The next day, Bartholomew was overwhelmed with demands from patients, and it was late afternoon by the time he had finished with them. His stomach was rumbling, and he realised he had not eaten since breakfast. He went to the Michaelhouse kitchens, where Agatha slouched in her great wicker throne, pulled from its usual place next to the hearth and put near the door, in the hope of catching a breeze. She was fanning herself with the lid of a pot, legs splayed in front of her. She was not alone; Cynric, Mildenale and Langelee sat at the table, a jug of ale in front of them. It was an unusual combination, because Cynric did not usually deign to socialise with scholars, and Mildenale was abstemious in his habits. Langelee, on the other hand, was willing to drink with anyone.
‘I noticed the damn thing was missing this afternoon,’ Langelee was saying. ‘Sometimes, I hate being Master, because as soon as you solve one problem there is another to take its place.’
‘There will be a problem if you do not give me some of that ale,’ growled Agatha. ‘I am parched.’
Mildenale took it to her. She drank noisily, then handed it back. The friar filled it from the barrel that stood at the top of the cellar steps and handed it to Cynric, who thanked him with a nod before passing it to Langelee. Bartholomew looked around for food, but there was none that he could see, and he was not so foolish as to hunt for some while Agatha and the Master were watching. Fellows were expected to buy their own snacks – called ‘commons’ – and were not supposed to raid the kitchens every time they were peckish. Michael declined to let these rules interfere with his gastronomic requirements, but Bartholomew was not Michael, and he was too hot to engage in the kind of skulduggery it would take to acquire a meal while laundress and Master were nearby. He settled for ale, and was pleasantly surprised to find it sweet and cool.
‘What is missing?’ he asked of Langelee, as he sat on the bench next to Cynric.
‘That guide to witchery you found in Carton’s room,’ replied the Master. ‘He had been planning to burn it, along with other heretical texts – the ones you put in the College library after his death.’
‘Those were all religious or philosophical books that have been on the curriculum for decades,’ explained Bartholomew, seeing Mildenale’s eyes begin to widen in horror. ‘Such as Guibert of Nogent’s De Sanctis.’
‘I would never use Guibert in my lectures,’ said Mildenale in distaste. ‘He was a Benedictine, for a start. And he hailed from Nogent.’ He pursed his lips disapprovingly.
Bartholomew had never understood why a scholar’s ideas should be dismissed because of the Order to which he belonged, or because he came from a different country. ‘Even if you disapprove of his theology, you must admire the precision of his grammar,’ he told the friar reproachfully.
Mildenale thought about it. ‘He does use longer sentences than anyone else,’ he conceded eventually. ‘However, I am disappointed to learn Carton included him among his collection of heretical texts. I was under the impression he had gathered some really devilish works – such as this manual for witches.’
‘He considered anything written by non-Franciscans anathema,’ said Langelee. ‘Except, for some unaccountable reason, books by Greeks on law. Still, I suppose we all have our foibles.’
Mildenale was crestfallen. ‘This is a blow! I was hoping he had gathered a chest full of heresy, so we could have a decent pyre in the Market Square – and Guibert, for all his flaws, does not deserve the flames. Unfortunately, now this manual on sorcery has disappeared, I cannot even set fire to that.’ He clasped his hands together, and his eyes drifted heavenwards as his lips began to move in prayer, presumably asking to be supplied with something suitably flammable.
‘I do not have it,’ objected Cynric, when the physician looked at him. ‘I handed it back this morning, just as you ordered, although that was a mistake. It would not be missing, if I still had it.’
‘He is telling the truth,’ said Langelee, seeing Bartholomew’s sceptical expression. ‘He gave it to me in person.’
‘It is no great loss,’ said Cynric, refilling the jug and prudently offering Agatha the first mouthful. Her mouth was evidently larger than he imagined, because when she handed it back he was obliged to make another trip to the barrel. ‘It contained new snippets but most of it was basic general knowledge.’
Langelee took the jug from him. ‘It is a pity it has gone missing now, because it might have been a useful source of information for those of us who are not intimately acquainted with witches and their habits. For example, telling us what the Sorcerer might do on Trinity Eve. Mother Valeria was going on about his predicted début when I went to purchase a charm the other day.’
‘You did what?’ cried Mildenale in horror, while even Bartholomew was taken aback.
Langelee shrugged, clearly thinking the friar was overreacting. ‘I wanted a spell that would make Refham relent over selling us his mother’s shops. But it transpired to be rather pricey, and required me to break into his house at night and bury a dead rat under his hearth. I decided not to bother.’
‘I would have dealt with the dead rat,’ said Cynric helpfully.
‘Actually, it was the cost that put me off,’ confided Langelee. ‘I could have managed the rat with no trouble myself, although I appreciate your offer.’
Bartholomew found himself exchanging a shocked look with Mildenale, although the Franciscan’s disquiet derived from the fact that Langelee was willing to resort to magic; the physician was uneasy with the fact that the Master had just confessed to being a competent burglar.
‘Are you sure this guide has not found its way back to you, Cynric?’ asked Langelee, after a short interval during which he and the book-bearer speculated on the best way to gain access to Refham’s hearth. Agatha joined in, adding that she had already purchased such a charm on the College’s behalf, although hers was from Eyton, who was considerably cheaper, and the rat under the hearth was replaced by chanting three Pater Nosters beneath the nearest churchyard elm.
‘I wish it had,’ said Cynric. ‘Now it might be in the hands of someone dangerous.’
Mildenale gaped at him. ‘I would say that anyone who takes an interest in such tomes is dangerous.’
‘That is not true, because I am interested in them,’ said Cynric guilelessly. ‘And I cannot imagine who else in College might want the guide, especially now the students have gone. They are curious about forbidden texts, but the Fellows are not – or they have read them all already.’
‘The porters are less vigilant now the place is virtually empty,’ said Langelee. ‘So someone must have come in from outside and taken it.’
‘How would a stranger know where to look?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘You kept it on the top shelf in your chambers, which is not the most obvious place to search for valuables.’
Langelee looked sheepish. ‘Actually, it was in the garden. Cynric handed it to me when I was supervising the digging of the new latrines. I set it down and forgot to bring it in when I came back.’
‘So the labourers have it,’ said Mildenale, looking as though he was ready to go and demand it back there and then. His expression became angry. ‘Have you interrogated them?’
‘I questioned them,’ replied Langelee. ‘But none can read, and I doubt they are the–’
‘Books are valuable,’ snapped Mildenale. ‘They do not need to be able to read in order to sell one.’
Langelee regarded him coolly, not liking his tone. ‘I told them it was a dangerous text on witchery, and that anyone hawking it was likely to be cursed. I know how to intimidate labourers, and I am certain none of them is the thief, so please do not accuse them. It is not easy to get men to work in this heat, and I shall be furious if they walk out on us.’