'This is important to you,' said Burwell suddenly.
'More than just wealth.'
Bartholomew risked looking at them through the crack in the door. He saw Stephen shrug, but noted that he was unable to meet Burwell's eyes. "I have worked for my brother all my life,' he said, 'but it will not be me who will inherit the business when he dies. It will be Richard.
And what then? What of my children? The Death has made it necessary for me to consider alternative sources of income.'
Burwell looked surprised. 'But I understand that young Richard is anxious to follow in his uncle's footsteps and become a leech.'
Stephen faltered for a moment. 'People change,' he said. 'And I do not, cannot, rely on my nephew's charity for the rest of my life. What if I were to be taken by the pestilence? I must leave some funds to safeguard my children. It is no longer viable to rely on relationships and friendships to secure a future. Only this works.' He held a gold coin between his thumb and forefinger and raised it for Burwell to see.
'And you would sacrifice your brother for this?' mused Burwell. In the shadows of his chamber, Bartholomew closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.
'Yes,' said Stephen softly, 'because by this time tomorrow I might be in the death pits. What if Oswald and I were to die, and Richard? How could the womenfolk maintain the business? Even if they were allowed to try, and that in itself is unlikely because the Guilds would not permit it, they would be easy prey for all manner of rogues. They would be gutter fodder within the month.'
He turned to face Burwell. "I do not relish what I am about to do, but my future and the future of my children is more important than Oswald.'
Bartholomew listened as their voices faded down the stairs. He was almost beside himself with anxiety. Where had the third man gone while Stephen and Burwell chattered? Was Oswald already in danger? The two men stopped to talk again by the front door before finally taking their leave of each other. Bartholomew forced himself to wait several moments before hurrying down the stairs. Looking down the High Street, he saw Abigny walking towards him. Bartholomew ignored him, and fled in the opposite direction towards Stanmore's shop.
He raced through the gates into Stanmore's yard, his feet skidding as he fought to keep his balance on the slippery mud. He was about to go into the house to seek Stanmore out when he saw him entering the stable with a tall figure that looked very familiar. It was Robert Swynford.
Bartholomew was relieved beyond measure. Good.
Now Swynford was back, he could take over the College, and Alcote would be spared being discredited, or worse, at the hands of the hostels. Breathlessly, Bartholomew ran over to the stable, pushed the door open and staggered inside. Stanmore stood just inside the door with his back to Bartholomew, but turned when he crashed in. Bartholomew's stomach flipped over when he saw it was not Stanmore at all, but Stephen. Bartholomew cursed himself for a fool as he realised Stephen was still wearing Oswald's cloak. Stephen and Swynford seemed as disconcerted to see him as Bartholomew Was to see Stephen, but Swynford recovered almost immediately and shook Bartholomew by the hand, saying how pleased he was to be back in the town and asking how the College was faring.
Bartholomew, smiling politely, began to back out of the stable, but Stephen was quicker. He made a sudden movement with his hand, and Bartholomew found a long-bladed dagger pointing at him. Bartholomew gazed in panic before trying to bluff it out: Stephen did not know Bartholomew had heard him speaking with Burwell and the other man at Bene't's. 'What are you doing? Where is Oswald?'
'At Trumpington seeing to Edith. Which is where you were supposed to be,' Stephen said coldly. 'Why did you not go?' "I had to stay with Father Jerome. I sent Gray,'
Bartholomew replied, bewildered.
Stephen laughed without humour. 'You have been a problem to us almost every step of the way. I tried hard to keep you out of all this, but you have been remarkably uncooperative!'
Bartholomew tried to move away as the knife waved menacingly close, but he was hemmed in by walls on one side, and Stephen and Swynford on the other.
"I thought we had agreed to be honest with each other this morning,' Bartholomew said, looking from Swynford to Stephen.
The knife waved again, and Bartholomew felt it catch on his robe. He gazed at Stephen in horror.
'Was it you?' he whispered. 'Was it you who killed Sir John and the others?'
Stephen grinned nastily and looked at Swynford, who eyed Bartholomew impassively.
'We cannot allow him to interfere any more than he has already,' Swynford said. 'There is too much to lose.'
Stephen nodded, and Bartholomew wondered whether they meant to kill him there and then in the stable.
Stephen obviously thought so, for he took a step towards Bartholomew, tightening his grip on the knife.
'Not here!' snapped Swynford. 'What will your brother say if he finds blood in his stable and the physician missing? Put him downstairs.'
'Downstairs?'said Stephen, lunging at Bartholomew, who had made a slight move to one side. 'Are you serious?'
'There are rooms with stout doors,' said Swynford.
'We must plan his death carefully or the Bishop might discover some streak of courage in his yellow belly and order some kind of enquiry.'
Bartholomew was lost. Swynford the murderer? He looked desperately towards the stable door, but Stephen guessed what was in his mind, and prodded him hard with the knife. 'You should have gone to see Edith,' he said, edging Bartholomew towards the end of the stable.
'Oswald and Richard went, and they will be safely out of the way until our meeting has finished.'
Stephen shoved Bartholomew against the back wall, while Swynford cleared some straw from the floor, and indicated that Bartholomew should pull up the trap-door he had uncovered. Bartholomew did not move. Stephen moved towards him, brandishing the knife threateningly, but Bartholomew still did not move.
'Open it,' said Swynford impatiently.
'Open it yourself,' said Bartholomew. If they did not want Oswald Stanmore to find blood on his stable floor, what did he have to fear from Stephen's knife?
"I do not want to kill you here,' Swynford said, as his cold, hard eyes flashed, 'but I will if necessary. Blood can be cleaned away, and a knife wound can always be hidden with other injuries, as you have probably guessed was the case with Sir John. Now, unless you wish your death to be long and painful, open the door.'
Bartholomew slowly bent to pull open the trap-door.
Stanmore had shown him the small storerooms and passages under the stables when he had been a boy. They had been built by a previous merchant to hide goods from the King's tax-collectors. As far as Bartholomew knew, Stanmore had never used the underground rooms, and they had lain empty for years.
The door was made of stone, and was heavy.
Bartholomew hauled at it and stood back as he let it fall backwards with a crash that echoed all over the yard. Stephen and Swynford looked at each other.
'That was rash,' said Swynford. 'One more trick like that and I will kill you myself.'
Swynford took a lamp from a shelf, and lit it. He held out a hand for Bartholomew to precede him down the wooden stairs that disappeared into the darkness below.