Murder by the Book (24 page)

‘That sickroom reeks,’ he said in distaste. ‘Blood, vomit, urine and strong medicine. Horrible!’

Bartholomew nodded, although it was a smell he barely noticed any more.

‘Julitta has decided to nurse these fellows, because some of them said that a woman about the place made them feel better,’ Dunning went on. Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. ‘I begged her to reconsider, but she is a lass who knows her own mind. Ruth has offered to help, too.’

Weasenham and Holm joined them, both bristling with indignation. ‘Who will assist me in my shop if Ruth stays here?’ demanded the stationer angrily. ‘I have already lost Adam and the London brothers. Now I am to lose Ruth, too. Well, thank God for Bonabes. He will not desert me.’

‘I say we leave them to it,’ suggested Holm sulkily. ‘They will soon learn not to waste their time on dying men.’

‘Dying men?’ asked Dunning. ‘But you just told them all that they were going to get better.’

‘Of course I did,’ explained Holm silkily. ‘All
medici
say that – it is the only way people will let us get anywhere near them. My dear old father always said that to be a surgeon, you need not a sharp knife and a steady hand, but a silver tongue.’

Bartholomew, disgusted and irritated in equal measure, watched Holm and Weasenham walk away. Dunning
lingered, chatting about the Feast of Corpus Christi, and how it was even more important to make it a day to remember now, as morale in the town would be low.

‘I spent the entire night rethinking the pageant, making changes in the light of yesterday’s raid,’ he confided. ‘Julitta, Ruth and Weasenham helped – none of us went to bed. And Holm longed to join us, of course, but he was here all night, tending the wounded. Just as he did at Poitiers.’

Bartholomew said nothing, but Holm had disappeared long before sunset the previous evening, and had not shown his face again until he had accompanied his entourage shortly before. He could only suppose that the surgeon had lied to secure himself a good night’s sleep. He itched to say so to Dunning – along with the fact that if Holm had indeed tended the injured at Poitiers, they would have been Frenchmen, and almost certainly only after he had fled to a safe distance – but it would have sounded like sour grapes, so he held his tongue.

‘I am not very impressed with Tulyet,’ said Dunning idly. ‘He virtually invited those villains to attack, with his lax security and his cavalier attitude to essential repairs.’

‘That is untrue,’ objected Bartholomew, dragging his thoughts from Holm’s penchant for fabrication to defend his friend. ‘No one could have predicted what happened.’

‘No? There have been numerous reports of armed men sneaking around after dark, while several people have vanished or been murdered. How could Tulyet not see that all this pointed to something sinister? Is that your colleague Ayera striding towards us? What does he want?’

‘Michael said you would be here, tending the injured,’ said Ayera to Bartholomew as he approached. ‘So I came to see whether I could help.’

Bartholomew shook his head, although he was touched
that his colleague should have made the effort to ask. No one else had bothered, except Michael. ‘But thank you.’

Ayera sighed. ‘What a dreadful business! Langelee posted student-guards all around Michaelhouse’s walls last night, and he and I were up all night supervising them. How is Tulyet’s hunt proceeding? Is there any news?’

‘No, but he rode out again this morning, while it was still dark.’

‘Rather him than me. Tracking men who do not want to be found is nigh on impossible in the Fens. I see he has tightened his defences here, though. It was not easy to get in this morning.’

‘But too late,’ said Dunning acidly. ‘It is like bolting a door after the horse has fled.’

‘It is not too late for next time,’ Bartholomew pointed out shortly.

Dunning stared at him. ‘There will not be a next time! The raiders were repelled, and they will not come again. I doubt such cunning fellows are stupid.’

‘No,’ agreed Ayera. ‘But Tulyet did well yesterday, given the unexpectedness of the assault. A number of his men were killed or wounded, but soldiers are expendable and it is the castle that is important. And Tulyet still holds it.’

Bartholomew supposed it was true from a military perspective, but was uncomfortable with the remark even so. ‘Tulyet would not agree,’ he said. ‘He is protective towards his people.’

‘An unwise trait in a commander,’ said Ayera. ‘He must learn indifference. Incidentally, do you know how many of the enemy were dispatched by his warriors?’

