Death of a Scholar

Chapter 2

It did not take Michaelhouse’s agitated Master and Fellows long to determine that the heavy box containing the money, books and jewels of the Stanton Hutch, along with virtually every other item of value the College owned, was not on the premises. After a brief and very panicky search they met in the cellar beneath the kitchen, where the hutches were stored.

‘But it cannot have gone!’ breathed Langelee, white-faced with horror. ‘Everything is in it, including all the fees I have collected for the coming term.’

‘I hope you did not put the deeds for our various properties in it,’ said Michael worriedly. ‘Without them, we cannot prove ownership.’

‘Of course I did! Documents are far more vulnerable to rats than coins, and I aimed to protect them. I repeat: everything is in there, even the Stanton Cup.’

There was renewed consternation. The Stanton Cup had been bequeathed by their founder, and was by far their most cherished possession. Silver gilt and studded with precious stones, it was priceless, but although the College was constantly struggling for funds, it would never be sold.

‘Someone will give it back,’ said Hemmysby soothingly. ‘Do not worry.’

‘Give it back?’ spluttered Langelee. ‘What kind of thief returns his spoils? We shall never see it again, and this disaster means we face the biggest crisis in our existence.’

‘It is certainly the biggest crisis in mine,’ gulped Thelnetham. ‘I left a pledge in the Stanton Hutch – a bestiary with a gold-leaf cover. My Prior General lent it to me, and I was going to redeem it this week, because he wants it back. What shall I say to him? He will skin me alive!’

‘You borrowed the money to buy yourself a pair of red shoes,’ said William with gleeful spite. ‘So it serves you right.’

‘What shall we do?’ asked Suttone, his shocked voice cutting through Thelnetham’s waspish retort. ‘How will we buy food, fuel and teaching supplies? Or pay the servants?’

‘Easily,’ replied Hemmysby. ‘We shall forfeit our stipends.’

Bartholomew was appalled. He had no other income, given that most of his patients could not afford to pay him, and while he was not concerned for himself, it would mean an end to free medicine for a sizeable proportion of the town’s poor. He had thought his troubles on this front were over when he had been left some money by his brother-in-law, but it had been needed to repair the wall roof after a violent storm, leaving him as impecunious as over.

‘That is very kind,’ said Langelee wretchedly. ‘But our stipends have gone, too. We have five marks due in tithes from our church in Cheadle, along with fees from those students who have not yet arrived. And that is all. We shall have nothing more until Christmas. Nothing!’

There was a dismayed silence.

‘Then I had better see about catching the thief,’ said Michael eventually.

‘How?’ asked Langelee in despair. ‘Nearly every College and decent home in Cambridge has been burgled over the last two weeks, and you have told me countless times that the thief leaves no clues. This is just one in a long chain of crimes.’

‘Potmoor,’ said Thelnetham, shooting Bartholomew a disagreeable glance. ‘We all know he is the culprit. You must arrest him at once, Michael.’

‘I have arrested him,’ said the monk crossly. ‘But with no actual proof that he is guilty, I was forced to let him go again.’

‘But Potmoor is a wealthy man,’ said Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘I do not see him demeaning himself by clambering through windows in the dead of night.’

‘Well, he does,’ retorted Michael. ‘He is always braying that he likes to hone the expertise he acquired as a novice felon. It is a point of honour to him that he can still burgle a house with all the skill of Lucifer. And if you do not believe me, ask him. He will not deny it.’

‘It is true, Matt,’ said Hemmysby. ‘He claims he would never ask his henchmen to do anything he cannot manage himself, and he is reputed to be one of the most able housebreakers the shire has ever seen.’

‘And his henchmen are nearly as talented,’ added Langelee glumly. ‘Even if he is innocent, the chances are that one of them is responsible – with or without his blessing.’

Michael took a deep breath. ‘So let us see what we know about the crime he committed against us. Who was down here last?’

‘Me,’ replied Langelee. ‘I collected the fees from Bartholomew’s new medics after supper last night, and I came to put them in what I thought was a safe place. The hutch was here, whole and intact. And before you ask, yes I was careful to lock up again afterwards.’

‘He was,’ interjected Cynric. ‘I came down here with him, to hold the lamp.’

‘Did anyone see or hear anything unusual after that time?’ asked Michael.

Everyone shook their heads, and Langelee closed his eyes in despair. ‘So it is no different from all the other burglaries – executed with a ruthlessly brilliant efficiency that shows the perpetrator to be a felon of some distinction.’

‘Potmoor,’ put in Thelnetham a second time. ‘And we all know it.’

‘We shall have to keep this quiet,’ said Suttone worriedly. ‘If our students think we cannot supply what they have paid for, they will demand a refund so they can go elsewhere. When we fail to oblige, we will lose our charter. This must stay between us.’

‘How?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘One of them might have seen something that will help us identify the culprit, but to find out, we shall have to ask questions. We cannot do that without revealing what has happened.’

‘True,’ agreed Michael. ‘So I suggest a compromise: we admit that the hutch has gone, but the loss of all the College’s money and deeds will remain our secret.’

‘How long can we last without funds?’ asked Hemmysby. ‘I know we have enough fuel for a few weeks, because I bought some in August, but what about food? If we have any more nuts, we should sell them. They will fetch a good price at the market, and they are a silly extravagance anyway – I cannot abide the things.’

‘We had the last of them today,’ replied William, who was a regular visitor to the kitchen and its stores. ‘But we have peas and beans for a month. The hens will stop laying soon, so I suggest we eat them and–’

‘No!’ said Clippesby fiercely. He had one of the birds in his arms, and he hugged her protectively. ‘There is nothing wrong with living on vegetables and grain for a while.’

‘I am not giving up meat,’ stated Michael. ‘I would rather go naked.’

‘Let us hope it does not come to that,’ said Thelnetham, shuddering at the prospect. ‘However, I can dine in the Gilbertine Priory, so I am not concerned about food. What does worry me is the loss of the deeds that prove we own our churches and manors.’

‘I shall forge replacements,’ determined Michael, ignoring the blatant selfishness of Thelnetham’s remark. ‘And we will just have to brazen it out if anyone challenges them.’

‘Fair enough,’ said William. ‘No one will question our probity.’

‘Someone might question yours,’ muttered Thelnetham, eyeing the grimy Franciscan in distaste. ‘Then we shall all be exposed as liars.’

‘You have not seen the high quality of Michael’s forgeries,’ said Hemmysby with a smile, speaking before William could respond. ‘They will convince even the most distrustful of sceptics.’

‘I blame Winwick Hall, personally,’ said William. ‘The town hates the idea of another College, while our fellow scholars are suspicious of a place that has been founded with such unseemly haste. Someone has burgled us in revenge.’

