‘Where are you going?’ Bartholomew asked, as the friar shoved past him, heading for the door.
‘To buy some dog-meat,’ replied William. ‘And lots of it.’
‘I have grown confused with all we have learned,’ said Michael, when he and Bartholomew had left the hall to continue their investigation into Lynton’s murder. ‘And I am not sure what to do next. Come to the Brazen George with me, and summarise everything.’
‘We have only just had breakfast,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘And I am not sure it is wise to frequent taverns, given what is happening in the town. We would do better to stay here.’
‘Nonsense, Matt. Candelby’s antics will not prevent me from walking about my own streets – or from enjoying my favourite alehouse.’
Cambridge was quieter that day, and the roads held fewer people, although Bartholomew suspected this was because a troupe of travelling players was performing in the Market Square, not from any lessening of hostility. He could hear cheers, and was glad the crowd was good-humoured.
Michael pointed along the High Street. ‘Candelby is heading our way. Can we reach the Brazen George before our paths converge? I am not in the mood for a spat.’
‘Not unless you pick up the pace, Brother.’
‘I am not running from the man. Very well, we shall bandy words, then. Perhaps he will be drunk, and I can persuade him to sign an agreement that will end our sordid squabble.’
Candelby was impeccably dressed, and the gold rings on his fingers glittered in the sunlight. He looked smug and prosperous, and Bartholomew wondered why he was making such an issue over rents, when it was clear he already had more money than he could spend; not being an acquisitive man himself, the physician failed to understand the bent in others. Blankpayn was with Candelby, although his clothes were dishevelled and he looked unkempt and unshaven.
‘Why does Candelby keep company with a disreputable rogue like him?’ asked Bartholomew, as the two taverners drew nearer. ‘Blankpayn is uncouth and stupid.’
‘But loyal. The other burgesses follow Candelby because he is powerful and influential; Blankpayn follows him because he thinks he can do no wrong.’
‘I hear you plan to hold a Convocation of Regents, Brother,’ said Candelby without preamble, as their paths converged. ‘To ask whether it is right to go on defrauding honest townsfolk.’
Michael was startled. ‘The Convocation is not public knowledge yet. My clerks have not finished drafting the official proclamation, so no one outside the University should know about it.’
‘I have my sources. Let us hope your colleagues see sense and rescind this ridiculous Statute once and for all.’
‘They may decide rents should remain as they are,’ warned Michael. ‘And if they do, I will lose the authority to raise them even by a small amount. You may find yourself worse off than ever.’
Candelby smirked. ‘If that happens, I shall tell my fellow landlords to evict all poor scholars from their houses, and lease them to wealthy townsmen instead. I will not be worse off, Brother.’
‘There cannot be that many rich citizens wanting to hire houses,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘If you decline to lease your buildings to students, you will have such a small pool of customers that competition will drive prices down. You will be poorer in the long term.’
Candelby’s expression was patronising. ‘I have never said I will not lease my properties to the University; I have only said I will not lease them for a pittance. There will always be a demand for accommodation in Cambridge, and academics will have to pay the market price for their lodgings in future, just like anyone else.’
Michael glared at him. ‘Is a heavier purse worth the trouble this dispute is causing? Men have died. Do you want more bloodshed on your conscience?’
‘Any fighting is the University’s fault, not mine,’ declared Candelby firmly. ‘Incidentally, I heard you visited Maud, Bartholomew. Do not do it again, because she is worse today. Arderne says it is because you touched her with your Corpse Examiner’s hands.’
‘Maud no longer cares for you,’ said Michael tartly. ‘So her health is none of your concern.’
Candelby eyed him with dislike. ‘She is feverish and does not know what she is saying. She will welcome my courtship when she is well again, and then I shall marry her.’
‘The accident exposed your real feelings towards her,’ said Michael contemptuously. ‘She sees now that you only want her for her money. She probably noticed your indifference towards your pot-boy, too – Ocleye is dead, and you do not seem to care.’
‘Ocleye was a spy,’ snapped Blankpayn, leaping to defend his friend. ‘You cannot blame Candelby for not being grieved about a man like that. Ocleye was not to be trusted.’
Candelby shot him a pained look. ‘Thank you, Blankpayn; your support is greatly appreciated. Now perhaps you will deliver this letter to Maud. Arderne wrote it for me, and he has a way with words, so it will not be long before she invites me to visit.’
The taverner stamped away, clutching the missive in his grubby fingers.
‘You are lucky to have such a fine friend,’ said Michael ambiguously.
Candelby’s expression was blank. ‘Yes, I am. I missed him when he was in the Fens, hiding, because you accused him of murdering Falmeresham.’
‘According to Falmeresham, Blankpayn was ready to drop him down a well,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘Our accusations were not as far-fetched as you make out.’
‘I imagine you were very worried,’ said Candelby with a malicious grin. ‘I would have been.’
‘So, Ocleye was a spy, was he?’ mused Michael, before Bartholomew could take issue with him for keeping Falmeresham’s whereabouts secret. ‘I imagine your fellow burgesses will be very interested to know you hire such men – especially if you paid him to watch them.’
Candelby blanched. ‘I did not hire Ocleye to watch them,’ he said, licking his lips uneasily. ‘I employed him to watch you.’
Michael smiled, pleased to have nettled the man at last. ‘Then he cheated you, because my beadles would have noticed anyone spying on me. Obviously, he was not doing what he was told.’
Candelby grimaced. ‘It pains me to admit it, but you are right. At first, I assumed he was just not very good at his job, because he never had any intelligence worth reporting. It was only later that I came to realise he was actually in someone else’s pay – the rogue was taking my money, but instead of spying on you, he was spying on me!’
‘Yet he was riding in your cart on the day of your accident,’ said Michael, unconvinced. ‘If you knew he was betraying you, why did you permit such familiarity?’
‘He asked in front of Maud, and I was trying to impress her,’ replied Candelby sheepishly. ‘Telling him to pack his bags and leave the town would have made me look unmannerly. So I let him ride with us, but was going to dismiss him as soon as we had a moment alone.’
‘Who was he spying for?’
Candelby grimaced a second time. ‘I assumed it was you, but I can see from your reaction that it was not. It will be another scholar, although God alone knows which one. They all hate me.’
‘I wonder why,’ murmured Michael, as he walked away.
When the proprietor of the Brazen George came to greet Michael and Bartholomew, he expressed none of his usual pleasure in seeing old friends. His large, plum-shaped face was a mask of worry.
‘What is wrong, Master Lister?’ asked Michael, watching him secure the door behind them. ‘Surely you have not taken against me now?’
Lister winced. ‘Of course not, Brother. However, I have had warnings.’