Study of Murder, The (Five Star Mystery Series) (20 page)

“Whatever is it, Muirteach? You’re as tense as a rat-catcher’s dog. Surely it’s not just Donald’s music that’s unsettling you so?”

Through the wall we heard the sound of the lute. “I’m even thinking he’s improved a little of late,” my wife added, and waited.

“I just am not comfortable that Bookman stabbed Berwyk. The reason seems flimsy. And nor am I convinced that Ivo killed Clarkson, although he had reason enough.”

“I know,
mo chridhe
,” my wife replied thoughtfully. “Ivo seems not to have the strength to kill Clarkson.”

“Although he is not frail.”

“No, he works hard in his garden. He could have done it, I suppose.”

“Yet he swears he did not do so.” I paused and listened to the discordant sounds coming through the wall as Donald attempted a more difficult passage. “And Bookman loses by killing Berwyk. Although if the book is unredeemed, he can sell it.”

“Still, Berwyk was to pay him for it. It makes no sense.”

My wife had echoed my own thoughts. I glanced out the open shutters. The day was fair this close to Michaelmas. The leaves of the trees turned to lovely yellows and golds and red, the sky blue with scudding white clouds. A breeze blew in through the window and from someplace I smelled the tang of apples and cider. I turned from the window and looked at my wife, feeling a surge of affection for the way she seemed to read my mind.

“Come,
mo chridhe
. Why don’t you put that text away for a while? Let us go out and walk a bit, out of the town.”

My heart leapt a little when I saw my wife close her book.

“It is a bonny day,” Mariota agreed, “and my neck is tense from study. It would feel good to stretch my legs and be out in the open. All right then, where shall we go?”

“There is open land to the north, beyond the vintner’s. Let’s walk back there. It is not so far.”

When we told Donald our plans, he, Anthony and Crispin unaccountably wanted to join us. Somewhat ruefully we agreed. Widow Tanner packed us a few pasties and some cider, and even agreed that Avice could join us as it was a Sunday and the lass at liberty. And so, a short while later, a larger party than I had first envisioned set out walking north, past the walls of the Austin Friary on the right and toward the more open land beyond the houses outside the walls. Apparently other citizens of Oxford town had the same idea, for we passed several other parties enjoying the afternoon.

Among the passersby I was surprised to see Delacey and his young protégée, Richard DeVyse, walking back toward the town. Richard’s roommate Borou was not in evidence. We greeted them and Delacey nodded in an almost cordial fashion.

“Fine weather, is it not?” I said.

“Indeed,” Delacey responded. “We were just studying and thought to take a short break from the rigors of the
Quadrivium
, it being such a pleasant afternoon. And you as well?”

I did not think that Donald, Anthony and Crispin could have been accused of studying overmuch that morning, but I let that pass and nodded nonchalantly.

“There is a pleasant wood up yonder,” Delacey continued in a rare burst of friendliness. “It belongs to the friars, but they do not mind if folk walk there. Such loveliness as Our Lord put in the world belongs to us all.”

I nodded again and we bid them good afternoon. Delacey and DeVyse continued back toward town while we walked in the contrary direction. We passed the tannery buildings and the vintner’s on the left. Past the vintner’s there were fewer buildings, a house that belonged to the Benedictines, then some abandoned houses and sheds, mostly in poor repair. I remembered hearing that the owners had perished in the pestilence some years ago and the current heirs were disputed. On the right we saw some fields and orchards belonging to the Austin Friars, and beyond that some open lands. Although they may have belonged to the church, I surmised from the townsfolk dotting the landscape that the friars did not mind much if the folk visited them on such a fine day.

We found a grassy spot in a meadow under a beech tree and there we had our little repast. Then, sadly, Donald got out his lute and began picking out a tune. Although I confess the afternoon was so pleasant, even that did not spoil the time. Perhaps his playing had improved, as my wife had said. I lay back, my head pillowed in Mariota’s lap, and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke feeling a strange sensation. I opened my eyes, at first seeing only the blue skies and a yellow leaf. Than I realized Mariota had a twig with a few leaves attached and was gently brushing my face with it.

“Leave off, Mariota,” I exclaimed, rubbing at my cheek. “That tickles.”

