By the time it was out, the rubble had been far too hot for retrieving bodies, so Tulyet, whose responsibility it was to investigate, had asked him to return the following day to examine the victims. A roll call had revealed five people missing – the rescued girl’s parents, uncle, aunt and teenaged brother.
The bell rang to wake the scholars for Mass, so he went to the lavatorium – the lean-to structure behind the hall, built for those interested in personal hygiene. Until recently, only cold water had been available, but Michael liked the occasional wash himself, and had ordered the servants to provide hot as well. It was an almost unimaginable luxury.
Bartholomew stank of burning, so he scrubbed his skin and hair vigorously, then doused himself with some perfume that someone had left behind. He wished he had used it more sparingly when it transpired to be powerful and redolent of the stuff popular with prostitutes. He started to rinse it off, but the bell rang again, this time calling scholars to assemble in the yard, ready to process to the church. He left his soiled clothes in the laundress’s basket, and sprinted to his room for fresh ones, wearing nothing but a piece of sacking tied around his waist.
‘You had better not do that when you are married,’ remarked Theophilis, watching disapprovingly. ‘Not with a woman about.’
Bartholomew was tempted to point out that Matilde was unlikely to mind, but held his tongue lest Theophilis thought he was being lewd. Back in his room, he donned a fresh white shirt, black leggings and a clean tabard. Then he forced his feet into shoes that were still wet from fire-drenching water, and hurried into the yard.
Michael was already there, hood up to keep the drizzle from his immaculately barbered tonsure. His Benedictine students stood in a small, sombre cluster behind him, while Bartholomew’s medics formed a much noisier group near the hall. Aungel was with them and they were laughing. When he caught the words ‘chicken’ and ‘debate’, he surmised that they were reviewing William’s attempt to debunk Clippesby’s thesis the previous day.
Clippesby and Theophilis were by the gate, so he went to join them. The Dominican was kneeling, and Bartholomew thought he was praying until he realised he was talking to the College cat. Theophilis listened carefully as Clippesby translated what the animal had said, then rolled his eyes, mocking the Dominican’s eccentricity. Bartholomew bristled, but William strode up before he could take issue with him.
‘I have a bone to pick with you, Matthew,’ the friar said coolly. ‘Your students kept asking questions during my sermon yesterday.’
‘Of course they did,’ said Bartholomew, aware of Theophilis sniggering. ‘They have been trained to challenge statements they deem illogical or erroneous.’
William’s scowl deepened. ‘My exposition was neither, and the next time I give a lecture, they will not be invited.’
Bartholomew was sure they would be delighted to hear it. Then Aungel approached.
‘Yesterday was great fun, Father,’ he declared enthusiastically. ‘I have never laughed so much in all my life. The best part was when you claimed that all robins are nominalists, because they know the names of the worms they eat.’
‘I never did! You tricked me into saying things I did not mean.’
‘We did it because it was so easy,’ said Theophilis in his eerily sibilant voice. ‘And our students learned one extremely valuable lesson: to keep their mouths shut when they do not know what they are talking about.’
‘But I do know what I am talking about!’ cried William, aggrieved. ‘I am a Franciscan theologian, and my understanding of the realism–nominalism debate is far greater than that of Clippesby’s stupid chickens.’
‘In that case, Father,’ said Theophilis slyly, ‘perhaps you should debate with them directly next time. You might find Ma and Gertrude easier to defeat than the students.’
William narrowed his eyes. ‘You want me to appear as mad as Clippesby! Besides, all his hens look the same to me. How will I know which are the right ones?’
Theophilis regarded William warily, not sure if he was serious, while Bartholomew laughed at them both.
‘Audrey has just mentioned something interesting,’ said Clippesby, indicating the cat. Bartholomew was glad he never took umbrage at William’s insults, or the College would have been a perpetual battleground. ‘She was hunting near the Spital just before dawn, and she saw what appeared to be a ghost – a spectre that undulated along the top of the walls.’
The Dominican often went out at night to commune with his animal friends. When he did, he sat so still that he was all but invisible, which meant he frequently witnessed sights not intended for his eyes. Unfortunately, he invariably reported them in a way that made them difficult to interpret.
‘You mean you saw a person on the wall,’ said Aungel. ‘Who was it? A townsman trying to get inside to see the charred bodies? A lunatic trying to escape?’
‘It was a white, shimmering shape, which rippled along until it vanished into thin air,’ replied Clippesby. ‘Audrey has never seen anything like it, and she hopes never to do so again.’
‘Are you sure she was not dreaming?’ asked Bartholomew, hoping Clippesby would not mention the tale to Cynric, or they would never hear the end of it.
Clippesby nodded. ‘She recited prayers to ward off evil, and ran home as fast as her legs would carry her.’
‘What was she doing out there in the first place?’ asked Theophilis suspiciously. ‘It is not safe, given the unsettled mood of the town.’
‘She went to make sure that no horses were involved in the fire,’ explained Clippesby. ‘Burning would be a terrible way to die.’
‘It would,’ agreed Bartholomew soberly. ‘As five hapless people have discovered.’
Eventually, the last student emerged yawning from his room, and Michael led the way to church. This was something else that had changed since he and Bartholomew had returned from Clare. The two of them had spent years walking side by side, talking all the way. Now Michael was obliged to be in front, leaving Bartholomew with William, who was not nearly such good company. Aungel and Theophilis were next, followed by Clippesby and any animal he had managed to snag. The students tagged along last, those in holy orders with their heads bowed in prayer, the remainder a noisy, chatting throng.
They arrived at the church, where it was William’s turn to officiate, with Michael assisting. As William prided himself on the speed with which he could rattle through the sacred words, Mass was soon over, and Michael led the way home.
The rain had stopped and the sun was out, bathing the town in warm yellow rays. Everywhere were signs of advancing spring – blossom on the churchyard hedges, wildflowers along the sides of the road, and the sweet smell of fresh growth. Then a waft of something less pleasant wafted towards them, from the ditch that Tyled Hostel used as a sewer.
They reached Michaelhouse, where Agatha, the formidable laundress who ran the domestic side of the College, had breakfast ready. Women were forbidden to enter Colleges, lest they inflamed the passions of the residents, although exceptions were made for ladies who were old and ugly. Agatha was neither, although it would be a brave man who tried to force his attentions on her.
A few students peeled off to change or visit the latrines, but most went directly to the hall, where vats of meat-heavy pottage were waiting. There was also bread and honey for those who disliked rich fare first thing in the morning. Bartholomew opted for the lighter choice – he had already let his belt out once because of Michael’s improved victuals, and did not want to waddle down the aisle to marry Matilde.