‘Of course, it is. Who else is going to do it? We are the ones with the clever minds.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ asked Michael suspiciously.
‘I may have had a cup or two,’ replied Tynkell airily. ‘It is not a habit I usually indulge first thing in the morning, but today is Trinity Sunday, so I made an exception. Perhaps I should do it more often, because I feel like a new man. Indeed, I might even exercise my authority as Chancellor and make a decision about something.’
‘The last time you did that, we ended up having to call a Convocation of Regents,’ said Michael with considerable irritation. ‘And our studium generale has not rested easy since. There are even rumours that Northwood, the London brothers, Vale and even Sawtre may have been killed because of the way they voted. So leave the decisions to those of us who know what we are doing, if you would be so kind.’
‘Then you had better make an arrest fast,’ slurred Tynkell. ‘Because catching this villain may be the only way to prevent more trouble.’
‘I know it, believe me,’ said Michael tightly.
Tynkell grinned. ‘I must be drunk, because I do not usually order you about. However, it feels very satisfying. I shall almost certainly do it again.’
‘I would not recommend it,’ said Michael, rather dangerously. ‘So please ensure you are sober when we next meet.’
‘He is right, though,’ said Bartholomew, after Tynkell had lurched away. ‘Solving the Newe Inn deaths might well prevent trouble, and you should try to have a culprit before Corpus Christi. That gives you four days.’
‘Gives us four days,’ corrected Michael. He scowled. ‘Perhaps it is as well that Tynkell is retiring next year. He has no right to tell me what to do. Who does he think he is?’
‘The University’s Chancellor, I suppose,’ said Bartholomew mildly.
When Bartholomew and Michael arrived at Batayl Hostel, Coslaye was sitting by the hearth with a book open on his knees, Browne was leaning against the wall behind him, and the students were crowded on to benches. All seemed to have recovered from their bout of illness, although several remained pale.
‘We are reading Acton’s Questio Disputata,’ said Coslaye, lifting it so Bartholomew and Michael could see. ‘So far, it is a lot of twaddle.’
‘It is the book that almost deprived us of our Principal,’ elaborated Pepin in his perfect French.
‘I think we should have sold it, personally,’ said Browne. ‘Because times are hard, and–’
‘Never! This particular tome serves to remind everyone that God saw fit to spare me,’ interrupted Coslaye. He tossed it on to the table next to him, where it made a substantial thud. Its wooden covers rendered it weighty, and explained why it had done so much damage to his head. One corner had snapped off, indicating that it had also suffered from the encounter with bone. ‘No, do not lean against that wall, Brother! It may damage my mural. Come to the front.’
Conditions were very cramped for teaching, and Bartholomew was not surprised that the Batayl men had entertained high hopes of moving to Newe Inn – it was not easy to pick his way through the students without treading on any. Michael took no such care, though, and Pepin was one of several who staggered as the monk’s bulk travelled past them.
‘Have you come to tell us who tried to kill me?’ asked Coslaye. ‘I know you have been busy of late, but I should not like to think the attempt on my life has been forgotten.’
‘It has not,’ Michael assured him. ‘I promised you I would find the culprit, and I shall.’
‘Thank you.’ Coslaye turned to Bartholomew. ‘Weasenham tells me that when you fought at Poitiers, you killed fifty Frenchmen with a spell that blasted them clean out of their armour. What a fabulous achievement! Will you tell us more?’
Bartholomew was horrified. ‘No! I have never–’
‘It seems that Poitiers was full of Cambridge scholars that day,’ interrupted Browne with rank disapproval. ‘Bartholomew, Holm, the villainous Riborowe – who says it is what precipitated his interest in ribauldequins. And now Weasenham tells me that Northwood was there, too.’
‘I wish I had been,’ said Coslaye wistfully. ‘You really must tell us your experiences on the field, Bartholomew. I guarantee you will find us an enraptured audience.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘Men died horribly there, and–’
‘But most of them were French,’ stated Coslaye. ‘So who cares? Poitiers was a great day for our country, and I named this hostel after it. Batayl refers to the Battle of Poitiers.’
Pepin flushed with anger, and it was clear that he held his tongue with difficulty; Bartholomew wondered why he did not transfer to another hostel. Browne rested a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, although Coslaye did not seem to notice the effect his words were having.
‘We were called St Remegius’s Hostel,’ Browne said. The bitter tone of his voice indicated that this was a matter that still rankled with him. ‘But St Remegius was French, and Coslaye said that was unpatriotic, so he changed it. I did not approve, personally, and–’
‘Well, Bartholomew?’ demanded Coslaye, rudely overriding him. ‘Will you talk to us?’
‘Ask Cynric instead,’ suggested Michael tactfully. ‘He is an excellent storyteller, and more willing to glorify slaughter and bloody death than Matt.’
‘Tell him to come around tonight, then,’ said Coslaye keenly.
‘No,’ said Browne, while Pepin looked appalled. ‘I do not want to hear–’
‘Too bad,’ said Coslaye. ‘Because I do, and I am Principal here. Incidentally, did you hear what happened on Friday night? A Carmelite novice burst in here and threw soot at my painting. I was so incensed that I rose before dawn the following day, and tackled Prior Etone about it.’
‘You were in the Carmelite Friary when the raid took place?’ asked Michael, exchanging a quick glance with Bartholomew. ‘You were nowhere near the castle?’
‘Why would I be at the castle?’ asked Coslaye, frowning his puzzlement. ‘The Sheriff will not want scholars in his domain, I am sure.’
‘We came to discuss the bodies in Newe Inn’s pond again,’ said Bartholomew quickly. Coslaye was not the kind of man to take Robin’s accusation with equanimity, so it was better he did not hear about it. ‘As Batayl lies so close, we wondered whether any of you heard or saw anything odd.’
‘No, as we have told you countless times already,’ said Browne irritably. ‘However, we understand that those four men died on Tuesday night, and we were all out then.’
‘Out where?’ asked Michael.
‘At King’s Hall,’ replied Coslaye. ‘Where there was a gathering of people opposed to the Common Library.’
‘Everyone here went?’ pressed Michael.
Browne nodded. ‘Yes. We are all eager to see the grace overturned.’
‘Unfortunately, it will not be,’ said Michael sourly. ‘I do not approve of it, either, but a vote has been taken and we are stuck with the result. It is a pity, but that is democracy for you.’
‘Then democracy is a stupid system,’ averred Coslaye. He scowled at Bartholomew. ‘It is a good thing that you saved my life, because we all know which way you voted and I would have punched you for it by now, if I did not owe you some consideration.’
‘The four men who died in the pond voted in favour of the library, too,’ fished Michael.
‘So did Sawtre,’ said Browne. ‘It strikes me that libraries are dangerous places, and that we should all stay well away from them. Especially from that evil abomination next door.’
‘I understand Northwood supporting a Common Library,’ mused Coslaye. ‘He was a Carmelite, and therefore naturally sly. And Vale was not overly endowed with wits, so he probably voted the wrong way by mistake. But the London brothers should have known better.’