way she had yelled her innocence when Shirlok had made his accusations. In all, they were a disreputable crowd, and he sincerely hoped they would not remember him.
‘This is Brother Michael,’ said Tetford, bowing and grinning in a way that suggested he was terrified. Bartholomew wondered whether he knew about Miller’s exploitation of faint-hearted men from personal experience. ‘And his colleague Bartholomew. I would introduce you to their friend, Thomas Suttone, but he is not with them, and-’
‘Thank you, Tetford,’ said Langar softly. ‘You may leave us now.’
Miller spat again when Tetford had scuttled away. Bartholomew itched to reprimand him, but there was something about the easy way the man held his weapons that stopped him. Miller might be old, but the physician sensed he was still a formidable fighter, and there was no point in starting a brawl he would not win by asking him to gob outside. He suspected the man’s cronies were equally adept with their weapons, with the possible exception of Chapman, who just looked like a petty thief.
‘I understand you have instigated a special market, for the poor,’ said Michael pleasantly, when no one else said anything. ‘What a charming notion. December is cold and gloomy, and it is heart-warming to hear of merchants being generous in such a cheerless season.’
‘Thank you,’ said Miller, revealing his four fangs in a smile. His eyes remained cold. ‘I had to do something, because people were frightened of me, and it was becoming difficult to get anything done.’
‘Fear has its advantages,’ said Langar in a sibilant hiss that was infinitely more sinister than his friend’s gravely tones. ‘It means people are willing to do whatever we ask. However, it also means that sometimes they are so nervous, they make mistakes. And that is a nuisance. I suggested the Market as a good way to alleviate the problem.’
‘It is working,’ said Chapman. ‘The unemployed weavers love us now. Unfortunately our largess has had unforeseen consequences: other folk have flocked to the city to take advantage of our generosity, and it is proving difficult to exclude villains.’
‘I am sure it is,’ murmured Michael, thinking that Chapman was probably in a good position to recognise them, since he was so clearly one himself. It occurred to him to ask how he had come by the Hugh Chalice, but decided Chapman was more likely to be persuaded to tell the truth when his friends were not looming protectively around him. ‘Why are people so afraid of you?’
‘Because those who displease me have accidents,’ replied Miller darkly.
‘And he is very easily displeased,’ added Lora in a voice that was even deeper than Miller’s.
‘If you take our meaning,’ said Chapman, fingering his dagger.
‘But I did not come here to make threats,’ said Miller. Langar stared at his shoes and the physician was under the impression that he was trying not to laugh at his friends’ crude tactics. ‘I came to ask if you know who murdered Aylmer. He was my friend, and I was vexed when I heard he had been stabbed. I want the culprit.’
‘I have not identified the killer,’ replied Michael. ‘But then I have barely started my investigation.’
‘You sound confident, though,’ said Langar thoughtfully. ‘Are you?’
Michael shrugged. ‘I shall do my best.’
Miller spat again, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘When you find the rogue, I shall expect you to tell me his name immediately. Before you tell the bishop.’
‘Why would I do that?’ asked Michael, startled.
Miller sighed in a way that suggested he thought the monk was stupid. ‘Because if the culprit is a clerk – and Aylmer had plenty of enemies in holy orders – the rogue will claim benefit of clergy. I do not want to traipse to some remote monastery to stick my dagger in his gizzard. I want to do it here.’
Michael raised his eyebrows in astonishment. ‘You want me to confide in you, so you can murder him if he is a priest? And you are asking me to do this in a cathedral? A sacred House of God?’
‘Yes,’ said Miller, bemused in his turn. ‘What part do you not understand?’
‘Nothing,’ said Michael, defeated. ‘I shall bear your request in mind.’
‘Thank you,’ said Miller. ‘I appreciate your co-operation and will do something nice for you in return. I learned from Sheriff Lungspee that a favour deserves a favour, and it is a lesson that has served me well. Or would you prefer money? It is your choice.’
