A Killer in Winter

Bartholomew was amused by Michael’s tactics. He suspected that Morice knew perfectly well the Waits were guilty of theft, and, since even a hint of criminal behaviour was normally sufficient for the wrongdoer to be expelled from the town – or worse – it was obvious that Morice had been persuaded to overlook the matter. The physician wondered how much of the stolen gold had been left in the Waits’ possession once Morice had taken his share.

However, it also stood to reason that the corrupt Sheriff would be keen for the incident to be buried and forgotten. He would not be pleased if Michael presented him with irrefutable evidence of the Waits’ guilt. Morice would never allow Frith to reveal Morice’s own role in the affair, and it was not unknown for people to be stabbed in dark alleys or to disappear completely. Morice was a dangerous man as far as the Waits were concerned, and Michael had them in a nasty corner by threatening to go to him.

‘When you first arrived in the town, you stayed at the King’s Head,’ said Michael, fixing Frith with the unwavering stare he usually reserved for unruly students. ‘Now, there was another guest present at the time called John Harysone. What can you tell me about him?’

‘Who?’ asked Makejoy nervously.

‘Come, come,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘I know the tavern was busy, but you must have noticed Harysone. He is a bearded fellow with teeth like a horse and an oily, malevolent character.’

‘The one who dresses in black?’ said Frith sulkily. ‘I know nothing about him – only that he hired a private room. We, on the other hand, slept in the hayloft with other less wealthy patrons.’

‘Did you speak to him?’ pressed Michael. ‘Or see him talking to anyone else?’

‘No,’ said Makejoy. ‘And we would tell you if we had; we owe nothing to the man, so it does not matter whether we say anything that would land him in trouble. He arrived here the same time as us – eleven days ago now, because we came on the fifteenth day of December. I noticed him immediately. His long teeth make eating difficult, you see, so his noonday meal was a curious thing to watch – and I have seen him in the tavern since.’

‘But you have not exchanged words?’ asked Michael.

Jestyn shook his head. ‘I nodded at him, as fellow travellers do, but he did not acknowledge me. He stared straight through me, then turned his attention to his duck pie. In fact, he spoke to no one. He declined all company, even that fishmonger’s wife.’

‘Do you mean Philippa Turke?’ asked Michael. ‘I heard she and her family took a room in the King’s Head before they went to stay with Stanmore.’

‘We wondered why they had left,’ said Frith. ‘But while they were there, your black-cloaked fellow failed to show them any of the courtesies usually exchanged between fellow travellers. Perhaps that is why they abandoned the King’s Head – to seek more pleasant company elsewhere.’

Makejoy frowned thoughtfully. ‘Their servant sat with Harysone, though. Remember?’

‘They shared a table, but did not speak,’ said Frith. ‘It was busy that night, and all the other seats were taken. Harysone was displeased that he was forced to share, and cut short his meal. He took his wine with him. I remember that, because I was hoping he would leave it behind.’

‘That would be Gosslinge,’ said Michael in satisfaction. ‘In company with Harysone. You were right, Matt: there is a connection between them.’

‘They shared a table, but not words,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘It does not sound like a meaningful encounter to me.’

‘We shall see,’ said Michael, pleased with the discovery nonetheless. He addressed the Waits again. ‘Did you know that Gosslinge is dead? He died in our church, where someone relieved him of his clothes. I would not find them if I looked among your travelling packs, would I?’

‘You would not,’ said Makejoy huffily. ‘And I resent the implication that we are thieves.’

‘But you are thieves,’ Michael pointed out. ‘We have already established that – it is why you are answering my questions, remember?’ He heaved his bulk off the table and picked up his tray. ‘However, while I am prepared to overlook a theft from the King’s Head, I will not be so lenient if anything disappears from Michaelhouse. Do I make myself clear?’

The Waits nodded resentfully and Michael left, taking his meat with him. Bartholomew filled his jug with wine from the barrel.

‘So,’ he said conversationally. ‘You never met Gosslinge or Harysone before you arrived in Cambridge?’

‘We told you: we have never set eyes on Harysone before,’ replied Frith.

Bartholomew straightened. ‘And Gosslinge?’

‘Tell him, Frith,’ said Makejoy, after more uncomfortable glances had been exchanged. ‘If you do not and he finds out, he will assume we have done something wrong. And we have not.’

‘We knew Gosslinge,’ admitted Frith reluctantly. ‘But when we heard he was dead, we were afraid to tell anyone about it. You can see why: that monk immediately accused us of stealing his clothes, even though we are innocent.’

‘How do you know him?’