‘That makes no sense,’ said Thelnetham impatiently. ‘Why pick on us?’

‘Because the Senior Proctor lives here,’ explained William. ‘And he runs the University. They think he brought Winwick into being, even though we know he is innocent.’

‘It is possible,’ sighed Hemmysby soberly. ‘Winwick Hall has caused a lot of resentment. Perhaps someone has decided to punish us for Michael’s role in bringing it into being.’

Thoroughly rattled, Langelee organised a more systematic search of the College and its grounds to ensure that a student had not hidden the chest as a prank, leaving Michael to question the other two hutch managers. The monk spoke to Thelnetham and William in the cellar, while Bartholomew prowled with a lamp, looking for clues and listening with half an ear to the discussion.

‘When did you last see the Stanton Hutch?’ Michael asked them.

‘In July,’ replied William promptly. ‘We have had no requests for loans since then, so there has been no need to look at it.’

‘I saw it last week.’ Thelnetham regarded William coolly. ‘I take my responsibilities seriously, even if you do not. I check regularly to ensure it is safe.’

‘I did not think it was necessary,’ countered William. ‘We never had trouble with thieves before you arrived. Yet you must get the money from somewhere to pay for your fripperies…’

‘I inspected the chest six days ago – Tuesday,’ said Thelnetham to Michael, not gracing the accusation with a response. ‘I did not open it, but it was in its usual spot. However, it occurred to me then that it was vulnerable – Langelee keeps the key to the cellar in his quarters, which he often leaves unattended. It would not be difficult for someone to walk in and take it.’

‘We have a good porter,’ objected William. ‘He repels anyone he does not know.’

‘That assumes the thief came from outside,’ Thelnetham pointed out. ‘But if that were true, how did he know where to find the key? And the door was opened with a key, because there would be scratch marks on the lock if it had been forced or picked, and there are none.’

Bartholomew stopped prowling to stare at him. ‘I hope you are not suggesting that a member of College is responsible.’

‘It is an unpleasant notion, I know,’ replied the Gilbertine. ‘But the reality is that the culprit knew exactly how to get in.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘No one here would do such a thing.’

Michael asked a few more questions, then nodded to say that William and Thelnetham could go. They bickered as they went, their haranguing voices echoing as they climbed the stairs.

‘Actually, Thelnetham makes a good point,’ said Michael when it was quiet again. ‘No stranger would be aware of the fact that Langelee keeps the cellar key in his room.’

‘Thieves can be cunning and determined,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘One might have been planning this invasion for weeks, gathering information and watching what we do. Moreover, our porter is effective when he is at the gate, but what happens when he does his rounds?’

‘True,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘And I am much happier with the notion of the culprit being a stranger than a viper from within. However, we must remember that a lot of new students have enrolled this term, and we do not know them yet.’

‘Their seniors will keep them in order,’ said Bartholomew firmly.

Michael nodded, but did not look convinced. ‘I know you are busy, but I shall need your help with this. No, do not argue! How will you physick your paupers if you have no stipend to spend on medicine? Your best hope is to help me catch the culprit before he squanders it all. Then you might still be paid.’

Bartholomew gave his reluctant assent, wondering whether Lawrence would agree to treat more of the town’s needy until the situation was resolved. And the lectures he had to prepare for the coming term and his daily visits to Edith? He supposed he would just have to forgo more sleep.

‘Thank you,’ said Michael. ‘We shall start by speaking to our colleagues, to see if they have remembered anything new now that they have had time to reflect.’

Clippesby, Suttone and Hemmysby were in the conclave. The Dominican still held the hen, a feisty bird who chased any cat or dog that dared trespass in her domain, and who ruled the other fowl with a beak of iron. She was gentle with Clippesby, though, and her eyes were closed as she dozed on his lap.

‘I noticed nothing odd.’ Hemmysby ran a hand through his bushy hair. ‘I forgot we owned the thing, to tell you the truth. I do not manage a hutch, so I never think about them.’

‘I saw Thelnetham go down to the cellar last Tuesday,’ supplied Suttone. His plump face was troubled. ‘I hope he did not take it, aiming to have William blamed. I would not put it past him. I wish they would end this silly feud. Such rancour is hardly seemly for men in holy orders.’

‘Are you sure none of you saw anything unusual?’ pressed Michael desperately. ‘Clippesby? What about your animal friends?’

The Dominican had a habit of sitting quietly to commune with nature, which meant he often saw things not intended for his eyes. His observations had helped with enquiries in the past, although the intelligence he provided invariably required careful decoding.

‘No,’ he replied, uncharacteristically terse. ‘Or I would have said the first time you asked.’

Although Michael and Bartholomew spent the rest of the day asking questions of Fellows, students and servants, they learned nothing useful. Everyone was shocked by the news, especially when they heard that the Stanton Cup had gone, too, and Bartholomew did not relish the prospect of eventually confessing that the College’s entire fortune had disappeared into the bargain.

At sunset, he went to visit Edith. She lived in a pleasant manor in the nearby village of Trumpington, but since her bereavement, she had preferred to stay at the handsome, stone-built house on Milne Street, from which the family cloth business was run. Bartholomew was glad, feeling its lively bustle was better for her than the quiet serenity of the countryside.

Edith was in the solar, a comfortable room with thick rugs on the floor, and a warm, homely aroma of herbs and fresh bread. Lamps were lit, which imparted a cosy golden glow. She and Bartholomew were unmistakably siblings: both had dark eyes and black hair, although her locks now had a significant sprinkling of silver. He experienced a surge of mixed emotions when he saw Richard was with her – pleasure, because he was fond of his nephew; irritation, because he could see that Edith was upset.

‘She has found a box of Father’s personal documents, and aims to paw through them,’ Richard explained sulkily, when Bartholomew commented on the icy atmosphere. ‘It is not right.’

Bartholomew studied his nephew meditatively, trying to see in the man who lounged by the hearth the fresh-faced, carefree boy he had known. Soft living had furnished Richard with an unflattering chubbiness, while his eyes had an unhealthy yellow tinge. He wore his hair long, but the style did not suit him, and made him look seedy. Despite his arrogant confidence, Richard was not a good lawyer, and although he had secured a series of lucrative posts, he had kept none of them for long. The most recent had been with the Earl of Suffolk, where there had been a scandal involving a pregnant daughter. A considerable sum of money had been required to appease the outraged baron.

‘Of course it is right,’ said Edith irritably. ‘Some might be unpaid bills, or other matters that require my attention.’

‘They won’t – Zachary says so,’ Richard shot back.

