not? He has not decided to become a friar, has he? Has he been hurt in this love affair and sworn to forsake the world?' He stood abruptly. 'Let me see him. I will talk some sense into the fool!'
'Sit down, Stuart,' said Davy Grahame in a soft voice.
'Brother Michael is telling us that Jamie is dead.'
'What?' The colour drained from Stuart Grahame's face and he sat down suddenly with a jolt, as if his legs had turned to jelly.
'But he cannot be dead, Davy!' he said unsteadily. 'We saw him yesterday evening!'
Davy ignored him. 'How did he die?' he asked, looking from Michael to Bartholomew, his expression one of dazed horror. 'Where?'
'Quickly,' said Bartholomew, 'and without pain. Near the King's Ditch at Valence Marie. Can you think of anyone who would want to harm him?'
'He was killed by another?' asked Father Andrew, appalled. 'You mean murdered?'
Michael nodded, and calmly blocked the door as Stuart Grahame suddenly lurched towards it. 'Those friars!' the Scot yelled. The friars killed him!'
Michael took him firmly by the elbow and led him to sit at the table again, where Father Andrew put a comforting arm around his shoulders. The biggest, oldest and toughest of the Scots began to weep uncontrollably. The others looked away, Ruthven scrubbing surreptitiously at his eyes with the back of his hand.
'We will speak to the friars, of course,' said Michael.
'But at the moment, we need you to think of reasons others might have for wishing Kenzie harm. We can start with his woman.'
Fyvie shook his head as if he were trying to clear it. 'She would not kill him — she loved him dearly! Her name is Dominica and she is the daughter of the Principal of Godwinsson Hostel.'
Ruthven seized Michael's sleeve. 'Tread carefully, though. She is a kindly girl, but her father is not well-disposed towards Scots. You could ruin her by indiscretion.'
The indiscretion was James Kenzie's, thought Bartholomew, if he had picked a lover whose father was so adverse to his nationality. But Ruthven's caution was obviously meant well — a final act of friendship in attempting to protect the reputation of his dead comrade's lover.
Michael appraised him coolly. 'We will not be indiscreet,' he said, 'although I trust no other of you is so flagrantly breaking the University's rule about women?'
Vigorously shaken heads met his inquiry, and Michael relented. 'Do you have anything more that might help us? Were you all here last night as you claim?'
Ruthven, still white-faced, answered. 'Yes. Father Andrew was with us until it was time for the door to be locked, but Jamie had already left by then. We told Father Andrew that Jamie was ill and was resting upstairs in bed, like Robert of Stirling. Father Andrew saw us all to our dormitory, and can vouch that we all accompanied him to mass this morning. The Principal stayed here with the two students from Stirling and Jamie… or so he thought.'
Father Andrew nodded. 'Seven students were with me at mass: these seven,' he said, gesturing at Kenzie's four friends and the trio by the fireplace. 'I thought Jamie was ill. Until now.' He looked sternly at the subdued students. 'You have been extremely foolish in aiding your friend to slip out at night, and you very possibly have contributed to his death. Think on that before you break more University rules.'
'I want to go home!' wailed Stuart Grahame suddenly.
His younger cousin rushed to his side in an attempt to quell the tears. 'I do not like this violent town!'
'Did Jamie have a ring?' asked Bartholomew, watching Davy comfort his distraught kinsman. 'One that he wore on his little finger?'
For a moment there was silence, except for Stuart's soft weeping, and then Davy spoke up. 'Yes, he did.
And although he never said so, I had the feeling that Dominica gave it to him. Why? Do you have it? I doubt it was valuable.'
Bartholomew shook his head. 'It was missing, and so we must consider theft as a possible motive for Jamie's murder. In the dark, it