Susanna GREGORY - To Kill or Cure

‘Hurry, Matt! I cannot breathe!’

Bartholomew reached the door that led to the roof, only to find it locked. His arms were heavy, and he knew he was making no impact as he pounded ineffectually on it. Michael shoved him out of the way, and his bulk made short work of the rotten wood. The door flew into pieces, and clean air and daylight flooded into the stairwell.

‘They have lit a fire at the bottom,’ Tyrington croaked. ‘I can hear it crackling. Help me!’

Michael scrambled out on to the roof, while Bartholomew retraced his steps to rescue his terrified colleague. Tyrington gripped his outstretched hand, but then started to pull, dragging the physician back down towards the nave. Bartholomew tried to free himself, but his shoulder burned from where he had lifted Michael, and he found he did not have the strength to resist. The smoke was thick, and he could not breathe. Through the haze, he could see Tyrington grinning wildly.

‘Come with me,’ he crooned. ‘The two of us will die side by side. Fellows together in adversity.’

Bartholomew fell another three steps. He was dizzy from a lack of air, and his eyes smarted so much that Tyrington’s smile began to blur. Suddenly, there was an immense pressure around his middle, and his hand shot out of Tyrington’s grasp.

‘No!’ wailed Tyrington. ‘Come back! Michaelhouse men should–’

‘–not try to incinerate each other,’ finished Michael, grunting as he heaved the physician upwards by his belt. ‘I shall make sure I add it to the Statutes.’

Then they were at the door and out into the cool, fresh air. Bartholomew coughed, trying to catch his breath, and it occurred to him that their situation was not much improved. A rank stench of singed flesh wafted upwards, and he could hear victorious yells from the church. Meanwhile, the students of Clare and Peterhouse were peering upwards. Spaldynge was among them, and he held his crossbow. He took aim, but something was wrong with the mechanism, and he lowered it in puzzlement.

‘Look,’ shouted Michael suddenly, grabbing Bartholomew’s shoulder and pointing. ‘You can see the Trumpington Gate from here. Guess who has just ridden through it.’

‘I cannot think,’ Bartholomew croaked. ‘And I can barely see you, let alone the Trumpington Gate,’

‘It is Sheriff Tulyet. And not a moment too soon.’

The sun was shining brightly and there was no wind, so it was pleasant in Michaelhouse’s orchard. A week had passed since the events that had left two apprentices and a student dead. Sheriff Tulyet had arrived just in time to quash what might have erupted into a serious disturbance, and once he had been rescued from the church roof, Michael had rallied his beadles and set about clearing the streets of scholars. Calm had reigned by nightfall, and the town had been quiet ever since. The Chancellor had decreed that term would begin early, and the undergraduates had been too busy with their books to think about brawling. The town had been restless at first, but the Mayor and his burgesses had been appeased by a gift of two houses from Peterhouse. Because the gift would last only as long as Cambridge was peaceful, any unruly factions had been told in no uncertain terms that they must behave themselves.

‘So,’ said Michael, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun. ‘We have succeeded in outwitting wicked villains yet again. Our killer was the spitting Tyrington, and although he left a trail of clues to lead us in the wrong direction, we cornered him in the end. No one can defeat the alliance of the Senior Proctor and his trusty Corpse Examiner.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Bartholomew, less ready to gloat. The entire episode had left an unpleasant flavour in his mouth, and he still grieved for Kenyngham. He was uncomfortable with the knowledge that Michaelhouse had been invaded by two such devious characters, and was concerned by the fact that Arderne had escaped during the commotion surrounding the attack on St John Zachary and the inferno at the Angel tavern. It had been Candelby’s inn that Cynric had seen in flames – the blaze had been set by his fellow landlords, who felt he had betrayed them. Afraid he might be the next victim of their ire, Candelby had packed up a cart and left the town while he was still in one piece. No one seemed to miss him.

‘And I even defeated Honynge,’ Michael continued, pleased with himself. ‘He thought he could best me with his sly tricks, but he failed. Did I tell you Deynman caught him poking about in my room? That is how he knew about the crossbow bolts you pulled from Lynton and Ocleye, and why he was astonished when the later search failed to locate them.’

‘What did Cynric take from under your loose floorboard?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘Langelee was worried about it.’

‘The alternative statutes,’ replied Michael breezily. ‘The ones Langelee and I use when we want to pass certain measures, and we anticipate trouble from you other Fellows – although you did not hear that from me. The game would have been up, had they been found.’

‘And you call Honynge sly,’ said Bartholomew, rather shocked. ‘I thought you were above that sort of thing.’

‘Why ever would you think that?’ Michael sighed. ‘I am happy, Matt. My College is a haven of peace again, and Carton will be a decent addition to our ranks. We should have listened to you in the first place, and then none of this would have happened.’

‘But Tyrington would have killed another Fellow to secure himself a post. Besides, Carton is not all he seems either, and there were a number of incidents that had us wondering whether he might have been the killer.’

‘But most of those have been explained. Falmeresham knew his friend would be beside himself with worry when he “disappeared”, so he asked Isabel to pass word that he was safe. Unkindly, Arderne then demanded recompense for Falmeresham’s care, which forced Carton to raise the money by various devious means. Carton was hurt when Falmeresham failed to show proper gratitude, but they have settled their differences now.’

Bartholomew was not entirely convinced, and there was a nagging doubt about Carton that would not go away. He hoped they had not repeated the mistake they had made with Tyrington and Honynge – rushing a decision because they were desperate for someone to teach before term began.

‘Do you mind the fact that Langelee has reinstated Falmeresham?’ asked Michael when he did not reply. ‘We should have sent him packing after what he did.’

‘England needs qualified physicians, regardless of what men like Spaldynge believe, so it is important that Falmeresham completes his degree. Besides, we misjudged Tyrington and Honynge, and it would be hypocritical of us to denounce Falmeresham for doing the same with Arderne.’

‘One good thing came from Honynge, though. He resolved the Deynman problem for us.’

‘Yes,’ said Bartholomew, smiling at last. Honynge’s solution, suggested to Langelee before the events in St Mary the Great, was that Deynman should be ‘promoted’ to College librarian. The post was eagerly funded by the boy’s proud father, so would cost the College nothing, and it represented an effective end to the student’s studies in medicine. ‘I thought he would object, but he is delighted.’

‘Relieved,’ corrected Michael. ‘Deep down, he knew he would never pass his disputations. It is a perfect solution, and one we should have devised ourselves. It will not be too intellectually taxing for him, because we do not own many books.’

Bartholomew changed the subject. ‘Paxtone’s blockage returned, by the way. Arderne’s cure was only temporary, so now Paxtone feels he won the wager and is no longer compelled to leave.’