Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

‘Weasenham will wonder where she has gone,’ he said, thinking the Master overly bold in his courting. By contrast, his own meetings with Matilde were the picture of discretion – he had certainly not frolicked with a married woman in broad daylight, and in her husband’s own back yard.

‘He is run off his feet with customers,’ said Michael, amused. ‘He will not know whether she is here or not, so it is an excellent time for Langelee to seduce his wife. Do not look so disapproving, Matt, given what you have been doing of late.’

‘You know what I have been doing,’ said Bartholomew, offended. ‘And it is not–’

Michael nodded towards the stationer. ‘Weasenham’s current customers are Dodenho and Wormynghalle. Dodenho is fussy and pompous, and will keep him busy for hours with his exacting demands, while Wormynghalle probably takes his pens as seriously as he does the rest of his studies. Langelee is a genius to choose now to seduce Alyce.’

Bartholomew craned his neck to peer through the freestanding shelves, and saw the stationer was indeed serving the two scholars from King’s Hall. He could hear Dodenho’s braying voice as he demanded the best quality equipment, anxious that everyone should know him to be a man of means and good taste. Wormynghalle gave her full, quiet attention to the task in hand, and her face was intense as she considered the writing implements Weasenham displayed. Bartholomew saw that the incident in Paxtone’s room had unnerved her, because she had been to even more trouble to render herself masculine. She had dirtied her clothes to emulate her more slovenly colleagues, and there was grime under fingernails that had previously been clean. She also had a brazenly feminine silk glove tucked into her belt, proclaiming to all who saw it that she kept a female lover. Michael saw it, too, and Bartholomew was certain it would result in a fine.

A group of Bartholomew’s students were on the premises, too, under the loose supervision of Deynman and Falmeresham. They were assessing the cost of vellum, to use for the short treatises they were obliged to produce by the end of the term. Deynman had already purchased the most expensive kind, no doubt hoping that its superior quality would detract from the poor standard of what was written on it. The atmosphere was jovial, with light-hearted banter that resulted in a lot of laughter.

After a moment, the door rattled open and several Gonville Hall scholars bustled in. Bartholomew recognised their leader as William of Lee, Rougham’s most senior student, who took his master’s classes when he was away. Lee looked more like a wrestler than a physician, and would have done better as a surgeon, where brute force was useful for setting bones and sawing off damaged limbs. When he saw the Michaelhouse lads, he swaggered towards them.

‘Now there will be trouble,’ muttered Michael uneasily.

‘Stop it, then,’ suggested Bartholomew, searching the shelves for the parchment he wanted. ‘You are the Senior Proctor.’

‘I will wait and see what happens. I do not want Lee to accuse me of heavy-handedness. He is quick to take offence, and if he insults me, your boys will rally to my defence with their fists.’

He edged closer, taking care to keep himself well concealed behind the labyrinth of storage furniture that displayed Weasenham’s wares. Bartholomew followed, not to help, but because the type of parchment he was hunting for had been moved since the last time he had visited the shop.

‘I am surprised to see you here,’ said Lee tauntingly to Falmeresham. ‘I did not think you could afford decent supplies.’

‘You are right,’ replied Falmeresham pleasantly. ‘I do not come from a wealthy family, but Deynman is buying it for me, as payment for the help I have given him with his studies this year.’

‘Then he is a fool,’ said Lee contemptuously. ‘Only an ass would waste money on such a stupid exercise.’

‘Stupid exercise?’ echoed Falmeresham innocently. He appealed to Lee’s cronies, who were ranged in a pugilistic line behind him. ‘Take heed, gentlemen. Lee thinks helping friends is a “stupid exercise”. You should ask yourselves whether he is someone worthy of your companionship.’

‘That is not what I meant,’ snapped Lee, irked by the way his words had been twisted. ‘I meant he is squandering his gold by buying vellum for the likes of you . I heard you are a bastard.’

Michael stiffened, readying himself to intervene, while Wormynghalle tore herself away from the pens and listened to the burgeoning argument with an expression of alarm. She started to edge towards the door, unwilling to be implicated in an incident that might draw unwanted attention. Dodenho, however, was more interested in holding forth about quills, and Weasenham was too intent on securing a sale to notice the quarrel brewing under his roof.

‘What is a waste of money,’ said Falmeresham lightly, ‘are lessons from Doctor Rougham.’

‘True,’ muttered Michael to himself. ‘But this is not a good time to mention it.’

Lee’s brows drew together. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean he is never here,’ replied Falmeresham, who had meant nothing of the kind and was obviously enjoying playing with the slow-witted Lee. ‘He has been gone for more than two weeks – in the middle of term and when his students need him most.’

‘He is on leave,’ replied Lee. ‘We had a letter saying he has gone to visit his family.’

‘Then I hope he returns as good a teacher as when he left,’ said Falmeresham ambiguously.

Lee scratched his head as he considered the statement, and Falmeresham lost interest in baiting him. It was too easy; he preferred someone who provided more of a challenge. He doffed his hat in an insulting manner, then turned back to the vellum. His friends followed his lead, and were soon engaged in a good-natured debate that filled the room with ringing voices and boisterous laughter. Lee did nothing for a moment, but then moved to the back of the shop, where he and his cronies began to discuss whether Rougham would prefer his remedies book copied in brown or black ink.

Michael heaved a sigh of relief. ‘That was close! Lee was determined to fight, but Falmeresham was too clever for him.’

‘He is clever,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘And I doubt he will forget what Lee said to him today – no man likes being called illegitimate. Those remarks will cost Gonville dearly in time.’

But Michael was not paying attention. He was leaning forward to eavesdrop on the discussion between Weasenham and the King’s Hall men. Now the danger of a spat was over, Wormynghalle was back at the counter, fingering the glove in the hope that the stationer would notice it and begin a few rumours about her masculine lechery. Weasenham and Dodenho had agreed a price, and the stationer was regaling his customers with some post-sale gossip. The Michaelhouse students’ cheerful banter was enough to mask any sound Michael might have made with his muttered asides, but was not sufficiently loud to drown out the words of the chattering scholars. The situation was perfect for the monk to listen unobserved, and he intended to make the most of it, keen to hear for himself whether the stationer was spreading lies about the Oxford murders.

‘Gonville students are the worst,’ Weasenham was saying. ‘They are not too bad when Rougham is here, because he uses his sharp tongue to keep them in line, but now he is away, they are a menace.’

‘When will he return?’ asked Wormynghalle. She did not sound very interested in the answer and gave the impression she had asked only to be polite.

‘No one knows.’ Weasenham’s voice dropped to a salacious whisper so that Michael had to strain to hear him. ‘They say he has gone to enjoy himself with his lover.’