‘Zachary is not in charge,’ countered Edith coolly. ‘I am. And besides, you neglected to mention that I found this box in the garden, atop a small fire – which the culprit had neglected to mind, so its contents were undamaged. Zachary denies putting it there, so perhaps Oswald…’

‘If it had been Oswald, surely you would have found it before now,’ said Bartholomew. ‘While Zachary is not the sort of man to burn someone else’s documents.’

‘Well, he seems to have had a go at these,’ said Richard sullenly. He turned back to his mother. ‘But it is not for you to paw through them. They might be nothing to do with the business, and pertain to my part of the inheritance.’

‘In which case I shall pass them on to you,’ said Edith, exasperated. ‘Now, did you mention that you were going out this evening?’

Richard saw the defiant jut of her chin, and evidently realised that this was a confrontation he would not win, because he grabbed his cloak and stalked out. Bartholomew watched him go, sorry the easy friendship they had once enjoyed was lost. Richard considered him dull company compared to his London cronies, and the rare evenings they spent together were strained affairs with each struggling to find common ground for conversation.

‘He looks well,’ he remarked, after the door had been slammed closed.

Edith pulled a disagreeable face. ‘He looks like what he is – someone with too much money and too many dissolute companions eager to help him spend it. To be honest, I have no desire to trawl through that chest, but the fact that he tried to stop me … Indeed, I cannot help but wonder whether he was the one who tried to destroy them.’

‘Do you want me to do it?’ The prospect did not fill Bartholomew with enthusiasm, and would be yet another demand on his precious time, but there was little he would not do for Edith.

She shook her head. ‘I wish Oswald were here, though. He would know how to handle Richard. I wake up each morning thinking it has all been a bad dream, and that he is still alive.’

‘Me, too,’ admitted Bartholomew.

‘His death … I know we have discussed it ad nauseam, Matt, but I am sure there was something amiss. Why did he die of marsh fever? His previous attacks were never very serious.’

‘I do not know,’ replied Bartholomew, as he had done many times before. ‘I was not there.’

‘No,’ said Edith bitterly. ‘You were off running errands with Michael in Peterborough when he needed you. If you had been in Cambridge, Oswald would still be alive.’

While Bartholomew knew that Edith’s words were born of grief, they still hurt, and he returned to Michaelhouse with a heavy heart. He doubted his presence at Oswald’s deathbed would have made any difference, given Rougham’s account of what had happened, but he still wished he had been there. While his colleagues slept, he sat in the conclave working on his lectures, aiming to distract himself from the guilt of failing Edith during the darkest hours of her life.

Michael arrived after a fruitless evening investigating Elvesmere’s murder, and immediately began forging deeds. He gave up when the words began to blur before his eyes, leaving Bartholomew slumped across the table, fast asleep. It was an uncomfortable position, and the physician woke with a stiff neck and backache when the bell rang for Mass the following dawn.

It was a subdued College that attended church. The only person who seemed unaffected by Michaelhouse’s desperate predicament was Goodwyn, the new medical student, who sang lustily and wore a smug grin through the entire rite. Michael homed in on him when the service was over.

‘I am dissatisfied with your explanation regarding your whereabouts for the time of the theft,’ he said briskly. ‘Tell me again.’

‘You cannot remember that far back?’ quipped the student with breezy insolence. ‘Shall I mix you a remedy for senile forgetfulness, then?’

‘That remark has cost you sixpence, payable by the end of the day.’ Michael held up an authoritative hand when a startled Goodwyn started to object. ‘It is expensive to annoy the Senior Proctor, so I recommend you curb your tongue. Now, to business. The hutch was stolen between nine o’clock on Sunday evening, when Langelee visited the cellar, and yesterday at noon, when Cynric discovered it missing. Where were you during all that time?’

‘Doctor Bartholomew set us a lot of reading on Sunday, sir,’ said Aungel, before Goodwyn could land himself in deeper trouble by arguing. ‘And it took us until supper to finish. Afterwards, we were restless after being cooped up all day so we went for a walk. We returned to Michaelhouse just as the bells rang for compline.’

‘Then we played dice … I mean we read our bibles until Doctor Bartholomew came back from seeing a patient,’ continued Goodwyn. Gambling was forbidden in College, on the grounds that it led to fights. ‘He will testify that we were all there – and that we stayed until morning. After that, we went to church, had breakfast, and read in the hall with the other Fellows.’

Bartholomew nodded, but the truth was that he was an unusually heavy sleeper, and the entire class could have thundered out during the night without waking him, so he was the last person who should be used as an alibi. Michael knew it.

‘Goodwyn is the culprit,’ he growled, as he and the physician walked back to Michaelhouse. ‘You were sleeping too deeply to notice he had gone, and his classmates are wary of exposing him as a liar, because he is older and bigger.’

‘And did what with the stolen hutch?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘It is not in my room, I assure you.’

‘Hid it somewhere else.’

‘Where? Cynric searched the College from top to bottom, and Goodwyn is new to the town – he will not know any safe places outside.’

‘Perhaps he has accomplices.’ Michael turned to glare; Goodwyn glowered back, unfazed by the monk’s hostility. ‘And even if it transpires that he is innocent, you should watch him. Langelee should never have taken him on.’

‘He did it for the double fees.’

‘Fees that have now disappeared,’ remarked Michael caustically. ‘But let us review again what we know about the hutch. The cellar was opened with the key from Langelee’s room, which was then replaced. You were out on Sunday evening. Did you notice anything odd when you came back?’

‘No, but the porter was away on his rounds, so I let myself in.’ A stricken expression crossed Bartholomew’s face. ‘Perhaps someone saw how easy it was, and simply copied me.’

‘Unlikely – Thelnetham was right to point out that if it were a random crime, the thief would not have known where to find the key.’ Michael’s expression hardened. ‘The culprit made a mistake when he targeted our home. You offered to help me catch him yesterday–’

‘I did not offer. You coerced me.’

‘–but I need help with the murders of Felbrigge and Elvesmere, too. No one has offered to take Felbrigge’s place, and it is difficult to manage so much without a Junior Proctor.’

‘I cannot, Brother,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘Unless you can arrange for more hours in the day. I am struggling to cope as it is.’

‘Felbrigge and Elvesmere were fellow scholars. You should want justice for them.’

‘I do, but–’

‘Good, it is settled then,’ said Michael, with such relief that Bartholomew glanced sharply at him. There were dark bags under his friend’s eyes, and he realised that he had been so wrapped up with his own problems that he had failed to notice the toll Michael’s responsibilities were taking on him – murders to solve, a huge influx of matriculands to control, all the difficulties surrounding the birth of a new College, and now the stolen hutch.

‘I can give you until the start of term, Brother. A week. After that I shall be swamped with teaching. We both will. So we had better make a start. What have you learned about Felbrigge?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Michael bitterly. ‘He was standing next to me when he was shot, but neither I nor anyone else saw a thing to help. My beadles found the bow, and we were able to deduce that it probably belonged to a professional archer, but that is all. In short, we still have no idea who did it or why.’