“
Och
, Muirteach,” she said, laughing, “I wondered how long it would take you to wake.”

“An observation of natural philosophy, not doubt,” I grunted, sitting up.

“Perhaps,” my wife asserted. “But also my legs had gone numb. They are all pins and needles.”

“Where are the lads? And Avice?”

“They’re off there, gathering a few beechnuts. Don’t worry, I can see them.”

I glanced in the direction Mariota pointed and saw the four young people in a grove across the meadow. They looked to be having a fine enough time there.

I looked back at my wife. The blue of the sky reflected the color of her eyes, causing them to look an even deeper shade. I kissed her quickly on the lips, and then stood up.

“It will be getting late,” Mariota observed as I helped her to her feet. “
Och
, my legs are still tingling,” she added, shifting her weight a little gingerly. “There, that is better now,” she added, glancing up at the sun, which was lowering in the sky to the west.

The lads and Avice had seen us and came across the meadow, Avice’s kerchief full of some beechnuts they had gathered.

“Those may belong to the Augustinians,” I observed.

“I see no one,” Donald declared with a swagger. I shrugged my shoulders and let the matter drop. We made our way back to the road. The sun was not as strong now and the day was beginning to fade.

We started down the street back toward the suburbs of Oxford, Avice giggling and blushing a little at something Anthony said to her. I raised my eyebrows a little and looked at my wife.

“It looks innocent enough,” Mariota murmured to me. “It’s good to see the lass smiling. And Anthony seems a nice enough lad.”

We were just approaching the vintner’s on the right when I felt Donald nudge my side. “Look, Muirteach” he hissed, “isn’t that Brother Eusebius?”

I followed his gaze and saw a thin, stooped figure in a worn Franciscan habit walking up the road away from town.

“Brother Eusebius.”

The friar stopped and seemed to collect himself a moment, as was his style. He blinked his somewhat protuberant light blue eyes, and then greeted us. “Good day. And so you have been on an outing?”

“Indeed, sir,” Donald answered. “It is an amazing day.”

“Yes, the elements are in harmony today.” Eusebius looked around at the road. There were several other parties of merrymakers returning to the town. He blinked again. “Still, it has grown late, I fear. Later than I thought. The dark is coming. Perhaps I should accompany you back into the town.”

Eusebius’s presence cast a bit of a pall on the chatter of the four youngsters and it fell to me to make conversation with the man. But I began to realize talk did not come easily with Eusebius, and my attempts at friendly speech lapsed.

“What of the parchment?” asked Eusebius suddenly.

“Parchment?” I asked, momentarily bewildered.

“Berwyk had a palimpsest. He claimed it to be yours and said you had found it in some old parchments you’d bought from Adam Bookman.”

“Oh yes, those. That is a strange affair. They were stolen from our lodgings.”

“When was this?” asked Eusebius with concern.

I told him.

“And no one saw anything?”

“The widow had gone out to the market. No one saw a thing.”

“Such times we live in,” Eusebius murmured. “Some poor student must have taken to thievery, without the funds to buy his own. Still, it’s but a few old parchments. They can be no great loss to you.”

“But now we will never be able to decipher the manuscript and learn its secrets,” Anthony said.

“Perhaps not,” Eusebius replied, “and that is a pity.”

Crispin had been leering and I heard him whisper to Donald, “Nor will we be able to examine more drawings.” I glared at him and thankfully he said no more.

Mariota, who had been silent during this conversation, spoke up. “I hear you are a student of the natural philosophies.”

“Yes, I try to follow in the footsteps of the famous
doctor mirabilis
, Roger Bacon, who studied and worked here in Oxford close to a century ago.”

“Do you study medicine as well?”

“I attend some lectures. All of the natural sciences are of interest to me.”

“You must forgive my wife her curiosity,” I interjected. “She is well regarded as a healer in our own land.”

“Indeed?” said Eusebius, staring curiously at Mariota for a moment, almost as if she had sprouted a second head.

By this time we had reached the Widow Tanner’s, where we parted company with Eusebius and went inside.

“He is an odd one,” Mariota whispered to me as we washed our hands and faces before the evening meal.

“But harmless enough, I think,” I replied. “A bit absentminded, to be sure.”

