Susanna GREGORY - A Poisonous Plot

Stephen glared at him. ‘I dislike your attitude, Brother. I shall certainly not be giving anything to your College now. Nor Gonville – they are not having my architecture books either.’

He stalked away before either scholar could ask what Gonville had done to earn his ire. Michael watched him go thoughtfully.

‘He said nothing to remove himself from my list of suspects, and neither did Shirwynk and Peyn. As far as I am concerned, any of them might have murdered Frenge.’

With every University scholar and most wealthy townsmen in attendance, St Mary the Great was packed to the gills. Everyone overheated in the thick robes that comprised their Sunday best, and tempers frayed, especially when rival hostels or Colleges found themselves crushed together. The beadles struggled to keep the peace.

Bartholomew and Wauter hurried to the chancel, to meet the other members of the consilium . Prior Joliet looked competent and statesmanlike in his best habit, while Nigellus wore robes that would not have looked out of place on a courtier. Irby was absent.

‘He is too ill to come,’ explained Nigellus. ‘He is suffering from a loss of appetite.’

‘So am I,’ remarked Prior Joliet wryly. ‘Nerves. There is enormous pressure on us to choose the right subject, and I am cognisant of the disappointment we will cause if we err. However, if I can endure it, so can he, so send a messenger to Zachary and tell him to come and do his duty.’

‘I am afraid his malady is more serious than yours, so I confined him to bed,’ said Nigellus pompously. ‘Morys will take his place instead.’

He beckoned his colleague forward. Fierce little Morys was as wasplike as ever in his trademark yellow and black; Bartholomew wondered if he and Nigellus even remembered that Zachary scholars were meant to wear grey and cream.

‘No, he will not!’ said Joliet crossly. ‘There are procedures that must be followed before a representative can be changed. It is–’

‘There is no time,’ interrupted Nigellus curtly. ‘Or do you suggest that we keep hundreds of people waiting while we go through a host of petty formalities? I am sure Michaelhouse will not object to the substitution, given the immediacy of the situation.’

‘Do you?’ asked Joliet of Bartholomew and Wauter. He grimaced. ‘I confess I am worried about the uneasy atmosphere in the church today, so the sooner we start, the less opportunity there will be for trouble. It would certainly make for a quieter life if you agree to Morys’s nomination.’

‘True,’ agreed Wauter. ‘I do not mind him in lieu of Irby.’

Bartholomew did, and wished Wauter had consulted with him before replying. Uncharitably, he wondered whether the geometrician’s loyalties still lay with the hostel that had housed him for a decade, rather than the College that had kept him for a few weeks. And was Irby really ill, or had Nigellus simply decided to exchange a moderate man for one with opinions akin to his own?

‘The motion is carried then,’ said Joliet, casting an apologetic glance at Bartholomew, whose opinion did not matter now the majority had spoken.

‘Good,’ said Nigellus smugly. ‘Then the subject of the debate will be nemo dat , as I have been suggesting for weeks. Are you in agreement, Morys?’

‘Yes, I am,’ replied Morys firmly. ‘It is by far the best idea.’

‘So there are two votes in its favour,’ said Joliet. ‘Wauter? What do you think?’

‘It would make for an interesting–’ began Wauter.

‘Three,’ pounced Morys. ‘Which means that the views of Bartholomew and Joliet are now immaterial. I shall inform the Chancellor at once.’

‘Now just a moment!’ Joliet put out a hand to stop him. ‘Wauter did not say he was voting for nemo dat – he merely said it was interesting. Besides, I am chairman, Morys, not you, so it is for me to speak to the Chancellor when we make our choice.’

Morys glared at him. ‘You want Michaelhouse to win because they hire you to teach and paint murals. You are unfairly biased, and should not have accepted a place on this committee.’

Joliet and Bartholomew gaped at him, astounded by such intemperate accusations.

‘Steady on, Morys,’ murmured Wauter. ‘And Joliet is right – I did not vote for nemo dat . I want to hear a few more suggestions before making my final decision.’

‘Why?’ demanded Nigellus. ‘Morys and I have made up our minds and we will not be swayed. Now, Joliet, will you tell Tynkell or shall I?’

‘I recommend that we select a theological or a musical–’ began Joliet, pointedly turning his back on the Zachary men.

‘No,’ snarled Nigellus. ‘It is nemo dat or nothing.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Morys.

‘Then Joliet, Wauter and I will choose the question,’ said Bartholomew, objecting to their bullying tactics. ‘If we can agree on a subject, you two are irrelevant.’

Nigellus addressed Joliet in a voice that held considerable menace. ‘Vote as I suggest or I will tell the Sheriff that you bought illegal sucura for Arnold in his final days. All the money you have hoarded to feed the poor this winter will be gone in a fine.’

Bartholomew felt his jaw drop, while the blood drained from Joliet’s face.

‘You would never do such a terrible thing!’ breathed the Prior, shocked.

‘No?’ sneered Nigellus. ‘Just try me.’

‘You want nemo dat because your students have been practising it,’ said Bartholomew accusingly, unable to help himself. ‘Do not look indignant – we all know the truth. But there is no glory in a victory won by cheating. Moreover, the Chancellor will not stand by and let you make a mockery of–’

‘He will never oppose my wishes,’ interrupted Morys. ‘And if you accuse us of foul play again, I shall sue you for slander. Now, Joliet, what will it be? Nemo dat or poverty?’

Joliet’s answer was in his silence and bowed head.

‘Morys, tell Tynkell that the subject is nemo dat ,’ ordered Nigellus, allowing himself a tight, smug smile of triumph. ‘I shall inform our students. No, do not argue, Bartholomew – we have the necessary three votes. The matter is over.’

He and Morys hurried away. The Zachary students began to cheer when he addressed them, a reaction he quelled with an urgent flap of his hand. It told Bartholomew all he needed to know about the hostel’s sense of honour. Wauter watched for a moment, then ambled away to report the ‘decision’ to Michaelhouse, although given that every moment of preparation counted, Bartholomew thought he should have moved more quickly.

‘I am sorry, Matt,’ said Joliet wretchedly. ‘But I am afraid we did buy sucura to make poor Arnold smile during his last few days. And as legitimate sources are prohibitively expensive, we were obliged to turn to an illegal one.’

‘How did Nigellus know?’ Then Bartholomew sighed and answered the question himself. ‘Because he was Arnold’s medicus , and took a professional interest in his diet.’

Joliet nodded bitterly. ‘He recommended sucura. Now I know why – not to brighten a dying man’s last days, but to blackmail me. He knew I would opt for the cheapest source – and that the Sheriff would love to make an example of us.’ He looked miserable. ‘I know Tulyet is your friend, Matt, but it is the beggars who will suffer if you tell him what we have done.’

‘I will keep your confidence, although I am not sure you can trust Nigellus. Perhaps you should confess before he blabs. Dick is a compassionate and practical man, and will understand why you did it. Probably.’

Sniffing unhappily, Joliet followed him to where Michael stood with Tynkell, ready to set the disceptatio in progress. The Chancellor was almost invisible inside his sumptuous robes of office, and he looked ill.