‘Perhaps Felbrigge was not the intended victim,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘Maybe this professional archer was aiming at the Chancellor or you – the University’s most powerful scholar.’

‘I have already assessed that possibility and dismissed it. Such men do not miss their targets, and nor could they have mistaken Felbrigge for me or Tynkell. I wear my habit, Tynkell is thin and grey, and Felbrigge was short, fat and clad in a ceremonial robe of scarlet. The three of us look nothing alike.’

‘When I was at Winwick yesterday, Ratclyf said that Felbrigge was unpopular.’ Bartholomew spoke hesitantly, never happy with gossip. ‘That he was disliked by scholars and townsmen.’

‘It is true. Felbrigge managed to antagonise an extraordinary number of people while you and I were away in Peterborough. Clearly, I should never have left him in charge.’

‘Did you know he was arrogant and abrasive when you appointed him?’

‘Yes, but he was the only one who applied for the job, and I was desperate for help.’

It was no surprise that scholars were not queuing up to be Michael’s helpmeet. He was dictatorial, impatient with mistakes, and hated being challenged. Moreover, the post was poorly paid, sometimes dangerous and involved everything Michael did not fancy doing himself.

‘Did you like him?’ Bartholomew asked.

‘Not really. On his first day in office he told me that he intended to step into my shoes by the end of the year. The audacity of the man! Anyway, he obviously angered someone less tolerant than me, and he paid for it with his life. Of course, he was a member of the Guild of Saints…’

Bartholomew regarded him uneasily. ‘Are you saying that one of them killed him? Lord, that would be awkward! They comprise the town’s most influential people – folk who will not appreciate being accused of murder. Who is on your list of suspects?’

‘I do not have a list, Matt. I have no evidence, remember? However, I keep coming back to the fact that Potmoor is in the Guild of Saints, and he is no stranger to murder…’

Bartholomew sincerely hoped he was wrong. It was bad enough being held responsible for all the burglaries Potmoor was supposed to be committing, but if the felon had murdered a senior member of the University … He changed the subject uncomfortably. ‘What did you learn about Elvesmere yesterday?’

‘Very little. You say the knife wound was not instantly fatal, but no one heard him cry for help. And you say he was moved after he died, but my beadles found no bloody puddles anywhere in Winwick Hall – and they explored it very thoroughly.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes, other than the fact his colleagues disliked him. Their porter – Jekelyn – let slip that Elvesmere was always arguing with them.’

‘Do they have alibis?’

‘No. They claim to have been in bed all night – alone. Jekelyn says no one came a-calling and that he never left his post. It is a lie, of course – all porters slip away to nap from time to time. So all we know for certain is that Elvesmere was alive when the scholars of Winwick Hall went to sleep, and dead when they awoke.’

Because William had conducted the morning Mass, and he was noted for the speed with which he could gabble through the sacred words, the Michaelhouse men arrived home before breakfast was ready. Agatha, the formidable lady who oversaw the domestic side of the College, emerged from the kitchen to inform them that the food would not be ready until she said so. Women did not normally hold such sway in University foundations, but she had been Michaelhouse’s laundress for so long that not even Langelee was brave enough to challenge her authority.

It was a pleasant day to loiter in the yard, though, and no one minded. The Fellows stood in a huddle near the door, while the students retreated to the far end of the yard, where they could chat about things they did not want their teachers to hear – ways to smuggle women into their bedrooms, secret stashes of wine, and the illicit gambling league established by Goodwyn.

The weather was mild, and the sun shone in a pale blue sky. The trees were just starting to change colour, so summer green was mixed with autumn gold and orange. A blackbird sang from one, answered every so often, somewhat more shrilly, by the porter’s peacock. The chickens scratched happily in the dirt, and Clippesby went to talk to them when William raised the subject of the hutch, muttering that he could not bear to hear more speculation about the thief.

‘Perhaps he took it,’ said Thelnetham. A bloodstained rag around one finger marred his otherwise pristine appearance. ‘I know for a fact that he admired the bestiary I left in the chest, and he is mad. He told me last night that a goat plans to take part in today’s debate.’

‘It will be an improvement on some of the coxcombs who intend to speak there,’ remarked William, casting a pointed glance at the Gilbertine’s bright puce shoes.

‘What happened to your hand, Thelnetham?’ asked Bartholomew, before they could argue.

‘I cut it on the church door,’ explained the Gilbertine. ‘The latch has always been awkward, but recently it has been much worse.’

‘It never sticks for me,’ said William immediately, watching Bartholomew unwind the bandage to inspect the wound. ‘Obviously, God does not want you in there.’

‘It does stick for you,’ countered Hemmysby. ‘I saw you wrestling with it only yesterday.’

William scowled. ‘You are confusing me with someone else.’

‘I doubt that is possible,’ said Thelnetham unpleasantly, then jerked his hand away with a screech. ‘That hurt, Matthew! Have a care!’

‘We should replace that latch,’ said the portly Suttone. ‘It has been a nuisance for years.’

‘How?’ asked Langelee. ‘We cannot justify hiring a craftsman when we have no money for victuals. Indeed, it would not surprise me if breakfast this morning comprised nothing but sawdust and dung.’

‘I said ten free masses for the locksmith’s wife last year,’ mused Hemmysby. ‘I am sure he would give us a new mechanism if I asked nicely.’

‘So ask,’ ordered Langelee promptly. ‘Go now.’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Hemmysby with a smile. ‘I am one of the main speakers at today’s debate, and I should spend the morning preparing. Will you be going, Master?’

‘No, I have camp-ball practice,’ replied Langelee, referring to the vicious sport at which he excelled. ‘However, I am sure College honour will be satisfied without me. Michael is also participating, I believe.’

The monk nodded. ‘It is time the friars listened to what I have to say. The concept of apostolic poverty is–’

‘We friars will win,’ interrupted William rudely. ‘Because you monastics do not know what you are talking about. Our right to property and influence is a free gift from God, and you have no right to question His will.’

‘The loss of rightful dominion through sin is in conflict with sacerdotal power to consecrate the Eucharist independently of a state of grace,’ stated Thelnetham with considerable authority, launching into a part of the debate that his less intelligent rival was unlikely to understand. ‘That is the nub of the matter. What do you think, William?’

‘Our camp-ball team is looking good this year,’ began Langelee, aiming to nip the discussion in the bud. William was not the only one who struggled with the complexities of the dispute, and Langelee had no wish to listen to his clerics airing arguments that might have been in Ancient Sumerian for all the sense they made to him. ‘We have two new–’

‘The debate will see the friars victorious.’ William interrupted again, although not to answer Thelnetham’s question, as he had no idea whether it was the nub of the matter or not. ‘How could it not, when sensible priests like me and Hemmysby have important things to say?’

