A Poisonous Plot

‘Then why did he refuse to apologise to King’s Hall? A little contrition would have gone a long way to soothing troubled waters.’

‘Because Wayt annoyed him by blowing the matter out of all proportion. And besides, the town thought him a hero, and would have reviled him if he had recanted.’

‘He frightened Cew badly,’ said Bartholomew, looking up from his examination. ‘That is hardly the act of a hero. Neither is terrorising pigs and geese.’

Hakeney shrugged. ‘Well, it is done now, and King’s Hall has made him pay dearly for it.’

‘There is no evidence that they are responsible for his death,’ cautioned Michael.

‘Then perhaps you should look at the matter a bit harder,’ Hakeney flashed back.

‘Do you know anything about the ale that Frenge was going to take there yesterday?’ asked Michael, manfully keeping his temper. ‘Peyn told us that he went to deliver a barrel.’

‘If he had, it would have resulted in a sore stomach or two,’ smirked Hakeney. ‘However, he would not have wasted his time: he knew they would have tipped it straight down the drain.’

‘Is there anyone else who might have meant him harm? Shirwynk, perhaps? Or Peyn?’

‘Of course not. They were not friends, but they had worked well together for a decade.’

‘Did Frenge own a boat?’ asked Bartholomew, writing instructions to the apothecary for a syrup that should ease Hakeney’s problem. Unfortunately, he was not sure what had caused the attack — it might have been the dyeworks, but it might equally well have been too much wine, a poor diet, a lazy lifestyle or a host of other factors.

Hakeney blinked his surprise at the question. ‘No, why?’

‘How well did he know the Austins?’ Michael turned to another subject without giving Bartholomew the chance to explain.

‘He did not know them at all — at least, not the ones in the convent. He was good friends with your colleague Wauter, though — Wauter’s old hostel is not far from the brewery, you see.’

‘You say he was drunk when he launched his foolish assault on King’s Hall,’ said Michael. ‘But what about when he went to the Austin Priory?’

Hakeney raised his hands in a shrug. ‘There was a lot of ale on his cart, and he was a scrupulous man — he would not have wanted to sell his customers sour wares, so of course he would have sampled them first.’

Michael regarded him thoughtfully. ‘There is something you are not telling us — I can read it in your face. It is almost as if you do not want Frenge’s death investigated.’

Hakeney regarded him with dislike. ‘Of course I do. But if you must know, I fear that Frenge might have gone to the friary because of me. My wife had a cross, you see. She inherited it from her father, who brought it back from a pilgrimage. But Almoner Robert stole it.’

‘I sincerely doubt he did any such thing!’ declared Michael, startled. ‘The Austins are good men. They are generous with alms, and even starved last winter, so that beggars could eat.’

‘I know,’ said Hakeney. ‘But that does not alter the fact that Robert is wearing my wife’s crucifix. It may not look like much — a simple thing of plain black wood — but it was something she cherished, and I want it back.’

‘His cross is crafted from black wood,’ said Bartholomew, recalling it hanging around the almoner’s neck. ‘But there is nothing remarkable about it, so how can you be sure it is hers?’

‘That is what he said, but he started flaunting it not long after I lost mine, which is too great a coincidence for me. It looks smaller than I remember, and the colour is slightly different, but I am sure it is the same piece.’

‘Speak to Prior Joliet about it,’ suggested Bartholomew, looking around the seedy chaos that was Hakeney’s home and suspecting that the original was still there somewhere; it would be found if the vintner ever bothered to tidy up.

Hakeney scowled. ‘I did, but Robert produced a bill of sale, so Prior Joliet told me I was mistaken. I often talked about the injustice of the matter to Frenge.’

Michael narrowed his eyes. ‘So you think Frenge might have gone to steal it back for you?’

‘He might,’ said Hakeney, although he spoke slyly, and Bartholomew wondered if he just aimed to exacerbate the trouble between town and University. ‘But he was drunk and they caught him, so they decided to kill him — to stop him from trespassing on their property again.’

Michael eyed him balefully. ‘I have never heard such arrant nonsense in all my life. The Austins are the last men to take umbrage at someone straying into their grounds. They are decent souls, Hakeney — not violent or vengeful.’

‘If that were true,’ said Hakeney sullenly, ‘then Robert would give me back my cross.’