‘You know I am telling the truth, Brother. I heard a letter arrived from Suttone today. I imagine it revealed Heltisle as a bully who forced him to resign against his will. Yes?’
‘Yes,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘Heltisle is no innocent. However, nor is he the mastermind behind the scheme to oust me and take control of the University. You are.’
‘Can you prove it?’ asked de Wetherset earnestly. ‘No? Then I suggest you desist with these accusations and–’
‘Why did you turn against Heltisle?’ interrupted Michael. ‘Were you afraid he would tire of being your henchman and claim the throne for himself?’
‘I have already told you what happened,’ snapped de Wetherset, growing exasperated. ‘But we cannot stay in here quarrelling while the town seethes with unrest. We should leave. Then we shall say that Heltisle was killed by the rabble that will descend on this church at any moment–’
‘Which is what you intended from the start,’ said Bartholomew accusingly. ‘That is why you sent the beadles away – so no one could ever testify that you were in here alone with him. But your accusation will ignite a brawl that–’
‘Better a brawl than exposing our Vice-Chancellor as a criminal,’ snapped de Wetherset. He addressed Michael again. ‘You know I am right, Brother. Do not let Bartholomew’s asinine obsession with the truth destroy the University that you have nurtured so lovingly these last few–’
‘There is blood on your boots,’ interrupted Bartholomew.
‘Of course there is – I have just been obliged to hit Heltisle in self-defence. There is blood on my tabard, too. See?’
‘No – that is fresh. The spots on your boots are brown and dry. It is Orwel’s blood. Or Wyse’s. Not Isabel’s – she is too recent as well. Now, let me examine Heltisle. He may be–’
‘Stay where you are,’ came a sharp voice from behind him.
Bartholomew whipped around and felt his jaw drop in dismay. It was Aynton and he carried a loaded crossbow.
Within moments, Aynton had propelled Bartholomew and Michael into the office and closed the door. Bartholomew was disgusted with himself. How could he not have predicted that the last member of the triumvirate would be to hand, and that he would side with the man who had given him his position of power? Aynton and de Wetherset were both members of Tyled Hostel, so of course they would be loyal to each other. Michael had been right to suspect the Commissary of unscrupulous dealings.
‘They are mad, Aynton,’ said de Wetherset. ‘You should hear the nonsense they have been spouting about me. And then they killed Heltisle.’
Bartholomew blinked, hope rising. Did de Wetherset’s words mean that Aynton was not part of the plot after all? His mind worked fast. How could he convince the Commissary that he was backing the wrong side? He glanced at Michael, whose face was full of grim resolve.
‘Why did you embark on such a deadly path, de Wetherset?’ the monk demanded. ‘We could have governed the University side by side, as we did in the past.’
‘There was no deadly path,’ said de Wetherset, flicking a nervous glance at Aynton. ‘And we could never have worked together, because you would have turned me into another Suttone. Everyone agrees that you are too strong.’
‘It is true, Brother,’ said Aynton quietly. ‘It is not healthy for one man to wield so much power, and nor is it right that the Chancellor is just a figurehead.’
De Wetherset smiled so gloatingly that Bartholomew felt his hopes fade. Aynton might not have been part of the plan to remove Michael, but he was clearly in favour of it. Meanwhile, Michael regarded the Commissary in stunned disbelief.
‘So you are happy that de Wetherset’s intrigues have set us against the town?’ he demanded accusingly. ‘And destroyed all the goodwill that I have built over the last decade?’
‘The town does not want our friendship,’ snapped de Wetherset. ‘They cheat us at every turn, and it is time we put an end to it. Is that not so, Commissary?’
Michael was disgusted. ‘So you aim to replace all the fair agreements I made with ones of your own – ones that will benefit us, but that will cause hardship in the town.’
‘I make no apology for putting the University first,’ flashed de Wetherset.
‘Then you are a fool! You might win us a few weeks of cheap bread and ale, but resentment will fester, and we will lose in the end.’
‘How?’ asked Aynton curiously.
‘Because no foundation can prosper in a place where it is hated. Our scholars will be murdered by those you have wronged, and new students will opt to study elsewhere. Gradually, we will wither and die.’
‘I know why de Wetherset killed Wyse,’ said Bartholomew, more interested in their current problems than future ones. ‘Because the trouble between us and the town was taking too long to blossom. He chose a helpless, frail old drunkard, then made sure everyone knew that a scholar had killed him.’
Was that a flicker of surprise in Aynton’s eyes or had Bartholomew imagined it?
‘He sat in the Griffin, making a great show of reading and flaunting his inky fingers,’ said Michael, taking up the tale. ‘Then he trailed Wyse to a deserted road and hit him. Wyse was only stunned, so de Wetherset callously shoved his head in the ditch and left him to drown.’
Bartholomew expected him to deny it, but the Chancellor glanced at Aynton, decided he had an ally, and shrugged his indifference.
‘Something had to be done. We were stuck in a stalemate that benefited no one.’
Outside, there was a crash, followed by a cheer and a bellow of rage. The trouble was starting early. Bartholomew looked desperately at Aynton, hoping to see some sign that he wanted no part of de Wetherset’s monstrous schemes, but the crossbow was still aimed at him and Michael, and it did not waver. He clenched his fists in impotent fury; it was hard to stand helpless while his town ripped itself apart.
‘Then there was Orwel,’ Michael went on. ‘The Sheriff sent him to the Griffin to question witnesses, and what they confided allowed him to identify de Wetherset as Wyse’s murderer.’
‘I saw Orwel leaving this church once,’ said Bartholomew, anxiety intensifying when he glanced out of the window to see dusk was not far off. ‘I imagine he came to blackmail you.’
‘He did,’ said de Wetherset indignantly. ‘And when I refused to pay, he arranged to meet the Senior Proctor and reveal all, although only in exchange for money, I imagine. So I realised I had to shut him up permanently – for the good of the University.’
‘But Abbess Isabel saw you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although she assumed you were the Devil, and was so frightened that she hid in a church for two days.’
‘You said she could identify me, so I had to silence her, too. I had no idea how to do it, but then a miracle occurred – I spotted her walking through the Barnwell Gate. I caught up with her on the Causeway and …’
‘Three innocent lives,’ said Michael harshly. ‘All ended with a heavy stone. Are you happy with that price, Aynton, or do you consider it too high?’
‘It is more than three,’ said Bartholomew when Aynton made no reply. ‘It was de Wetherset who yelled the order to shoot at the butts. He planned all along for there to be trouble that evening, which is why he arrived wearing his armour – armour he has donned again tonight, which should tell you all you need to know about his intentions.’
Aynton’s crossbow wavered for the first time. ‘You provoked that brawl on purpose?’
‘I regret the loss of life, but it was necessary,’ said de Wetherset shortly. ‘It proved that Michael cannot protect us from the town. And if he is unable to control a few spade-wielding peasants, how will he fare against the Dauphin?’