To Kill or Cure

CHAPTER 7

Isnard was not the only one who expressed his disapproval of the physician that morning. As Bartholomew walked from the Mill Pond to Michaelhouse, two rivermen cast unpleasant looks in his direction. He heard one tell the other that it was common practise among University physicians to hone their skills on hapless townsmen, so they would know what they were doing when a scholar needed treatment. Then he added that the operation to remove Isnard’s leg had been performed by Deynman, which Bartholomew might have found amusing, had he not been so appalled by the way the town was turning so fast against him.

He did not feel safe by the river, so he abandoned the towpath and cut up one of the narrow alleys to Milne Street. When a woman called Yolande de Blaston wished him good morning, he regarded her suspiciously, and looked around to see if she had been charged to waylay him, so he could be pelted with mud – or worse.

‘Do not worry about bad-tempered apprentices, Doctor,’ said Yolande. She was a part-prostitute and part-laundress, and knew virtually every man in the town for one reason or another. ‘If they give you any trouble, you come and tell me, and I will sort them out for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bartholomew weakly.

‘I said the same to that Motelete – the student Arderne raised from the dead. The pot-boys from the Angel had him cornered, and were going to kill him in revenge for Ocleye. I sent them off with a flea in their ear, although Motelete is a lad who knows how to look after himself, and I suspect he would have been able to fend for himself. Still, he thanked me prettily enough.’

‘Motelete?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘I doubt he would fare very well against pot-boys.’

‘He had bloodied a couple of noses,’ countered Yolande. ‘It surprised me, too, because he is a gentle youth. Would you like me to stop Arderne spreading lies about you? I was going to do it yesterday, but Doctor Rougham said I should ask you first – he said if I knock out Arderne’s teeth in your name, the fellow might make trouble for you. Did I tell you I am expecting again, by the way? Number twelve – you missed number eleven, because you were in France.’

Bartholomew was suitably impressed, and recalled that most of her offspring bore uncanny likenesses to prominent townsmen and scholars. Her husband did not object to the way she earned extra pennies to support their growing brood, and there were few households in Cambridge that were as content and happy as the Blastons. He persuaded her that punching healers was not a good idea for pregnant ladies, although it was not easy, because she had taken an intense dislike to Arderne. He took his leave of her, and had not gone more than a few steps before he met his sister.

‘Have you had news about Falmeresham?’ she asked, worried to see him looking so preoccupied and careworn.

He shook his head. ‘But people do not just disappear. He must be somewhere.’

‘They fall in the river though, and are swept away, never to be seen again. I appreciate that is not what you want to hear, but it is true.’

‘I know,’ he said shortly, refusing to think about it.

‘Agatha threw a loaf of bread at Arderne yesterday – in the Market Square – because he was braying that your amputation of Isnard’s leg was unnecessary. It was a loaf she had baked herself, so he is lucky to be alive.’

Uncharitably, Bartholomew wished she had lobbed it a little harder. ‘I cannot imagine what I have done to offend him.’

‘He rails against Rougham and Paxtone, too, and he was rude about Lynton when he was alive. Lynton was so angry that he challenged him to a trial by combat.’

Bartholomew started to laugh. ‘Lynton? I doubt he knew one end of a sword from another.’

‘Well, you are wrong – he was quite accomplished. He was training to be a knight when he realised he had an aptitude for scholarship and decided to become a physician instead. I do not think he honed his skills very often, but he certainly knew how to wield a weapon. Surely you must have noticed the confident way he rode his horse, and how he never went out without a proper dagger?’

‘He was a good horseman,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. He had never given his colleague’s penchant for knives much thought, assuming them to be decorative rather than functional. He considered the new information carefully, and decided it added weight to his contention that Arderne had killed Lynton – Lynton had been shot because he had not submitted passively to Arderne’s torrent of abuse, and had tried to do something to stop it.

‘Arderne accepted Lynton’s challenge eagerly,’ Edith went on. ‘And why not? What danger could an elderly scholar pose? Then he found out that Lynton knew how to fight, and he began to make excuses – delaying the time they were due to meet, finding fault with the locations Lynton suggested, and so on. And now – conveniently for Arderne – Lynton is dead. Rumour is that the horse killed him, but he was too skilled a rider to have simply fallen off.’

‘What are you saying? That you think Arderne killed Lynton?’

‘It crossed my mind, although it is difficult to see how.’

Bartholomew did not enlighten her; she was safer not knowing. ‘I have not heard about this duel before, and neither has Michael.’

‘Then you are obviously talking to the wrong people. You should ask your questions of townsfolk, not University men. You will have a lot more honest answers.’

‘I might have a dagger in my back, too. Scholars are not popular with laymen at the moment.’

‘It would all blow over if the landlords were allowed to raise the rents. You must admit that the situation is unfair: once a band of students is in a house, they are free to stay as long as they like – for a pittance. Come to Trumpington for a few days, Matt. Term is not due to start for another week, and Langelee will not begrudge you a respite with your family.’

‘You want me tucked away until people stop being angry about Isnard’s leg?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Yes – and you must see that I am right. Look at those baker’s apprentices. They are glowering at you, and if I were not here, they would attack.’

Bartholomew glanced to where she pointed, and conceded that the gang of youths was regarding him in an openly hostile manner. As he watched, one stooped and picked something up from the ground. His arm went back, and something started to fly through the air. Bartholomew tried to interpose himself between the missile and Edith, but he was too slow. The stone hit her head with a thump and she crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, the apprentices did nothing but stare, then they took to their heels and fled, their horrified faces showing it was not the outcome they had intended. Heart pounding, Bartholomew knelt next to his sister, relieved beyond measure when she opened her eyes and looked at him. Being a scalp wound, there was a good deal of blood, but her thick hair and padded head-dress had absorbed most of the impact, and she was more shocked than seriously hurt.

