A Poisonous Plot (3 page)

‘They just want to know when his next lecture will be,’ explained Irby quickly, seeing what Bartholomew was thinking. ‘I assure you, they are not asking the outcome of this meeting.’

‘Of course not,’ said Wauter, uncharacteristically acerbic. ‘After all, being mobbed by pupils clamouring to know our teaching plans is an occupational hazard, is it not? However, regardless of Nigellus’s popularity in the classroom, I should not like to be physicked by him. It is said that a lot of his Barnwell patients died before he took up his appointment here.’

‘Lies,’ said Irby firmly. ‘Put about by bitter people who cannot afford his horoscopes. He is very good at them, and no one who follows his advice ever becomes unwell. He is of the admirable opinion that it is better to prevent sickness than to cure it once it has arrived.’

‘Perhaps I shall commission one, then,’ said Joliet. ‘I dislike being ill. It is time-consuming, unpleasant and a nuisance. How expensive are his predictions?’

‘Very,’ replied Irby. ‘Although I shall have to invest in another soon, because my last one has expired and I have been feeling shabby of late. Will anyone join me for a drink at home? My brewer makes a lovely apple wine, and I broached a new cask last night.’

It was too early for wine, as far as Bartholomew was concerned, so he left Wauter and Joliet to accept the invitation while he set off for Michaelhouse, intending to put the rest of his free day to good use by preparing lectures for the following week.

He had not taken many steps before he heard his name called, and turned to see Michael waddling towards him. The monk had an office in St Mary the Great – besides being a member of Michaelhouse, he was also Senior Proctor, a post he had manipulated to the point where he ran the entire University. The Chancellor, who should have been in charge, was a mere figurehead, there to take the blame if things went wrong. Bartholomew had once asked the monk why he did not apply his skills to improving Michaelhouse’s precarious finances, and had received a rueful reply: Michael knew how to control people; he did not know how to generate vast sums of money.

‘I am on the run from Thelnetham,’ Michael explained, falling into step at Bartholomew’s side. ‘He wants me to persuade Langelee to take him back.’

He referred to William Thelnetham, a Gilbertine canon who had resigned his Michaelhouse Fellowship to take advantage of a better opportunity. Unfortunately, the new offer had fallen through, leaving Thelnetham in limbo. He was desperate to be reinstated.

‘It was his decision to go,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘And he went eagerly, after calling us thieves, fools and lunatics. His spiteful tongue caused a lot of unhappiness, and the College is better off without him. Besides, Wauter has his post now and we cannot afford to fund another.’

‘I agree and so does Langelee, but that does not stop Thelnetham from pestering me at every turn. And it is not as if I have nothing else to worry about either. Hallow-tide, for example.’

‘Are you expecting trouble?’ Bartholomew stifled a yawn. He had been summoned by a patient in the small hours, and he was tired. Unfortunately, he would not be catching up on sleep that night because of the feast: even if he managed to escape early, there would be far too much noise for peaceful repose.

Michael shot him a sour glance. ‘How can you even ask such a question? The town is furious with the University over the business with King’s Hall, and there will certainly be skirmishes later, when too much wine and ale have been swallowed by both sides.’

‘What business with King’s Hall?’

Scholars and townsmen were always at loggerheads, and Bartholomew found it difficult to keep track of all their disagreements, especially during term time, when he was struggling to balance classes containing an impractical number of students with the demands of an enormous medical practice.

Michael regarded him balefully. ‘Have you listened to nothing I have told you this week? It is the latest crisis to assail our poor
studium generale
.’

Bartholomew racked his brain for answers. ‘Do you mean the case of trespass that King’s Hall has brought against some drunken brewer?’

‘That “drunken brewer” did a lot of damage. He let the pigs out, chased the geese, and terrified John Cew out of his wits by leaping out at him from behind a buttress. Indeed, Cew has still not recovered, and his colleagues want you to visit later, to see what can be done.’

Bartholomew nodded, but thought the antics of one silly townsman should not have been given so much attention. In his opinion, John Wayt, who was in charge of King’s Hall while its regular Warden hobnobbed with royalty in Winchester, should have ignored the matter in the interests of good relations.

