Susanna Gregory: An Unholy Alliance

Michael pulled a face. 'Not until I have had something to eat,' he said. 'What a morning! We are dragged out of mass to look at a corpse in the University chest, we discover a nasty poisoning device, we see a murdered harlot, and we find that the Vice-Chancellor has run away carrying all his worldly goods and some of King's Hall's. And all before breakfast.' "I am supposed to be teaching now,' said Bartholomew, glancing up at the sun, already high in the sky. 'These students will face their disputations soon and need all the teaching they can get, especially Robert Deynman/ 'They will have to wait a little longer,' said Michael, pointing across the yard to where the porter stood talking with a young woman. 'You have a patient.'

Seeing Bartholomew and Michael walk through the gate, the woman began to walk towards them, the porter's attentions forgotten. Bartholomew recognised her as Frances de Belem, the daughter of one of the wealthy merchants on Milne Street, who owned a house next to that of his brother-in-law Sir Oswald Stanmore. Years before, Stanmore and de Belem had started negotiations to marry Frances to Bartholomew, so that Stanmore's cloth trade could be linked to de Belem's dyeing business. At fourteen years of age, Bartholomew had no intentions of being married to a baby, nor of becoming a tradesman, and he had fled to study at Oxford. De Belem had promptly found another merchant's son, and Stanmore, fortunately for Bartholomew, was not a man to bear grudges when his errant kinsman returned fifteen years later to take up a position as Fellow of Medicine at Michaelhouse.

The rift between Stanmore and de Belem caused by Bartholomew's flight, however, had never completely healed, and Bartholomew was still occasionally subjected to doleful looks from his brother-in-law when de Belem overcharged him for dyes. But Frances bore Bartholomew no ill will and always seemed pleased to see him. Her marriage ended, as did many, when the plague took her husband the previous year.

As Bartholomew walked towards her, he noticed that her face was white and stained with tears. She almost broke into a run as he drew close, and was unable to prevent a huge sob as she clutched at his arm.

'Frances?' said Bartholomew gently. 'Whatever is the matter? Is your father ill?'

She shook her head miserably. "I must talk to you, Doctor,' she said. "I need help, and I do not know who else to ask.'

Bartholomew thought quickly. He could not take a woman back to his room, especially with the Franciscans undoubtedly already watching with disapproval the presence of a woman on Michaelhouse soil. He could not take her to the hall or the conclave because they would be in use for teaching, and he was reluctant to send her away when she obviously needed his help. The only possible place for a consultation was the kitchen, where the hefty laundress Agatha could act as chaperon and preserve Frances's reputation and his own.

He ushered her across the yard towards the main building. Michaelhouse comprised several buildings, joined in a three-sided structure around a courtyard.

The south and north wings, where the scholars lived, were two-storeyed buildings. The hall linked the two wings and was a handsome house built by a merchant.

The house had been bought in 1324 by Hervey de Stanton, Edward II's Chancellor of the Exchequer, when he founded Michaelhouse, and was dominated by the elegant porch topped with de Stanton's coat of arms. A spiral staircase led from the porch to the hall on the upper floor, while a door below led to the kitchen.

Frances in tow, Bartholomew made his way through the servants scurrying to prepare the main meal of the day, to the small room where Agatha kept her linen. She sat in a chair, legs splayed in front of her, snoring loudly in the sunlight that flooded the room. Agatha was a huge woman, almost as big as Brother Michael. Women were not usually allowed to work in the University's Colleges and hostels, but Agatha was exempted since she was unlikely to attract the amorous attentions of even the most desperate scholar. As Bartholomew entered, she awoke, and looked balefully at him, and then at Frances behind. It was not the first time Bartholomew had used her services when female patients had arrived unannounced, and she said nothing as she scrubbed at her eyes and heaved her bulk into a less inelegant position.

'You can trust Agatha to be discreet with anything you might say,' he said, as Frances looked nervously at Agatha's formidable form.

Agatha smiled, revealing an array of strong yellow teeth. 'Never mind me,' she said to Frances. "I have things to be doing, and nothing you can say to the Doctor will shock me.' "I am with child!' Frances blurted out. Agatha's jaw immediately dropped, and the hand that was reaching for some sewing was arrested in mid air. Bartholomew was startled. Her father, who had allowed Frances a free rein since the death of her husband, would be furious; especially so since Stanmore had told Bartholomew that arrangements were already in hand to remarry Frances to a landowner in Saffron Walden, a village south-east of Cambridge.

Bartholomew collected his tumbling thoughts when he saw Frances was waiting for an answer with desperate eyes. "I cannot help you,' he said gently. 'You must seek out a midwife to advise you about the birth. Physicians do not become involved in childbirth unless there is danger to the child or the mother.' He smiled at her reassuringly.

'And I am sure that you need have no worries on that score. You are young and healthy.'

'But I do not want it!' cried Frances. 'It will ruin me!'

Agatha, seeing the girl's tears, gave her a motherly hug.

Bartholomew looked at them helplessly. "I can do nothing to help,' he said again. "I can only advise you to see a midwife to secure the safe delivery of the child.' "I want you to get rid of it for me,' said Frances, turning a tear-streaked face to Bartholomew. "I do not want it.' "I cannot do that,' said Bartholomew. 'Quite apart from the fact that I do not know how, it would be a terrible crime, and dangerous for you.' "I care nothing for the danger,' cried Frances. 'My life will be worth nothing if I have it, so I have nothing to lose. You must be able to help me! I know there are medicines that can rid a woman of an unwanted child.

Of all the physicians in the town, you are the one most likely to know them, since you learned your medicine in dark and distant lands from foreign teachers.'

Bartholomew wondered if that was how all his patients saw him, endowed with knowledge of mysterious cures alien to physicians who had studied in England. "I do not know how to make potions for such purposes,' he said, looking away from Frances and out of the window, hoping that she would not see he was lying. He did know of such a potion, and it was indeed Ibn Ibrahim who had shown him writings by a woman physician called Trotula where such remedies could be found: equal portions of wormwood, betony, and pennyroyal, if taken early, might sometimes cause the foetus to abort. He had seen it used once, but that was because the mother was too exhausted from her last birthing to manage another. Even then, Bartholomew had been confused by the ethics of the case.

'You do know!' said Frances, desperation making her voice crack. 'You must.'

'Go to a midwife,' said Bartholomew gently. 'They understand, and will help with your baby.'

'Mistress Woodman killed Hilde's younger sister,' said Frances bitterly, meeting his eyes. 'Did you know that?'

'Hilde the prostitute?' asked Bartholomew. 'The one who was killed?'

Frances nodded. 'Her sister was three months with child, and she went to Mistress Woodman, the midwife, to rid herself of it. Mistress Woodman tried to pluck the child out with a piece of wire. Hilde's sister bled to death.'

Bartholomew knew such practices occurred — many dangerous poisons were used, and if these failed, operations were attempted that invariably left the mother either dead or suffering from infection. He turned away and looked out of the window. There was no disputing that it was wrong to kill, but what if Frances went to Mistress Woodman and died of her ministrations? 'What of the baby's father?' he asked. 'Will he marry you?'