‘Not even Sister Alice, who betrayed the peregrini to Norbert, along with the injunction to kill them all? Moreover, far from narrowing our list of suspects down, her gossip means that we now have to expand it to anyone who might have heard the rumour about Tangmer sheltering French spies.’
‘Are you sure Norbert was telling the truth? I would not put it past him to lie on his deathbed, just to confound us.’
‘He seemed sincere. Will you confront Alice today?’
‘Of course, although you should not forget that Norbert did not see her face, and it is not difficult to don a habit, stand in the shadows and impersonate a nun. But first, I must sleep. There is no point in challenging anyone when my wits are muddy from fatigue. Will you come with me to St Radegund’s later?’
‘If I must,’ replied Bartholomew without enthusiasm.
The Franciscans occupied a large swathe of land in the east of the town. It was bordered by the main road at the front and the King’s Ditch at the back. Inside, it was pretty, dominated by its church, refectory and dormitory. It also had a substantial guesthouse, which had been converted into a makeshift hospital. Bartholomew walked in and satisfied himself that the surviving wounded were doing as well as could be expected.
‘Norbert died,’ reported Mallett. ‘In his sleep, which was a pity, as I could have charged him for another dose of poppy juice if he had woken.’
‘You will go far,’ muttered Bartholomew in distaste. ‘You already think like most successful medici.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mallett, flattered. ‘But Islaye and I can manage here for a bit longer, if you have other things to do. It will be no trouble.’
Bartholomew was sure it would not, especially if fees were pocketed in the process. He replaced them with two of their classmates, and went in search of Prior Pechem, a dour, humourless man who had just completed his morning devotions and was on his way to the refectory to break his fast.
‘Your tyranny in the classroom has paid off,’ Pechem remarked. ‘Your lads are much better than Rougham and Meryfeld, who have fifty years’ medical experience between them.’
As Bartholomew had scant regard for his colleagues’ abilities, this compliment fell on stony ground. ‘I saw you and some of your novices at the butts last night,’ he began.
Pechem nodded. ‘The ones who are not exempt from this wretched call to arms. I accompanied them, lest there was trouble.’
‘Were you there when the fight erupted?’
‘Yes, but I whisked them all home the moment the knives came out. I know they were there to learn how to kill, but I am unwilling to let them put theory into practice just yet.’
‘So what did you see?’
‘Not much, because it was dark. I heard a yell to ready bows, followed by another – a different voice, from further away – to shoot. Then all was chaos, blood and confusion.’
‘Did you recognise either of the voices?’
‘Unfortunately not. However, both came from the townsfolk’s side – the first from near the front, and the second from the back. Indeed, it was so far to the rear that the culprit may not have been part of the town faction at all.’
‘What are you saying? That he may have been one of us?’
Pechem shrugged. ‘I would hope not, but who knows? You do not need me to tell you that some of our students are eager to test their newly acquired skills on living flesh.’
‘I hope you are wrong,’ said Bartholomew unhappily.
‘So do I, but I fear I am not. The first order was from some ass who aimed to give everyone a scare, but the second was from someone who wanted to see blood. He knew exactly what he was doing, suggesting a cold and calculating mind. I doubt he will be caught.’
‘Do not underestimate Michael. He has snared cunning criminals before.’
‘Yes, but that was when he had power. Now he must dance to de Wetherset’s tune, and de Wetherset listens too much to Heltisle and Aynton.’
‘You do not like them?’
‘Let us just say that I have reservations. Of course, if there are any more incidents like last night, some of us will demand their resignation.’
‘Please do not,’ begged Bartholomew. ‘They will shift the blame to Michael, because keeping the peace is the Senior Proctor’s responsibility.’
‘They can try, but we are not stupid – we know who is better for the University, and it is not de Wetherset and his power-hungry cronies.’ Then Pechem gave one of his rare smiles and changed the subject. ‘How is Clippesby? That man is a treasure.’
Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. ‘We think so, but have you forgotten that he is a Dominican? A member of a rival Order?’
‘His treatise means we are more kindly disposed towards those now. Before, we deplored their reckless adherence to nominalism, but Clippesby’s hens demonstrated how we can accept their arguments while still remaining true to our own. He is a genius.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘We have known it for years.’
The wounded kept Bartholomew in the Franciscan Priory until mid-morning, after which he left Dr Rougham in charge and walked home. When he arrived, Michael’s window shutters were open and voices emanated from his quarters. He climbed the stairs, and found the Master and his Fellows discussing the previous night’s skirmish.
Michael reclined in his favourite chair, the colour back in his cheeks after a nap and a snack from his private pantry. Theophilis was on a bench next to him, while William sat on the windowsill. Aungel perched on a stool, straight-backed and formal, not yet ready to relax in the presence of men who had so recently been his teachers. Clippesby lay on the floor with two hedgehogs.
‘You made friends of the Franciscans with your treatise,’ Bartholomew told the eccentric Dominican.
‘Not all Franciscans,’ growled William, eyeing Clippesby with a combination of resentment and envy. ‘Some of us still think your arguments are seriously flawed.’
‘Are they?’ asked Clippesby with a sweet smile. ‘Please tell me how, so I can amend them. My next thesis is almost finished, and I should not like to repeat any mistakes.’
‘I am not telling you,’ blustered William. ‘You must work them out for yourself.’
The others exchanged amused glances. William noticed and went on the offensive, aiming for Clippesby, because he knew the Dominican would not fight back.
‘I suppose they are philosophers, too,’ he scoffed, jabbing a filthy finger at the hedgehogs. ‘And will tell you what to pen in your next “seminal” work.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Clippesby, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘Hedgehogs have no time for logical reasoning – they prefer to spend their time exploring the town. It is hens who are the theologians, as you would know if you had read their discourse.’
‘Exploring?’ queried Theophilis, and when Clippesby’s attention returned to the animals, he grinned at the others. ‘Exploring what? Libraries, in search of tomes that will lead them to a greater understanding of theology?’
‘Exploring the town,’ repeated Clippesby patiently. ‘For example, Olive and Henrietta here went to the Chesterton road on Thursday, where the scholar killed that old man.’
‘So they did not analyse the naturalism of–’ began Theophilis.
‘Wait a moment,’ interrupted Michael sharply. ‘You witnessed Wyse’s murder?’
‘I did not,’ replied Clippesby. ‘Nor did Olive and Henrietta. However, they saw the culprit running away. They did not know he was a killer at the time, of course – they only realised it later, after the body was discovered.’