‘I heard five,’ replied Dunning. ‘Four outright, and one by his own comrades when they saw they were going to have to leave him. These men are extremely ruthless.’

Bartholomew thought about Tulyet and Cynric in the marshes, and hoped they were safe.

The sun was only just beginning to show its face when he and Ayera left the castle and began to walk down the hill together. Bells were ringing everywhere, because it was Trinity Sunday, and an important day in the Church’s calendar. St Clement’s was full of white flowers for the occasion, and their sweet scent wafted out as they passed it. Ayera inhaled deeply.

‘I have always liked flowers. They are one of life’s great pleasures.’

Bartholomew regarded him in astonishment. It was not the sort of sentiment he would have expected from the manly geometrician, especially after his comment about the expendability of soldiers.

‘Many are poisonous,’ Ayera went on gleefully, indicating that he did not have a sensitive side after all. ‘Although they present a pretty face to the world. There is much to admire in flowers.’

‘Yes,’ said Bartholomew, not sure how else to respond to such a declaration.

‘Were there any by Newe Inn’s pond? It might explain what happened to those four dead scholars. Michael said there was no obvious cause of death, you see, so I have been mulling over possible explanations for him.’

‘I did not notice. Besides, toxic plants are unlikely to kill four men simultaneously.’

‘Why not? It has happened before – when Langelee was living in York, several guests died at his dinner table. The culprit was found to be lily of the valley, which the cook had mistaken for wild garlic and had made into a soup.’

‘His guests died, but he did not?’ Bartholomew vaguely
recalled Langelee telling him the same tale when they had travelled to York together a few weeks before, but the details eluded him.

Ayera nodded. ‘He had decided to forgo the broth, to save himself for the meat that was to follow. So he survived, but all his visitors perished horribly.’

Bartholomew stared at him, a sudden vivid recollection of the garden flashing into his mind. ‘Actually, there
were
lilies of the valley by the pond. I picked some.’

‘Well, there you are then,’ said Ayera with a shrug. ‘I have solved the case.’

‘But there is nothing to say that Northwood and the others ate them. And even if they did, they would not have been overcome at the same time.’

Ayera shrugged a second time. ‘Oh, well, it was just an idea. Let us talk of happier matters, then. What do you think these raiders wanted from the castle?’

‘The tax money,’ replied Bartholomew, not convinced that this constituted a ‘happier matter’.

Ayera considered his reply. ‘Yet it is going to be transported to London in a week. If I were a thief, I would have waited until it was on the road, not attempted to snatch it from a fortress.’

It was a valid point.

When Langelee saw the dried blood that stained Bartholomew’s skin, hair and clothes, he ordered him to the lavatorium, a shed-like structure built for those who cared about personal hygiene. Bartholomew usually had it to himself. Gratefully, he scoured away the gore, donned fresh shirt, leggings and tabard, and went to hand the soiled ones to Agatha the laundress.

Women were not usually permitted inside Colleges, although laundresses were exempted if they were old and
ugly, and thus unlikely to tempt scholars into an amour. Agatha fitted the bill perfectly, because not even the most desperate of men was likely to mount an assault on her – her ferocious temper was legendary, and she had a powerful physique to go with it. She regarded the stained clothes Bartholomew handed her with a dangerous expression.

‘Have you been committing surgery again? You know you are not supposed to do that.’

‘Yes,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. There was no point arguing, because Agatha was not a lady to lose confrontations.

‘I shall overlook it this time,’ she went on. ‘But only because one of my nephews was among the casualties, and he said he would have died had you not been to hand.’

Bartholomew supposed he should not be surprised to learn that Agatha had kin at the castle. She was related to at least half of Cambridge. ‘Which one is he?’

‘Robin, who had an arrow through his neck. It is a pity that Holm is so useless, because people will say you are a warlock as long as you flout tradition and perform the procedures that
he
should be doing. And one day it will see you banished from here. Or worse. I should not like that, and neither would your patients.’

‘The Senior Proctor will never let that happen,’ said Michael, hearing her last words as he came to join them. ‘Of course, Matt will lose my protection when I am appointed to an abbacy or a bishopric and I move to another town. And it is only a matter of time before important people recognise my worth, so I do not anticipate being here much longer.’

