A Killer in Winter

‘It is my business,’ said Philippa sharply. ‘You demanded to borrow my shoes and cloak, and Cynric has just told me Michael is missing. I guessed immediately what you plan to do. Do you think I will stand by and allow you to murder University officials?’

‘What is going on?’ demanded Bartholomew, beginning to lose patience, although he suspected that displays of irritation were not appropriate just now. But he was angry – with Harysone for doing something to Michael, and with Philippa for being involved in something so clearly untoward. He appealed to her. ‘How do you know this man?’

‘We met in Chepe,’ she replied, ignoring Harysone’s furious sigh. She turned to the pardoner. ‘Enough, John! I will do what you say, but you must put down your weapon.’

Harysone moved to one side and lowered the pitchfork, but made no effort to set it down. Bartholomew edged further away, keeping a firm grip on his hoe.

‘You are not a pardoner at all, are you?’ he said to Harysone, seeing a clue in something Philippa had said: they had met in Chepe. ‘You are a fishmonger – or you have some connection to the Fraternity of Fishmongers. Your knowledge of fish is too great for you to be anything else.’

‘I was a fishmonger,’ said Harysone resentfully. ‘But Turke destroyed my business – and then he almost destroyed me. Sorrow led me to throw myself into the Thames.’

‘You are Fiscurtune’s son?’ asked Bartholomew uncertainly.

‘He is John Fiscurtune,’ said Philippa tiredly. ‘The son, obviously, not the father.’

‘Uncle Ailred and Cousin Frith always underestimated me,’ said Harysone – whom Bartholomew could not think of as Fiscurtune the younger. ‘Just because I did not scream for vengeance like a baying lunatic did not mean I was going to allow Turke to evade justice for my father’s murder. I had a plan. I outlined it in a letter I sent with a professional messenger called Josse, but either Josse did not deliver it or they ignored it.’

‘What plan?’ demanded Bartholomew.

‘A simple one,’ said Harysone. ‘It was I who forced Turke to undertake this pilgrimage. I informed him that I would tell everyone the truth about Isabella’s death if he did not. My father had given me all the details, you see, and during her life Isabella was much loved in Chepe. She was good and gentle, and folk would never have elected him Lord Mayor if they knew he had murdered that lovely soul, as well as my father.’

‘And then what?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Did you plan to kill Turke as he travelled to Walsingham?’

‘Living in this violent town has given you a brutal perspective on life, Doctor. I was not going to kill anyone. My plan was that when Turke arrived at Walsingham, I would threaten to tell the priests about his crimes unless he paid me a lot of money.’

‘Why wait until then? Why not demand it in London or here, and save yourself a dangerous winter journey?’

Harysone sighed at his ignorance. ‘Because once Turke had arrived at the shrine I believe he would have done anything to get his absolution. So, it stands to reason that he would have offered me far more money to hold my tongue at that point.’

‘Did you know about this?’ asked Bartholomew of Philippa.

She nodded, white faced. ‘Walter told me John was also travelling to Walsingham, and I suspected immediately that his sole purpose would be blackmail. I carried messages between them. That is why I have been obliged to go out so often.’

Harysone smirked. ‘Turke was not even man enough to meet me and receive my instructions himself – the one time he did was when he stabbed Norbert. Usually, though, he sent his wife through the snow, while he sat by the fire, all safe and warm.’

Something in Bartholomew was relieved to learn that Philippa had not been meeting a lover, although he was not sure why. Perhaps the relief came from the fact that the lover was not the large-toothed Harysone, as he had feared when the man had first made his appearance.

‘Surely Giles would have helped you?’ he said to Philippa.

‘Giles believes I was dallying with a suitor,’ she said in a low voice. ‘He lent me his hat, because he thinks meeting a man might bring me happiness. He would not have condoned me helping Walter to wriggle out of a charge of murder – and see himself elected Lord Mayor into the bargain. But I was Walter’s wife, and it was my duty to do what my husband asked of me.’

‘So, Frith and Ailred unwittingly spoiled your plans,’ said Bartholomew to Harysone. ‘Turke dead is not in a position to be blackmailed.’

‘I made a mistake by not revealing myself to them when I first arrived,’ said Harysone bitterly. ‘I assumed Josse had delivered my message to Ailred, and that he knew what I intended to do, but now I see Josse failed me. I shall have words with that young man when I return to Chepe.’

‘Did Ailred and Frith not see you?’ asked Bartholomew, surprised. The town was not so large that three close relatives could spend days without meeting.

Harysone tapped his long teeth. ‘My disguise as a pardoner was so good that even they did not recognise me.’