A Killer in Winter

‘This particular queen of fish was in the possession of Norbert when he was murdered,’ said Michael uncompromisingly, even though there was scant evidence to prove such a statement, and the monk himself had not even been entirely convinced about the tench’s relationship with the dead man. ‘I have been told he won it from you in a game of chance.’

‘Yes,’ said Harysone, frowning thoughtfully. ‘I did lose a tench to a man, now that you mention it. But I do not know his name, nor do I see how my fish could have had him murdered.’

‘So, you did not kill him to take it back again?’ asked Michael bluntly.

Harysone’s expression hardened. ‘I did not. It is not an especially good specimen, as you can no doubt see, and was already past its best when this man – Norbert you say he was called – won it from me. He was welcome to it. But I do not have to sit here and listen to your accusations.’ He started to stand. ‘So, if there is nothing else …’

‘Just the matter of your wound,’ said Michael, indicating that the pardoner was to sit again. ‘You claim you were stabbed by a student.’

‘It pains me dreadfully,’ said Harysone, adopting a pitiful expression as he lowered his rump on to the bench. ‘I shall have to claim compensation from your University, because the injury inflicted on me by a scholar means that I am unable to work. Indeed, I can barely walk.’

‘I am not surprised you are in pain if you prance around so vigorously,’ said Bartholomew pointedly. ‘The wound is not deep, but I told you to rest, not writhe about like a speared maggot.’

‘I was dancing,’ said Harysone stiffly. ‘Although I am a pardoner by trade, I am famed for the rare quality of my jigs. I practise most days, and my body is used to the movement. Dancing will not hurt my back – unlike knives.’

‘I did not realise you were a pardoner.’ Michael pronounced ‘pardoner’ with as much disgust as was possible to inject into a word without actually spitting. ‘You told me you were here to sell copies of your …’ He gestured at the tome on the table, declining to call it a book.

‘Pardoners can write devotional philosophy as well as anyone else,’ said Harysone sharply. ‘In fact, I imagine we do better than most, given the religious nature of our vocation.’ He attempted to look pious, but merely succeeded in looking more sinister. ‘But you will want to know what happened last night when I was grievously injured. I was giving a demonstration of my dancing when I became aware of an intense pain in my back. I staggered towards a table, where I thought to support myself until the agony eased, and it was then that I noticed the scholars.’

‘How do you know they were scholars?’ demanded Michael. ‘Students are not permitted in taverns; it is against the University’s laws.’ He failed to add that students frequently disobeyed that rule, especially around Christmas, when lectures were suspended and there was an atmosphere of celebration. He also declined to mention that he knew Michaelhouse students sometimes patronised the King’s Head – Ulfrid had been open about the fact that he had won a pair of dicing bones from Harysone in that very tavern.

‘So is frolicking with whores in alleyways, I imagine,’ replied Harysone tartly. ‘But it still happens. And I knew they were students because I could see Franciscan habits under their cloaks – and the landlord told me those lads were from Michaelhouse.’

‘Why did he tell you that?’ asked Michael sceptically.

Harysone gave an elegant shrug. ‘Because I asked why his inn was so attractive to men of the cloth. There were Dominicans and Carmelites here, too, if you are interested. He told me they are able to sample the Christmas spirit in a tavern, but not in their friaries.’

‘He is right,’ muttered Bartholomew to Michael. ‘Father William told me the Franciscans intend to ignore the whole festive season. They even had lectures between Shepherd’s Mass and the Mass of the Divine Word on Christmas morning, and there was no kind of feast at all.’

‘I heard the same of the Carmelites,’ replied Michael in an undertone. ‘That is what happens when you join a mendicant Order, Matt: but note that only friars cancelled Christmas, not monks. My Order did no such thing. I am not surprised mendicant students seek solace elsewhere.’

‘Why do you think it was the Franciscans from Michaelhouse who stabbed you?’ asked Bartholomew of Harysone. ‘Why not someone else?’

Harysone sighed. ‘Because the Michaelhouse men were behind me. If someone I was facing had wielded the weapon, then the knife would have been lodged in my front.’

‘Pity,’ said Michael ambiguously. He glanced sharply at Harysone, as though he had just thought of something. ‘The Chepe Waits – whom you have already said you do not know – were accused of stealing from someone at the King’s Head. I do not suppose their victim was you?’

‘Why do you ask?’ countered Harysone, fixing Michael with his glistening eyes.