‘You are speaking?’ asked Suttone in alarm, an expression mirrored in the faces of the others. Michaelhouse did not enjoy an especially distinguished academic reputation, but what little it did have would be lost if William was allowed to hold forth.

‘Chancellor Tynkell invited William, who then very kindly agreed to let me take his place,’ said Hemmysby, much to everyone’s profound relief. ‘I have never spoken at the Cambridge Debate before, and I am touched by his generosity of spirit.’

‘Just wait until I see Tynkell,’ growled Michael. ‘He approached William for spite, just because I told him to stop trying to make a name for himself before he retires next year. First there was that new library, and now we have Winwick Hall. The man is a menace.’

‘Naturally, I shall be speaking,’ said Thelnetham, wincing as Bartholomew smeared his finger with a healing paste. ‘I shall not take long to demolish the friars, after which we shall all enjoy the refreshments provided by the Guild of Saints.’

‘Eat as much as you can,’ instructed Langelee, cutting across William’s immediate objections to the Gilbertine’s predictions. ‘I shall dine there, too, after camp-ball. Then we can cancel supper and conserve our supplies.’

‘Matt and I will not have time for such pleasures,’ said Michael, with the air of a martyr. ‘We shall be hunting thieves and killers. I will have to leave the church once I have said my piece, although I doubt any mere friar will be able to refute my conclusions.’

‘Gently, Matthew!’ cried Thelnetham, jerking his hand away a second time. ‘I am not a corpse, needing rough treatment to haul me back to the world of the living. I am already here.’

‘More is the pity,’ muttered William.

‘Speaking of corpses, I overheard Potmoor telling a henchman about Heaven yesterday,’ said Suttone. ‘He claimed he was quite happy there, and resented being dragged back to Chesterton.’

‘He was never in Heaven,’ declared William. ‘He was in Hell. He only thought it was Paradise because Matthew rescued him before he could get a good look at it.’

‘I still think he stole our hutch,’ said Thelnetham. ‘To prove to his nasty henchmen that he has not lost his touch.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Hemmysby. ‘If I had to pick a suspect, it would be someone from Winwick Hall. Their College was built too fast, and they need money to shore it up before it falls down around their ears.’

‘Do you have any particular reason for mentioning them?’ asked Michael keenly. ‘You know its people better than the rest of us – from being a fellow member of the Guild of Saints.’

Hemmysby shrugged. ‘I am afraid not, Brother. I was just saying what I felt.’

‘You had better not indulge in unfounded statements this afternoon,’ warned Thelnetham. ‘Or you will make Michaelhouse a laughing stock. Still, better that than what Matthew and William are doing, one with his love of anatomy, and the other with his crass stupidity.’

‘I have no love of anatomy,’ objected William, startled. ‘It is a very nasty–’

‘It is a pity anatomy is frowned upon,’ said Hemmysby. ‘Lawrence from Winwick tells me it is greatly beneficial to our understanding of the human form. Personally, I applaud the practice.’

‘If that is the kind of thing you discuss at Guild meetings,’ said Thelnetham in distaste, ‘then I am glad I have not been invited to join.’

When the breakfast bell rang, the Fellows abandoned their discussion to hurry up the spiral staircase to the hall, Michael and William vying for first place. Bartholomew let the students go in front of him, because he disliked being shoved and jostled, especially when the victuals were unlikely to be worth the scramble.

‘John,’ he called to Clippesby, who was still talking to the hens. ‘You will be late, and I do not want my new students following your example.’

‘No,’ agreed the Dominican, reluctantly abandoning avian company for human. ‘You have an exceptionally unruly horde this year. Aungel is a decent lad, but Goodwyn will lead him astray. And where Aungel goes, the others follow. Ethel told me.’

‘Who is Ethel?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘The College’s top hen,’ replied Clippesby. ‘She is an observant bird when she is not eating, and she has been watching your lads carefully. Incidentally, five more applied to join them last night. I told Langelee that you would not appreciate such a large group, but he said we needed the money, and refused to listen.’

‘Five?’ Bartholomew was horrified. ‘But that will give me even more than I had last year – and I struggled then! How does he expect me to teach them properly?’

‘He does not care about that – he just wants their fees. You should see the size of William’s class. He does not mind, though, as he equates higher numbers with personal popularity. However, it will not take these young men long to realise that they are wasting their money by being with him, and then there will be trouble.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Bartholomew. ‘I had better speak to Langelee.’

‘Please do. Ethel says Langelee is wrong to overload our classes, as she believes we will not be in dire financial straits for long.’

‘Then let us hope she is right,’ said Bartholomew fervently.

‘Here come your new pupils now,’ said Clippesby, nodding to where a gaggle of young men were being conducted towards the hall by Goodwyn. ‘You must excuse me, Matt. I saw them tease a dog last night, and I have no wish to exchange pleasantries with cruel people.’

Bartholomew regarded the newcomers warily, thinking they did not look like aspiring medici to him. They were beautifully dressed, and their elegant manners suggested that they would be more at home at Court than dealing with the sick. He could only suppose that Langelee had accepted them without explaining what being a physician entailed.

‘Doctor Bartholomew,’ said Goodwyn unctuously. ‘Here are your latest recruits. I am sure we shall all become very fine physicians under your expert tutelage. Did I tell you that we are acquainted with your nephew, by the way? Richard said you tried to make him a physician, too, but he saw the light, and became a lawyer instead. There is money in law.’

‘So I understand,’ said Bartholomew, coolly, disliking the lad’s disingenuous tone. ‘Perhaps you should consider studying it.’

Goodwyn laughed. ‘Perhaps I shall, but not until I have seen what you have to offer.’

‘How do you know Richard?’ asked Bartholomew, wondering whether Goodwyn would transfer to another tutor if he overwhelmed him with work. He decided it was worth a try.

‘From a tavern we all frequent in London. We are delighted that he has decided to stay in Cambridge for a spell, as life would not be nearly as much fun if he returned to the city.’

‘Life will revolve around lectures and reading,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘So unless he plans to join you in the library, your paths will seldom cross.’

He walked away, smothering a smile at the newcomers’ immediate consternation.

The meal did not last long, as there was very little to eat, and Langelee’s prediction of inedibility was more accurate than was pleasant. There was no dung – at least, not that was readily identifiable – but the bits floating in the pottage were almost certainly wood shavings. When it was over, Bartholomew snagged Langelee before he could disappear to punch, bite, kick, scratch and maul his teammates in the name of sport.

