‘If you are lying–’ began one of the others, taller and heftier than his companions.
‘He is not,’ said the first man. He turned to his cronies. ‘Now kill them.’
‘What?’ shrieked Rougham, shocked. ‘But I told you what you wanted to know!’
‘Yes, and we are grateful. But not grateful enough to spare you.’
Staggering to his feet, Bartholomew fumbled in his bag for one of his surgical knives, determined not to go without a fight. He lashed out at the big man, causing him to howl in pain, but the others moved in quickly and the ‘weapon’ was dashed from his hand. He was groping desperately for another when there was a shout from farther down the street. Tulyet’s soldiers were coming.
The attackers promptly turned and shot down a nearby alley, pausing just long enough to roll a cart across its mouth. By the time Tulyet’s guards had scrambled across it, the ambushers had vanished into the night.
‘You told them about the rock oil, Rougham,’ breathed Bartholomew, making no effort to disguise his dismay. ‘How could you?’
‘Because I did not want to die.’ Rougham’s voice was unsteady, and he leaned heavily against the wall. ‘I was trying to save both our lives.’
‘Dying would have been preferable to revealing such a deadly secret to men like them!’
Rougham rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘Do not rail at me, Bartholomew. I am not proud of what I did, but I was frightened. And all is not lost, anyway. As you no doubt know, rock oil comes from a wilderness far east of the Mediterranean, not the Holy Land. I misled them rather cleverly.’
‘It will not deter them for long. What have we unleashed on the world? What evil have we done?’
Rougham was silent, and Bartholomew knew there was no point in berating him further. He walked away, to stand alone and bring his temper under control. As he bent to retrieve his forceps and knife, he glimpsed the merest of movements in the shadows. Hands raised, he approached.
‘They have the secret,’ he told Dame Pelagia. ‘You alerted Tulyet’s men too late.’
‘Damn!’ she whispered. ‘I should have known you physicians were too dangerous to leave alive. Did I hear you mention rock oil to Rougham just now? Is that the secret ingredient?’
Bartholomew started to deny it, but faltered into silence as her beady eyes bored into his – he was not good at lying at the best of times, but it was a lost cause with Pelagia.
‘What are we going to do?’ he asked numbly. ‘We cannot let them escape with this knowledge.’
‘No,’ agreed Pelagia. ‘But you have done more than enough tonight. Go home.’
And with that enigmatic remark, she slipped away into the darkness.
Chapter 9
Breakfast that Tuesday was a dismal affair, and Bartholomew’s stomach churned with anxiety. He was appalled that Rougham had capitulated so easily, and was in an agony of worry over what Dame Pelagia might do with the information – not only that she might arrange for the attackers to die in order to prevent them from using the formula, but that she would pass what she had learned to the King, who might well order experiments of his own. And what of Rougham and Bartholomew himself? Would she take steps to ensure that they never revealed the secret again?
He was also concerned about Ayera, who had not appeared for church. A furtive glance into his colleague’s room showed that the bed had not been slept in, and Ayera’s students said they had not seen him since the previous night. Normally, Bartholomew would have reported his worries to Langelee, but the Master was also absent, and no one knew where he was, either.
Julitta troubled his thoughts, too, because she was about to bind herself to a man who was both a brash, conceited fortune-hunter and a coward, too – it had quickly become apparent that Holm had run straight home and barricaded himself in, making no effort to tell the soldiers and beadles he had passed en route that his colleagues were in danger.
‘Lord!’ breathed William, wiping pottage-spotted hands on his habit as they stood to leave the hall. Some of the lumps were large, and Bartholomew felt queasy when he saw them mashed into the already-filthy fabric. ‘That was an unpleasant repast. I shall have to visit my brethren at the priory for victuals again. Would you like to come, Matthew? They have eggs on Tuesdays.’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘I should see what my students–’
‘They are more than ready for their disputations,’ interrupted William. ‘There is no need to persecute them.’
‘Yes, let them be,’ added Michael, overhearing. ‘They will not disgrace you in the debating chamber, and I have need of you today, anyway.’
‘They speak the truth,’ said Thelnetham, the most academically gifted of the Fellows, and so someone whose opinion Bartholomew was willing to trust more than Michael, who just wanted his help, or William, who was not really qualified to say. ‘You have prepared them well.’
‘Set them some reading, and then we shall leave,’ ordered Michael.
Bartholomew’s anxieties were such that he hastened to comply, but Valence, who had accompanied him to see a patient before dawn that morning, waylaid him with a question.
‘You applied an ointment of elder leaves for that bruised hand earlier,’ the student said. ‘But Meryfeld’s apprentices told me that he uses a poultice of red lead.’
‘Then he will be angry with them – he likes to keep the contents of his concoctions to himself.’
Valence waved a dismissive hand. ‘There is nothing special about any of his potions – they are either the same as yours, or they contain inert elements that will neither harm nor benefit the taker. Except for the red lead that he adds to his remedy for contusions. It is because red lead is cold and dry in the second degree?’
Bartholomew did not want to denigrate his colleague by saying that Meryfeld probably had no idea what red lead would do, other than perhaps provide a particular colour or smell.
‘You must ask him,’ he replied. Then he relented; it was not a helpful answer, and Valence was trying to learn. ‘I performed a series of tests on rats once, and concluded that any benefits accruing from red lead are outweighed by its toxicity. So I never use it in any of my medicines.’
‘I see,’ said Valence. ‘How did you determine that it is toxic?’
‘Because the rats suffered convulsions. When I looked inside them, their digestive tracts were inflamed, their brains were swollen and their livers …’ Bartholomew trailed off, suddenly realising that admitting to conducting dissections, even on rodents, was unwise.
Valence smiled. ‘Your secret is safe with me, sir. And now I shall go to read to the others.’
Bartholomew climbed the stairs to Michael’s room, hoping Valence could be trusted, because he did not like to imagine what would be made of the fact that he chopped up dead animals with a view to assessing the impact of poisons. He would be expelled from the University for certain!
The monk had been briefing his own students. They were by far Michaelhouse’s most diligent pupils, quite happy to work alone, which was fortunate, because his duties as Senior Proctor often called him away. He sighed when they left to read the texts he had recommended.
‘I had a busy night,’ he said, flopping on to his bed in a way that made it creak ominously, and Bartholomew fear it might crash through the ceiling into his own room below. ‘After the attack on you, Tulyet ordered every soldier and available beadle out on patrol.’
‘But nothing happened?’ Bartholomew leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
‘The town was as quiet as a tomb – except for a fight between Essex Hostel and Bene’t.’