A Killer in Winter

Three days later, Bartholomew and Michael sat side by side on the trunk of an old apple tree that had fallen in the orchard. The day was unseasonably mild, and the blizzards of the previous weeks seemed a distant memory. The sun shone, albeit weakly, and Bartholomew could feel its gentle warmth through his winter cloak. Most of the snow had gone, although several of the larger and deeper drifts remained, like the vast mound outside Bene’t College on the High Street.

A gentle breeze blew, rustling the dry grass and bringing the smell of the marshes that lay to the north. Bartholomew felt as though his life was finally returning to normal. The Lord of Misrule had been replaced with Master Langelee, Quenhyth’s ‘stolen’ scrip had been found behind his bed, lectures were under way, and there were disputations to arrange and patients to see. He was sad that Dunstan and Athelbald were not among them, despite learning about their hitherto unknown penchant for peddling stolen goods for itinerant jugglers.

‘Two bodies were found in the river near Chesterton village today,’ said Michael, turning his flabby face to catch some of the sun’s rays. ‘I rode out to view them and they belonged to Frith and Harysone, as I expected. We found Ailred’s corpse in much the same place the day before.’

‘There was no sign of the chest?’ asked Bartholomew.

Michael shook his head. ‘I imagine that sank where it fell. The bottom of the Mill Pool is the best place for it. It is safe there.’

‘Until the weather grows warmer. Then people will start to dive for it.’

‘They will not find it,’ said Michael. ‘The pond is lined with deep mud, and the only way to retrieve the coins will be to drain the whole thing. That may happen one day, but I doubt it will happen in our lifetime.’

‘Good,’ said Bartholomew fervently. ‘Kenyngham was right: Dympna may have been set up to do good, but it corrupted people. Thick and inaccessible mud will stop it from doing so again.’

‘Speaking of corruption, Morice resigned today. People are angry that he never arranged another game of camp-ball, and claim he delayed just to keep the prize money for himself.’

‘He did,’ said Bartholomew, surprised that anyone should need to voice the obvious.

‘Dick Tulyet has agreed to stand in until someone else can be appointed. I hope it takes a long time for a suitable replacement to be found. We cannot have a better man than Dick.’

They were silent for a while, watching the sun playing through the winter branches of the fruit trees and listening to the distant sounds of the town. A dog yapped in the High Street, and a cart lumbered slowly along the rutted mud of St Michael’s Lane, which lay just over the wall. A man shouted something about a horse, and the gentle grunt of pigs could just be heard as they were driven towards the Market Square.

‘Turke was a nasty man,’ said Bartholomew at last. ‘His failure to help Isabella escape from the frozen River Thames started all this. Fiscurtune and Ailred allowed him to buy their silence when they should have denounced him, and the hatred Turke felt towards the men who could damage him eventually led him to stab Fiscurtune in a brawl.’

‘Do not forget Fiscurtune was not exactly an angel, either. He developed his salting method, but it did not work – as we saw with Norbert’s tench – and Turke was probably right to prevent him from inflicting it on his customers. Also, Fiscurtune was quite happy to be paid for his silence over Isabella, and so was Ailred. The records I examined with Godric yesterday indicate that Turke’s money has kept Ovyng afloat for years.’

‘I still do not understand why Turke was willing to dispense with his saintly finger,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Why did he not keep it for himself? He was a man who liked material wealth.’

‘It was stolen property,’ said Michael. ‘I asked the Dominicans to investigate it, and they learned that St Zeno’s finger was taken from a Carmelite chapel in London some years ago. A likely thief was caught and relieved of a thumb, but the relic itself was never recovered.’

‘Gosslinge took it?’ asked Bartholomew in astonishment.

‘So it would seem. I imagine he stole it on Turke’s instructions, and the resulting punishment put Turke under a certain obligation to him. But the net was closing, and the Carmelites were already on the relic’s trail. By handing it to Michaelhouse, Turke paid Gosslinge’s expenses with something he was going to lose anyway. I suppose if anyone had demanded to know how it came to be in his possession, he would have said it belonged to Gosslinge, and that he knew nothing about its origins.’

‘What happened to it?’

‘Godric found it among some reeds when he was looking for Ailred’s body. The Carmelites paid him a princely sum for its safe return and Ovyng Hostel now has fuel and food aplenty.’

‘I did not think for a moment it was a real relic. I always thought it was Gosslinge’s thumb.’