‘Your new students came with testimonials from their parish priests and licences to matriculate,’ said the Master, immediately guessing the reason for the physician’s irritation. ‘But more importantly, they can pay a term’s fees up front, and one donated a book to our library.’

‘What book?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘A medical one?’

‘Law. Do not ask me the title – it was something in Latin.’ Langelee began to walk away. ‘And you cannot grumble about the extra work either. We must all put our shoulder to the wheel if we are to survive.’

‘Unfortunately, he is right,’ said Michael, who had been listening. ‘You are not the only one who has been burdened with unsuitable pupils. He gave me three Cistercians!’

‘Gracious,’ said Bartholomew, although he failed to understand why Cistercians should be deemed so undesirable. ‘But we had better make a start with your enquiries, or we shall still be investigating when we are supposed to be teaching. Our new recruits will not be impressed by tutors who fail to arrive for class.’

They left the College and walked up St Michael’s Lane. When they reached the High Street, Bartholomew was again astonished by the huge number of would-be students who had descended on the town – at least twice as many as usual.

‘They are certainly keeping my beadles busy,’ said Michael, when the physician remarked on it. ‘Unfortunately, we have no jurisdiction over them – they are not yet members of the University, as they are always quick to remind us.’

‘Some will be,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The ones who have been offered places.’

‘If only that were true! But don’t forget that they’re not bound by University rules until they have signed our register and that’s not until next week. It is not usually a problem, as most new lads are eager to make a good impression.’

‘So why are this year’s applicants different?’

‘I wish I knew. The current intake is abnormally objectionable, the worst of them all being your loathsome Goodwyn. He is still my prime suspect for stealing the Stanton Hutch, you know.’

‘But he has just paid a huge sum of money to study here. Do you really think he would promptly turn around and steal from us?’

‘You are too willing to see the good in people, Matt, and it is not a virtue. Goodwyn is a worm, and you would be wise to recognise it.’

‘The townsfolk do not like these undisciplined louts either,’ said Bartholomew, watching one particularly arrogant throng strut past. ‘Cynric told me that they are making it easy for the burglar to operate – there is so much brawling that any suspicious sounds are masked.’

Michael sniffed. ‘Potmoor – if he is the culprit – is such an experienced criminal that he will not need help from noisy matriculands. Incidentally, I have lost count of the number of times that I have been told you should have kept your necromantic skills to yourself and left Potmoor dead.’

Bartholomew groaned. ‘I used smelling salts, not witchery. And if Meryfeld, Rougham, Lawrence, Eyer the apothecary and Surgeon Holm had been halfway competent, they would have done the same.’

‘Perhaps they thought it was time that his reign of terror was ended. You, on the other hand, gave him the opportunity to continue.’

‘He would have woken anyway – patients with catalepsia usually do. Where are we going?’

‘To Winwick Hall. Hemmysby said they might have stolen our hutch.’

‘He also said he had no particular reason for thinking so.’ Bartholomew was alarmed that they were about to visit the new College on so frail a pretext.

‘I know. But I also have my reservations about the place – reservations that make me want to keep an eye on it. On the one hand, I am delighted that Winwick Hall is here, not in Oxford, because another endowed foundation will make our University stronger and more attractive to benefactors and students.’

‘But on the other?’

‘On the other, it arrived too quickly, and we were not ready for it. We are an old, staid organisation, and we require time to adjust to new situations.’

‘Oxford never needs time to adjust. They are far more forward thinking than us.’

Michael scowled. ‘No, they are not, and you would do well to remember that if you value your position here. Anyway, I wish we had been given more time to consider. Better arrangements could have been made, especially regarding its location.’

‘What could be more suitable than a site next to St Mary the Great?’

‘Precisely! It is the best position in the entire town, and shades even King’s Hall. Moreover, it will use St Mary the Great as a chapel, and the fact that its head is called a Provost implies a degree of ownership over the place. It is the University Church – it belongs to all of us, not just one College.’

‘If you had been Chancellor, none of this would have happened. Winwick’s charter would have needed your signature before it was sent to the King, and you could have procrastinated. Perhaps you should consider standing for election when Tynkell resigns.’

‘But I do not want to be Chancellor! I like things the way they are, with me making all the important decisions, and him taking the blame if things go wrong.’

‘When he retires, he may be replaced by a less malleable man,’ warned Bartholomew.

‘True – which would be a nuisance. Perhaps I should arrange to have myself elected, then. It will look good for when I am promoted to a bishopric or an abbacy.’

It was not the first time Michael had voiced the expectation that he would achieve high rank, and Bartholomew had always been amused that he expected to rise in a single bound, without the tedious steps in between. It had also not escaped his notice that Michael clearly intended to rig the vote, rather than risk the democratic process.

Meanwhile, Michael was eyeing a gaggle of youths on the other side of the road, some of whom bore obvious signs of brawling – torn clothes, bruised fists and bloody faces.

‘Yet another spat with the town, I warrant,’ he grumbled. ‘And no Dick Tulyet to help me keep these louts in order.’ He referred to the Sheriff who, besides being very good at his job, was also a friend. ‘It is unfortunate that his deputy is next to worthless. But here we are at Winwick Hall. Let us see what its Fellows have to say for themselves.’

The new College’s gates still leaned against the wall waiting for their hinges, and Jekelyn the porter stood in the gap ready to repel any visitors he did not like the look of. He regarded Bartholomew and Michael suspiciously when they asked to see the Provost, but stood aside for them to enter. As they walked across the yard, Bartholomew saw that scaffolding had been erected around part of the hall since his visit the previous day.

‘Subsidence,’ explained Illesy, as he came to greet them. ‘Our land is boggy, so it is to be expected. Have you seen our lovely library, by the way? Do come and look. The workmen finished laying the floor last night.’

He opened a door to reveal a room that was as handsome as any in Cambridge. Its walls were covered in bright white plaster to improve the light for reading, and its shelves had been fashioned from pale wood. They were poorly planed in places, though, and Illesy yelped as he ran a heavily beringed hand along one, only to be rewarded with a splinter. The windows were glazed, an almost unimaginable luxury, but not all the panes had been properly fitted, and several had dropped out – yet another indication of the speed with which the building had been thrown up.

Bartholomew began to browse the books, but was quickly disappointed. Winwick had been founded for clerks, so there was not a medical tome in sight. He scanned the titles. Most were standard texts that all lawyers would need to learn, and none were very good copies. In short, he thought the fine room was wasted on them.

‘The Guild of Saints has promised to buy us some carrels,’ Illesy was telling Michael with proprietary pride. ‘We aim to have them installed by the beginning of term.’

‘I hear you have a problem with your endowment,’ said Michael. ‘That the deeds to the churches and manors that will provide you with your steady income have not yet been delivered.’

