Susanna GREGORY - To Kill or Cure

‘That is why he did nothing for the first few weeks after we arrived,’ the boy explained. ‘Partly to see who he needed to destroy before he started his work, but partly because he wanted to be sure he had not been followed. He only began when he was sure he was safe.’

‘Tell me,’ said the monk, his mind ranging along another avenue of thought, ‘did any scholars visit Arderne? Michaelhouse scholars, such as Honynge?’

‘Not Honynge,’ said the boy. ‘Arderne did not like him, because he is arrogant, but Carton came sometimes. He said it was to visit Falmeresham’s sickbed, but he spent more time with–’

‘Wait a moment,’ interrupted Michael. ‘Are you telling me Carton knew Falmeresham was alive before Falmeresham made his triumphant return to his College?’

‘Yes. It was Carton who paid for his treatment. Arderne does not work for free.’

Isabel was disgusted to learn she was about to lose a second home within hours of the first, but packed her bags quickly when Michael said Arderne’s crimes might land her in hot water, too. She packed them even faster when he asked whether she had done anything to hasten Maud’s demise.

‘If she did, then it would not have been by much,’ said Bartholomew. It was almost dark, and he and Michael were in the orchard at the back of the College. A fallen apple tree provided a rough bench, and although it was really too cold to be outside, it was better than sitting in the hall with noisy students, or sharing the conclave with Honynge. ‘Perhaps she did double the dose, but it would have been to bring a merciful release, not to escape into Arderne’s arms a day sooner.’

The physician was exhausted, because after tending Arderne and Isnard, he had gone to Peterhouse, to see if any more could be learned about Lynton. He had spent hours with Wisbeche, trying in vain to unravel their colleague’s complex commercial transactions. Later, he had pulled his hood over his head and gone to sit in the Angel, to see if anyone was ready to gossip about Ocleye. It had been a rash thing to do, because Blankpayn caught him, and the situation might have turned violent had Carton not caused a diversion that had allowed the physician to escape. Bartholomew was keen to ask the commoner why he had been in the Angel in the first place, but Carton claimed he had pressing business elsewhere, and left without answering questions.

‘If Isabel did take matters into her own hands,’ said Michael, shivering as he pulled his cloak more closely around him, ‘it is murder.’

‘Some would call it compassion.’ Despite his weariness, Bartholomew was too agitated to sit, so paced back and forth. The killer or killers of Lynton, Ocleye and Motelete were still free, and he could not see a way through the maze of facts and information they had assembled. He was also worried about the next day’s Convocation, afraid that a gathering of scholars in one place might prove too great a temptation for the many people who wished the University harm. And finally, he was concerned for Isnard, suspecting Arderne might be about to claim yet another victim.

Michael sighed. ‘Well, we have dramatically rid ourselves of one suspect – two, if we count Isabel – but we are still in the dark as regards the real killer. Do you think Falmeresham poisoned Motelete, as Arderne is claiming?’

‘Falmeresham would not have used bryony, because he knows it leaves detectable traces. Arderne is trying to avenge himself, because Falmeresham’s testimony saw him imprisoned.’

‘Then we are left with four suspects: Candelby, Blankpayn, Spaldynge and Honynge. Five, if we count Carton, who is guilty of some very odd behaviour. Which is the culprit, do you think?’

Bartholomew shrugged, still pacing. ‘Is Blankpayn sufficiently clever to fool you? Meanwhile, Spaldynge does not seem the kind of man who would want the town awash with blood, although …’

‘Although he gambled at the Dispensary and sold his College’s property without permission,’ finished Michael. ‘And he despises physicians – like Lynton – because they were useless in the plague. And that is strange, is it not? Lynton was the medicus who could not save Spaldynge’s family from the Death, yet Spaldynge deigned to join him on Friday nights to gamble.’

‘I doubt Spaldynge wants to harm the entire University,’ said Bartholomew, although his tone was uncertain. ‘Blankpayn would, though. If anything horrible happens tomorrow, you can be sure he will be taking part.’

‘I do not know what to do for the best. Should I cancel the Convocation?’

‘If you do, the landlords will be furious, and may set light to St Mary the Great anyway.’

‘The culprit is Honynge,’ said Michael, after another pause. ‘I know it is. He took against me from the moment we met – when I was obliged to investigate the death of Wenden.’

‘Who?’ asked Bartholomew tiredly.

‘The Clare Fellow who was stabbed by the tinker on Ash Wednesday. He was Honynge’s friend, if you recall, and had been walking home from Zachary Hostel when he was attacked. Wenden had forgotten his hat, and Honynge ran after him, to give it back. He saw the tinker, and he heard the sound of a bow being loosed. We found the tinker drowned a few days later.’

Bartholomew stared at him. ‘I had forgotten Wenden was killed by a crossbow. Are you sure it was the tinker who shot him? Crossbow deaths are not very common.’

‘Wenden’s purse was found among the tinker’s belongings – it was clear evidence of his guilt.’

‘And it was Honynge’s testimony that allowed you to deduce all this?’

‘I see where you are going with this. Lord! I hope I have not made a terrible mistake.’

Bartholomew flopped down next to him. ‘Perhaps you should reopen the case.’

‘Perhaps I should.’ The monk shivered again. ‘I cannot believe I am sitting out here in the cold, while Honynge enjoys the fire in my conclave. What am I thinking?’

‘That you prefer my company to his – and I do not want to be anywhere near him. He is too argumentative. Take the fire if you will, but I am staying here.’

‘We must do something – and soon, because I have never known the town more uneasy than when I was walking home this evening. The inevitable has happened: folk are muttering that we arrested Arderne to keep the medical business in University hands.’

Bartholomew tensed suddenly. ‘Look! There is someone in the trees! Grab that branch, Brother! You may need it to defend yourself.’

‘It is only Cynric,’ said Michael, peering through the gloom. ‘God’s blood, Matt! You frightened me!’

‘Come quickly,’ called Cynric, hurrying towards them. ‘Honynge has been poisoned.’

Bartholomew and Michael raced to the hall to find Honynge sitting on a bench with one hand clasped to his mouth and the other to his stomach. An upturned cup lay beside him, and virtually every member of the College stood in a silent semicircle nearby. The students looked frightened, Wynewyk concerned, William pleased, and Tyrington shocked. Carton stood slightly apart, his face oddly blank. The servants, who had been in the process of preparing a light supper of ale and oatcakes, formed a line by the screen, watching the proceedings uneasily. Agatha was among them, scowling, because she disliked her College torn by rifts and divisions. Langelee came to explain what had happened.

‘Honynge was holding forth about the dog in this morning’s egg-mess when he complained of a pain in his mouth. Then he said he had gripes in his belly. And then he claimed he had been poisoned.’

‘He was struck down by God, for blaming the dog incident on me,’ announced William, not even trying to disguise his delight with the situation. ‘It is divine justice.’