Susanna Gregory: An Unholy Alliance

'Not even when you bathe?' pressed Bartholomew.

'Bathe? You mean swim in the river?' said the Chancellor with a look of horror.

'No, I mean take a bath,' said Bartholomew.

'A bath would mean that I had to remove all my clothes,' said the Chancellor distastefully, 'and I do not consider such an action healthy for a man in his fifties.' He held up a hand as if to quell any objection Bartholomew might make. "I am aware of your odd beliefs in this area, Doctor,' he said, referring to Bartholomew's well-known insistence on cleanliness.

"I cannot think why Master Kenyngham allows you to entertain such peculiar notions, and while I suppose they may have a measure of success on the labourers you physic, I do not believe they will apply equally to me.'

'All men are equal before God, Chancellor,' said Bartholomew, taken aback by de Wetherset's statement.

He ignored Michael's smirk. 'And all men are more likely to contract certain sicknesses if they do not keep themselves clean.'

De Wetherset looked sharply at him. 'Do not try to lure me into a debate on physic,' he said. 'The Bible does not say those who do not bathe will become ill.

And it also does not recommend against drinking from God's rivers as I have heard you do. Now, we have more important matters to discuss.'

Bartholomew was startled into silence, wondering whether his teaching and practice were really as outlandish as many of his colleagues seemed to feel.

Bartholomew had learned medicine at the University in Paris from an Arab doctor who had taught him that incidence of disease could be lessened by simple hygiene. Bartholomew fervently believed Ibn Ibrahim was right, a notion that brought him into conflict with many of his patients and colleagues. De Wetherset's arguments had tripped very lightly off his tongue, suggesting that he had debated this issue before. Michael, hiding his amusement, resumed the questioning of de Wetherset.

'So there is no time ever when you might remove the keys?'

'Never,' said de Wetherset. "I even sleep with them.'

'What about Master Buckley?' said Michael. 'Where is he? We should really ask him the same questions.'

'He is unwell,' said de Wetherset. 'Did you not know that, Doctor? He is your patient.'

Master Buckley, the Vice-Chancellor, was a Fellow of King's Hall. He taught grammar, and, many years before, Bartholomew's older sister Edith had hired Master Buckley to coach him when the school at Peterborough Abbey broke for holidays. Bartholomew's knowledge of grammar had not improved, and Buckley's dull company had done a great deal to convince him that this subject made a very poor showing after arithmetic, geometry, and natural philosophy. Bartholomew had met Buckley again when he had been made Master of Medicine at Michaelhouse six years before, and had treated Buckley frequently for a skin complaint.

'Who usually opens the chest?' Bartholomew asked.

'Well, Master Buckley, actually,' said de Wetherset.

'Gilbert usually kindles the lamps, and I like to set out the table, ready to work on the documents locked in the chest.'

Bartholomew looked at Gilbert, who hastened to explain. 'Master de Wetherset hands Master Buckley his keys, he unlocks the chest and removes any documents we require, and then he locks it again immediately.' He looked down at the lock in renewed horror. 'You mean poor Master Buckley could have been killed like that poor friar just by unlocking the chest?'

Michael shrugged. 'Yes. Assuming the lock has not been changed.'

Bartholomew stood to leave. 'That is all we can tell you,' he said. "I am sorry it is not more, but perhaps Masters Harling andjonstan will uncover the truth when they begin to investigate.'

The Chancellor shook his head slowly, and indicated he should sit again. 'My Proctors cannot investigate this,' he said. 'They have their hands full trying to keep peace between students and the gangs of people gathered for the Stourbridge Fair. Also, there are scores of entertainers, mercenaries, and the Lord knows what manner of people wandering through the town gawking at our buildings and assessing our wealth. An increase in non-University folk around the town has always been a danger, but has been especially so since the Death, with lordless labourers strolling free.'

Bartholomew knew all this: the Fair was the largest in England, and merchants from all over England, France, and even Flanders came to trade. The Fair also attracted entertainers — singers, dancers, actors, fire-eaters, jongleurs, acrobats, and many more — and with the entertainers came pickpockets, thieves, rabble rousers, and tricksters. The Proctors always struggled to keep the scholars out of trouble, but this year the situation was far more serious. The plague had taken landowners as well as those who worked for them, and many previously bonded men had found themselves free.

A shortage of labour had forced wages up, and groups of people wandered the country selling their services to those that could pay the most. Compounding all this, the soldiers who had been fighting the King's wars in France had begun to return. It was easier to steal than to work, and robbers on the roads were increasingly common, especially given the number of carts that trundled along taking goods to and from the Fair.

The Fair was only in its second week, but already there had been three deaths, and a riot had been only narrowly averted when a local tinker had stolen a student's purse.

'Because my Proctors are busy with the Fair,' the Chancellor continued, "I will need to crave your indulgence a little longer, and ask that you might make some preliminary enquiries on my behalf. Of course, Harling and Jonstan will help wherever they can, but…'

'If you will forgive me, Master de Wetherset,' interrupted Bartholomew, "I would rather not be a party to an extended investigation. I am a physician, and I think the events of two Christmases ago show clearly that I am not adept at this kind of thing. You would be better asking one of your clerks to do it. Perhaps Gilbert?' "I require a physician to examine the body of my scribe Nicholas to see if he, too, was killed by this foul device,' said de Wetherset, gesturing to the lock on the table. 'Gilbert cannot tell me whether a man has been poisoned or not.'

'But Nicholas is buried!' said Michael, shocked. 'You said he died a month ago.'

'You mean to dig him up?' gasped Gilbert, his face white under his beard.

Cuthbert joined in. 'Nicholas has been laid to rest in hallowed ground! You cannot disturb him! It is contrary to the will of God!'

De Wetherset looked disapprovingly at them before addressing Michael and Bartholomew. 'Nicholas lies in the churchyard here. I will obtain the necessary permits from the Bishop and you will exhume the body this week.

You will also report back to me regularly. I will speak with Master Kenyngham and ask that you be excused lectures if they interfere with your investigation.'

Bartholomew felt a flash of anger at de Wetherset's presumption, followed by a feeling of sick dread. He had no wish to investigate murders or delve into the University's sordid affairs.

'But my students have their disputations soon,' he protested. "I cannot abandon them!' "I need a physician to examine the corpse,' repeated the Chancellor. 'You underestimate your abilities, Doctor.

You are honest and discreet, and for these reasons alone I trust you more than most of my clerks. I think you both of you,' he added, looking at Michael, 'are perfectly equipped to get to the bottom of this matter. I know you would both rather teach than investigate University affairs, but I must ask you to indulge me for a day or so, and do my bidding. I know the Bishop will support me in this.'

'But if your clerk has been dead for a month, I will be able to tell you nothing about his death,' Bartholomew protested. 'Even if there were once a small cut on his hand, like the one on the friar, the flesh will be corrupted, and I doubt I will be able to see it.'