‘Cambridge has never wanted us here,’ Michael went on bitterly. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether our ancestors should have chosen another town. Peterborough, for example. I liked what I saw when we were there last summer.’

‘It is a pretty place,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But I imagine its people would have objected just as vigorously to a lot of noisy and opinionated academics descending on them.’

‘I suppose so.’ Michael frowned worriedly. ‘I have had to order all my beadles to work tonight, because there is a rumour that Frenge – the marauding brewer – plans a repeat performance, and there are plenty of hotheads in the town who are eager to join him.’

Bartholomew regarded him in alarm. Of all the Colleges, King’s Hall was best able to protect itself, not only because it boasted sturdy walls and a powerful gatehouse, but also because many of its scholars were the sons of noblemen, well-versed in the art of combat. Frenge and his supporters were likely to get themselves killed if they staged an invasion.

‘A massacre will do nothing to calm troubled waters,’ he said worriedly. ‘Let us hope your beadles can talk some sense into them.’

They reached Michaelhouse to hear a lot of noisy activity emanating from the kitchens. Agatha – technically the laundress but in reality head of the domestic staff – was in the midst of the maelstrom, screeching orders as she oversaw preparations for the festivities to come. Bartholomew smiled at the cacophony, and surveyed the College that was his home.

Its core was a fine hall with an oriel window, where the scholars took their lessons and meals. Adjacent to it was the conclave, while beneath were the kitchens and a range of pantries, butteries and storerooms. At right angles to them were the two accommodation wings, the older, smaller north wing more dilapidated than the newer southern one. A wall completed the square, against which had been built stables and a porters’ lodge. There were more outbuildings behind the hall, as well as a long garden that ran down to the river.

The Hallow-tide celebrations were to begin with a special Mass in church, and most scholars had already donned their finery, ready to go. Those in holy orders were bedecked in their best habits, while the seculars wore their College uniform of black, but with ceremonial fur trimmings to mark the special occasion. Langelee saw Bartholomew and Michael, and came to talk to them, William trailing at his heels.

‘Have you heard the rumours?’ the Master asked. ‘That Frenge the brewer will lead another assault on King’s Hall tonight?’

Michael nodded. ‘My beadles will stop him.’

‘They had better,’ said Langelee. ‘I do not like the mood that bubbles here at the moment, and another raid by Frenge will certainly ignite a spat.’

They all jumped when there was a sudden roar of delight from the High Street. Then smoke wafted into the sky above the rooftops, a few wisps at first, followed by bigger billows.

‘Will Lenne must have lit the bonfire that he and his apprentices built at the back of our church,’ said Langelee angrily. ‘I asked him to move it to a safe distance, but he refused, on the grounds that that particular plot is common land. I hope it does not do us any damage. We cannot afford repairs – at least, not until we have secured some wealthy benefactors.’

‘We should have dismantled it, as I suggested,’ growled William. ‘Because the town will not pay if anything goes wrong. And if you want an example, look at how Frenge is refusing to make good on the destruction he wreaked on King’s Hall.’

‘If we had destroyed Lenne’s handiwork, he would just have rebuilt it, and then there definitely
would
have been harm to our church,’ said Langelee. ‘He has been very crafty: the fire is as close to St Michael’s as it can be, without one twig over the boundary and—’

He broke off when there was an urgent hammering on the gate. Walter the surly porter emerged grumbling from his lodge with his pet peacock under his arm, a bird that possessed a temper every bit as irascible as his own. He listened to the message that was delivered, then hurried towards the little knot of Fellows.

‘Trouble,’ he reported grimly. ‘Frenge has been murdered in the Austin Priory, and the town is saying that King’s Hall did it.’

Besides being a physician and teacher of medicine, Bartholomew was also the University’s Corpse Examiner, which meant it was his responsibility to declare an official cause of death for any scholar who died, or for anyone who breathed his last on its property. He was paid threepence for every body he inspected, money he used to buy medicines for his poorest patients. As it had been a busy few weeks and his funds were low, he was grateful for the opportunity to replenish them, and fell into step at Michael’s side with something approaching enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, the post did nothing for his reputation among the wealthy, who disliked the notion of being treated by a man whose last client might have been a cadaver. The poor were not too happy about it either, but as no other physician was willing to treat them free of charge, they tended to keep their reservations to themselves.

