A Killer in Winter

Determined that Norbert should possess the means to support himself before he was turned loose on the world, his uncle had taken him to Ovyng Hostel, so that he might learn the skills necessary to become a clerk or a lawyer: the number of contested wills since the plague meant that there was no shortage of work for such men. But Norbert had not enjoyed his letters when he was a boy, and he did not like studying grammar, rhetoric and logic now that he was a man. He soon discovered that Ovyng was not a suitable place for a pleasure-loving fellow like himself.

Ovyng was a hostel for Franciscans who, not surprisingly, deplored Norbert and his excesses. In return, Norbert loathed everything about the Grey Friars – from their shabby habits and leaking boots, to their tedious lessons and preaching about morality. Fortunately for Norbert, Ovyng’s principal was very grateful for the fees the Tulyets paid for their kinsman’s education, and intended to keep their reluctant pupil for as long as possible. This meant that most of Norbert’s bad behaviour went unreported, and the young man was free to do much as he wanted. His uncle continued to pay for the privilege of a University education, the friars made valiant but futile attempts to teach Norbert the law, and cousin Richard watched it all with thinly veiled contempt.

Earlier that evening, Norbert had informed Principal Ailred that he planned to celebrate the Feast of St Thomas with his uncle. Ailred had chosen to believe him, because he was not in the mood for an argument he knew he would not win anyway: Norbert would leave the hostel whether he had permission or not, but Ailred was sure it would not be to visit his family. Ailred was right: Norbert had other business in mind.

First, Norbert had been obliged to meet men who had lent him money. Their demands for repayment had become more aggressive over the last few days, and this was a problem, because Norbert had already spent the three pounds, eight shillings and fourpence they had lent him, and had none left to give back. Begging another day’s grace, Norbert had escaped to the King’s Head, where he had enjoyed a good meal – still to be paid for – and won a salted fish from another patron in a game of dice. The fish was tucked under his arm in a piece of sacking, and he planned to sell it to his ever-hungry Franciscan classmates. The evening had improved thereafter, and he had passed the next few hours with a woman whose company he enjoyed more each time they met.

By the time he left the tavern, he was drunk and it was late. Unfortunately for him, the clouds had thinned during the evening, leaving a full moon to illuminate Cambridge’s dismal streets like a great white lantern. The snow reflected the moonlight, making it brighter than ever, and even the drunken Norbert knew it was not a good night for dodging proctors and beadles – the men who prowled the streets looking for scholars breaking the University’s rules. Hoping to avoid such an encounter, he took the towpath along the river, weaving his way along it unsteadily. As he walked, icy water seeped through his shoes in a way that was far from pleasant, and his thoughts turned maudlin.

Much of his pique was directed against his cousin. It was Richard who had recommended the cut in Norbert’s allowance, which had obliged him to borrow to pay for his pleasures. So, it was Richard’s fault that he was now under pressure from the lenders to give it back. The latest demand had been intimidating, and he wondered whether he should break into his uncle’s house in order to steal what he needed to pay them off. Since the town was full of travelling entertainers, all hoping to make money during the Christmas season, one of them would probably be blamed. Norbert’s wine-soaked mind told him that burglary was a good idea, and he was about to wend his way to the Tulyet home on Bridge Street, when he spotted someone walking towards him.

He staggered quickly to one of the wall buttresses behind Trinity Hall and waited with a thudding heart. His first thought was that the figure was a beadle, who knew perfectly well that the back of Trinity Hall provided plentiful hiding places for undergraduates. Norbert did not want to be fined for drunkenness or to spend the rest of the night in a miserable cell with others who had enjoyed too much wine. But the man who hastened quickly through the snow was only Doctor Bartholomew from Michaelhouse, who was far too engrossed in thoughts of his patients to notice furtive shadows lurking at the backs of colleges.