Susanna GREGORY - A Poisonous Plot

‘Oh,’ gulped Tynkell guiltily. ‘You have heard about that, have you? It was not my idea. Morys said that in any battle with the town, we would be hobbled by the fact some scholars will refuse to fight lest bloodshed stains their souls. Then he recommended Kellawe as a good man to dispense absolutions. It seemed like a good idea …’

‘It is not a good idea at all!’ exploded Michael. ‘It will make the town think we are planning an attack.’

‘I suppose it might,’ conceded Tynkell weakly, ‘but Morys gave me no choice. Then he went and summoned my mother anyway – he reneged on the agreement he made, the sly rogue!’

Footsteps outside heralded the arrival of Stephen. He still looked unwell, but was clad in clothes of exceptional quality: clearly, the law was a lucrative business when clients like Edith and Shirwynk were willing to pay handsomely for sharp minds to find ways around it.

‘I have just been to King’s Hall to assess Cew,’ he began without preamble. ‘He is only pretending to be insane, purely to strengthen his College’s claim against the brewery. Thus the so-called assault on him will be excluded when we go to court.’

‘He is not pretending,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘He is genuinely disturbed – and that is my professional medical opinion.’

In truth, he was not sure what to think about Cew, but the lawyer’s presumption in making a diagnosis he was not qualified to give had annoyed him.

Stephen considered for a moment. ‘Then he was already a lunatic, and King’s Hall aim to blame his illness on Frenge. Regardless, it will not form part of the case.’

‘I wish you could find a way to persuade both parties not to proceed,’ said Michael irritably. ‘The situation is causing untold harm to University-town relations.’

‘It will make no difference now whether they proceed or not,’ replied Stephen. ‘Because there is yet another suit – the assault on Anne by Segeforde. She was shamed in front of her friends and neighbours, and she is demanding substantial compensation for her anguish.’

‘How much of it will you receive?’ asked Michael in distaste. ‘Twenty per cent? Thirty?’

Stephen regarded him coolly. ‘That is my business.’

‘If you do not answer, I shall tell my mother.’ The gleam in Tynkell’s eyes showed the pleasure he took from being on the giving end of threats for a change. ‘And you have met her …’

‘Fifty per cent,’ replied Stephen quickly. He raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Anne could have found a lawyer who charges less, but not one who will win. Quality costs.’

Michael sent a beadle to bring Segeforde to St Mary the Great when Stephen had gone. However, it was not the purple-lipped scholar who arrived, but Morys and Kellawe. Their gloating expressions turned wary when they realised it was not the malleable Tynkell who had summoned them, but the considerably less pliable Senior Proctor.

‘Anne de Rumburgh intends to sue Segeforde for assault,’ said Michael. ‘Where is he? We need to establish some facts if we are to defend him against Stephen.’

‘Bartholomew’s remedy wore off, and he is ill again,’ said Morys, equally cool. ‘But we are not worried about that money-grabbing whore. She has no case against Segeforde.’

Michael regarded him askance. ‘Oh, yes, she does, especially with Stephen representing her. A lot of witnesses saw what happened, including myself.’

‘Town louts, who will claim that Segeforde yanked at her bodice,’ said Kellawe, eyes blazing with righteous indignation. His northern accent was more pronounced when he was angry, and his lower jaw thrust forward aggressively. ‘But twice as many scholars, who are decent men, will say she did it herself. I am one of them. The harlot exposed herself deliberately.’

‘That is a lie,’ said Michael. ‘She did nothing of the sort.’

‘Does this mean you will side with the town against a scholar?’ asked Morys slyly. ‘I would not advise it, Brother – not if you want to be Chancellor when Tynkell resigns.’

‘Tynkell will be in post for a while yet,’ said Michael. ‘And people have short memories.’

‘He will go when I tell him or suffer his mother’s wrath,’ said Morys, grinning when he saw Tynkell’s alarm. ‘I have the power to force an election whenever I choose, so you had better do what I say, Brother, or you will lose everything you have built these last few years.’

‘Then so be it,’ said Michael with cool dignity. ‘Because I will not lie under oath.’

‘And you, Bartholomew?’ Kellawe turned to the physician. ‘What tale will you tell?’

‘The truth, of course,’ said Bartholomew haughtily, not bothering to mention that his testimony would be that he had not actually seen what had happened.

Morys’s expression hardened and he turned to Tynkell. ‘You had better find a way to remind them of their loyalties, or your mother is going to blame you for the University’s troubles.’

Before anyone could argue, he had turned and strutted away, Kellawe at his heels.

Tynkell was so distressed by what might be said to his dam that Bartholomew was obliged to give him a syrup of camomile and wild lettuce to soothe his nerves, then escort him to his hostel to rest. Michael was waiting as the physician walked back past St Mary the Great.

‘I can feel the tension building and I do not know how to stop it,’ the monk said unhappily. ‘We are at war with ourselves just when we need to present a united front.’

‘You mean all the ancient rivalries between Colleges and hostels?’

‘Yes, along with whether we should move to the Fens. There is a growing faction that thinks it is a good idea, while foundations like King’s Hall and Gonville are just as determined to stay.’

‘I am more concerned about Nigellus,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I am not sure he should be let loose on patients, but how can we stop him without actual evidence of wrongdoing?’

Michael was thoughtful. ‘You learned nothing from Letia and Irby, but what of the others?’

‘It is too late – they have been buried.’

‘Lenne has not – he is in St Bene’t’s Church, and will not go in the ground until tomorrow.’ Michael glanced up at the darkening sky. ‘It will not be long now before everyone is abed …’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew. ‘First, we have no authority to examine him; and second, there is no reason to think he will provide answers, given that Letia and Irby did not.’

‘But Frenge did,’ Michael pointed out. ‘If Nigellus has been helping patients into the grave, we need to stop him – and if that means examining a corpse in the middle of the night, then so be it. Go home and try to sleep. I will wake you when the time is right.’

But Bartholomew reached Michaelhouse to find he was needed by several patients. He set off at once, and included Trinity Hall on his list, to see if he could ascertain why an entire College professed to feeling under the weather. He examined a wide range of their leftover food, paying particular attention to the syllabub, but found nothing amiss. He did, however, discover that Nigellus had been a guest of the Master on both occasions when its members had fallen ill.

It was late by the time he trudged home again. The conclave was in darkness, so he went to the kitchen, arriving at the same time as Michael, who had spent the first part of his evening in a futile attempt to persuade Anne to withdraw her complaint, and the second half with the University’s lawyers, discussing the cases Stephen intended to bring against them.

The monk disappeared into the pantries in search of food, but his foray was unsuccessful, and it fell to Cynric, who made them both jump by materialising suddenly out of the gloom, to reveal where Agatha had hidden the last remnants of the feast. There were sweet cakes, some dry-cured meat, bread that was beginning to turn mouldy, and some of Shirwynk’s apple wine.