‘Fens,’ growled Hamo, gripping the stave. ‘Good.’
‘You are right, Hamo,’ said Robert, wincing when a group of passing apprentices took the opportunity to howl abuse. ‘Because as soon as one problem is solved in this place, another raises its head. Like my cross – Hakeney stole it today.’
‘How do you know it was him?’ asked Michael tiredly.
‘Because he raced up to me, tore it from my person and danced away laughing,’ replied Robert sourly. He rubbed his neck. ‘And it hurt.’
‘When they heard, the head of every convent in Cambridge demanded an audience with me,’ added Joliet. ‘They all said the same: that attacks on priests cannot be tolerated and action must be taken. They ordered me to report Hakeney to the Sheriff immediately.’
‘Which he did, but Tulyet was reluctant to make an arrest, lest it ignited a riot,’ Robert went on bitterly. ‘He said that Hakeney is clearly not in his right wits, and it would be wiser to resolve the matter without recourse to a process that might see him hanged.’
‘So we decided to let the matter go,’ said Joliet, ‘but then my fellow priors descended on me again, this time with Stephen, who recommended a civil suit instead.’
‘No!’ cried Michael, horrified. ‘The University cannot sue another townsman. Dick Tulyet was right: it will cause no end of trouble. The priors should have minded their own business.’
‘I disagree,’ said Wauter stiffly. ‘If we ignore this vicious assault, what message will it send to those who wish us harm? A lawsuit is the only way to keep us all safe.’
‘Let me speak to Hakeney,’ said Michael wearily. ‘I will tell him to give back the cross and apologise. Then you can tell Stephen that his services will not be required, and the matter can be quietly forgotten.’
‘Very well,’ said Joliet, sadness etched into a face that was meant for laughter. ‘I should like to avoid bad feeling if possible, so please try your best.’
‘But if Hakeney refuses, we will have no choice but to proceed,’ warned Robert. ‘We cannot risk people thinking it is acceptable to assault clerics – which some may already believe, given that Prior Joliet has just been injured. It is–’
He was interrupted by another barrage of waved fists and combative yells, this time from a gaggle of bakers. Joliet whimpered his distress, Robert and Wauter flinched, and Hamo took a firmer grip on his staff. Michael saw the culprits on their way with a few sharp words, but Bartholomew was unnerved. The Austins were by far the most popular Order in the town, and if they were not safe, what hope did the rest of the University have?
Not many moments passed before Bartholomew and Michael were stopped again, this time by Wayt and Dodenho from King’s Hall. They were at the head of a phalange of students who wore leather jerkins under their tabards, and carried swords or bows. One even had a mace, a weapon rarely seen off the battlefield. Several were wan, and clearly not in the best of health. Bartholomew stared at a lad whose hand was to his stomach; the student saw him looking and sneered, which revealed a thin grey line around the tops of his incisors.
‘Are you aware that strutting around armed to the teeth is a finable offence?’ asked Michael.
‘We are,’ replied Wayt arrogantly. ‘But we do not care. We would rather lose a few shillings than our lives – and the town is not safe for scholars at the moment.’
‘It is safe if you stay indoors,’ retorted Michael. ‘You do not have to venture out.’
‘We do if we want to pray in St Mary the Great for Cew,’ Wayt flashed back. ‘Or do you suggest that we forget our religious obligations while the town is being difficult?’
‘That does not excuse–’ began Michael.
‘Cew is worse,’ blurted Dodenho. His expression was so full of unhappy concern that Michael elected to overlook the interruption. ‘He has a weakness in his muscles now.’
‘And he still thinks he is the King of France,’ said the Acting Warden unpleasantly. ‘Your medicine did nothing to cure him of that delusion, Bartholomew.’
‘Meanwhile, three more of our lads have come down with the debilitas,’ added Dodenho. ‘Would you mind visiting them later, to see what might be done to ease their discomfort?’
‘No,’ said Wayt sharply. ‘What if the reason for their malaise is his sister’s dyeworks? He is not the man we should trust with our students’ welfare.’
Bartholomew opened his mouth to object, but Dodenho was wise enough to know that offending medici was not a good idea when the University was on the verge of a major brawl. After all, who else would sew up wounds and set broken bones?
‘Please come when you can, Bartholomew,’ he said quietly, shooting the Acting Warden a glance that warned him to hold his tongue. ‘We would be most grateful. Perhaps you will be able to persuade Cew to eat something other than oysters and soul-cakes as well.’
‘Now that would be useful,’ acknowledged Wayt. ‘Oysters are expensive, while soul-cakes should not be baked outside Hallow-tide.’
‘They also contain sucura, which is risky to buy with the Sheriff on the warpath about it,’ added Dodenho, then flushed sheepishly when he realised that he had just admitted to breaking the law. He changed the subject hastily. ‘I hear Nigellus has been arrested for killing Frenge. Pity. It would have been better for the University if the culprit had been a townsman.’
‘Fortunately, he has not been a scholar for very long,’ said Michael. ‘He was a resident of Barnwell until a couple of months ago – a fact we shall be sure to emphasise.’ He turned to Wayt. ‘Are you sure it was your relationship with Anne de Rumburgh that Frenge threatened to expose unless you dropped the lawsuit against him? Not something else?’
‘Of course,’ replied Wayt, curtly enough to be suspicious. ‘And now, if you will excuse us, we have business to attend.’
‘You are going the wrong way,’ said Michael, stepping in front of him. ‘St Mary the Great is in the opposite direction.’
‘We have another matter to attend first,’ explained Dodenho. ‘Namely asking if Stephen will change his mind about representing us. We have our own lawyers, of course, but none of them have his experience or cunning.’
Michael watched them go, then he and Bartholomew resumed their walk to the Lenne house.
‘King’s Hall has all manner of nasty secrets,’ he said, ‘illicit supplies of sucura among them. But we have no time to explore that now, so I shall leave it for later.’
‘Will you?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘I was under the impression that you were willing to turn a blind eye to that particular crime.’
‘I turn a blind eye if the culprits are discreet, but Wayt is brazen and arrogant. Indeed, if I did not think it would cause more trouble than it was worth, I would tell Dick Tulyet about him.’
Bartholomew had expected a frosty reception from Isabel Lenne, so he was startled and wary when she smiled warmly at him. Her cordiality was quickly explained, though.
‘It was good of you to give Will a free coffin, Doctor,’ she said. ‘I always thought you did not like him, because of his sour temper and sharp tongue.’
‘Oh,’ said Bartholomew uncomfortably, feeling the colour rise into his cheeks. Michael poked him hard, warning him against declaring that the ‘gift’ had had nothing to do with him.
‘It is not the fanciest of caskets,’ she went on, ‘but it would have suited Will’s simple tastes.’
‘It is our pleasure, Mistress Lenne,’ the monk said smoothly.
‘He went in the ground this afternoon,’ sighed Isabel. ‘Which you will know, of course. That is why you are here – to offer your condolences.’
‘Yes,’ lied Michael. ‘Nigellus tells us that your husband died of metal in the mouth.’
She nodded. ‘Which is a common symptom of the debilitas, apparently. Nigellus says it occurs most frequently in men who swear a lot, and Will did love to curse.’