The Mark of a Murderer by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

‘You are a Benedictine and Matthew detests that particular Order. I did not imagine there was any possibility
     that you and he would be acquainted.’
    ‘Is that so?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘And what, pray, is his problem with Black Monks?’
    ‘He is very vocal about their venality,’ explained Duraunt, oblivious to his former student’s discomfort. ‘And then there
     was that business with them and the set of artificial teeth provided at feasts for those who had lost their own. He made no
     secret of what he thought of
that
.’
    ‘I can imagine,’ said Michael, intrigued by a hitherto unknown episode in his friend’s past. ‘But perhaps you would elaborate?’
    ‘Another time,’ said Duraunt, finally noting the mortified expression on Bartholomew’s face.
    ‘You have still not explained why you have come to deal with a corpse,’ said Polmorva, addressing Bartholomew. ‘Have I underestimated
     you, and you have reached the dizzy heights of
Junior
Proctor?’ He smirked disdainfully.
    ‘He is the University’s Senior Corpse Examiner,’ replied Michael, making the post sound a good deal grander than it was, ‘and
     one of our most valued officers. So, lead us to Chesterfelde’s body, and we can set about bringing his killer to the hangman’s
     noose.’
    ‘Polmorva said it was not decent to leave him on the floor while we ate breakfast, so we put him in the solar,’ said Duraunt.
     ‘However, he was killed here, in the hall, during the night – we know, because he was found at dawn today, and he was alive
     when we retired to bed.’
    ‘Where did the rest of you sleep?’ asked Michael. ‘In the solar?’
    Duraunt shook his head. ‘The solar is used by Eudo, who rents this manor, and Bailiff Boltone. It is the best room in the
     house, and it would not be right to oust the man who pays to live here.’
    ‘I disagree,’ said Polmorva, and from the weary expression on Duraunt’s face, Bartholomew saw this was not the first time
     this particular issue had been aired. ‘Merton owns this building, and its bailiffs and tenants should evacuate the “best room”
     when College members visit.’
    ‘I do not want our people claiming we treat them shabbily,’ said Duraunt tiredly. ‘We are the visitors, so we shall sleep
     in the hall and leave them the solar.’
    Michael brought the discussion back to the murder. ‘But you said Chesterfelde died in the hall. How could that happen, if
     you were here?’
    Duraunt’s expression was sombre. ‘That is precisely why we were all so shocked. I sleep lightly, and wake at the slightest
     sound, but I heard nothing last night, and neither did anyone else. I suppose I was exhausted – I was in churchmost of yesterday, preparing myself for Pentecost.’
    Michael was bemused. ‘Are you telling me Chesterfelde was killed while he was in the same room as you both?’
    Duraunt nodded unhappily. ‘I am afraid so, Brother.’
    Michael raised his eyebrows and gazed dispassionately at Polmorva. ‘I see. Were the three of you alone, or were there others
     present, too?’
    Duraunt rubbed his eyes. ‘There was Spryngheuse, who is a Merton man, like me. Chesterfelde was from Balliol, but he and Spryngheuse
     were friends regardless. And there were three Oxford burgesses called Abergavenny, Eu and Wormynghalle.’
    ‘Chesterfelde was murdered in the presence of
six
other people?’ asked Michael, making no attempt to hide his incredulity. ‘And none of you heard or saw anything?’
    ‘That is what we said,’ replied Polmorva insolently. ‘Would you like me to repeat it, so it can take root in your ponderous
     mind?’
    Bartholomew blocked Michael’s way, as the monk took an angry step towards him. He knew from experience that Polmorva could
     goad people to do or say things they later regretted, and he did not want Michael to strike him and face some trumped-up charge
     of assault that would divert attention from Chesterfelde’s death. Then it