He gathered her up in his arms, and carried her to her husband’s Milne Street property, where Oswald Stanmore fussed and fretted until she was compelled to order him away. Although theirs had been an arranged marriage – Stanmore had wanted a wife from an old and respected family, and Edith’s father had been interested in the clothier’s rapidly burgeoning wealth – they were a happy couple, and loved each other deeply. He stood in the doorway and watched Bartholomew stitch the wound, his face a mask of stricken horror. It was some time before he was convinced that there would be no lasting damage, and only then did he agree to let his brother-in-law leave. He followed the physician to the front door.

‘I know my apprentices stood against you in the Market Square yesterday. I have berated them for it, and it will not happen again.’

Bartholomew shrugged. ‘I cannot blame them. It is not an easy choice: their master’s kin or their local friends. I imagine it is not pleasant for you either.’

Stanmore smiled ruefully. ‘That is an understatement! My fellow burgesses say I have divided loyalties, and I find myself “accidentally omitted” from important meetings. Candelby wanted me to bribe you – to pay you for persuading Michael to yield to him over the rents.’

‘What was he offering?’

Stanmore’s smile was grim. ‘More money than you make in a year. However, I declined on your behalf. Now all your patients have defected to Arderne, you cannot afford to lose your Fellowship to charges of corruption.’

‘All my patients have not defected,’ objected Bartholomew indignantly. ‘Most have remained with me, although they are wary about admitting it. The only notable losses are Hanchach, the three crones who sell cabbages in the Market Square, and a couple of butchers.’

‘And Isnard,’ added Stanmore. ‘He always was a bad judge of character. When he comes to his senses – as he will, in time – you should have nothing to do with him. That will teach him a lesson he needs to learn.’

‘He threatened to kill me just now. He was drunk, but I think he meant it.’

‘God help us! Arderne’s antics are doing you serious damage, and while I am willing to stand at your side, I do not want Edith to do it. Will you agree to stay away from her until this is over? We both want the same thing – her safety.’

Bartholomew nodded, knowing it was the right thing to do, but he deeply resented the necessity. For the first time, he began to feel stirrings of genuine anger towards Arderne. He left Stanmore’s house in a growing rage, and had Arderne been out at that precise moment, Bartholomew would have been the second Cambridge physician to challenge him to a trial by combat – his recent experiences with King Edward’s army in France meant he was sure he could give the healer a run for his money. However, it was not Arderne he met, but Michael. The monk took one look at the black expression on his friend’s face, and dragged him into the nearest tavern.

The Brazen George on the High Street was Michael’s favourite inn. It was a clean, comfortable place that offered a choice of several rooms to its patrons. This meant scholars could drink their ale without being in company with townsfolk – and vice versa – and two rear doors meant students could escape if the Senior Proctor or his beadles happened to enter. There was a flurry of movement towards the back that day, although Michael rarely fined anyone for drinking in the Brazen George. It would have been rank hypocrisy, given the amount of time he spent there himself.

When Bartholomew told him what had happened, the monk’s eyes grew round with horror. ‘This is growing more deadly by the moment. You should stay in Michaelhouse until it blows over.’

‘I shall not. I have done nothing wrong, and refuse to skulk like a frightened rabbit. Do you think Arderne will accept my challenge? He accepted Lynton’s.’

‘And then immediately withdrew when he realised Lynton was hardier than he looked. He is not a fool, and will not make the same mistake twice. Keep away from him. It is safer that way.’

‘Safer for whom?’

‘Him,’ said Michael wryly. ‘I have never seen you so angry. You say Edith will suffer no long-term effects, so put this into perspective. It was you these lads were aiming for, not her.’

‘That makes me feel better.’

‘Easy, Matt. Remember that Lynton fought back against Arderne, and now he is dead.’

‘I thought you considered Candelby a more viable suspect for Lynton’s murder.’

‘I do, but that does not mean I am happy for you to take needless risks. Even if Arderne is innocent of shooting Lynton, he is still a very dangerous man.’

‘Then that is even more reason for taking steps to neutralise him. He gave Hanchach urine to drink last night, and God only knows what other toxic potions he is distributing in his ignorance.’ Bartholomew changed the subject when he saw Michael look worried. The monk had enough to occupy him, without being burdened by the physician’s concerns, too. ‘Where have you been this morning?’

‘Asking questions about Lynton. It is amazing how you think you know a man, but once he is dead, you learn all manner of new facts about him. I had no idea he owned houses, or that he was almost a knight. And I did not know that he was closer to Maud Bowyer than we were led to believe, either. Were you aware that she was his lover?’

Bartholomew gaped at him. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better by making bad jokes? If so, it will not work. Lynton was scrupulous about observing the University’s rules, and reprimanded me several times when he thought I was spending too much time with Matilde. That was two years ago, before she …’ He trailed off. It was never easy to talk about Matilde.

‘Then we shall have to add hypocrisy to the list of character traits we never knew he possessed. Isabel told me about this dalliance – I met her on the High Street a few moments ago.’

‘She just came out with it?’ Bartholomew was sceptical, and suspected the monk had been the subject of a practical joke, albeit one in very poor taste.

‘Hardly! It slipped out as part of a misunderstanding. You see, Agatha mentioned to me this morning that Maud and Lynton often played games of chance together on Sunday afternoons. One of her many kinsmen works in Maud’s kitchen, and he told her–’

‘So now Lynton is a gambler and a despoiler of the Sabbath, as well as a womaniser?’

Michael raised his hand. ‘Let me finish. When we ran into each other just now, I asked Isabel exactly how much time Lynton actually spent with Maud – you do not dice with your patients, and it occurred to me that Candelby might not be her only admirer. Isabel did not realise I was asking about Sunday afternoons, and admitted that Lynton visited Maud most nights, with the notable exception of Fridays. Fridays were apparently reserved for some other activity.’

‘What?’ asked Bartholomew acidly. ‘Robbing travellers on the King’s highways? Running a brothel in The Jewry? Chanting spells to summon the Devil?’

