‘And Bingham’s motive is either that Grene was proving to be a bad loser, or Grene’s misguided, but fanatical, belief that a handful of boiled bones was a sacred relic was proving awkward,’ said Bartholomew.
‘Meanwhile,’ continued Michael, ‘we can surmise, from what Philius told us, that a fifth bottle came into the possession of your brother-in-law a month ago and killed one of his apprentices, after which it was appropriated by the light-fingered Isaac. Isaac eventually used the stolen wine to make Philius’s weekly purge – obviously not knowing it was poisoned – whereby he brought Philius to death’s door and burned his own hand in the process. Isaac was murdered as he went to fetch the bottle for you to inspect, probably by the three people who knocked me over in their haste to leave Gonville Hall. We have already established that they were unarmed – they hanged, not stabbed, Isaac and did no real harm to you or Philius – and I conclude that they came only to steal the bottle before we could inspect it properly.’
‘No, not steal,’ said Bartholomew, thinking. ‘Retrieve.’
Michael looked blankly at him and waited for an explanation.
‘This is a strange poison – I have never seen anything quite like it before. Isaac’s killers seem to be going to some lengths to find the bottles, which suggests to me that they know exactly what is in them, and that, in turn, means that they must have had them in their possession at some point – so they came to retrieve, not steal them.
‘I see,’ said Michael, nodding.
Bartholomew continued. ‘At some point between the time Isaac used the wine to make Philius’s purge and Isaac’s death, the bottle rolled under the bench and was smashed: Isaac’s killer could not find it. When Cynric called me to look at Isaac’s body, the killers then slipped across the yard into Philius’s room to look for the bottle there. I came back sooner than they anticipated and we struggled in the dark. They threw the lamp against the wall to start a fire to distract me long enough to allow them to return to the storeroom for a second search.’
Michael shook his head. ‘Too risky. I agree that they started the fire to distract you, but it was to prevent you from chasing them not to give them time to search again.’ He pulled at the straggling whiskers on his chin. ‘You said you saw two people running away from Philius’s room, whereas Cynric and I encountered three. I suspect one person was left in the storeroom to continue the search there, while the other two went to Philius’s room. There were enough sacks and barrels in the room to make hiding easy.’
‘You mean one of the people who killed Isaac watched me while I examined his body?’ said Bartholomew in horror.
Michael nodded. ‘There is no other rational explanation. You said you saw the bottle under the bench – thus revealing its whereabouts to the watching person who later removed all traces of it. But I think you were in no danger.’
‘Isaac was!’ said Bartholomew, unconvinced.
‘I have no explanation for Isaac’s demise,’ said Michael pompously, ‘but that third person could have killed you in the storeroom when you found the bottle: he did not. The other two might have killed you when you struggled with them in Philius’s room: again, they did not. And they could have killed Walter when they came to “retrieve” the bottles from your room: but they did not. I think your theory is correct, and that the sole intention of these people was to regain possession of the bottles. We had five of them – three from Bernard’s, one from Valence Marie and the smashed one from Gonville – and now we have none. In the bottles, and thus in the nature of this strange poison, lies the answer to this mystery.’
‘So, have you abandoned the notion that this is a dire plot by the town to kill scholars?’ asked Bartholomew, putting a wizened apple into Paul’s hand before passing the bowl to Michael, who took three.
‘Not at all,’ said Michael, his mouth full. ‘Such a plot is still the most plausible explanation for all this.’
‘I suppose you think these bottles have been retrieved so that they can be used again?’ asked Bartholomew flippantly. ‘So all we need to do next time is to lay a trap for whoever comes to get them back.’
Michael gave him a withering glance. ‘At least I have a theory,’ he said irritably. ‘You have nothing more than a collection of conflicting ideas – you think Grene’s death is too convenient to be coincidence and suspect Bingham in playing a role, yet at the same time, you do not believe Bingham is competent to carry out such an attack. You say the wine in the bottle at Gonville brought Philius to the brink of death, burned Isaac’s hand and killed a rat, yet you say you saw that sot of a cat drink its fill with no ill effects at all.’
‘The cat!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, ignoring Michael’s peevishness. ‘Colton said it prowls the College looking for wine and ale and smashes things. The cat must have smashed the bottle! It can scarcely uncork them for itself, and has probably learned that the best way into a bottle is to break it.’
‘That would explain why the killers could not find it,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘It lay smashed under the bench. Perhaps they asked Isaac for it, and killed him when he could not tell them. Since in talking to them they had revealed their identities, Isaac was murdered to ensure he could not tell us who was so interested in obtaining poisoned wine.’
It was possible, Bartholomew supposed. They had certainly threatened Walter with death if he tried to escape from his bonds before dawn, even if they had not harmed Bartholomew when the opportunity presented itself.
The discussion was cut short when Ralph de Langelee slammed his goblet down on the table in a sudden display of temper. Bartholomew almost jumped out of his skin, and the babble of conversation in the hall died away abruptly.
‘That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!’ Langelee exclaimed furiously. ‘Of course the Earth is not irregularly shaped: it is a perfect sphere!’
‘It is not!’ shouted Alcote, equally angry. ‘So there!’ he added, as if that clinched the debate.
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ admonished Kenyngham soothingly. ‘There is no need for such rage while debating philosophical questions.’
‘The shape in which God created the Earth is a religious question, not a philosophical one,’ put in William quickly, determined not to lose the opportunity to utter a little dogma.
‘Religion and philosophy reach a point where they become one and the same,’ said Alcote.
There was a brief silence as the others digested this bit of profundity from such an unexpected quarter.
‘Heretic!’ yelled William after a moment, stabbing a finger at Alcote’s puny chest. ‘Theology is the noblest of all subjects and should never be mistaken for any of the lesser disciplines.’
‘You are trying to sidetrack me,’ snapped Langelee accusingly. ‘I was just telling Alcote that the Earth was a perfect sphere and–’
‘One does not “tell” another scholar something like that,’ said Michael pompously. ‘One raises the matter as a question, and there follows a stimulating and mutually beneficial exchange of views, during which each listens to the other, offering evidence for support or refute as appropriate.’
‘Not if the other’s point of view is the intellectual equivalent of horse dung,’ retorted Langelee. ‘I do not have time to listen to drivel!’
‘I would stay out of this, if I were you, Brother,’ cautioned Bartholomew in an undertone. ‘You will not make them accept the validity of your statements, and Langelee looks as if he might resort to physical persuasion to me.’
‘How can the Earth be a perfect sphere?’ asked Runham with affected weariness. ‘There would be nothing to prevent the sea invading the land, and there would be water everywhere.’