‘He is at St Mary the Great,’ supplied Clippesby. ‘He was in his College, but a pigeon heard him tell a student that he wanted to keep an eye on de Wetherset.’
‘We shall corner him there,’ said Michael grimly, ‘but let me do the talking, Matt. If you charge in and accuse him of murder, and it transpires that we are mistaken–’
‘We are not mistaken,’ said Bartholomew soberly.
Michael and Bartholomew hurried along the High Street, acutely aware that everyone they passed was armed to the teeth. There was a good deal of vicious muttering, mostly directed against the French, who, it was rumoured, were poised to invade at any moment.
Bartholomew glanced up at the sky to gauge the time. They had spent much longer at St Radegund’s than they should have done, and it would be dark in a couple of hours. Tradesmen were carting their wares to safer places, while homeowners nailed boards across windows and doors. Everywhere was a sense that now the day was nearly over, trouble was at hand.
‘I fear Dick has given Leger an impossible task,’ he said unhappily. ‘Even under cover of darkness it will be difficult to spirit slow-moving ancients and children away from the Spital with no one noticing.’
‘It will,’ agreed Michael. ‘But he must succeed. Failure is too awful to contemplate.’
‘Perhaps we should help. They–’ Bartholomew stopped walking suddenly and frowned his puzzlement. ‘Look over there – Gonville theologians talking to candle-makers.’
‘Yes, there will be a spat in a few moments. I could intervene, but they will only pick a quarrel with someone else. It is not worth the time it would take.’
‘No, look at them. They are not about to fight: they are having an amiable discussion.’
Michael narrowed his eyes. ‘So what does that mean? That we are all friends again? Why, when only a few hours ago we were itching to kill each other?’
‘I do not know, but it makes me more uneasy than ever.’
They reached St Mary the Great, where a number of Michael’s beadles stood guard.
‘The Vice-Chancellor was here,’ said one. ‘But then he and de Wetherset went out, taking a dozen of our lads to protect them. He promised to come back soon, though, and if you would like to wait inside, you can have a bit of our ale.’
‘Thank you, Silas,’ said Michael, heartened by the show of affection, as it meant the beadles would follow him when the crunch came. ‘But we need to find him now.’
‘Maybe Isnard knows where he went,’ suggested Silas, eager to be helpful. ‘Hey! Isnard! Have you seen Master Heltisle?’
‘He was in the market square a few moments ago,’ said Isnard, swinging towards them on crutches that were spotted with someone else’s blood. ‘But he left when I threw a stone at him. I wish it had hit the bastard! What he is doing to the trade agreements is–’
‘Did you see where he went?’ interrupted Michael urgently.
‘Towards Tyled Hostel,’ replied Isnard. ‘But you two should go home and stay there, because there will be trouble tonight. We are going to find every Frenchman we can lay our hands on and hang them.’
‘No, Isnard!’ cried Bartholomew, shocked. ‘You cannot–’
‘We do not care if it is a townsman or a scholar,’ interrupted Isnard, his usually good-natured face turned ugly with hatred. ‘They will all die. Your own Heltisle just reminded us of the Winchelsea massacre, and it must be avenged.’
‘So now we know the next stage of Heltisle’s plan,’ said Michael breathlessly, as he and Bartholomew ran towards Tyled Hostel. ‘Uniting town and scholars in a purge against hapless foreigners. I will try to stop it, but I will fail in the face of such impassioned bigotry, and then he will demand my resignation.’
‘There will be a bloodbath of innocents,’ said Bartholomew, equally appalled. ‘Look what happened to Bruges and Sauvage – I am sure they died just because of their names.’
‘Heltisle has deployed the most insidious weapons of all,’ panted Michael. ‘Ignorance and intolerance. God help us all!’
Bartholomew was alarmed to note that it was not only the candle-makers and Gonville who had agreed to a truce for the purposes of fighting a common enemy. Trinity Hall’s ranks were swelled with merchants, while several hostels had united with tradesmen from the market square. However, not everyone could bring themselves to do it, and King’s Hall was engaged in a furious spat with a band of arrogant young burgesses. Heltisle had been fiendishly clever, thought Bartholomew, as when trouble did come, it would be impossible to know who was on whose side, thus exacerbating and prolonging the crisis.
They reached Tyled Hostel, where more of Michael’s beadles had been allocated guard duty, although none were very happy about it. Their resentment intensified when some of Heltisle’s Horde swaggered past, making the point that Michael’s men were mere sentries while they could roam where they pleased. Michael homed in on the Horde’s leader.
‘You have no right to wear that uniform, Perkyn – not when I dismissed you for malingering. Moreover, why are you lurking down here? When the trouble starts, it will be on the High Street or in the market square, so that is where you need to be.’
‘Not according to Master Heltisle,’ countered Perkyn, making no pretence of being under the Senior Proctor’s command. ‘He reminded us that Michaelhouse houses more Frenchmen than any other foundation in the University, so we are waiting to trounce them when they come out. They will not get past us to murder our women and children.’
Bartholomew suspected that Heltisle had given them tacit permission to assault anyone from the College, regardless of his origins. The Vice-Chancellor was attacking Michael on all fronts.
‘We have exactly the same number of overseas students as Tyled Hostel,’ Michael informed him curtly, ‘and three fewer than Bene’t. Now, enough nonsense. You will go–’
‘Master Heltisle said you would try to order us away from your lair,’ interrupted Perkyn insolently. ‘And he told us to ignore you. So piss off!’
There was a collective intake of breath from the real beadles, which made Perkyn suddenly doubt the wisdom of taking on the Senior Proctor. Michael eyed the man coldly for a moment, then turned to his loyal followers.
‘Arrest these fools. Heltisle is no longer in charge. I am.’
The real beadles cheered, then quickly rounded up the startled Horde and marched them towards the proctors’ gaol. When they had gone, Michael hammered on Tyled Hostel’s door, but no one was home except two elderly Breton scholars – the pair who Bartholomew had treated for a series of fear-induced nervous complaints a few days before. They tugged the visitors inside and closed the door quickly, both pale with terror.
‘Heltisle came to collect de Wetherset’s armour,’ said one. ‘And our students have gone to join the trouble outside. We tried to stop them, but they called us foreign traitors … They intend to fight when the trouble starts.’
‘Where is Heltisle now?’ demanded Michael.
‘Gone to make sure Bene’t is safe,’ replied the second, close to tears. ‘If you see Aynton, please ask him to come home. We are frightened here all alone.’
Bartholomew took them to Michaelhouse, where William, Aungel and Clippesby had already taken steps to defend the College from attack. Armed students patrolled the perimeter, and the gates could be barred at a moment’s notice. One of the Bretons grasped Bartholomew’s hand as he ushered the pair safely inside.
‘I shall pray for you,’ he whispered. ‘You will need all the help you can get if you are to defeat the evil that has arisen among us.’