‘Modestly put, Brother,’ said Bartholomew dryly. ‘Perhaps that is why your grandmother is here: to size you up for promotion.’

‘No, she would have told me,’ said Michael, quite seriously. ‘She is here for something much more grave, and I cannot help but wonder whether it is to do with the raid on the castle.’

‘You think she led an armed invasion?’ asked Bartholomew. He would not put it past her.

‘Do not be ridiculous! I meant she might be here because she heard some rumour of trouble in the offing, and came to prevent it.’

‘Then she did not do a very good job,’ said Agatha. ‘Incidentally, Robin thought he recognised one of those brigands last night. He said it was Principal Coslaye of Batayl Hostel.’

‘Then he is mistaken,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Coslaye is still mending from the head injury he suffered at the Convocation, and would not be strong enough to fight.’

‘I beg to differ,’ said Agatha, while Bartholomew nodded in agreement: Coslaye had made a complete recovery. ‘And he is a rough-tempered brute, obsessed with battles.’

‘Well, yes, he is, but he still would not have joined a raid on the castle,’ argued Michael. ‘However, if Robin goes around telling folk that he did, the town will fight the University for certain. Order him to desist, Agatha. He will listen to you. Go now, before the tale seeps out.’

Agatha inclined her head, and sailed majestically towards the gate.

‘As soon as we have completed our duties at church, we had better visit Coslaye,’ said Michael, walking across the yard to where their colleagues were gathering. The service would be later than usual because it was Sunday.

Bartholomew blinked. ‘You think there might be truth in Robin’s claim?’

‘Of course not, but Robin will need to be convinced
that he is wrong before we can trust him to stop gossiping, and the best way to do that will be to tell him Coslaye’s alibi.’

‘If he has one,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘The raid was before dawn, when most people were asleep. His students may not be able to prove that he did not wake up and slip out.’

‘We shall cross that bridge when we come to it.’ Michael fell into step at Bartholomew’s side as Langelee led the procession out of the College and up the lane. ‘Meadowman and I spent much of last night in Newe Inn’s garden, monitoring the pond. Just when I was beginning to think we were wasting our time, the gate opened, and we had a visitor.’

‘And?’ prompted Bartholomew, when the monk paused.

‘And he began poking about its rim with a stick. I charged forward to grab him, but Meadowman and I fell over each other in the dark, and the fellow escaped. However, the incident tells me that the pool definitely warrants further investigation.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Dredge it again?’

Michael nodded. ‘More thoroughly this time. Hopefully, when we find what that fellow came for, we will understand what caused four of our scholars to die.’

‘Do you have any idea who this visitor was?’

‘None. He was cloaked and hooded – obviously a disguise, because the weather is mild.’

‘Was there anything distinctive about his cloak? Or his gait?’

‘I thought he was limping, but could not be sure.’

Bartholomew frowned. ‘Do you think he was one of the men who attacked me?’

‘Why would he be? They wanted your formula for
wildfire, so why would one go to Newe Inn’s garden? It is not likely to be there!’

Bartholomew fiddled with a frayed seam on his sleeve as he thought. ‘We believe Northwood, Vale and the London brothers were competing with my medical colleagues to develop a clean-burning lamp. We are always being told that this invention will be worth a lot of money, so perhaps these mysterious men are interested in
any
new discoveries.’

‘It is possible, I suppose,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘And then, when Northwood and the others declined to share the fruits of their labours, these men killed them. Or perhaps they did talk – for a price – and as they drank a victory toast with their new partners, they were poisoned.’

‘The men who accosted me did not offer to pay for information,’ said Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘They made it perfectly clear that they were going to take what they wanted by force. But perhaps you should discuss this with your grandmother. I doubt it was coincidence that she was to hand when those men tackled me, and I have a feeling that she knows exactly who they are.’

But Michael shook his head. ‘You are wrong, Matt – it
was
coincidence. I dined with her yesterday, and she confided that she is here to hunt down a dangerous French spy.’

‘So she did lie about being here to see you,’ said Bartholomew, not surprised.