‘Do not vent your spleen on me,’ said Michael sharply. ‘It is not my fault your colleague transpires to have been such a dark horse. Isabel did not know what he did on Fridays – only that he never visited Maud then. Perhaps he spent the time on his knees, begging forgiveness for his sins. God knows, there are enough of them.’

‘Isabel parted with this information willingly?’

‘No, she was furious when she realised she had given me more than I was anticipating, and accused me of tricking her. Of course, I did nothing of the kind, and she knows it. She assumed I had been asking questions of Maud’s servants, and one of them had let the cat out of the bag. She was mortified when she saw she was the one who had betrayed her mistress’s trust.’

Bartholomew was about to tell him it was all arrant rubbish, when various facts came together in his mind. He hesitated, and began to think about it. ‘Do you remember Maud at the accident on Sunday? She was weeping bitterly. I assumed it was shock.’

‘But it was grief,’ finished Michael. ‘Her lover was dead, and that was the cause of her distress.’

‘It must be why she refuses to see Candelby, too. He publicly maligned Lynton – accused him of causing the accident deliberately. No wonder she was upset.’

‘And we must not overlook the fact that she backs the University against the town,’ added Michael. ‘She said she would not let Candelby get his hands on her property and use it against us. It must be because she wants to support the foundation in which Lynton spent most of his adult life.’

‘How long had their affair been going on?’

‘Years, apparently. They started seeing each other during the Death, but were content to let their relationship stay as it was. Lynton did not want to marry and forfeit his Fellowship, and she did not want to lose her independence.’

‘You mean her independence to accept Candelby’s attentions?’

‘She told us herself that she never took them seriously – that they were an amusing diversion.’

Bartholomew’s thoughts returned to his enigmatic colleague. ‘I would have thought Lynton was too old for this sort of thing. It is hard to imagine him as a rampant seducer.’

‘You are never too old for an amour. Do you think you will lose interest in ladies when you are sixty? No, of course not! Still, I am surprised, because I always thought of Lynton as rather priestly.’

‘He refused to take major orders, though, despite pressure from his College. Now we know why.’

‘If Candelby knew about the affair, it is yet another motive for murder. You think your case against Arderne is strengthened because of what Edith told you about Lynton challenging him to fight, but Isabel’s confession means my case against Candelby has also received a boost this morning.’

‘Did Candelby know about Lynton and Maud?’

‘Isabel said it was a secret, but you know how these things get out. Maud lives on Bridge Street, which is a major thoroughfare. It would only take one too many visits to set tongues wagging.’

Prudently, Michael and Bartholomew left the Brazen George through one of the back doors, unwilling to be seen there by scholars or townsmen. They walked to the High Street via a narrow, filthy alley that was partly blocked by a dead pig, and was so rank with the stench of sewage that the monk complained of being light-headed. Bartholomew took his arm and helped him into the comparatively fresh air of the High Street.

‘If you are unwell, Brother, you should ask me for a cure,’ came a voice from behind them. It was Arderne, his pale blue eyes fixed on the monk like a snake with a mouse. ‘I hear you are wealthy enough to afford my fees, and I promise you will not be disappointed.’

‘I do not drink urine, Arderne,’ retorted Michael, laying a calming hand on the physician’s arm. Bartholomew’s fury about what had happened to his sister had subsided, but not by much.

‘Magister Arderne to you. And drinking urine comes highly recommended by the great Galen himself. Tell your physician friend to go away and read him.’

‘I have read him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And nowhere does he suggest drinking urine, especially someone else’s. You might have killed Hanchach. You still might, if he does not–’

‘Hanchach is my patient now, and his treatment is my concern.’ Arderne was smiling, pleased with himself. ‘You are only interested in his health because he is wealthy and you want his money.’

Bartholomew regarded him coldly. ‘Unlike you, I suppose?’

Arderne’s grin widened. ‘I admit money is my main reason for being a healer. However, there is also the satisfaction of seeing a man get well. Hanchach is already better, and it is down to me.’

‘He tells me Galen is a personal friend of yours,’ said Bartholomew.

‘Did he?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘I thought Galen had been dead for the last thousand years.’

‘More,’ said Bartholomew. ‘So it must have been a fascinating encounter.’

‘I was referring to the other Galen,’ replied Arderne with cool aplomb. ‘The one who lives in Montpellier, and who is a great admirer of mine. Surely, you have heard of him? He is the best medicus in the world – after me, of course. But I have no time to remedy your appalling education. Unlike you, I have patients who want to see me.’

‘Is there another Galen?’ asked Michael, watching people doff their hats to the healer as he strutted away.

‘No,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘If I challenged him to a trial by combat now, he would be hard-pressed to weasel his way out of it, and I am certain I would win.’

‘I am sure you are right, but can you imagine what would happen if you were to kill or maim the town’s most popular medicus? Cambridge would erupt into violence for certain.’

Late that afternoon there was a knock on the gate, and Cynric opened it to see Tyrington and Honynge. Their students were with them, and all had hired carts to ferry their belongings from their hostels to the College. Cynric stood aside wordlessly, and watched the procession stream inside.

In the hall, where Bartholomew had been presiding over a disputation entitled ‘Let us enquire whether a simple diet is preferable to a varied one’, the sudden rattle of hoofs caught the junior members’ wavering attention. Unusually, all the Fellows were in attendance, sitting by the small collection of tomes that comprised Michaelhouse’s library; most of the books were chained to the wall, because they were an expensive commodity, and the College could not afford to lose any.

‘It is the new men,’ announced Deynman, leaning out of the window to see what was going on, and interrupting the point he was trying to make about vegetables. ‘They have arrived with their entourage – ten in total, but all with more luggage than the Devil.’

‘Satan does not own luggage, Deynman,’ said William with considerable authority. For a friar, William knew a lot about the denziens of Hell.

Deynman turned to face him. ‘No? Then how does he transport his spare pitchforks?’

There was laughter from the other students, but Bartholomew could tell from the earnest expression on Deynman’s face that the question sprang from a genuine desire to know, and was not prompted by any desire to be insolent.