“Did you see the way he looked at me? As if I was some strange creature that had crawled out from under a rock?”

“Well,
mo chridhe
, there are no women doctors in Oxford that I know of. Just a few midwives.”

Anthony and Crispin eagerly accepted Widow Tanner’s invitation to stay and sup with us. She was a kind woman, to put up with us as her lodgers. I think, despite all Donald’s attempts to prove her wrong, she was still proud and impressed to have a young lordling staying in her home. And she seemed to enjoy young people, having no children of her own. Perhaps Avice would do well enough here, even with the baby.

Berwyk’s funeral mass was to be held at Saint Mary Magdalene’s and I thought it wise to be there early. The chapel was nearly empty at this hour of the morning, except for Berwyk’s bier in front of the altar. Several large candles burning gave off the scent of beeswax. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw the figures of Torvilda Bonefey and Berwyk’s aunt kneeling before the body. I knelt and tried to pray for Berwyk’s soul.

The church filled and the mass began. I wondered not to see Mariota there, and felt ill at ease as I scanned the crowd entering for the mass. She had left our lodgings early, to attend her lecture, but had thought to have time to change and be at the funeral. Perhaps, I thought, she had arrived late and was standing with the crowd in the back. I craned my neck to try and see but couldn’t glimpse her while the priest droned on and waved the censer over the body. The scent of incense grew stronger, almost masking the odor of Berwyk’s decaying corpse. Vortigen and Justin arrived, and I saw Donald, Anthony and Crispin among the mourners. Anthony looked to be crying. I saw him wiping at his cheeks and red eyes with one hand, and I remembered how popular Master Berwyk had been. It was a senseless death.

But what if the deaths of Berwyk and Clarkson were related? What tied them together? Again, I thought of the
Isagoge
. Clarkson had pawned it and Berwyk wanted it back. Which did not look well for Master Bookman.

The mass finally over, the mourners filed by the corpse to pay final respects before the burial. I looked anxiously, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs as I waited until the church was empty, searching for either Mariota or for William of Uist, but neither of them did I see.

My mouth dry and heart thudding now in earnest, I raced back to Widow Tanner’s, searching the streets, today crowded with students, for Mariota’s face. I barged into the house and our chamber, ignoring the good widow’s startled look. Mariota’s blue dress lay neatly folded as she had left it. My wife had not yet returned. And it was clear from the clothes she had left behind that she still wore the clothing of a lad. My stomach lurched and I felt a pressure in my chest.

Donald entered the room without knocking. “Where’s Mariota?” he asked.

“I am not sure,” I managed to reply, trying to sound casual. “Do you know a student named William of Uist?”

Donald shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“He’s slightly built and wears a blue tunic.”

“What’s all this about?” Donald’s eyes took in Mariota’s folded dress and her absence. His gray eyes narrowed shrewdly and for an instant I saw his father in the lad. “She’s been attending lectures, hasn’t she?”

“Aye, and now she’s disappeared.” I almost felt relief at Donald’s guess. Almost. A cold sweat was on my brow, my heart still pounding so loudly I thought Donald must hear it. “She didn’t return after this morning’s lecture,” I continued. “I must look for her.”

“I’ll help you search,” he offered, sounding remarkably mature. “Perhaps she just stopped off at the bookseller’s.”

“I do not think so. Mariota told me she meant to attend Berwyk’s funeral mass. She never arrived.”

“What was she wearing?”

I described William’s blue tunic and hood to Donald as we headed into town. I tried to take heart as we walked. It made sense to stop by the booksellers’ stalls; surely we would find her there, perusing some rare volume. That of Adam Bookman was closed but we scoured the other stalls without finding any trace of my wife, and again I felt that odd pressure in my chest. Then we ventured to School Street and surprised several masters by looking in on their lectures, still without finding Mariota. She had vanished.

“Whose lecture was she attending?” asked Donald.

“Master Rudolfo of Salerno,” I answered. “We should ask him if William attended his lecture this morning.”

It was not hard to find the lecture hall where Master Rudolfo gave classes, one of the finer halls on the street. As we entered the building a crowd of students filed out of a room to the right, and inside we found Master Rudolfo. He had a swarthy complexion and dark hair that hung down to his shoulders, but a placid and composed face.