Susanna GREGORY - A Poisonous Plot

Michael groaned. ‘Yet another incident to cause dissent. Will it never end?’

‘Not as long as we enrol undesirables like Kellawe, Morys, Segeforde and Wayt,’ said Thelnetham ruefully. ‘But I am glad we met, Bartholomew, because I have a touch of the debilitas and I am in need of relief.’

‘Deynman said you had been unwell,’ recalled Bartholomew, and regarded the Gilbertine coolly. ‘After he mentioned that you called him an inlitteratus .’

Thelnetham shrugged, unrepentant. ‘I needed a diversion from my discomforts, just as I need one now – I should not have drunk that second cask of apple wine, given that the first made me so ill, but it was a gift from an admirer and I could not resist it.’

‘It was from Deynman,’ said Bartholomew, a little gleefully – he was fond of the dim-witted Librarian, and disliked Thelnetham’s supercilious attitude towards him. ‘To avenge himself for your unkindness. If you are ill, it seems his plan worked.’

Thelnetham was stunned to learn that he was the victim of a scheme devised by Deynman. ‘What a vile thing to do! I shall sue him for damages unless you give me some of your Royal Broth. I feel dreadful – my head is swimming in a most unpleasant manner.’

Bartholomew frowned. ‘Deynman said the first lot of wine made you silly and drove you to bed for a week. Does that mean your head swam then as well?’

The Gilbertine nodded. ‘In an identical manner. What does–’

‘What about difficulty in sleeping, nausea, headaches and a metallic taste in your mouth?’

‘Yes, but to a lesser degree. I went to Nigellus for a cure, but all he did was calculate my horoscope and advise me to avoid going anywhere near sheep – which is easier said than done when one’s priory lies on a main road, and the creatures are taken to and from market all day.’

‘When you did not recover, did he tell you it was because you had failed to follow his precise instructions?’

‘Yes, he did. Why?’

Bartholomew’s mind was racing as he turned to Michael. ‘Perhaps Nigellus’s diagnoses are not so outlandish after all. Lenne tasted metal in his mouth, Letia was dizzy, Arnold had insomnia, Yerland had headaches, Irby lost his appetite, while others have suffered from nausea, heavy limbs – including foot drop – and stomach pains.’

‘Other than the foot-drop, I have had all those,’ interposed Thelnetham. ‘But the swimming head is the worst – quite distressing, in fact.’

‘The other victims also had one symptom that affected them more severely than the others,’ Bartholomew went on, excitement in his voice as answers blossomed. ‘The rest were there, but to a lesser degree. Rougham was right: they are all indications of the same disease.’

‘Yes – the debilitas ,’ said Thelnetham drily.

Bartholomew ignored him. ‘Cew, who has been ill for several weeks, has exhibited all these signs, along with constipation. However, I suspect he was witless long before Frenge jumped out at him, but King’s Hall does not want to admit it – it is better to blame a townsman for his condition than to confess that one of their scholars went mad for no reason.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Michael. ‘But I–’

‘Cew will only eat oysters and soul-cakes – soul-cakes containing sucura.’

‘Containing honey ,’ corrected Thelnetham. ‘King’s Hall does not use sucura, because it is illegal. Wayt told me so himself.’

‘He was lying,’ said Bartholomew impatiently. ‘Besides, Cew expressed a dislike for honey, so why would one of his two chosen foods contain it? The answer is that it would not.’

‘Are you saying that sucura is responsible for all these ailments?’ asked Michael doubtfully. ‘If so, you are wrong. We used some in the marchpanes we served after the disceptatio , and no one suffered any ill effects from those. Moreover, I ate some of King’s Hall’s soul-cakes but I am hale and hearty, as you can see.’

‘I doubt a few will be harmful, but Cew has been devouring platefuls of them for weeks. And there was the syllabub at Trinity Hall. I blamed bad cream, but the entire episode was repeated, even though fresh ingredients were used the second time. The culprit was the masses of sucura used to sweeten it – not sufficient to kill, but enough to lay everyone low for a day or two.’

‘Arnold liked sweet cakes,’ mused Michael. ‘So did Letia and Segeforde.’

‘Well, I do not,’ put in Thelnetham. ‘I have the debilitas , but I have never touched sucura. My Prior issued a ban on it when the Sheriff declared it illegal. Your theory is flawed, Matthew.’

‘But you like apple wine,’ said Bartholomew. ‘ Sweet apple wine, so syrupy that I cannot bear more than a sip. And we have been told that Irby and Lenne loved it, too.’

‘No,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Shirwynk does not add sucura to his wine. If he did, it would be a lot more expensive. You are mistaken, Matt.’

‘I am not,’ insisted Bartholomew. ‘The apple wine and the sucura are both responsible for the debilitas , which is why my seven patients in King’s Hall are recovering – they have been told to eat Royal Broth and nothing else. The source of the trouble has been removed, you see.’

‘But the wine comes from Shirwynk, while sucura is whisked through the Fens,’ Thelnetham pointed out. ‘You cannot link them, just because both are sweet.’

‘But they are linked,’ insisted Bartholomew. ‘I should have seen it days ago. The sucura is not “whisked through the Fens”, which is why Dick Tulyet has had so little success in tracing it. It comes from the brewery. Look at my tabard – Shirwynk shoved me against one of his tanks earlier, and I came away covered in the stuff.’

He hauled the garment over his head, and pointed at the white dust that still adhered to it, despite Edith’s efforts to brush it off. When Thelnetham and Michael continued to look blank, he produced the packet of sucura that Cynric had given him. It and the dust were identical, and a lick proved they tasted the same as well.

Michael was stunned. ‘So sucura is brewery dust? But it cannot be, Matt! It has been sold in London for years, and I know for a fact that it is imported at great cost from Tyre.’

‘Not this “sucura”,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is different.’

Michael rubbed his jaw. ‘So are you saying that Shirwynk is the strategist?’

‘I do not know about that – only that the source of the debilitas is his brewery. The apple wine and sucura do not kill instantly, but work over a period of time – although a heavy dose, as was in Trinity Hall’s syllabub or Thelnetham’s whole cask of apple wine, will have a more immediate effect. And they are fatal to those weakened by age or sickness, like Lenne, Letia, Irby and Arnold.’

‘Lord!’ gulped Thelnetham. ‘I shall never drink wine again.’

He grimaced as he spoke, which allowed Bartholomew to see a faint line of grey on his gums. It was identical to the ones on the scholars from King’s Hall and Rumburgh.

‘Go to Michaelhouse and ask Agatha for some Royal Broth,’ Bartholomew instructed. ‘If you eat it with nothing but plain bread and watered ale for a week, you will be cured.’

He suspected that just avoiding the white powder would be enough to do the trick, but patients liked to be given ‘medicine’ and tended to get better more quickly if they thought they were taking a remedy that worked. Besides, a diet of vegetables, bread and weak ale would do no one any harm. Thelnetham nodded his thanks and hurried away, eager to start the treatment as soon as possible.

‘We cannot march into the brewery and accuse Shirwynk,’ warned Michael. ‘We tried it with Nigellus and look how that turned out. We dare not make another mistake.’