‘Satan is irrelevant to our debate,’ the physician said quickly, seeing William gird himself up to respond. ‘Come away from the window, Deynman, and continue your analysis.’

‘You had just made the contention that a simple diet is better, because it requires less memory,’ prompted Carton, when he saw Deynman struggling to remember what he had said.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Deynman, returning to the front of the hall. Usually, Bartholomew avoided using him in disputations, on the grounds that when he did, they tended to degenerate into the ridiculous, but he could not ignore the eagerly raised hand for ever. Unfortunately, William had then offered to take the opposing side, which meant the students had so far learned very little – except perhaps how not to go about the business of scholarly discourse. ‘It is always good to be simple.’

‘And you should know,’ muttered Michael under his breath. He spoke more loudly. ‘You need to argue your case in more detail, Deynman. Some disputants take more than an hour to outline their arguments in a logical manner, but you have only given us two sentences. The whole point of the exercise is to anticipate your opponents’ objections and address them before he can give them voice. That is the skill we are trying to hone today.’

Deynman frowned as he strove to understand. ‘Yes, I have been told that before.’ The monk refrained from pointing out that it had been reiterated every day for the past two weeks. ‘A simple diet is better, because you can use the same dishes and never bother to wash them. Your servants will be pleased, and thus you will have a contented household.’

‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, aware of the third-years struggling to suppress their mirth. He was almost glad Falmeresham was not there, because the whole hall would have been rocking with laughter at the witty commentaries he would have been providing. ‘And how does that pertain to medicine, exactly? What does Galen have to say about simple and varied diets?’

‘No, no, no!’ cried William. ‘You are giving him an unfair advantage by providing clues. It is my turn to speak now. A varied diet is better, because it confuses the Devil, and means it is more difficult for him to poison you. Of course, Dominicans brag about eating simply, but that is because they like to sit down and dine with Satan of an evening.’

‘Oh, really, William!’ called Langelee from the back. ‘You should watch what you say, because some of our students might not know you are making a joke, and they will take you seriously.’

Bartholomew saw the puzzled expression on the friar’s face and knew jesting had been the last thing on his mind. ‘Is there anything else, Father?’ he asked. Some of the students were easing towards the windows. The debate was amusing, but not as interesting as watching the new arrivals.

‘No. I have stated my case perfectly, and anyone who disagrees with me is a fool.’

‘Right,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘Does anyone else have anything to add? About Galen’s hypotheses relating to diet? Or Maimonides? Or even Aristotle?’ he added, a little desperately.

‘Galen believed that all foods should be classified according to their powers,’ said Michael, taking pity on him. ‘Whether they are costive or purgative, corrosive or benign, and so on. Too much of one power can lead to an imbalance in the humours, and thus Galen’s contention is that a varied diet is superior to a simple one. I think that is the answer my colleague was hoping for.’

‘Oh,’ said Deynman, crestfallen. ‘That means I am wrong.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew, beginning to be exasperated. ‘No one is wrong – and no one is right. That is the nature of disputation. It is about the arguments, not the conclusions.’

‘I am right,’ countered William immediately. ‘I always am, in matters of theology. That is why no one in the University ever dares challenge me in the debating halls.’

‘I thought no one challenged him because he is in the habit of stating his own case, then going home before his opponent can take issue with him,’ said Langelee to Michael. The monk sniggered, and the Master raised his voice. ‘So, Bartholomew, if you will do the summing up, we shall–’

‘Is this the nature of disputation at Michaelhouse?’ came a voice from the door. It was Honynge, and Tyrington was behind him. Honynge stalked in, looking around disparagingly. ‘A simpleton versus a narrow-minded bigot?’

Langelee gaped in astonishment. ‘Did he just refer to Father William as a simpleton?’

‘Actually,’ whispered Wynewyk, ‘I think he meant William is the narrow-minded bigot.’

Some of the students were laughing at Honynge’s remark, because most shared his opinion about the friar, and applauded anyone with the honesty to stand up and say so. Others, however, felt an insult to William was a slur on their College, and there were resentful mutterings.

‘He is a dangerous fanatic,’ declared Honynge. ‘And I, for one, will not pretend otherwise.’

‘Most men wait until they have been officially admitted before launching an attack on their new colleagues,’ said Michael mildly, going to lay a restraining hand on William’s shoulder.

‘We are officially admitted,’ sprayed Tyrington. ‘We swore our oaths yesterday, with William and Wynewyk as witnesses.’

‘It is true,’ said Langelee sheepishly, when Michael and Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. ‘You two were out, and no one knew how long you would be. Honynge said he would accept the offer to be Principal at Lucy’s if we did not admit him straight away.’

‘My students and I want to be settled in before the beginning of term,’ Honynge explained. ‘And Candelby was eager to repossess the house we have been using as a hostel. If Michaelhouse had not opened its doors to us, we would have gone to Lucy’s. There is not much to choose between you.’

‘I am delighted to be here,’ gushed Tyrington, attempting to make up for Honynge’s brusqueness. ‘It is good of you to invite me, and I shall look forward to many entertaining debates during my tenure. Also, I would like to present this book to the College library.’

‘Aristotle’s Topica,’ said Langelee, taking it with an appreciative smile. ‘How kind. And there is a lovely serpent embossed in gold on the cover, too.’

‘A sea serpent,’ whispered Deynman to Carton. ‘Because it is swimming in spit.’

‘So much for the inaugural dinner,’ said Michael, disappointed that more had not been made of the occasion. ‘We do not have new Fellows very often, and a feast is a good way to welcome them.’

‘Feasts are an unnecessary expense,’ countered Honynge. ‘I shall be urging moderation in the future. Besides,’ he added in an undertone, ‘they may try to serve you dog, so you should veto repasts whenever you can.’

‘We do not eat dog,’ objected William indignantly. ‘We leave that sort of thing to Dominicans.’

