Riborowe softened when he sensed the monk’s sincerity. ‘Very well. Northwood was vain about his intellect, and he was strict with the novices. However, he did not sell exemplars to profit himself – he was not that kind of man. He was your friend, Bartholomew: you know I am right.’
‘It is true, Brother,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Northwood was not interested in material wealth, only in expanding his mind and learning more about alchemy.’
‘His fondness for flinging potions together was not a virtue,’ said Riborowe stiffly. ‘It led him into dubious company – such as yours, Bartholomew, and that of the Londons and Vale. I cannot imagine why he sought them out. The brothers were stupid, while Vale was plain nasty. Jorz and I are decent alchemists – look at our experiments with ink – so why could he not have been satisfied with us?’
‘Where did he meet them?’ demanded Michael. ‘And when?’
‘In Weasenham’s shop, in St Mary the Great, talking in Cholles Lane.’ Riborowe shrugged. ‘They were always chatting. The last time I saw all four together was perhaps five days ago. They were laughing, although Northwood declined to share the joke when I asked what was so amusing.’
‘In other words, their society was friendly?’ asked Michael. He exchanged a brief glance with Bartholomew: Vale would not have been guffawing with Northwood if the Carmelite had been blackmailing him.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Riborowe, puzzled. ‘Why would it not be?’
‘There is some suggestion that Northwood discovered Vale had a lover,’ said Michael bluntly. ‘Do you know anything about that?’
‘He never mentioned it to me,’ said Riborowe, startled. ‘He was not a gossip.’
Michael indicated that he had finished his search, and Riborowe led them back down the stairs and across the yard to the gate.
‘I am not sure what to think, Matt,’ said Michael, once they were outside. ‘To you, Northwood was a kindly philosopher; to his novices and Willelmus, he was a tyrant; to Weasenham, he was dishonest; to Etone and his fellow friars, he was an eccentric academic; to Rougham, he was a competitor in the race to produce fuel; and to Vale, he was a blackmailer. Which is the real man?’
Bartholomew had no reply, uncomfortable with what they had learned about a person he thought he had known. To avoid addressing the issue, he changed the direction of the discussion.
‘Perhaps Vale concocted this tale about a lover, so that Rougham would not berate him over voting for the Common Library. Rougham keeps a lady himself, so would certainly be sympathetic to the notion of being blackmailed over one.’
‘Yes, but why did Vale vote against his College’s wishes in the first place?’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Gonville’s medical books are all very traditional. Perhaps he hoped there would be a wider choice in a Common Library.’
Michael was thoughtful. ‘Yet Northwood was determined that our University should have a central repository for books. He was passionate about it, in fact. And it would not be the first time a scholar did something underhand to get his own way, believing himself to be in the right.’
Again, Bartholomew had no answer.
Once away from the Carmelite Priory, Michael aimed for Newe Inn, to re-examine the place where the four scholars had died. Bartholomew trailed after him, feeling they were wasting their time.
‘Do you have any theories about what happened yet?’ he asked, watching the monk poke the edge of the pond with a stick. ‘Or suspects?’
‘Not really. However, on reflection, I think you are right about Vale: he did lie about having a lover to avoid Rougham’s censure for taking for the wrong side at the Convocation. Of course, the only way to be sure is to ask Ruth.’
‘I doubt she will tell you.’ Bartholomew began to pick some late-flowering lily of the valley. It was useful in remedies for dropsy, and there was so much growing by the pond that he did not think anyone would mind him harvesting a bit. It was past its full glory, but would still do what he wanted. ‘She has nothing to gain by confessing to adultery.’
Michael grimaced. ‘True, but we shall have to make the attempt, anyway. So what have you deduced? And please do not tell me that you believe God is responsible. Or the Devil.’
‘I am fairly sure Northwood, Vale and the Londons were poisoned.’ Bartholomew spread his hands, both full of flowers. ‘I can think of no other reason why they should have died at the same time – and we know they did die at the same time, because Clippesby saw them all alive together on Tuesday night. He told me himself.’
‘Very well,’ conceded Michael. ‘Then who did it? And why?’
‘Not my medical colleagues,’ said Bartholomew immediately, stuffing the flowers into his bag. ‘Perhaps Northwood did recruit friends to help him experiment with lamp fuel after Rougham rejected his offer of help, but none of us would have felt strongly enough about it to kill them.’
Michael gave a sharp bark of laughter. ‘Not you, perhaps, but the others would! Moreover, if anyone knows how to poison people without leaving evidence, it is a medicus. And just look at the choices: Meryfeld is greedy and ruthless; Rougham is arrogant and vengeful; Gyseburne is enigmatic and inscrutable; and Edith says Holm is greasy.’
‘But none of them are killers,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘However, the notion that all four victims voted for the Common Library disturbs me. Do you think that is why they were killed?’
‘I am inclined to say no, because several hundred scholars from the hostels also supported the scheme, and none of them are dead. Of course, none came from foundations that had ordered them to vote the other way.’
‘Do you think I am in danger, then?’
‘It is possible, so you had better take Cynric with you when you go out at night from now on. He can protect you from men who demand formulae for wildfire, too.’ Michael stopped poking at the pond. ‘Do you think Sawtre was murdered as well – that his “accident” was anything but?’
‘King’s Hall seems happy to blame an unstable piece of furniture, and there is nothing to suggest they are wrong. Of course, there is nothing to say they are right, either.’
Michael tapped his leg with the stick, thinking. ‘What do you think of Browne as a culprit? I know he has friends at King’s Hall, so getting into the place would be easy for him. He found the four bodies, too. Experience tells me to look closely at the fellow who raises the alarm.’
‘Well, he certainly disapproves of the Common Library. Do you think Coslaye helped him?’
‘Possibly. I shall have to interrogate them soon, although it will not be easy when there are no facts to encourage them to confess.’
Bartholomew followed him along the path, back towards the library building. ‘You are due to make your report to Dunning soon. What will you tell him?’
Michael shrugged. ‘The truth: that the four men who died here were almost certainly killed unlawfully, but that we have no idea by whom or why. I hope he does not decide that the information is not worth a meal, because I am hungry.’
They passed the library as they aimed for the gate, which rang with the sounds of industry as usual. Someone was whistling as he worked, a tune that marked time with the rap of a hammer, and apprentices were sweeping sawdust into bags, ready to be sold to farmers.
‘It has just started, Doctor,’ called one lad. He was Alfred de Blaston, a youth whose family had been Bartholomew’s patients for years. ‘If you hurry, you will not have missed much.’