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and I wanted to invite you to stay in Holy Trinity, but …’
    ‘But I thought it inadvisable,’ finished Multone. He introduced the Frenchman as Prior Jean de Chozaico, and the other monk as Anketil Malore. Then he returned to the subject of Holy Trinity. ‘It was attacked only last week, and guests should not be subjected to that sort of thing. Besides, we have a nice hospitium here.’
    ‘Spies?’ asked Langelee of Chozaico sympathetically,speaking the vernacular, because his French was almost as poor as his Latin. ‘People still think you harbour them?’
    Chozaico winced. ‘Yes, because of our status as an alien house. It is galling, because we have tried our best to win the city’s affection – giving alms, making donations to worthy causes …’
    ‘The Carmelites are far more likely suspects than us,’ added Anketil, who was taller than his Prior, and slimmer, with hair so fair as to make him appear bald. ‘They sue anyone who owes them money, presumably so they can send it to their foreign masters.’
    ‘No,’ said Chozaico, regarding his companion sharply. ‘They are not guilty either, and—’
    ‘You were one of Zouche’s executors, Anketil,’ interrupted Langelee rudely, turning the subject to one that interested him more. ‘Surely his last testament contained a sentence about Huntington? The codicil has been misplaced, but what about the will itself?’
    ‘It confined itself solely to his chantry chapel,’ replied Anketil. He looked pleased to have been spared a rebuke from his Prior. ‘And although I heard him say he wanted Michaelhouse to have Huntington, I am not aware that he wrote anything down. However, the man to ask is John Dalfeld.’
    Langelee groaned. ‘I was hoping to avoid that. I cannot abide lawyers, and Dalfeld is worse than most.’ He either did not notice or did not care about Radeford’s hurt expression. ‘I do not suppose there has been any improvement in him since I left?’
    ‘He has grown in importance,’ replied Chozaico carefully. ‘Thoresby uses him a great deal.’
    ‘He does not even live in the Franciscan Priory now,’ added Anketil. ‘He has his own house.’
    ‘On the Ouse Bridge,’ elaborated Multone. ‘I askedWarden Stayndrop why he allowed one of his friars such liberty, and he said it was expedient.’
    ‘In other words,’ translated Alice, ‘Stayndrop was glad to be rid of him. Dalfeld was arrogant, nosy and sly when you knew him, Ralph, but now he is worse than ever. In fact, he is a beast.’
    ‘He is not very religious, either,’ added Isabella, in a way that suggested that she considered this the ultimate damnation. ‘He does not even bother wearing his habit these days.’
    Chozaico cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with such blunt talking. ‘If Dalfeld cannot help you, try looking in the minster library. When Thoresby became Archbishop, he sent all Zouche’s correspondence there, so if a codicil does exist, that is where it will be.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Langelee glumly. ‘But I suppose we had better start with Dalfeld. We shall visit him today.’
    ‘That will not be necessary,’ said Multone. ‘Because I asked him to come here this morning for that express purpose. I thought you might prefer to deal with him in my presence, because he is …’
    ‘Ruthless, devious and greedy,’ supplied Alice, when the Abbot faltered, searching for a tactful phrase. ‘The kind of man who should only be addressed in the presence of reliable witnesses, lest he later twists your words or forges your signatures.’
    Multone winced, although he made no effort to contradict her. ‘I expect him at any moment.’
    ‘Then perhaps we could discuss my business before he arrives, Father Abbot,’ suggested Chozaico uneasily. ‘Because … well, you understand.’
    ‘Indeed,’ nodded Multone quickly. ‘The founding of an obit for Stiendby is none of his affair.’
    ‘Stiendby is dead?’ asked Langelee, shocked. ‘He wasanother