‘And we shall have feasts whenever we feel like them,’ declared Michael, objecting to the notion that his stomach might be about to fall victim to some needless abstention. ‘Besides, we have just been debating diet, and the general consensus is that Galen was right when he recommended the consumption of a large variety of foods. Matt will support me in this.’

‘A “large variety” is not the same as a “large amount”,’ began Bartholomew. ‘And–’

‘I do not like my new room,’ said Honynge, moving to another issue. ‘It smells of mice, so I think I shall take Bartholomew’s instead. He can share with Wynewyk, and Tyrington can have what was the medical storeroom. That will leave Kenyngham’s chamber for my students.’

‘Bartholomew is not moving,’ said Langelee, after a short, startled silence. ‘And he needs that storeroom for his potions. They sometimes stink, and we do not want them near the kitchens.’

‘Potions are the domain of apothecaries,’ said Honynge icily. ‘So, it would be better if he mixed no more medicines in Michaelhouse. And it would also be wise if he severed ties with his town patients, too. There is a war brewing, and we do not want the College targeted by bereaved kin.’

‘I am sorry to say he has a point,’ said Wynewyk to Bartholomew. ‘There have been bitter mutterings against you of late, and Isnard said–’

‘Isnard would have been dead by now, if Doctor Bartholomew had not removed his leg,’ interrupted Deynman angrily. ‘I saw the injury myself, and I know about these things, because I am his senior student.’

‘Are you really?’ asked Honynge, looking him up and down. He lowered his voice again. ‘You made a mistake in coming here. Michaelhouse is full of fools, gluttons and madmen.’

‘You will get used to them,’ said Deynman pleasantly, assuming the muttered confidence was meant for him. ‘I barely notice my colleagues are foolish, gluttonous or mad these days.’

‘Tyrington brought a barrel of wine, for the Fellows to celebrate his arrival,’ said Langelee, keen to avert a row in front of the students, and so cutting off Honynge’s startled response. ‘It is in the conclave, so shall we adjourn?’

The Fellows trooped after their barrel-chested Master, leaving the junior members to chatter excitedly among themselves. Bartholomew hesitated, because Honynge’s seven scholars and Tyrington’s three were loitering, and he did not want a fight if they transpired to be anything like their masters. But Deynman approached them with a friendly smile, and they responded in kind.

‘Honynge is all right, once you get to know him,’ said a lad from Zachary, when Deynman commented on the fact that the new Fellow was rather free with his opinions, and that most of them were not the kind of remarks generally voiced by mannerly men. ‘He is an excellent teacher, and you will learn a lot if you are fortunate enough to be in his classes.’

‘He talks to himself,’ said Carton disparagingly. ‘How will we know whether he is lecturing to us or enjoying a discussion with his favourite person?’

‘It becomes obvious after a while,’ replied the student. ‘You should hear him on Blood Relics! I have never known a theologian make these complex issues more clear.’

‘Tyrington has interesting views on that debate, too,’ said one of the Piron students. ‘I am looking forward to hearing him challenge Brother Michael. Michael has a formidable reputation as a scholar, although I understand Father William is a little less able in that respect.’

No one from Michaelhouse begged to differ, and Bartholomew followed his colleagues into the conclave a little easier in his mind. The newcomers were too relieved to have found a permanent home in a College to risk it by squabbling, while the Michaelhouse students were a hospitable crowd. He suspected they were going to be better friends than the Fellows.

‘This is nice,’ said Tyrington, looking around the conclave appreciatively as Bartholomew closed the door behind him. Now the senior members could argue all they liked, content in the knowledge that the students could not hear them. ‘I am glad I chose Michaelhouse over Clare – they offered me a Fellowship, too, and I was obliged to make a decision faster than I would have liked.’

‘We were delighted when we heard we had pre-empted them,’ said William, rubbing his hands together as Wynewyk broached the cask of wine. ‘It is always a pleasure to learn one’s College has scored a victory over an in ferior foundation.’

Tyrington treated William to one of his leers. ‘I am gratified that you want me here, but please do not gloat over Clare. They will not like it, and I would hate to be a cause of discord.’

‘That is good advice,’ said Michael to William. ‘And if I hear you have been aggravating Master Kardington, Spaldynge or any other Clare man over securing Tyrington, I shall not be pleased.’

‘I am not a fool, Brother,’ said William, hovering close to Wynewyk, to ensure he laid claim to the first available goblet of claret. ‘I know we are poised at the edge of a precipice, and you need all your Regents to be friends with each other. I shall even lay aside my dispute with the Dominicans until the rent war is resolved, although it will not be easy.’

‘I shall take this seat,’ announced Honynge, making a beeline for the chair Kenyngham had usually occupied. ‘It is a little tatty, but it will suffice. Make sure it is always free for me, if you please. I have a bad back, so must be careful where I sit.’

‘In that case, I shall take this stool,’ said Tyrington, attempting to distance himself from his new colleague by claiming the least desirable place in the room. ‘If no one has any objection.’

William strode towards Honynge, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him upright. Bartholomew winced, and Michael held his breath. ‘That belongs to the Master, and anyone who places his rump on it pays a nonnegotiable fine of threepence.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Langelee, playing along by sitting and beaming around him. ‘Now, let us have this wine. I am parched. You must serve it, Honynge, because you are the Junior Fellow, and that is a time-honoured tradition at Michaelhouse.’

Honynge gaped at him. ‘I serve no man.’

‘Then you must pay another threepence,’ said Langelee with a benign smile. ‘These fines build up, and we are entitled to dismiss Fellows who cannot pay their debts, so do not incur too many.’

Honynge was seething. ‘I am not junior to Tyrington. I am older than he.’

‘It does not work like that,’ said Wynewyk. ‘Fellows are ranked by the order in which they are admitted, and Tyrington took his oath first, because you were late and we started the ceremony without you. If you had not been delayed by other business, you might have beaten him to the post, but I am afraid he has the edge over you now. You will remain Junior Fellow until someone else is sworn in.’

‘But that might be years!’ cried Honynge, aghast.

