An Order for Death by Susanna Gregory Page B

themselves. Murder is a serious offence: would they have leapt to their feet so willingly if
     they really had killed Faricius?’
    ‘They knew I would identify them anyway,’ said Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘It would have done them no good to deny it.’
    ‘They did not know that for certain. And if all had denied encountering you, it would have been the word of six friars against
     a lone physician, who had half his attention on a patient who was bleeding to death.’
    ‘Then do you think they are telling the truth: that they saw a wounded enemy and did not know he was so seriously injured?’
    Michael shook his head slowly. ‘I do not know. Perhaps one of the six struck the fatal blow, and the others merely saw a wounded
     Carmelite. Then, when you came along, they decided that it was not worth a battering from your forceps and they let you both
     go.’
    ‘So, how will you discover which of them was responsible?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Will you interview them all separately?’
    ‘Already done,’ replied Michael. ‘Walcote and I had them in the proctors’ cells yesterday and today. They all said the same
     thing: they admitted that they were out looking for trouble, but maintained that when they found Faricius he was already bleeding.
     You did not actually see them stab him, and so there is insufficient evidence to charge them with his murder. I was forced
     to release them.’
    ‘Then what do you think happened? Do you think one of Faricius’s own Order harmed him?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking about
     the peculiar story spun by Lincolne and his students that Faricius could not have left the friary.
    Michael scratched his chin, fingernails rasping on two days’ growth of bristles. ‘It is odd. On the one hand, we have Prior
     and friends certain that an exit from the friary was impossible and that Faricius was inside; on the other we have the very
     real evidence of his corpse outside it. I cannot decide what the truth is.’
    ‘Either they really believe what they say is true – even though it clearly is not – or they want to hide the real truth and
     have decided to do it by confusing you.’
    ‘Well, it is working,’ said Michael irritably. ‘I
am
confused.’
    ‘So, what will you do? Where will you start?’
    Michael sighed. ‘I can do no more to solve Faricius’s murder today. I worked hard questioning those Dominicans and I am tired.
     I feel like doing something pleasant this evening – and I do not mean sitting in a freezing conclave with Michaelhouse’s eccentric
     collection of Fellows after an inadequate meal.’
    ‘Lent is almost over,’ said Bartholomew, knowing that the miserable food was the real cause of the monk’s discontent. Michael
     was usually perfectly happy to relax in the company of his colleagues, despite their peculiarities.
    ‘And not a moment too soon,’ said Michael bitterly. ‘Lent is a miserable time of year. No meat to be had; church services
     held at ungodly hours; gloomy music sung at masses; everyone talking about abstention and fasting and other such nonsense.’
     He watched the physician swing the medicine bag he always carried over his shoulder as he prepared to leave. ‘Going out alone
     when you have an offer of company is madness, Matt. Let me escort you to Trumpington.’
    ‘I do not need an escort,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I walk to Trumpington quite regularly, and you have never expressed any concern
     before.’
    Michael gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘You are being remarkably insensitive, Matt. Edith told us what she planned to cook tonight,
     to celebrate Richard’s return to Cambridge. However, the offerings at Michaelhouse are more of that revolting fish-giblet
     stew and bread I saw Agatha sawing the green bits from this morning. If you were any kind of friend, you would see my predicament
     and invite me to dine with Edith.’
    ‘I wondered what was behind all this uncharacteristic concern for my safety. It is not my well-being that