‘Asking questions about Lynton. It is amazing how you think you know a man, but once he is dead, you learn all manner of new facts about him. I had no idea he owned houses, or that he was almost a knight. And I did not know that he was closer to Maud Bowyer than we were led to believe, either. Were you aware that she was his lover?’
Bartholomew gaped at him. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better by making bad jokes? If so, it will not work. Lynton was scrupulous about observing the University’s rules, and reprimanded me several times when he thought I was spending too much time with Matilde. That was two years ago, before she …’ He trailed off. It was never easy to talk about Matilde.
‘Then we shall have to add hypocrisy to the list of character traits we never knew he possessed. Isabel told me about this dalliance – I met her on the High Street a few moments ago.’
‘She just came out with it?’ Bartholomew was sceptical, and suspected the monk had been the subject of a practical joke, albeit one in very poor taste.
‘Hardly! It slipped out as part of a misunderstanding. You see, Agatha mentioned to me this morning that Maud and Lynton often played games of chance together on Sunday afternoons. One of her many kinsmen works in Maud’s kitchen, and he told her–’
‘So now Lynton is a gambler and a despoiler of the Sabbath, as well as a womaniser?’
Michael raised his hand. ‘Let me finish. When we ran into each other just now, I asked Isabel exactly how much time Lynton actually spent with Maud – you do not dice with your patients, and it occurred to me that Candelby might not be her only admirer. Isabel did not realise I was asking about Sunday afternoons, and admitted that Lynton visited Maud most nights, with the notable exception of Fridays. Fridays were apparently reserved for some other activity.’
‘What?’ asked Bartholomew acidly. ‘Robbing travellers on the King’s highways? Running a brothel in The Jewry? Chanting spells to summon the Devil?’
‘Do not vent your spleen on me,’ said Michael sharply. ‘It is not my fault your colleague transpires to have been such a dark horse. Isabel did not know what he did on Fridays – only that he never visited Maud then. Perhaps he spent the time on his knees, begging forgiveness for his sins. God knows, there are enough of them.’
‘Isabel parted with this information willingly?’
‘No, she was furious when she realised she had given me more than I was anticipating, and accused me of tricking her. Of course, I did nothing of the kind, and she knows it. She assumed I had been asking questions of Maud’s servants, and one of them had let the cat out of the bag. She was mortified when she saw she was the one who had betrayed her mistress’s trust.’
Bartholomew was about to tell him it was all arrant rubbish, when various facts came together in his mind. He hesitated, and began to think about it. ‘Do you remember Maud at the accident on Sunday? She was weeping bitterly. I assumed it was shock.’
‘But it was grief,’ finished Michael. ‘Her lover was dead, and that was the cause of her distress.’
‘It must be why she refuses to see Candelby, too. He publicly maligned Lynton – accused him of causing the accident deliberately. No wonder she was upset.’
‘And we must not overlook the fact that she backs the University against the town,’ added Michael. ‘She said she would not let Candelby get his hands on her property and use it against us. It must be because she wants to support the foundation in which Lynton spent most of his adult life.’
‘How long had their affair been going on?’
‘Years, apparently. They started seeing each other during the Death, but were content to let their relationship stay as it was. Lynton did not want to marry and forfeit his Fellowship, and she did not want to lose her independence.’
‘You mean her independence to accept Candelby’s attentions?’
‘She told us herself that she never took them seriously – that they were an amusing diversion.’
Bartholomew’s thoughts returned to his enigmatic colleague. ‘I would have thought Lynton was too old for this sort of thing. It is hard to imagine him as a rampant seducer.’
‘You are never too old for an amour. Do you think you will lose interest in ladies when you are sixty? No, of course not! Still, I am surprised, because I always thought of Lynton as rather priestly.’
‘He refused to take major orders, though, despite pressure from his College. Now we know why.’
‘If Candelby knew about the affair, it is yet another motive for murder. You think your case against Arderne is strengthened because of what Edith told you about Lynton challenging him to fight, but Isabel’s confession means my case against Candelby has also received a boost this morning.’
‘Did Candelby know about Lynton and Maud?’
‘Isabel said it was a secret, but you know how these things get out. Maud lives on Bridge Street, which is a major thoroughfare. It would only take one too many visits to set tongues wagging.’
Prudently, Michael and Bartholomew left the Brazen George through one of the back doors, unwilling to be seen there by scholars or townsmen. They walked to the High Street via a narrow, filthy alley that was partly blocked by a dead pig, and was so rank with the stench of sewage that the monk complained of being light-headed. Bartholomew took his arm and helped him into the comparatively fresh air of the High Street.
‘If you are unwell, Brother, you should ask me for a cure,’ came a voice from behind them. It was Arderne, his pale blue eyes fixed on the monk like a snake with a mouse. ‘I hear you are wealthy enough to afford my fees, and I promise you will not be disappointed.’
‘I do not drink urine, Arderne,’ retorted Michael, laying a calming hand on the physician’s arm. Bartholomew’s fury about what had happened to his sister had subsided, but not by much.
‘Magister Arderne to you. And drinking urine comes highly recommended by the great Galen himself. Tell your physician friend to go away and read him.’
‘I have read him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And nowhere does he suggest drinking urine, especially someone else’s. You might have killed Hanchach. You still might, if he does not–’
‘Hanchach is my patient now, and his treatment is my concern.’ Arderne was smiling, pleased with himself. ‘You are only interested in his health because he is wealthy and you want his money.’
Bartholomew regarded him coldly. ‘Unlike you, I suppose?’
Arderne’s grin widened. ‘I admit money is my main reason for being a healer. However, there is also the satisfaction of seeing a man get well. Hanchach is already better, and it is down to me.’
‘He tells me Galen is a personal friend of yours,’ said Bartholomew.
‘Did he?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘I thought Galen had been dead for the last thousand years.’
‘More,’ said Bartholomew. ‘So it must have been a fascinating encounter.’
‘I was referring to the other Galen,’ replied Arderne with cool aplomb. ‘The one who lives in Montpellier, and who is a great admirer of mine. Surely, you have heard of him? He is the best medicus in the world – after me, of course. But I have no time to remedy your appalling education. Unlike you, I have patients who want to see me.’
‘Is there another Galen?’ asked Michael, watching people doff their hats to the healer as he strutted away.
‘No,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘If I challenged him to a trial by combat now, he would be hard-pressed to weasel his way out of it, and I am certain I would win.’