‘Yes, it might,’ agreed Langelee smugly. ‘And you cannot leave us and go to Lucy’s too soon, because you are obliged to give us a term’s notice if you resign.’

‘However, as Senior Proctor, I have the authority to waive that clause,’ said Michael quickly. ‘I can give you permission to leave today, if you find pouring wine repellent.’

Honynge thought about it. ‘I shall stay,’ he said stiffly. He lowered his voice. ‘Do not allow yourself to be ousted by the unpleasantness of colleagues, Honynge – not on your first day.’

‘We shall have to oust him on his second day, then,’ murmured Wynewyk to Bartholomew. ‘Lord, what have I done? Had I known he was like this, I would have voted for Tyrington instead. Tyrington leers and drools, but he is preferable to this sharp-tongued cockerel!’

‘Perhaps these are nervous manners,’ suggested Bartholomew hopefully. ‘And he will become more amenable when he has settled in. Have you ever watched hens? They peck and scratch at each other until a mutually acceptable hierarchy is reached. Maybe people are not so different.’

‘He had better not peck or scratch at me,’ said Wynewyk pettishly. ‘Or I shall peck and scratch back.’

‘How well do you know Master Kardington, Honynge?’ asked Michael conversationally, raising his goblet in a salute to Tyrington for his generosity. Bartholomew braced himself, seeing from the monk’s predatory expression that an interrogation was about to take place. He recalled Michael saying he intended to put his questions subtly, and supposed Honynge’s curt manner had goaded him into staging a frontal assault instead. ‘Do you ever visit Clare? After dark?’

Honynge maintained an admirable calm as he poured the wine. ‘No. Why would I?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Michael sweetly. ‘Why does any man frequent another foundation? Perhaps he wants to pass the time of day – or night – with friends or lovers. Perhaps he likes the look of that foundation’s silverware. Or perhaps it is documents that catch his eye.’

Honynge blinked. ‘Are you accusing me of a felony?’

‘Me?’ asked Michael, placing a fat hand on his chest. ‘Why would you think that? Unless your guilty conscience prompted you to ask such a question, of course?’

‘I do not visit Clare, because I do not approve of fraternising between Colleges. It is safer that way. I have never been to Clare. Never. Ask Kardington if you do not believe me.’

He was so convincing that Bartholomew wondered if Cynric had been mistaken, but it seemed unlikely – if the book-bearer said he had seen the intruder’s face, then he had seen it. He glanced at Honynge’s hands as the man thrust a goblet of wine at him. The knuckles were grazed, and there was a deep gash on one thumb.

‘What happened to you?’ Bartholomew asked, indicating the wounds with a nod of his head.

‘I scraped them during the process of moving,’ replied Honynge. He pointed to the physician’s fingers, which also bore the marks of an encounter with Clare. ‘And you?’ he demanded.

‘I like Clare,’ said Tyrington pleasantly, cutting across the stammering reply Bartholomew started to make. Honynge was sharp, and the physician had not expected him to counter-attack. ‘It is a very nice College, although not as pleasant as here, of course.’

‘Tyrington is a dreadful sycophant,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew, when the others were engaged in a strained discussion about the day’s inclement weather. ‘And I do not know whether I find his leers or his spitting more objectionable. However, he is charm personified when compared to Honynge. Do you think he killed Kenyngham?’

‘Honynge?’ asked Bartholomew startled. ‘Of course not! Why would he do such a thing? And, as I have told you several times, no one killed Kenyngham.’

‘Why is obvious – he wanted a Fellowship here,’ Michael shot back. He stood and sauntered over to where Honynge was pouring more wine for William. ‘Why did you chose us over Lucy’s? I would have thought that particular hostel would have suited you very nicely – it overlooks a bog.’

Honynge regarded him warily, not sure if he was being insulted. ‘Books,’ he replied shortly. ‘You have a library, Lucy’s does not.’

‘You did not choose us because you admire our tradition of academic excellence?’ asked Michael, a little dangerously.

Honynge snorted. ‘Hardly! You have Father William as a Fellow, and Deynman as a student. Those two alone make Michaelhouse a laughing stock in the world of scholarship. However, I shall help you to oust them, and then our reputation will improve.’

‘What did you think of Kenyngham’s scholarship?’ asked Michael softly.

‘Solid,’ replied Honynge. ‘Not exciting, but perfectly acceptable. Why?’

‘Because I miss him. He was one of few men I respected, and if I find something untoward happened to him, I shall not rest until the culprit is hanged.’

Honynge regarded him with contempt. ‘Is this what your Order teaches you? Vengeance?’

‘Not vengeance – justice. And I dislike men who send me gloating letters.’

‘I shall have to remember not to write you any, then. Forget Kenyngham, Brother. He was an old man who shortened his life with his religious excesses – if anyone killed him, it was Kenyngham himself. Besides, some good has come out of his death, because now you have me. I shall drag Michaelhouse from mediocrity to something other scholars will admire.’

‘Shall we have a debate before dinner?’ asked Langelee brightly, aware of the low-voiced confrontation between the two men and keen to put an end to it before it escalated. ‘We have time.’

‘Blood Relics?’ suggested Tyrington. He spoke before swallowing the wine in his mouth, and Wynewyk scrambled to blot the resulting mess from the Book of Hours he had been reading. ‘It is a matter with which we are all familiar, and is at the heart of many important theological issues.’

‘Go on, then,’ said William, pleased. ‘I am always ready to expound my views on religion.’

‘And to listen to those of others,’ added Langelee pointedly, unwilling for the friar to show them up on the newcomers’ first day.

‘I have changed my mind,’ whispered Michael to Bartholomew a while later. ‘Candelby is no longer my chief suspect for killing Lynton and Kenyngham. Honynge is.’

‘Because you dislike him?’

‘Because he is an arrogant pig who would think nothing of committing murder to further his own interests. And he is a liar, too. Cynric saw him up to no good in Clare, and you can see the evidence on his knuckles. He is hiding something.’