Rumours about Frenge’s demise were already circulating, and the atmosphere was darker and more menacing than it had been earlier. Scholars no longer walked singly or in pairs, but formed larger groups for protection, while the town’s malcontents gathered in sullen gangs that loitered in doorways or under trees. Then Michael saw that a group of academics had cornered two bakers’ apprentices in St Michael’s churchyard, their antics partially concealed by the wafts of dense smoke that billowed from the bonfire at the back.

‘Stop,’ he commanded. The students turned in surprise. They were from Zachary, and their leader was Yerland, the lad who had tried to eavesdrop on the
consilium
. The bakers’ boys took the opportunity to flee.

‘We were only warning them to be mindful of the flames, Brother,’ said Yerland, all wounded innocence. ‘That fire might be on common land, but its sparks are flying towards University property. Look at them!’

He was right, and Bartholomew noted with alarm that bright cinders were not only dancing over the top of St Michael’s roof, but were flying towards Gonville Hall and Michaelhouse, too. Several townsmen, careful to stay on their own side of the invisible line that marked the boundary, made challenging gestures that turned into jeers when the Senior Proctor and his Corpse Examiner declined to respond. Zachary’s lads bristled, though.

‘Ignore them,’ ordered Michael sternly. ‘Brawlers will be fined – as will anyone not wearing his prescribed uniform.’

The students had flouted the University’s ban on ostentatious displays of wealth, and had augmented their grey and cream livery with fashionably pointed shoes, feathered hats, a plethora of jewellery and multicoloured leggings.

‘It is Hallow-tide,’ explained Yerland petulently. ‘The townsmen are wearing their best clothes, so why should we not do the same?’

‘Because they are not scholars,’ retorted Michael. ‘Now go home, before your rule-breaking costs you a penny apiece.’

The lads slouched away, although not without muttering that it was a Michaelhouse ploy to unsettle their opponents before the
disceptatio
. Michael treated the remarks with the contempt they deserved by pretending he had not heard.

‘Perhaps I was wrong to coax Wauter from their fold to ours,’ he sighed. ‘Irby is too gentle to be effective, and struggles to keep order without Wauter’s support.’

‘You
poached
Wauter?’ Bartholomew was shocked: there was an unwritten law in the University that foundations did not steal each other’s members.

The monk shrugged. ‘We needed to fill the vacancy left by Thelnetham, and I adjudged him to be the best candidate. It was a good decision: he is a fine teacher, an excellent geometrician and his company is a pleasure. Besides, he was glad to escape – Zachary had offered Nigellus a place by then, and Wauter does not like him.’

Bartholomew hoped such underhand tactics would not cause trouble at the
disceptatio
. He changed the subject as they walked away, tuning out the taunts from the folk around the bonfire.

‘If someone from King’s Hall did murder Frenge, why did it happen in the Austin Friary?’

‘King’s Hall did not kill him,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘At least, I hope not, because it will create a rift that will not be easily mended. So bear that in mind when you make your report, please, Matt: accident or suicide, but definitely
not
murder. Is that clear?’

Bartholomew winced. He was not a good liar, and hoped such a deception would not be necessary. He walked faster, wanting the matter resolved as quickly as possible. Moreover, he disliked the uneasy mood in the streets. He was more popular than most members of the University, partly for his care of paupers, but also because he had kin in the town – a sister, who had recently assumed control of her late husband’s cloth business. But there was no point in courting trouble, and the wisest course of action was to go home as soon as possible and stay there.

They arrived at the Austin convent, which was shielded from the outside world by high walls and two gates: the main entrance on St Bene’t’s Street, and a smaller one at the back, although this opened on to the canal known as the King’s Ditch and could only be reached by boat. They knocked at the front gate, and were admitted by a burly friar named Hamo de Hythe, one of the two Austins who often accompanied Prior Joliet to Michaelhouse.