Bartholomew was not sure what to think about Orwel, although he knew Leger was innocent, as he himself had seen the knight arguing with scholars at the salient time. He let the matter drop.
‘Unfortunately, the rumour is not just that the Spital sheltered French spies,’ said Tulyet to Michael. ‘It is also that the University knew about it but chose to look the other way.’
‘I did look the other way,’ said Michael. ‘Out of compassion and decency. So did you.’
‘Yes, but our Sheriff is not a traitor,’ said Orwel smugly, as if the same could not be said of the Senior Proctor. ‘How can he be? He is kin to the King.’
‘I am?’ asked Tulyet, startled to hear it.
Orwel nodded. ‘Your son Dickon told me before you sent him to Huntingdon. Ergo, you never ignored the fact that a nest of spies was on our doorstep. However, most scholars are French and proud of it. Take King’s Hall, for example – it has members named Bruges, Koln, Largo, Perugia, San Severino–’
‘None of those are French,’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘And Bruges was from Flanders.’
‘They are foreign and thus suspect,’ said Orwel with finality, and glared at the physician. ‘We probably fought some of them at Poitiers, so I do not understand how you can bear to be in their company.’
‘Take a dozen soldiers and go to the Spital,’ ordered Tulyet, before Bartholomew could reply. ‘I am making you personally responsible for its safety, which means that if it suffers so much as a scratch, I shall blame you. And you do not want that, Orwel, believe me.’
Orwel opened his mouth to refuse the assignment, but a glance at Tulyet’s angry face made him think better of it. He nodded curtly and stamped away.
‘No one will bother with the Spital now,’ said Leger when Orwel had gone. ‘Amphelisa told me last night that the spies – or lunatics, if you prefer – have fled.’
‘That is irrelevant,’ said Tulyet wearily. ‘The Spital took them in, and there are many hotheads who will see that alone as an excuse to attack it.’
‘There is more likely to be an assault on King’s Hall than the Spital,’ argued Leger. ‘Orwel may not have put his case very eloquently, but he is right – it does possess the lion’s share of the University’s foreign scholars, so it is where any trouble will start.’
‘You had better hope not,’ said Michael coolly. ‘It is full of influential nobles and favourites of the King, and if any more of them are killed by townsmen–’
‘Norbert was a favourite of the King,’ interrupted Leger tightly, ‘and he was murdered by a scholar. The University must pay for his death.’
‘He died because he was fighting when he should have been keeping the peace,’ countered Tulyet shortly. ‘He would still be alive if he had done his duty.’
‘You take their side in this?’ breathed Leger, shocked. ‘When they killed innocent townsfolk last night and Wyse before that?’
‘No one who died last night was innocent,’ said Tulyet shortly. ‘They chose to take up arms and they paid the price. However, I will not tolerate lawlessness in my town, so I will find who yelled the order to shoot and I will catch whoever killed Wyse, Paris and the others. The culprits will be brought to justice, no matter who they transpire to be.’
‘Good,’ said Leger. ‘I will help. It will be a scholar and I shall see him swing.’
‘Will you arrange for Norbert to be buried?’ asked Tulyet, tired of arguing with him. ‘I am sure he would rather you did it than anyone else.’
‘So now we have another mystery to solve,’ sighed Michael when Leger had gone. ‘Because you are right: we should hunt down the rogue who gave the order to shoot. It is ultimately his fault that we have eighteen dead.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Tulyet tautly. ‘And I meant what I told Leger: the culprit will suffer the full extent of the law regardless of who he is – townsman or scholar. I hope you will support me in this.’
‘Of course,’ Michael assured him. ‘He will answer for his actions, and so will three other criminals: the killer with the fancy blades; the coward who dispatched poor old Wyse; and the poisonous nun who spread the rumour about the peregrini.’
‘Perhaps Alice will confess to everything,’ said Tulyet. ‘Then there will be no reason for the town and the University to fight. It will reflect badly on your Order, though …’
‘Alice did not give the order to shoot,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It was a man’s voice.’
‘Interrogate her,’ instructed Tulyet. ‘I will try to keep the peace here. And when you come back, would you mind telling Heltisle that the Mayor did not order the archers to massacre scholars last night – he was nowhere near the butts and has a dozen witnesses to prove it.’
‘I had better do that first,’ said Michael wearily. ‘It will take very little to spark another riot, and that sort of accusation might well be enough.’
‘Perhaps that is what Heltisle hopes,’ said Tulyet soberly. ‘So that you and de Wetherset will be held responsible, leaving the way open for him to step into your shoes.’
‘With Theophilis as his loyal deputy,’ added Bartholomew.
Chapter 11
Bartholomew and Michael hurried towards St Mary the Great, both aware that the atmosphere on the streets had deteriorated badly since they had last been out. Townsmen blamed the University for the riot, while scholars accused the town. The situation was exacerbated by wild and unfounded rumours – that King’s Hall had installed French spies in the Spital, that the Dauphin was poised to march on Cambridge at any day, and that the Mayor intended to poison the University’s water supply.
‘I know hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ said Bartholomew, ‘but you should never have let the triumvirate take so much power. The next time someone tells me that the Senior Proctor has too much authority, I shall say that I wish you had more of it.’
‘Quite right, too,’ said Michael. ‘I admit I hoped that Heltisle and Aynton would make a mess of things so de Wetherset would have to dismiss them, but I did not anticipate that they would create this much havoc in so short a space of time.’
They arrived at the church, where scholars had gathered to mutter and plot against the town. Most were armed, even the priests. Bartholomew paused to gaze around in alarm, but Michael pulled him on, whispering that time was too short for gawping.
They reached de Wetherset’s poky office, although it was Heltisle, not the Chancellor, who sat behind its desk. The floor was covered with Michael’s personal possessions, which had been unceremoniously dumped there. The monk’s eyes narrowed.
‘What is going on?’ he demanded dangerously. ‘And why are you reading my private correspondence with the Bishop? Those letters were locked in a chest.’
Heltisle was unable to prevent a triumphant grin. ‘I know – we had to smash it to get inside. De Wetherset did not want your rubbish cluttering up his new quarters, and as we had no key, we had to resort to other means of clearing the decks. Where have you been?’
‘Tending to urgent University business,’ replied Michael tightly. ‘Such as the scholars who died in last night’s brawl, along with Paris the–’
‘Paris!’ spat Heltisle. ‘The town did us a favour when they dispatched him. He should have been hanged the moment his crime was discovered.’
Michael eyed him coolly. ‘Should he, indeed? Perhaps I have been looking in the wrong place for his killer. I doubt townsmen feel strongly about plagiarism, whereas scholars …’