Susanna Gregory: A Plague On Both Your Houses

"I misjudged you both, and Giles has saved my life.'

'Yes. I was there when Cynric came to him with his dilemma, and I told them the answer was quite simple,' said Philippa. "I told them to enlist the help of Rachel Atkin and to go to see whether you and Michael were being held prisoner under Stephen's stables as she surmised. They were considering leaving it until tonight, but I said to go there and then. I would have gone myself, but I am not so foolish as to risk the success of such a mission merely to satisfy my own curiosity.'

Bartholomew stared at her wonderingly, and then hugged her, first gently, then harder. He could feel her laughing as she tried to catch her breath, and was reminded of how carefree they had been in the summer.

Abigny and Michael watched with obvious delight, and Bartholomew became embarrassed. Still with an arm across her shoulders, he spoke to Abigny.

'Thank you again for last night,' he said.

'Think nothing of it,' said Abigny cheerfully. 'All in a day's work for a philosopher.' He became serious again. "I spoke to Elias Oliver on our way here. He is grief-stricken at the loss of his brother and aunt, and more than prepared to spill his heart. He says it was Henry who organised the riot, and Henry who tried to kill you in the lane. He also told me that both Wilson and Master Yaxley of Bene't Hostel were seeing the Abbess, although neither knew of the other.'

'Really?' said Brother Michael with gleeful fascination.

'Whatever next!'

So that explains how the blacksmith came to be paid with money in a Bene't Hostel purse, thought Bartholomew. It must have been Yaxley's, although it had been rash of Henry to pay the blacksmith with a marked purse. Perhaps he disapproved of his aunt's illicit relationships, and was hoping that Bartholomew would begin to suspect Yaxley. He remembered the blacksmith bearing down on Elias Oliver during the riot, and almost stabbing him in the process. No wonder the Olivers had glowered so, when they were almost victims of their own plotting.

'Elias also said that Wilson had been in quite a panic one night, saying that he feared the physician,' said Abigny. 'The Abbess and her two dear nephews thought he meant you, and that you were going to kill him. But by "the physician" Wilson must have meant Colet, not you at all.'

'And you had nothing to do with this University business?' asked Bartholomew.

Abigny looked at him as though he were mad. "Me? Get mixed up with that crowd of calculating, power-hungry maniacs?' he said in disbelief. 'No fear!

I have more sense, and frankly, Matt, I would have thought you had, too. I am appalled that you allowed yourself to become embroiled in such filthy matters.'

'One of the keys to the whole affair was the presence of the trap-door. If you think back to when we found Paul's body, it was you who suggested that there might be a secret door…'

Abigny laughed. 'That just goes to show, Physician, that you need a philosopher to sort out all your mysteries!

So, I immediately lit upon the essence of the problem, did I? What an amazing mind I have.' He preened for a while.

"I do not even remember saying it,' he admitted. "I was just throwing out ideas and trying to think through the thing logically. I had no idea the College was furnished with such devices, and if I did mention it, it was purely owing to my sense of logic'

Bartholomew sighed. At last. All the loose ends had come together. One stupid error in all this was his assumption that Philippa's disappearance was connected to the University business, whereas the reality was that they were totally unrelated. There were tenuous links Wilson and Yaxley sharing the Abbess's favours, Abigny's frequenting of Bene't Hostel — but that was all.

He held out his hand to Philippa, who took it and pressed it to her lips. He smiled at the black smudges that his hand left on her white skin, and tried to wipe them off. He only made them worse. Philippa began to giggle, and out of the corner of his eye, Bartholomew saw Abigny bundle a goggle-eyed Michael out of the room and close the door, leaving him alone with Philippa.

'Why did you not tell me you had been married as a child?' he said, recalling what Abigny had told him some days ago, now.

"I thought you might not marry me if you thought I were a rich widow,' she said.

Bartholomew stared at her. 'Are you serious?'

She nodded. 'You told me so many times you did not want to treat rich patients for the money that I thought you might prefer a poor wife. The irony of all this silly mess was that I was thinking I would give all the property to the convent anyway,' she said. 'To please you.'

Bartholomew groaned. 'You will never believe the problems caused by my failing to understand what money means to people,' he said.

Philippa squeezed next to him on the window seat.

'So tell me,' she said.

It was March, and although the plague still raged, and reports of enormous numbers of deaths remained common, Bartholomew felt that it was beginning to relinquish its hold on Cambridge. The death toll was lower than it had been in January and February, and, with the coming of spring, many felt a new hope.

Colet, Stephen, Jocelyn, Yaxley, Burwell, Stayne, and five others were taken for trial at the Tower of London. They were accused of treason for attempting to undermine the University, particularly King's Hall, which was endowed with royal money. All were executed at Smithfield, although the news of their deaths did not reach Cambridge until three weeks later. Oswald Stanmore was at London for the trial, and told Bartholomew that Stephen was fully repentant for his wrongdoings. Colet was less so, and sent Bartholomew a package. Inside was the golden lion. When Bartholomew explained its significance to Philippa, she dropped it in disgust, and walked away. Bartholomew looked at it for a moment and then followed her. The small child that found it lying in the mud in the High Street sold it to a passing traveller for a penny later that day.

The University began to settle back into the business of teaching. Although officially closed because of the plague, there were still students who wanted to learn, and scholars who wanted to teach. Bartholomew was as busy as ever, teaching, seeing his patients, trying to control Gray, and visiting Philippa, now living with Stephen's wife in Milne Street.

One bright day when the air was filled with the fresh smells of spring, masking even the stench of the river, Bartholomew and Michael walked to Newnham, Bartholomew to see to a wheezing cough, and Michael to persuade children to join his depleted choir. The sun shone, and the first lambs of the year gambolled about the fields. Michael and Bartholomew completed their business, and turned homeward. They walked in silence, enjoying the clean air and the feel of the sun through their clothes.

When they reached the small footbridge, Bartholomew stopped and looked down into the swirling waters underneath. Michael stood next to him, leaning his ample forearms on the handrail.

'Sir John's seal caused a lot of deaths, and it was basically worthless,' said Bartholomew.

Michael looked at him askance. 'What brought that up?' he said. After a while, watching Bartholomew drop blades of grass onto the water he said, 'The seal was nothing. It could only be used by Sir John for the King's business, and as soon as he was dead, the seal was defunct.

It was given unwarranted significance by evil men for evil reasons. Sir John would have been horrified if he knew what trouble it would cause.'

Bartholomew reached into his pocket and handed something to Michael, whose eyes widened in shock.

'Where did you get this?' he asked in wonder, turning Sir John's intricate seal to the sun so he could look at it closely.