Susanna GREGORY - Death of a Scholar

Bon grimaced. ‘It was fortunate a more loyal friend was on hand with poison – and to carry the corpse out of my room, where its discovery would have been awkward. I wanted to take it to another College, but there were too many beadles about, so we were forced to settle for the latrine.’

Bartholomew took over the discussion, to give the monk a chance to think of a way to quell the turmoil that boiled in the yard below, for his own mind was blank. He realised that they had been unforgivably careless when they had interrogated Uyten: they had not asked who had been with him in the boat, and Uyten had not volunteered the information.

‘Your hypochyma is no obstacle to collecting blackmail money in the dark,’ he said to Bon. ‘You have skills the rest of us lack, as you spend your whole life moving through shadows. Afterwards, Uyten rowed you away.’

‘Did you really think I would not guess that you were waiting? Or that I would march openly along a main road to collect my spoils? You should have paid and been done with it. The other Colleges did.’

‘You have blackmailed them, too?’ Bartholomew supposed he should not be surprised.

‘They all have secrets – and money to spare. Why did Michaelhouse refuse?’

Another violent gust shook the building, and an agonised yowl caused Bartholomew to glance through the window. Nerli’s sword, hurled like a spear, had impaled someone. Unfortunately, far from deterring the invaders, it drew a chorus of outraged yells, and the assault intensified.

‘Enough,’ snapped Michael. ‘We must bring an end to this before we are all torn to–’

‘No one will touch de Stannell and me,’ averred Bon confidently. ‘We are members of the Guild of Saints, which is loved for its charity.’

‘Not since you have taken the food from the mouths of widows and beggars,’ said Bartholomew warningly. ‘Which is why you killed Knyt, of course – a man who was beginning to baulk at the amount of money Winwick wanted. And you tried to kill Michael with poisoned cakes, while you succeeded in dispatching Hemmysby with a gift – no doubt sent after he overheard you making plans to burgle Michaelhouse.’

Bon’s milky eyes narrowed. ‘I killed Hemmysby for humiliating me at the debate. He should have eaten the raisin tart on the evening of the first day, and I was livid when he appeared to belittle me again the following morning. I shall kill Thelnetham when he arrives to take up his Fellowship, too, but only after he changes his will in Winwick’s favour, of course.’

‘Ratclyf was not poisoned with dormirella , though,’ said de Stannell. ‘Regardless of the tale you put about.’

‘He died of remorse,’ declared Michael. ‘Lawrence saw him next to Elvesmere’s coffin, weeping and begging for forgiveness. He felt guilty about a colleague’s murder, even if you do not.’

‘You were afraid he would break and expose you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And he was poisoned, but not with dormirella . He had a sore throat, so you gave him liquorice root, knowing exactly what it would do to his weak heart.’

Bon shrugged. ‘It was for the greater good – the future of Winwick Hall. He was a vile man.’

‘What is wrong with letting Winwick grow naturally, like the other Colleges?’

‘That will take years, and I want my rewards now,’ replied de Stannell. He smirked. ‘So the decision was made to speed it along.’

Bon ignored him, and Bartholomew saw he had scant regard for his helpmeet. ‘Our founder took a chance with me – no one else wanted a blind scholar – so I have taken one for him.’ He turned to de Stannell. ‘He will be here soon, so oust those louts from our yard before–’

‘What about Heyford?’ interrupted Michael. ‘Did you poison him, too, after Jekelyn failed to incinerate him for you?’

‘Yes, with dwale. It did not work.’ There was another chorus of howls from below, and Bon made an impatient gesture to de Stannell. ‘Shoot this pair, and then get rid of that mob before they do us any damage. We cannot have the founder–’

‘It is the burglaries that have done the greatest harm,’ interrupted Michael, ignoring the deputy’s show of taking a firmer grip on the weapon. ‘By stealing for Winwick Hall, you have destroyed the fragile truce between University and town, and set us at each other’s throats.’

‘Which is exactly what Bon intended,’ explained de Stannell, clearly glad of a few more moments to summon up his courage. ‘The other Colleges will be destroyed or weakened by it, thus eliminating the competition. Moreover, it was clever to have Potmoor blamed.’

‘Hardly!’ exclaimed Michael. ‘He is Winwick Hall’s biggest benefactor.’

‘Something Illesy should have told me sooner,’ said Bon sourly, while de Stannell blinked his astonishment at the revelation. ‘I thought Potmoor was just a felon whose fondness for our College was an affront. I would have used another scapegoat had Illesy been open with us.’

‘Do you really think the University will survive with just Winwick and a handful of hostels?’ asked Michael scornfully. ‘The Colleges give it stability: without them it will founder. So unless you want Winwick to fail before it is properly established, help me put an end to this mischief.’

‘Winwick will not fail.’ Bon glanced irritably towards de Stannell. ‘Hurry up , man! Or do you want me to come and do it?’

Bartholomew winced as the battering ram dealt the door such a blow that he felt the vibrations through the floor. ‘Winwick will fail if they break in. They mean you serious harm.’

‘De Stannell!’ barked Bon. ‘For God’s sake, kill this pair and oust that rabble before–’

‘Oust them?’ echoed Michael. ‘And how do you propose he does that?’

‘They will disperse on my orders,’ bragged de Stannell. ‘I have soldiers waiting. All I have to do is yell, and they will race to save us. Bon? Shall I?’

The battering ram struck home so violently that the whole edifice trembled, and a clump of plaster dropped from the wall. Bon started in alarm.

‘Yes, call them. Quickly!’

The deputy went to the window and bellowed at the top of his voice. The wind snatched his words away, although there were answering jeers from the yard. He tried again.

Suddenly, there was a crack that was far louder than anything they had heard so far. Everyone looked around in alarm, and Michael stabbed his finger at a large fissure that had appeared in the wall. Moments later, Illesy thundered down the stairs and flung open the door.

‘The fallen buttress, the wind and the battering ram have rendered the building unstable,’ he yelled. ‘We cannot stay here a moment longer. It is set to collapse!’

‘Collapse?’ echoed Bon. ‘No! It is the best hall in the–’

‘Fool!’ shrieked the Provost. ‘It was raised so fast that the foundations are too shallow, the mortar was not given time to set, and the workmanship is shoddy. If you were able to see, you would not be making asinine claims about its quality.’

Furious at the insult, Bon tore forward with a knife in his hand. The Provost was too startled to defend himself, and went down in a flurry of blows. He was dead before Bartholomew or Michael could move to help him.

‘There,’ said Bon in satisfaction, keeping a grip on the weapon and obviously ready to use it again. ‘Now I shall be Provost.’

When Bon and de Stannell began an urgent discussion in hissing undertones, Bartholomew decided it was time to make a move before anyone else died. De Stannell posed no threat, so he hurtled towards Bon, but the lawyer’s reactions were faster than he had anticipated, and he was sent sprawling by a well-timed punch. Moments later, Lawrence entered. He faltered at the sight of Bartholomew on the floor and de Stannell with a crossbow. When he saw Illesy, his face drained of colour and he hurried to kneel next to him. Then Nerli arrived.