Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

‘No,’ Lee replied unconvincingly. ‘It is a lie put about by his enemies. He goes to …to treat her bunions.’

‘Bartholomew is her physician,’ said Weasenham, not so easily misled. ‘And Rougham would never physic her, because she would not be able to pay him. Bartholomew does not care about that kind of thing, but Rougham certainly does.’

‘She has two physicians,’ said Lee in a voice that was loaded with menace. ‘One for her bunions, and one for everything else. So, we shall say no more about the matter. If I hear the faintest whisper against Doctor Rougham or Yolande, I will come to your shop and ram your parchments–’

‘What was he saying to you just now?’ interrupted Michael. He hoped the stationer would take Lee’s threat seriously, because he was sure Rougham would assume Bartholomew was the source of any rumours that associated his name with that of Yolande de Blaston.

‘He was telling us what happened in Oxford on St Scholastica’s Day,’ said Lee, still scowling at Weasenham. ‘The men who started the riot were called Chesterfelde and Spryngheuse, both of whom have been murdered in Cambridge since.’

‘Really,’ said Michael flatly. ‘And how do you come to be party to this information, Weasenham?’

Weasenham swallowed uneasily, and would not meet Michael’s eyes. ‘Spryngheuse told me himself. He and Chesterfelde are to be buried today, and everyone knows they are young men dead before their time. He said a Benedictine had followed him here, determined to exact revenge, and he was thinking of moving to another town. He planned to go today.’

‘He left it a bit late, then,’ muttered Lee.

‘Tell him the rest,’ said Paxtone to the nervous stationer. ‘About the plot to spread unrest and bring down the universities.’

‘I am only repeating what I have been told,’ bleated Weasenham, unnerved by Michael’s stern expression. ‘The Oxford disorder was deliberately started, and it is believed that the same thing will happen here.’

‘Who said this?’ demanded Michael.

‘Polmorva. He said he will abandon Cambridge soon, because it is on the verge of a serious crisis. He is thinking of setting up a new university in a different place – not Stamford or Northampton, because scholars have tried those places before, and their schools were suppressed – but somewhere really nice, like Haverhill in Suffolk, or perhaps Winchester.’

‘Did he mention the names of the men who want to see us in flames?’ asked Michael coolly.

‘He did not know them, but obviously something is going on, because Chesterfelde was murdered, and now Spryngheuse is dead.’

Michael was sceptical. ‘If Chesterfelde and Spryngheuse really did start the riots in Oxford, and someone wants to do the same here, then why waste two experienced rabble-rousers by killing them? Why not recruit them?’

‘Perhaps there is more than one faction at work, Brother. There may be those who want riots, and who may have brought Spryngheuse and Chesterfelde here. And there may be those who want peace, and who intend to punish that pair for what they have already done.’

‘And it looks as if one group has been successful,’ added Lee, in case Michael had not worked it out for himself. ‘The two rabble-rousers are dead, so someone else will have to do their dirty work.’

‘I have done nothing wrong,’ said Weasenham with a sickly smile, as Michael regarded him with distaste. ‘You cannot punish me for repeating facts.’

‘They are not facts,’ said Michael sharply. ‘They are speculation, and if you spread any more tales that the town is about to be put to the torch, I shall arrest you. Do you want to see us under interdict, like Oxford? Do you want the Archbishop shocked by what he finds here?’

‘No,’ stammered Weasenham. ‘But I–’

‘If the University flounders, then Cambridge will have no need for a stationer. You will have to go to Haverhill or Winchester, and hope Polmorva manages to attract enough students to keep you in business. There are far too many secular clerks in Winchester for a university to be a success, while Haverhill is full of pigs. Rather like Oxford, I imagine.’

He turned on his heel and stalked out. Paxtone and Bartholomew followed, and the physician noticed that a number of Weasenham’s customers had listened to the reprimand. As he closed the door behind him, a babble of excited conversation broke out, and he wondered if Michael had done more harm than good. In a few moments the door opened again, and Lee sidled out.

‘Weasenham is not the only one who has been predicting unrest,’ he volunteered helpfully. ‘There was talk among the townsfolk in the Market Square this morning, because of Eudo.’

‘Eudo?’ asked Michael. ‘The absconded tenant of Merton Hall, who robs the good citizens of Cambridge and hides his booty in a cistern?’

‘Not according to him. He says he is innocent, and that the University fabricated the evidence against him because we are all corrupt and love to treat townsmen badly. He fled from the Square before the Sheriff could catch him, but he was very vocal in his denials.’

‘Damn!’ muttered Michael. ‘This is not good news – not so close to the Visitation. I have a bad feeling Weasenham’s predictions might be right, and someone really is trying to harm us.’

‘Never mind the Archbishop,’ said Bartholomew, worried. ‘If rioting does occur, then people are going to be killed or maimed. I do not want that to happen, whether Islip is here to see it or not.’

‘Polmorva,’ said Paxtone uneasily. ‘Is he trying to destroy us? Oxford has already been brought low, and if we are suppressed for violence, it means his new university will have a better chance of success. Winchester and Haverhill are lovely places, but I do not want them to flourish at our expense. Something must be done to stop him.’

‘If it is him,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘We have no evidence, other than the suspicion that he would like to found a rival studium generale , which is hardly damning. What do you think, Matt? Is he the kind of man to destroy two towns for personal gain?’

‘Yes,’ answered Bartholomew without hesitation. ‘But that does not mean to say he has actually done it.’

‘I must go,’ said Lee, edging away. ‘Rougham sent word that he will arrive home from Norfolk soon, and I need to clean his clyster pipes. He will be angry if they are not spotless.’

‘His imminent return is good news, Lee,’ said Paxtone pleasantly. ‘You must miss him.’

‘Actually, I prefer it when he is not here,’ said Lee baldly. ‘But he is coming back, and there is not much I can do, except make sure his pipes are shiny. I do my best, but he is never satisfied.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Bartholomew wryly. ‘I have the same experience with him myself.’

Lee strode away, while Paxtone invited Bartholomew and Michael to King’s Hall for a cup of wine before the requiem mass, saying he had something he wanted to discuss. Michael accepted before Bartholomew could decline, and Paxtone took them to the refectory, where a pot of ale mulled over a brazier. He poured goblets for his guests, then led them to a table where some of the other Fellows sat. Dodenho was among them, holding forth on some aspect of philosophy that he claimed to have developed, while Wormynghalle was trying to look interested. She brightened when Paxtone, Bartholomew and Michael arrived.

Bartholomew grinned conspiratorially. ‘You are looking especially manly this afternoon,’ he said in an undertone.

She smiled. ‘I rubbed oil into my hair to make it look greasy, and invested in a roll of material to bind my body. Now no one will feel what lies beneath when I slip on wine and a well-meaning physician dives forward to save me.’