‘He means no offence…’ began Bartholomew.
‘Yes, I do,’ interrupted Michael. He pushed his face close to that of the pardoner. ‘I do not like men who prey on the weaknesses of others, and I find your occupation odious in the extreme. Someone killed my colleague and, as far as I am concerned, a man like you might well be the culprit.’
Norys’s eyes widened, but he did not flinch at Michael’s menacing hiss. ‘You have no evidence to connect me to that. I was with Mistress Freeman when Unwin was killed. Ask her!’
‘Oh?’ asked Michael smoothly. ‘And when was Unwin killed precisely?’
‘Just after the feast,’ replied Norys. ‘The whole village knows that, so do not think my knowing it proves anything.’
‘Thank you for your help, Master Norys,’ said Bartholomew, tugging at Michael’s habit to try to make him leave before he irreparably damaged the chances of prising further information from the pardoner in the future. ‘We appreciate your help.’
‘We most certainly do,’ said Michael, finally allowing Bartholomew to pull him away from his confrontation.
‘I was with Mistress Freeman all afternoon,’ Norys repeated firmly. ‘Just ask her.’
‘Oh, we will,’ said Michael threateningly.
‘Come on,’ said Bartholomew, dragging the monk out of the garden past the tanner, who watched in confusion. ‘That is enough, Brother!’
‘We will be back to see you again, Master Pardoner,’ Michael yelled as Bartholomew opened the gate. ‘Besides being a trusted ally of the Bishop of Ely, I am an agent of the Bishop of Norwich in whose see you live, so do not even think of angering him by absconding to Ipswich.’
‘You are not an agent of the Bishop of Norwich,’ said Bartholomew under his breath. He shot the monk an uncertain look. ‘Are you?’
‘So, just watch your step!’ Michael howled as Bartholomew bundled him out of the gate. The physician shoved the monk away with both hands, then glanced back at the pardoner, concerned that Michael’s outburst might have given an innocent man cause to complain to Tuddenham. He did not want Michaelhouse’s grand deputation sent back to Cambridge in disgrace because Michael was unable to keep his temper under control while in the presence of pardoners. It was not the first time Bartholomew had been forced to rescue one of them from the monk’s irrational fury.
‘Thank you,’ he shouted politely to Norys. ‘You have been very helpful.’
‘My pleasure,’ called Norys with a pleasant smile, apparently oblivious to Michael’s spitting hatred. ‘And I will see what I can do about a relic of St Botolph for you by next week.’
‘We must consider this debate tonight,’ said Father William the following morning as he, Michael and Bartholomew sat in the Half Moon. ‘We must put on our best performance.’
Bartholomew sighed heavily, reluctant to indulge Tuddenham in his whim when he knew the villagers would not be in the slightest bit interested in listening to an academic debate of the kind held daily in the Universities. Alcote had been keen to take part, but Tuddenham had taken very seriously Michael’s suggestion that this might delay the completion of the advowson, and the fussy scholar was virtually a prisoner in Wergen Hall, only allowed out when it was so late that everyone else had gone to bed.
Wauncy had returned from Ipswich the day before with copies of the documents Alcote had said he needed, but it had not taken Bartholomew long to sort through them and see that they were mostly irrelevant. Alcote did not seem overly surprised, leaving Bartholomew to wonder whether he had dispatched Wauncy to Ipswich and suggested that Bartholomew and Michael investigate Unwin’s death purely so that he could work on the advowson alone. If that were true, then Bartholomew suspected Alcote’s motives had nothing to do with finding Unwin’s killer, and a good deal to do with what he could gain personally from rummaging unsupervised through Tuddenham’s business transactions.
The previous evening, Alcote had become even more smug and self-important than usual – a remarkable feat in itself – and Bartholomew had felt his suspicions were justified. In the darkness of the bedchamber, the Senior Fellow had talked deep into the night about how only a man of his intellectual calibre could unravel the confused chaos of Tuddenham’s personal affairs, and the physician had been relieved to escape to take his turn at the vigil for Unwin in the church.
‘Right then,’ said Michael rubbing his hands enthusiastically and beaming at Bartholomew and William. ‘I shall preside over the debate, and you two can present the opposing arguments. The question we shall consider will be “Let us enquire whether the Earth rotates”.’
Bartholomew groaned. ‘Not again! We have debated that at least six times this year already. What about something more interesting, such as whether the cosmos is created of concentric spheres as Aristotle suggests in his Physica and De Caelo, or eccentric and epicyclic ones such as are described in Ptolemy’s Almagest?
Michael and William exchanged weary looks. ‘This is supposed to be an entertaining and edifying experience for all concerned, Matt, not something to be endured,’ said Michael. ‘Hearing you tie everyone else up in logical knots over issues of geometry that the rest of us never knew existed is not most people’s idea of fun.’
‘And especially not mine,’ growled William. ‘We should use this occasion to enlighten the audience, and should therefore consider a religious question. What about “Let us enquire whether God created the heavens or the Earth first”?’
‘How about “Let us enquire whether God is able to create more than one world”?’ asked Bartholomew innocently, knowing it would send the Franciscan into a frenzy of moral outrage. He was not mistaken.
‘That is a heretical notion, Matthew! Article 35 of the Condemnation of 1277 sought to eradicate discussion of such vile notions as the limitations of God’s power.’
‘You mean Article 34, and it was nullified thirty years ago,’ corrected Bartholomew. ‘It is no longer considered heresy. Article 35, of course, says that God cannot have created man from nothing. We could debate that if you prefer, Father? Either would make for a lively discussion.’
‘It might be a little too lively,’ said Michael hastily, intervening before the affronted friar put to use on his friend some of the skills he had learned with the Inquisition. ‘We do not want the good people of Grundisburgh thinking University scholars are a crowd of belligerent fanatics.’
‘Why not?’ muttered Bartholomew. ‘It is not so far from the truth.’
‘I am the presiding master, and I will decide what we will discuss,’ said Michael haughtily. ‘And I have decided we will debate the issue of whether the Earth rotates.’
‘I should be the presiding master,’ said William, turning on him. ‘I am more senior than you.’
‘You are better at arguing a case than at mediating and summing up,’ said Michael soothingly. ‘We should use our skills to their best advantage, so that we can impress the audience with our dazzling logic and verbal acrobatics.’
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ asked Bartholomew uncertainly. ‘I think the villagers would rather spend the night in a tavern, or watch Cynric give a display of archery.’
‘What people want is not always what is best for their souls,’ said William in a superior manner. ‘They will learn a great deal from hearing our intellectual sparring.’
‘All they will learn is that they would have enjoyed themselves better elsewhere,’ said Bartholomew. ‘They will be bored to tears.’
‘Father William can argue that the Earth does not rotate, and you can argue that it does,’ said Michael, ignoring the physician’s grumbling.