‘Lying is a long way from murder.’

Michael was not interested in the physician’s reservations. ‘Perhaps I will steal some of Agatha’s love potion and feed it to him. He will fall hopelessly in love with her and make advances. Then she will advance back, and he will be lucky to survive the encounter.’

It was still light when the Fellows left the conclave and went to their rooms, but when they did, there were none of the usual relaxed pleasantries that normally characterised the end of their day. Langelee was dismayed, because the harmony he had sought to achieve among his senior members had evaporated like steam, and the conclave had been full of bitterness and sniping. Bartholomew was subdued and preoccupied, worried about his sister, Falmeresham, and what Arderne might do to his patients. Michael and Honynge had quickly gone from antipathy to open hostility, and Wynewyk had taken against Tyrington because the man had salivated all over his favourite book and then denied that the resulting damage was his doing.

‘I will not purchase him a new one,’ said Tyrington resentfully, before walking to his room. ‘The ink had already run. I am eager to make myself agreeable, but I will not be taken advantage of.’

‘If he calls me a liar one more time, I shall …’ Wynewyk ground his teeth in impotent rage. ‘I do not know what I shall do, but he will regret ever coming to Michaelhouse. That book was in perfect condition before he slobbered all over it, and now it is ruined. For ever.’

‘It is a pity,’ agreed Bartholomew, who also abhorred harm to books.

William slunk down the spiral stairs, the last to leave the conclave. He was mortified, because it transpired that not only did both Honynge and Tyrington support the Dominicans’ side of the argument pertaining to Blood Relics, but they were familiar with the nuances of the whole debate, and could argue them well. They had made mincemeat of his poor grasp of the subject, and he, a man supremely and blissfully oblivious to his own intellectual shortcomings, was at last forced to confront his inadequacies. Bartholomew tried to support his old colleague, but he did not give the matter his full attention, and he ended up being as savaged as the friar.

‘Thank you anyway, Matthew,’ said William gloomily, before heading for his chambers as a chastened man. ‘It was good of you to take my side. I shall not forget it – and if that Honynge ever asks me to mind his students or take one of his classes because he is indisposed, I shall tell him to go to Hell, where he belongs.’

Bartholomew doubted Honynge would ever solicit the Franciscan’s assistance on any academic matter, and suspected William would never have the satisfaction of wreaking even minor revenge for the unpleasantness he had endured that evening.

Langelee watched him go, then came to stand with Bartholomew, Wynewyk and Michael. ‘I wish Kenyngham had not left us so suddenly, because then we would have had more time to consider his replacement. I think we have made a terrible mistake with this pair.’

‘Do not worry,’ said Michael with a wink. ‘There are ways and means to deal with this sort of situation, and I am not Senior Proctor for nothing.’

‘I do not want any bloodshed, though,’ warned Langelee. ‘At least, not bloodshed that can be traced to us. Be discreet.’

‘Discretion is my middle name,’ said Michael smoothly. ‘And do not worry about bloodshed, either. There will be no need for that, because I was thinking of using my wits, not knives.’

‘Yes, but remember they are both rather well armed in the wits department,’ said Langelee. He began to walk away, but stopped briefly and called over his shoulder, ‘I have a sword in my chamber.’

‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Michael, startled.

‘Just what he said, I imagine,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘Do not forget where he came from. He was the Archbishop of York’s spy for years, and it would not surprise me to learn that he had solved problems by resorting to weapons.’

‘Just like you then,’ said Michael tartly. ‘Itching to challenge Arderne to a trial by combat.’

‘I suspect it will be wiser to use the College statutes, and devise an administrative excuse to be rid of them,’ said Wynewyk. ‘I am a lawyer, so if I can help, do not hesitate to ask.’

‘Thank you,’ said Michael. ‘I shall almost certainly take you up on it. What is that commotion?’

‘Cynric!’ exclaimed Bartholomew in alarm, beginning to run towards the gate.

‘No,’ said Michael, peering into the darkness. ‘It is Falmeresham!’

A short while later, Falmeresham sat in the hall, surrounded by students, commoners and Fellows – all the Fellows except Honynge, who claimed he did not know Falmeresham, so could not be expected to celebrate his return. Tyrington stood shyly at the back at first; then he gave a leering grin when the Master hauled him to the front. It would not do for senior members to relinquish the best spots to students, and no master wanted to preside over a foundation where the hierarchical balance was in disarray.

‘So, we are not going to be blackmailed by greedy landlords after all,’ said Michael to Bartholomew, watching Carton fuss about his friend with wine and blankets. ‘That is a relief!’

‘The relief is in seeing him alive and well,’ said Bartholomew. He felt better than he had done in days, and realised what a tremendous strain the student’s disappearance had been.

William inveigled himself a cup of the students’ claret, and came to stand next to the monk. ‘You can call off the Convocation of Regents now – we do not need them to decide whether to change the University Statutes after all. We have our student back, so we can keep the rents as they are.’

‘I wish it were that simple,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘Can I count on your vote?’

‘No,’ replied William. ‘I do not think we should throw out ancient laws just because Candelby wants more money. I believe the rents should stay as they are.’

‘But you are a member of Michaelhouse, and the Senior Proctor has a right to expect your support, regardless of what you think about the issue,’ said Tyrington quietly. ‘It is the way things work.’

William scowled as he brushed spit from his revolting habit, and considered Tyrington’s words carefully. He took a swig of wine, swilling it noisily around his brown teeth. ‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘I suppose I can ignore my conscience in the interests of solidarity – and I would not like Michaelhouse made a laughing stock because the Senior Proctor’s proposal is defeated.’

‘It is hardly a matter of conscience, Father,’ said Langelee impatiently. He turned to the monk. ‘I shall stand with you, Michael, and I shall persuade a few others to do likewise.’

‘You will not use rough tactics, will you?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily.

‘I might,’ said Langelee airily, rubbing his hands together. ‘It depends how willing they are to accept my point of view. William is right: if Michael loses, his failure will reflect on our College, and I do not want to be seen as the Master of a place that cannot get its own way.’

