Susanna GREGORY - Death of a Scholar

There was a lot of preparatory throat-clearing, and they launched into something that might or might not have been Michael’s newly composed Conductus . The trickle of men hurrying to the gate became a flood, particularly when it became clear that Winwick would not be providing much in the way of pillage. Meanwhile, the singing grew steadily louder, until it drowned out both the wind and the settling remains of the ruined hall.

‘I thought you were leaving,’ shouted Bartholomew to his nephew.

Richard smiled. ‘I was, but it occurred to me that you might need help, so I fetched these fellows, along with a lot of your patients. You have some very ruffianly clients, you know. It is hardly respectable.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But I would not change them for the world.’

It was a subdued, sombre congregation that trooped into St Mary the Great for a belated beginning of term ceremony two days later. Most matriculands had slipped away the day before, evidently of the opinion that life would be dull if they were obliged to spend their time studying.

The occasion began with a mighty explosion of sound as the choir sang the opening anthem. Michael waved his arms frantically to remind them that it was meant to be pianissimo , but to no avail. Through the open door, Bartholomew saw a horse rear and a dog run away with its tail between its legs. Pleased with their performance, the singers went for an unsolicited encore.

Before they could do it again, Chancellor Tynkell embarked on a short speech that made no mention of Winwick Hall, and instructed each foundation to bring forward any student who wanted to matriculate. This they did in strict order of foundation, with Peterhouse, King’s Hall and Michaelhouse first, followed by the other Colleges. The hostels were next, with some jostling among those that had only come into being in the last month. There were more than there had ever been before, and the principals of some looked little older than their charges.

As the matriculands gave their names to Tynkell’s clerks, Verius sang – saving the Senior Proctor’s life had earned him a pardon for his role in the troubles. The sweet beauty of his voice did much to ease the lingering antagonism caused by the disagreements over precedence, and Michael’s expression grew smug when he saw the startled pleasure on his colleagues’ faces.

A number of townsfolk were in the congregation, including Sheriff Tulyet, who had returned home the previous evening. Cambridge already felt safer with him in residence. The two surviving Fellows of Winwick Hall stood together – Lawrence with a bandaged head, and Nerli with his arm in a sling. The few Winwick students with a genuine desire to study had been offered places in other foundations, but most had left the town without a backward glance.

‘Did you hear that the Guild of Saints will be dissolved today, Matt?’ whispered Michael. ‘Its name is tainted now, and it has no money anyway. Eyer left it all his worldly goods, but these only just covered its outstanding debts. Its whole fortune was either gobbled up by Winwick Hall or was stolen by Holm and Julitta when they made their escape.’

Bartholomew gaped at him. ‘ What? ’

‘The moment we left, Julitta told Edith that she was no longer needed, released Holm from the cellar, grabbed everything she could carry – including the Guild’s remaining funds – and fled. You did not believe Holm’s taunting claims in their house, but he was actually telling the truth.’

‘I know.’ Bartholomew was unable to keep the hurt from his voice. He had doggedly maintained Julitta’s innocence for as long as he could, but as the evidence against her had mounted, even he had been forced to admit that she had played him for a fool, probably from the first time he had set eyes on her.

‘I should have seen it weeks ago,’ Michael went on. ‘Someone clever ordered Holm to befriend Hugo – watching Potmoor through his son is not something our silly surgeon would have thought of doing himself. Moreover, Julitta also asked about my investigations every time we met. I thought it was polite interest, but she was actually fishing for information.’

‘She questioned me, too,’ said Bartholomew wretchedly. ‘I probably did all manner of harm by confiding in her.’

‘Unlikely,’ said Michael kindly. ‘We spent most of the time floundering around in the dark, so you had very little of value to pass on. And she deceived everyone, even me, so do not feel too badly about it. Incidentally, she left you a letter.’

He held out a folded piece of parchment with Julitta’s neat roundhand on the front – letters Bartholomew himself had taught her to make. Then he noticed that the seal had been broken.

‘It tries to justify what she did,’ said Michael. ‘And promises you a warm welcome if you ever visit Paris. I should avoid the place if I were you.’

‘How does she justify it?’ Bartholomew felt no compunction to read the missive himself, and did not care that Michael had opened something that was very clearly marked ‘private’.

‘By saying that she and Holm aimed to help the University by spying for Bon and urging the Guild to divert its charity to our newest College. She denies making more than ten marks from the arrangement, although Bon’s records suggest otherwise. He paid a fortune for her help.’

‘She was not always a bad person,’ said Bartholomew unhappily. ‘Earlier this year, she was generous, good and gentle with the wounded soldiers at the castle.’

‘That was to impress Holm, to ensure he married her. Once she had him, she reverted to her true self – ruthless, scheming and greedy, just like her father.’

Bartholomew recalled her sweet face, and the intimate evenings they had spent together when Holm had been out. It was difficult to accept that it had all been part of a grubby plan to draw him into her confidence and allow her to monitor the Senior Proctor.

‘She told some shocking lies,’ the monk went on. ‘Holm was never burgled; Lawrence never had a serious row with Hemmysby – a tale spread by her puppet husband; Nerli never practised swordplay with Potmoor; Lawrence’s incompetence did not kill the Queen and nor did he poach patients, introduce Holm to Hugo, or exert influence over Potmoor. Moreover, she encouraged Weasenham to gossip about Tulyet’s “execution”, rather than ordering him to desist as she claimed…’

‘Yes, Clippesby told me. He also says it was her and Holm who came to steal the Stanton Hutch from Michaelhouse. He recognised the cloaks they wore, which were left behind in the race to escape. Which means that they also stole William’s tract…’

‘Of course! It had to be someone who knew where Langelee kept the key to the cellar. Did she worm the information out of you?’

Bartholomew nodded miserably. ‘Ylaria and Verius knew what sort of person she was. They guessed exactly why she had appeared to “help” with his thumb, and we should have listened.’

‘And her motive was money and power, as promised by Bon. Yet I doubt Hemmysby knew that she and Holm were the ones charged to invade us, although his suggestion to look in Winwick Hall for the culprit tells me that he might have suspected Bon.’

‘I cannot believe she gave him William’s tract,’ said Bartholomew bitterly. ‘She must have known what he would do with it. I thought she harboured some affection for Michaelhouse – and for me. Yet she was willing to see us excommunicated for her ambition.’

‘Well, she is foiled on that front. Langelee found the work in Bon’s room and we burned it.’

‘But the damage has been done – relations between us and the Dominicans are damaged–’