Illesy waved a dismissive hand. ‘A minor delay, no more. They will be here soon.’

Just then, the door opened and the Fellows trooped in. Bartholomew studied them carefully, wondering whether there was any justification in Hemmysby’s belief that one might have stolen the Stanton Hutch. It took no more than a moment for him to decide there was not. All five were obviously wealthy, and their liveried tabards were made from the best cloth money could buy. Nerli’s and Bon’s were edged with fur, while Lawrence and Ratclyf had elegantly embroidered hems. Illesy was even more extravagantly attired, with a silk undershirt poking from one sleeve, and a beautiful lambswool cape around his shoulders.

None seemed particularly pleased to see the visitors, except Lawrence who smiled with his customary sunny charm. Ratclyf was irritable, clearly resenting the intrusion, while Nerli the Florentine had a sombre, brooding face that was not made for cheery greetings anyway. Meanwhile, Bon’s attention was on negotiating the still-unfamiliar terrain, and he clung hard to the arm of the student at his side.

‘We came to warn you about the recent spate of burglaries,’ lied Michael. ‘Michaelhouse was targeted last night, and we lost a valuable loan chest.’

‘How terrible,’ said Nerli in his oddly accented Latin, and Bartholomew was struck again by the man’s darkly sinister appearance. It was even more apparent when he stood next to the white-bearded Lawrence, who radiated jollity and charm. ‘Still, I imagine you have plenty more. We have been told several times that you older Colleges have pots of money, and are thus more likely to survive than us youthful upstarts.’

‘No one phrased his remarks quite like that,’ objected Lawrence. ‘They–’

‘The deed for the manor of Uyten – our founder’s home village – will be here within a week,’ interrupted Bon. ‘I oversaw the arrangements myself. Well, perhaps oversaw is the wrong word, given my affliction, but I certainly ensured that all was in order.’ He smiled, obviously proud to have been of service. ‘It is the first of many, because our founder wants us to have the biggest endowment in the country.’

The reference to his ailment caused Bartholomew to study him with professional detachment, and note that he suffered from hypochyma – a clouding of the lens behind the eye. He also observed that Bon’s student guide had the same thickened ears that Langelee was acquiring from camp-ball, where they were so frequently battered that they changed shape.

‘That is why the other Colleges are jealous of us,’ bragged Ratclyf. ‘Along with our fine buildings, good location and connections with Court. In time, we shall outshine them all.’

‘In time, we shall become friends,’ corrected Lawrence, a little sternly.

‘Perhaps,’ shrugged Bon. ‘After all, there are more worthy enemies than our colleagues from King’s Hall, Michaelhouse, Bene’t and Gonville.’

‘Yes, like the town,’ agreed Nerli unpleasantly. ‘They hate us, too.’

‘They do,’ agreed Michael baldly. ‘Which means you might be vulnerable to thieves.’

‘I hope you have not been swayed by the common prejudice that Potmoor is responsible for all these crimes,’ said Illesy. ‘There is no evidence to suggest he is guilty. My appointment as Provost means I can no longer be his lawyer, but I will not see him unjustly maligned even so.’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘I malign no one. I merely warn you to be on your guard.’

Bon smiled in the monk’s approximate direction. ‘We should be safe. Our walls are thick, and we have Jekelyn as a porter.’

‘Whatever possessed you to hire such a surly rogue?’ asked Michael disapprovingly. ‘I could have suggested some far more suitable candidates.’

‘Our founder picked him,’ explained Ratclyf. ‘Hopefully, his reputation as a brawler will make this vile burglar think twice about paying us a visit.’ He glanced archly at Illesy, making it clear that he did not share the conviction that Potmoor was innocent.

‘He might make scholars think twice before paying you a visit, too,’ retorted Michael tartly. ‘No one likes being subjected to impertinent remarks when he comes to see colleagues.’

‘We shall not have time for entertaining once term starts,’ said Bon. ‘We will not become the biggest, most prestigious College in the University by fooling around with guests.’

‘We shall entertain!’ cried Lawrence, dismayed by the bleak prospect that Bon was painting. ‘It will be a poor existence if we do nothing but work.’

The others’ doubtful looks suggested he might be alone in that belief.

‘Your students will certainly want to relax with friends,’ said Michael. ‘And speaking of students, let me give you some advice. They will do anything to avoid paying their fees, so you might want to establish some hutches. Once there is a facility for borrowing, no one will have an excuse not to give you what is owed.’

‘Have you found Elvesmere’s killer?’ asked Illesy, his curt tone making it clear he did not appreciate being told how to run his College. ‘Is that why you came? To tell us his name?’

‘I am afraid not,’ replied Michael. ‘Although progress has been made.’

‘Has it?’ Lawrence smiled warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘I am so glad. I am not vengeful, but I dislike the notion of a murderer at large.’

‘So do I,’ agreed Bon. ‘It might deter students from applying here, and that would be a pity – for them as much as us.’

‘You would not fear that if you could see,’ said Ratclyf smugly. ‘Our yard was thronged with hopefuls all day yesterday, and we accepted another twenty lads last night. It will not be long before we have so many pupils that we shall be by far the richest College in Cambridge.’

Bartholomew and Michael exchanged a wry glance. Increasing the size of their classes had done nothing for Michaelhouse’s coffers. Indeed, the reverse was often true, as the lads then had to be housed and fed, which – due to fluctuating market prices – sometimes cost more than the fees they had paid.

‘Did Elvesmere want Winwick Hall to be the biggest College in Cambridge?’ asked Michael.

‘Actually, he was of the opinion that we should curb our enthusiasm for growth,’ replied Illesy. ‘It was something about which we disagreed.’

‘His caution was misplaced,’ asserted Bon. ‘We have no reason to limit ourselves. We are Winwick Hall, and our founder is a favourite of the King.’

‘He also thought we should teach only canon law,’ added Illesy. ‘However, civil law is where the money lies – wills, medico-legal issues, property disputes. That is what the bulk of our students will want to study. Thus he disapproved of everyone except Ratclyf, who is our other canonist.’

‘He was particularly opposed to criminal law,’ said Nerli slyly. ‘And he made some very harsh remarks to our Provost about the skills he honed while representing Potmoor.’

‘He made some very harsh remarks to you, too, Nerli,’ retorted Illesy spitefully. ‘He denigrated your degrees from Salerno, just because it is a foreign school.’

Nerli scowled so angrily that Bartholomew and Michael exchanged another glance. The Florentine was powerfully built, and the knife he carried in his belt was too big for sharpening quills and paring fruit. Bartholomew could easily imagine him stabbing a colleague in the dark.

