The Killer of Pilgrims by Susanna Gregory Page A

in,’ said Walter, who had just arrived to join the onlookers. ‘But I have been in the latrines – that
     pottage we had earlier did not agree with me.’
    ‘You mean you left the gate unattended?’ asked Clippesby. It was generally accepted that the kindly, mild-mannered Dominican
     was insane, mostly due to his habit of talking to animals and claiming that they answered him back. There were occasions,
     though, when Bartholomew thought Clippesby made more sense than the rest of the College combined.
    ‘Only for a moment,’ said Walter defensively. ‘And it was an emergency.’
    ‘So, Drax just walked in,’ concluded Michael. ‘I wonder why?’
    ‘You had better ask Celia,’ said Langelee. ‘But be careful how you do it, Brother, because we do not want her to sue the College
     for his death. Yffi claims this was not his fault, but it was not ours, either, and we cannot afford to compensate her for
     her loss.’
    ‘I am sure she will appreciate your sympathy, Master,’ said Michael caustically. ‘But you are right. Drax should have stood
     up and declared himself when Agatha started to tug on the sheet. Then the tiles would not have fallen on him.’
    Seeing Bartholomew about to probe a wound in the corpse’s stomach, Michael ordered all the labourers back to work, lest they
     witnessed something that would give credence to the tales regarding the physician’s penchant for sorcery. He dismissed Cynric
     and Walter, too.
    ‘I wonder if he left us anything in his will,’ Langelee was musing. ‘Given his generosity in the past, I have high hopes.
     I am sorry Drax is dead, but a legacy will more than console me.’
    ‘I hope he did not,’ countered Thelnetham. ‘He died in our College, and we already have a questionable reputation, thanks
     to Bartholomew’s unorthodoxy, Clippesby’s madness and your previous existence as an archbishop’s hireling. We do not want
     rumours to circulate that we kill townsmen for the contents of their wills.’
    ‘What nonsense!’ cried Langelee, stung. ‘We have a fine, upstanding reputation!’
    His Fellows said nothing – they knew they did not.
    ‘Accidents happen,’ Langelee went on indignantly. ‘No one can blame us for what happened.’
    ‘It was not an accident,’ said Bartholomew, looking up at last. ‘Drax was murdered.’
    There was a stunned, disbelieving silence after Bartholomew had made his announcement. It was Michael who found his voice
     first. ‘How do you know?’
    Bartholomew hesitated, loath to provide too much information lest it should lead to renewed accusations of sorcery from William.
    ‘You can tell us,’ said the Franciscan gruffly, guessing the reason for Bartholomew’s reluctance to speak. He was not normally
     sensitive, but his recent banishment had encouraged him to be a little more sympathetic to the feelings of others. ‘I will
     not make disparaging remarks about your hideous trade, because you cannot help being a physician. Not everyone can specialise
     in theology.’
    ‘You are too kind, Father,’ murmured Bartholomew, aware of smirks being exchanged between Thelnetham and Ayera, the College’s
     newest member. Neither liked the Franciscan, despising him for his weak intellect, his filthy robes and the narrow-mindedness
     of his opinions.
    ‘Matt and I will take Drax to the church, and he can explain his theory to me there,’ said Michael, knowing exactly why his
     friend was reluctant to elaborate. ‘The rest of you can return to your teaching. Our students’ day has been interrupted long
     enough.’
    ‘No,’ argued Langelee. ‘He can tell us here. If Drax
has
been murdered, we need to know.’
    ‘I disagree,’ said Thelnetham, flicking imaginary dust from his immaculate habit. ‘I have no desire to be regaled with ghoulish
     details. It was bad enough overhearing his lecture on fractured skulls the other day. It made me quite queasy, and I had to
     be escorted outside for air.’
    ‘Thank God