Susanna GREGORY - To Kill or Cure

‘Harleston was ill,’ acknowledged Falmeresham, when Arderne turned to him for confirmation. ‘And now he is not.’

Bartholomew glanced at his former student. He was pale, and uncomfortable with Arderne’s declarations. Isabel was also uneasy, despite the transformation wrought by her new finery. She gripped Arderne’s arm as if her life depended on it.

‘You think this is amusing?’ demanded Candelby, when Michael laughed derisively. ‘You will not be sniggering tomorrow, when the town rises up against its oppressor. Of course, you can avoid unnecessary carnage by agreeing to my ultimatum with the rents.’

Michael treated him to a contemptuous sneer before turning on his heel. ‘I do not discuss such matters on public highways, because I am a gentleman.’

‘Come back here!’ yelled Candelby furiously. ‘I am talking to you.’

‘You are yelling at me,’ corrected Michael, pulling Bartholomew away with him.

Bartholomew risked a glance backwards. ‘Candleby is making no move to follow us, although Blankpayn and Arderne are encouraging him not to let you leave. Why is Blankpayn always so eager for bloodshed? Arderne I understand – a physical fight will result in wounds, and people will pay him to have them mended. But Blankpayn?’

‘He is one of those who thrives on the misfortunes of others. No one had heard of him before the rent war began. Now, as Candelby’s firmest ally, his name is on everyone’s lips.’

‘He is losing popularity fast, though. His pot-boys did not like his attitude towards Isnard, and when he lost his shoe in the mud, no one helped him. People sense he is dangerous, and–’

Suddenly, Bartholomew felt his arm seized, and he was hauled around so fast that he almost fell. He staggered, struggling to keep his balance. It was Arderne.

‘You can turn your back on merchants,’ snarled Arderne in a low, menacing voice, ‘but you will not do it to me . I am no mere townsman, and I have things I want to say to you.’

‘But I do not want to hear them.’ Bartholomew started to walk away, but Arderne grabbed him a second time, and jerked him hard enough to rip his tabard.

Falmeresham hurried forward, intent on pulling the two men apart, but Arderne shot him a basilisk stare that had him backing away mutely.

‘Your friends are leaving,’ said Michael, nodding down the High Street to where Candelby, Blankpayn and the other merchants were beginning to walk in the opposite direction. Isabel went with them, although she did so reluctantly, throwing anxious glances over her shoulder.

‘They are going to the requiem for Maud Bowyer,’ explained Falmeresham. He turned to Arderne. ‘They do not want to be late – and neither do we.’

‘I shall see you hang for Maud’s murder, Bartholomew,’ Arderne hissed, ignoring the student. ‘So I advise you to leave Cambridge before I take my accusations to the Sheriff.’

‘He did not–’ began Falmeresham, shocked. Arderne’s hand flicked out and struck the student in the mouth. It was not a hard blow, but it was enough to shock him into silence.

Michael regarded Arderne with dislike. ‘You are distasteful company, Arderne, but perhaps we should take this opportunity to talk. Shall we step into the churchyard for privacy, or shall we screech at each other here, like fishwives?’

Arderne gestured that Michael was to lead the way. Bartholomew was appalled when he glimpsed a flash of steel in the healer’s palm – the man kept a dagger concealed in his sleeve, and it was ready for use. He reached inside his own medical bag for one of his surgical blades. Uncertain what else to do, Falmeresham trailed after them, dabbing at the blood that oozed from a split lip.

Michael led the way through the churchyard of St Mary the Great, aiming for the secluded spot where Motelete’s body had been found. Bartholomew watched Arderne intently for some flicker of unease at the choice of venue, but the man’s expression was bland and betrayed nothing.

‘I am glad you have decided to listen to reason, Brother,’ said Arderne, when the monk finally turned to face him. ‘You can persuade your colleague to leave my town before he hangs for–’

‘You will hang long before him,’ said the monk coldly. ‘It is only fair to tell you that you are currently under investigation for murder yourself.’

‘Murder?’ Arderne was grinning, confident in his belief that Michael had no proof of wrongdoing. ‘I did nothing but try to help Maud Bowyer. And I did not harm Lynton, either, before you think to blame me for that. Bartholomew concealed the–’

‘I am not talking about Maud’s death or Lynton’s murder,’ said Michael in the same icy tones. ‘I refer to Motelete. I have a witness who saw you with his body. I am going to take his sworn testimony now, and in an hour I shall have enough to send you to the gallows.’

Bartholomew tried not to show his surprise at the lie; Falmeresham’s expression turned uneasy.

‘I did not kill Motelete!’ Arderne was aghast, smug satisfaction evaporating quickly. ‘I liked him – I raised him from the dead, remember? Why would I have done that, if I intended to kill him later?’

Michael regarded him intently. ‘Now there is an interesting remark. Motelete’s friends say he seldom ventured outside the College before his death, yet you claim to have known him well enough to like him. That was a careless slip, Arderne, because it tells me that you – unlike virtually anyone else in the town – were acquainted with him before his throat was cut.’

Bartholomew smiled slowly. The monk was right. ‘You and Motelete came to Cambridge at about the same time, Arderne. Were your arrivals coincidence, or was there a prior friendship?’

‘Of course we did not know each other before I cured him.’ Arderne’s voice dripped contempt, but his fingers tightened around the blade in his hand. He was beginning to be worried. ‘I do not fraternise with boys.’

‘You do,’ countered Bartholomew, taking a firmer grip on his own knife. ‘Falmeresham proves it. You poached him from his studies. Why? So you could learn about the activities of a rival?’

‘I would never spy on you,’ objected Falmeresham. He glanced uncomfortably at Arderne, and Bartholomew saw the favour had been asked. And refused.

‘Falmeresham hovers about me, because I saved him, too,’ snapped Arderne. ‘I cannot help it if the people I cure see me as a hero. And nor can I help the fact that your inadequate teaching has left him longing for better answers.’

‘You did not save him. You sutured a minor cut in his side. And if you understood anything about anatomy, you would know that a liver cannot possibly have been extracted from that angle. You gave him strong medicines to befuddle him, and performed a bogus operation with entrails purchased from a butcher. Obviously, you wanted him seen as another of your triumphs.’

‘Then you saw you could use him further still,’ continued Michael. ‘He could be your informant. You made him all manner of promises, using his passion for healing, to turn him against Matt. He ran to you eagerly – too eagerly, because he was not much use once he had left Michaelhouse.’

‘Take him,’ said Arderne, regarding the student in disdain. ‘He is a nuisance with all his stupid questions, and he is beginning to annoy me. Take him – he is all yours.’

Falmeresham did not seem overly dismayed. He shot Bartholomew a hopeful look.

‘Meanwhile, Motelete was never dead – he was not even badly wounded,’ Bartholomew went on. ‘He just lay in St John Zachary, biding his time, waiting for his master to come. How many times have you two amazed gullible onlookers before, Arderne?’