‘He did not denigrate Nerli’s qualifications,’ said Lawrence, ever the peacemaker. ‘He merely said that he did not know there was such a thing as a Master of Civil Law–’

‘Well, there is,’ snapped Nerli. ‘Salerno does not follow the same style as other universities.’

This was news to Bartholomew, although in fairness, he had spent time in its medical school, not its Law Faculty, so was not in a position to contradict the Florentine.

‘And he thought your post was a sinecure, Lawrence,’ Ratclyf went on. ‘That medico-legal studies are not a serious subject, and that you are being paid for nothing.’

‘Then let us not forget the words you exchanged with him,’ flashed Bon. ‘He despised you for the sly way you deal with tradesmen.’

‘I am the College bursar – if I do not deal slyly with tradesmen, they will cheat us,’ snapped Ratclyf. He jabbed an angry finger at his accuser. ‘You were his closest friend, but it did not grant you immunity from his bile.’ He turned to the visitors. ‘Bon is illegitimate, which Elvesmere feared might damage our reputation. He was always harping on it.’

‘Enough,’ cried Illesy. ‘Do you want the Senior Proctor to include us on his list of murder suspects? He was unimpressed yesterday to learn that none of us can prove our whereabouts at the time of Elvesmere’s killing, and now you make our harmless tiffs sound like reasons for wanting him dead. I suggest you say no more until you are in control of your tongues.’

‘They are on the Senior Proctor’s list of murder suspects,’ said Michael, once he and Bartholomew were out on the street again. ‘Lord only knows what else might have been added had Illesy not silenced them.’

‘On the contrary, he let them continue on purpose,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Had he stopped them at the beginning of the spat, we would have gone away thinking he was the only one Elvesmere had offended. Now we know that Elvesmere alienated them all.’

‘Illesy is certainly a prime suspect. Not only will he have learned a lot about dispatching opponents from his association with Potmoor, but no Head of House wants a malcontent in his midst. Look at Langelee, who is always after us for ways to get rid of William and Thelnetham.’

‘Yes, but not by killing them.’ Then Bartholomew remembered that the Master had asked about poisons, and hurried on. ‘The others’ motives are just as strong. For example, Ratclyf clearly hates criticism, and Elvesmere condemned the way he performs as bursar.’

‘Meanwhile, there is something decidedly sinister about that gently smiling Lawrence. And he is a medicus – trained at Oxford, no less. I am sure they taught him how to ply a knife.’

‘Nonsense, Brother,’ said Bartholomew impatiently. ‘Lawrence is a good man. Besides, whoever wielded the dagger was not an expert – Elvesmere took some time to die.’

‘If you say so.’ Michael’s tone of voice made it clear he disagreed. ‘Nerli is a strong candidate, too. He is sensitive about his foreign qualifications, and he has a black and dangerous look about him. In fact, Langelee thinks he is a soldier, not a scholar at all.’

‘What about Bon?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘I cannot imagine he was pleased to be reminded of his illegitimacy, especially if he and Elvesmere were supposed to be friends.’

‘His bastardy has been nullified by papal dispensation – I have seen the documents myself. I doubt Elvesmere’s remarks meant anything to him. Besides, I imagine a blind man would be at a severe disadvantage in a killing.’

‘Hypochyma,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Rougham and Lawrence will tell you that it is caused by corrupt humours collecting in the locus vacuus between the pupil and the eye, but my Arab master said it was because pigments accumulate on the lens, thus preventing light from–’

‘This may not be the best time to air controversial opinions, Matt,’ interrupted Michael. ‘Not with royal and papal ears alert for any hint of heresy – we do not want Michaelhouse to suffer the same fate as Linton Hall. And your unorthodox views are immaterial to our discussion anyway, which is that Bon cannot see, so committing murder would be something of a challenge. Especially one that involved lugging bodies around, given that you say Elvesmere was killed elsewhere.’

‘And I am sure that is what happened, which may be enough to exonerate all the Winwick men. If the body was moved, why not take it away from the College altogether?’

‘Perhaps the killer panicked, or did not want to risk going out with a corpse. My beadles have been assiduous in their patrols of late, because of all the new students who flock to join us.’

‘Then perhaps that is where we should be looking for a culprit – at the matriculands.’

‘It is possible … Oh, Lord! Here comes Cynric, and I can tell from the expression on his face that he has unpleasant news. I hope it has nothing to do with Michaelhouse.’

‘You have been summoned, I am afraid,’ said Cynric to Bartholomew. ‘By Dickon Tulyet, who has been bitten by a horse.’

Michael backed away. ‘We are friends, Matt, but there are limits to what I will do for you, and helping with Dickon is well past them. I am afraid you must confront the little beast alone.’

‘Sheriff Tulyet should have taken Dickon with him when he went to London,’ said Cynric as the monk departed with impressive speed for a man his size. ‘His son is Satan’s spawn, and should not have been left for his mother to manage on her own.’

There was a time when Bartholomew would have defended Dickon, but he had suffered far too much at the child’s vengeful hands to bother. Dickon was the Sheriff’s only son, a strapping lad who looked older than his nine or ten years. His father doted on him, although his mother had begun to recognise his faults. Dickon terrorised other children and the household servants, and even the grizzled veterans at the castle were wary of him. For a juvenile, he was a formidable figure.

‘Perhaps he stole the Stanton Hutch,’ suggested Bartholomew, aware that he was dragging his feet. He had good reason: treating Dickon was dangerous, as the boy was prone to kick, bite, punch and scratch. Worse yet, his misguided father had recently given him a sword.

‘And killed Felbrigge and Elvesmere,’ nodded Cynric. He was outspoken for a servant, confident in the knowledge that he was indispensable, and a friend into the bargain. ‘I would not put it past the brute. Would you like a charm to ward him off?’

Bartholomew declined, suspecting his priestly colleagues would have something to say if he was seen sporting pagan talismans. Cynric was the most superstitious man in Cambridge, and crucifixes and pilgrim badges jostled for space on his person with ‘magic’ ingredients tied in little leather bags around his neck. Bartholomew noticed that there were more of them than usual.

‘Because of the evil that I sense will soon befall us,’ the book-bearer explained matter-of-factly. ‘It is an inevitability with all these strangers wandering around our town.’

‘They want to be students,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘There is nothing sinister about them.’

‘I beg to differ. Then there is Potmoor, who is more wicked than ever now he thinks he is destined for Heaven. There are rumours that he killed Felbrigge, you know.’

‘Yes, I have heard them, but Michael tells me that he has an alibi for the shooting – he was with his son and several henchmen. Besides, that was before he rose from the– before he was ill.’

‘He would not have bloodied his own hands,’ said Cynric scornfully. ‘He would have ordered one of his minions to oblige him. God knows, he has enough of them.’