Bartholomew was not very interested in Langelee’s political manoeuvrings, and was more concerned to find out where Falmeresham had been for the last four days. The student was pale and thin, but his eyes were bright, and his old grin was plastered firmly across his face. Carton was also smiling, although not as broadly as the physician would have expected.

‘We were worried about you,’ said Bartholomew chidingly, as he went to sit next to his student. ‘Could you not have sent word to say that you were safe?’

‘You had several days to do it,’ added Carton, rather coolly.

‘Magister Arderne said it would be better to wait, to make sure his treatment of my fatal wound was successful,’ replied Falmeresham apologetically. ‘He feared for my life the first two days.’

‘It was not a fatal wound,’ said William pedantically, ‘if it did not kill you.’

‘But it did kill me,’ said Falmeresham earnestly. ‘I was dead, and Magister Arderne brought me back to life. It was a miracle!’

‘Was it indeed?’ murmured Bartholomew. ‘Where were you wounded?’

Falmeresham raised his tunic to reveal a small, neat scar. ‘Blankpayn’s knife plunged deep into my liver. Magister Arderne pulled the whole thing out, stitched it up, and replaced it again.’

‘Did he?’ asked Bartholomew, astonished. In the past, he had extracted damaged organs, gently sutured them, and then put them back, but there was nearly always a fever afterwards, and it was often fatal. However, he had never attempted the procedure with anything as vital as a liver. Like most medici, he tended to leave livers alone.

‘And it hardly hurt at all,’ Falmeresham went on, clearly impressed. ‘Well, the stitching-up did, I suppose, but having my liver removed did not. I saw it in Magister Arderne’s hands.’

‘What did it look like?’ asked Deynman with ghoulish curiosity.

‘Large, knobbly and green,’ replied Falmeresham.

There was an awed gasp from his listeners. Bartholomew frowned, recalling from dissections he had attended at the universities in Salerno and Montpellier that human livers were never ‘knobbly and green’. However, because anatomy was forbidden to English scholars, it was not something he could tell anyone. He wondered whether Falmeresham had been fed a potion that had made his wits reel during what must have been a serious undertaking. He knew from personal experience that it was better to have patients insensible during surgery, rather than thrashing around and fighting back.

‘How did you come to be in Arderne’s care?’ asked Carton, pouring Falmeresham more wine. ‘I asked virtually everyone in Cambridge, but no one recalls you being carried away.’

‘And Arderne was busy with Candelby and Maud after the accident, anyway,’ added Michael. ‘He took them in his cart, because theirs was wrecked.’

‘That brutish Blankpayn laid hold of me,’ said Falmeresham resentfully. ‘I thought at first that he was going to haul me off to a quiet place and finish me. But he believed I was dead already, and his chief concern was to hide the body before he could be accused of murder. He took me to the Angel, because it was closer than his own inn, and his plan was to drop me down the well.’

‘People drink from that,’ said Bartholomew in distaste. ‘He might have poisoned the–’

‘But I was not dead, and Candelby refused to let him do it anyway,’ interrupted Falmeresham, eager to finish his tale. ‘Magister Arderne happened to be in the Angel, seeing to Candelby’s arm, and he ordered me taken to his own house on the High Street.’

‘You mean you were held captive by townsfolk?’ asked Michael. ‘First Blankpayn, then Candelby, and finally Arderne?’

‘Magister Arderne was helping me,’ said Falmeresham firmly. ‘Candelby was not all bad, either. He would not let Blankpayn drop me down the well, and he was angry with him for knifing me in the first place.’

‘And you are completely recovered?’ asked Langelee.

‘Completely,’ said Falmeresham with a bright, pleased grin. ‘Magister Arderne gave me some medicine that he said would facilitate good healing, and it has worked. He recommended that I return to you as soon as I was able to walk – which was tonight. So, here I am.’

‘I am pleased to see you safe,’ said Bartholomew, wishing the healer had told him what he had done. It had been unkind to keep him – and Falmeresham’s friends – in an agony of worry for four long days. ‘There has been rather too much death of late.’

Falmeresham nodded. ‘But Magister Arderne is fighting death wherever he can. He and I talked for hours, and he knows so much. He invited me to study with him, and it was a tempting offer, but I decided my place was here.’

‘It is,’ said William. ‘You have already paid next term’s fees, and they are non-refundable.’

‘But it was a hard choice,’ said Falmeresham wistfully. ‘Magister Arderne has such exciting ideas. You once told me that it was impossible to mend a split liver, Doctor Bartholomew.’

‘I thought it was. I have seen surgeons try it on three separate occasions, but the patient died in each case. What did Arderne do that was different?’

‘He applied his feather,’ said Falmeresham, quite seriously. ‘It is very effective. Patients were coming to his house all day, and I could see him curing them through the door he left ajar. Magister Arderne is a wise and learned man.’

‘Magister Arderne this, Magister Arderne that,’ grumbled Michael to Bartholomew, when the others had gone. ‘I am tired of hearing the name. Do you think Falmeresham is telling the truth?’

‘The truth as he knows it,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘However, the scar on his side is too small for a liver to have been pulled through it, and it is in the wrong place. He was probably in pain from his cut, and drowsy from strong medicine – not in a position to know what was really happening.’

‘He is beginning to worship the man,’ said Michael. ‘We are lucky he came back.’

‘Why did Arderne let him?’ mused Bartholomew. ‘It sounded as though he wanted an apprentice. And why not? Falmeresham is intelligent, quick witted and he learns fast.’

‘Perhaps he is an unwitting spy. We shall have to be careful what we say around him.’

‘Why would he spy on us?’

‘Spy on you. I am not saying Falmeresham would deliberately hurt you – he would not – but Arderne is quite capable of manipulating him. Our healer is a dangerous man, who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And he wants you gone, so we shall have to be careful. I, for one, do not want to see him succeed.’