A Killer in Winter

Ailred shot him a pained glance. ‘The fees paid by his family were important to us. We did not want him dismissed, although God knows he had no business here. As long as we kept him, the Tulyets would continue paying for his tuition.’

The other Franciscans had been talking among themselves while the exchange between Ailred and Michael took place; now they seemed to have reached a consensus. They nodded encouragingly at Godric, who was evidently their spokesman.

‘Unfortunately, we have little to tell that will help you catch your culprit,’ he began apologetically. ‘Norbert was unfriendly, lazy and refused to comply with our rules. He made offensive remarks about our Order and he stole our ink and parchment. We think he took them in order to write to Dympna.’

‘Dympna?’ asked Michael, puzzled. ‘Who is he?’

‘She,’ corrected Godric. He glanced at his colleagues, suddenly unsure. ‘Well, we assume it was a she. She sent him notes, which we sometimes saw. She always asked him to meet her in the same place.’

‘I do not see how this is relevant,’ said Ailred impatiently. ‘Norbert liked women – ask any of the town’s whores – but I do not see how investigating a particular one will lead you to his killer.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Michael thoughtfully. He turned to Godric. ‘When did this woman last write to Norbert?’

Godric ignored the pained expression on his principal’s face. ‘He had a letter from her the evening he disappeared.’

Ailred sighed. ‘This kind of speculation is dangerous, Godric. It may lead the good brother along the wrong road entirely, and cause him to waste time and effort.’

Godric turned apologetically to Michael. ‘I am only trying to help. Dympna did send him a message that afternoon, and he did go out soon after he read it, but perhaps I should not have assumed the two were connected.’

‘Do you still have this letter?’ asked Michael. ‘It might help if we were to see it.’

Godric shook his head. ‘He either took it with him or threw it away. We have searched his belongings, but it is not there – not that note or any of the others.’

‘Was this relationship with Dympna a recent affair?’ asked Michael. ‘Or one that had been going on for some time?’

‘I think recent,’ replied Godric. ‘We first saw a note about a week ago, but there could have been others before that.’ He smiled suddenly, so that his loutish face softened and became almost attractive. ‘You are wondering why we pried so unashamedly into Norbert’s personal life, Brother. Being friars, none of us receive notes from young ladies, and we were naturally curious about a man who does.’

‘Naturally,’ said Michael expressionlessly. ‘Did you meet this woman, or see Norbert with her?’

‘We saw him with women,’ replied Godric precisely. ‘But since we do not know what Dympna looks like, we do not know which one of them was her. However, I doubt whether any of the rough ladies he courted openly was Dympna. I think he only ever met her in secret.’

‘Why?’ asked Michael curiously. ‘You have just said you do not know what she looks like, so she could be any of the prostitutes Norbert enjoyed. God knows, he was fined enough times for that.’

Godric’s expression was earnest. ‘I think she is better than the others. She wrote to him – on parchment, using a pen!’

Parchment was expensive, and while some people could read, far fewer extended their education to the more skilled process of writing. The very act of putting pen to parchment suggested a woman who was a cut above the average.

‘Did you read these personal notes?’ asked Bartholomew of Godric. ‘You know what was in them and who they were from, so you must have done.’

‘Really, Godric!’ exclaimed Ailred in horror. ‘I thought you had more honour. Did no one ever teach you that it is wrong to pry into the personal missives of others?’

‘I am sorry, Father,’ muttered Godric, red-faced with embarrassment. ‘We meant no harm. We were just curious.’

‘Being nosy is not an excuse,’ said Ailred sternly. ‘But since you have already broken faith with a colleague by reading letters not intended for your eyes, then I suppose there is no further harm in telling us what was in them. What did they say?’

‘Nothing much,’ said Godric, still shamefaced. ‘They were rather curt, actually, and not at all like the kind of love-letters we have heard sung about in ballads. They just mentioned her name, and a time and a place for a meeting, followed by a series of numbers.’ He brightened. ‘They were probably astrological observations, to do with the best time for practising love.’

‘You seem to have a very rosy view of Norbert’s love affairs,’ said Bartholomew, trying not to laugh at the notion of the lazy, hedonistic Norbert engaging in anything as orderly as running his life according to the alignments of the celestial bodies. Godric, like many men who entered the priesthood young, had some very odd ideas about courtship.