‘I see,’ said Michael, swallowing hard at the notion of Agatha armed. ‘Who is in the sack?’
‘Who?’ she echoed. ‘You mean what? It is a bit of mutton for your supper. I thought I might cook something special tonight, seeing as you have two new Fellows. Tyrington praised my pottage this morning, so I want to show him what one of my roasts is like.’
‘You never do that for me,’ said Michael plaintively.
She winked at him. ‘I might, if you were a bit more charming.’
‘Do you think she intends to feed her potion to Tyrington?’ asked Michael, after she had gone. ‘She seems enamoured of him.’
‘She is just flattered that someone has complimented her cooking at last,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘We take her for granted, and it must be a pleasant change to be appreciated.’
Michael gagged as they reached a particularly noxious section of Butchery Row. ‘Can we go now? The stench is making me nauseous.’
Bartholomew was obliged to approach three meat-merchants before he found one willing to talk to him. The first two gave him short shrift, informing him bluntly that they had no wish to be seen talking to scholars. The third owned the smallest shop, and was not noted for the freshness of his wares. As a consequence, ‘Putrid Peter’ tended to be patronised by those who could not afford the better stuff, and he and his family barely made ends meet.
‘Pay no heed to them,’ said Peter, flicking a thumb at his colleagues. ‘One owns a house that is used as a hostel, and the other is his nephew. They are both with Candelby against the University, and are going around telling everyone not to sell meat to scholars.’
‘They sold mutton to Agatha,’ Bartholomew pointed out.
Peter regarded him as though he was short of a few wits. ‘They support Candelby, but that does not make them madmen. No one refuses Agatha, not if he values his vitals. If you want an end to this rift, Brother, you should send her after Candelby. You would have peace quicker than you can say your pater nosters.’
‘I might do that,’ said Michael. ‘God knows, I am running out of other options.’
‘Does Magister Arderne ever buy meat from you?’ asked Bartholomew.
Peter shook his head. ‘Not meat, just entrails for his dog. I sold him the innards from a sheep on Monday. They were a bit past their best, but he said Rex would not mind.’
Bartholomew made his way out of the cluttered, reeking shambles, Michael stumbling behind him. One of the butchers chose the moment they passed to upend a bucket of bloody water into the street. Bartholomew was agile enough to jump out of the way, but the back of Michael’s habit ended up drenched. The physician was not quick enough to dodge the bone that was lobbed at him, however, and it caught him a painful blow on the elbow.
‘Was that escapade worthwhile?’ snapped the monk irritably, when they were away from the stalls and in the Market Square. ‘You learned that Arderne buys cheap meat for some animal he keeps, but at what cost? I am soaked and you are bruised.’
‘It was worthwhile,’ said Bartholomew, rubbing his arm. ‘Falmeresham was stabbed on Sunday. The next day, Arderne purchased sheep guts, and went to “operate”. Falmeresham was too dosed with potions to know what was really happening, and was deceived in the most appalling manner.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘First, if Falmeresham really had been badly wounded, he would not have survived being toted to the Angel and then to Arderne’s house. Secondly, the injury was in the wrong place to have affected a liver, as I have told you – something Falmeresham does not know, because I am not allowed to teach him anatomy. Thirdly, I doubt Arderne owns a dog, so he must have had another reason for wanting cheap entrails. Fourthly, Falmeresham said his liver was “knobbly and green”, which looks like no human liver that I have ever seen, but Putrid Peter sold Arderne entrails that were turning bad. And finally, you do not pull an organ from a body, suture it, and have the patient walking around in three days.’
Michael was thoughtful. ‘Do you think Arderne deceived young Motelete, too?’
Bartholomew nodded slowly. ‘But I cannot see how. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Are you sure you have not taken against him because his claims resulted in Edith being hurt?’
‘I have taken against him for that, yes. And for misleading Falmeresham, for making Hanchach drink urine, and for giving Isnard false hope and stealing his money. Shall I go on?’
‘There is no need,’ said Michael tiredly. ‘I see your point.’
Because they were passing, Bartholomew stopped at King’s Hall to ask after Paxtone, whose indisposition still confined him to his quarters. The large physician was lying down, but declared himself to be better. He rubbed his ample paunch ruefully.
‘I am a devil for pigeon, but I shall limit myself to three of them next time we have a feast.’
‘I like pigeon, too,’ said Michael conversationally. ‘Although Agatha does not always remove all the feathers. They get stuck in my throat and make me choke.’
‘Our cooks are the same,’ sympathised Paxtone. ‘I choke, too.’
‘If you took time to look at what you were eating, instead of gobbling, these problems would not arise.’ Bartholomew became aware that Paxtone and Michael were regarding him in astonishment, unused to him giving such tart advice. He relented. ‘I am sorry. It is Arderne – we have good evidence that he is defrauding people, but I do not know how to stop him. And my arm hurts.’
While Paxtone smeared Bartholomew’s elbow with an ointment of elder leaves and marjoram, Michael summarised what they had deduced about Arderne’s treatment of Falmeresham.
‘I am not surprised,’ said Paxtone. ‘And Blankpayn does not have leprosy – his skin flakes when he eats too many eggs. He always mends in a few days, and if Arderne is claiming that as one of his successes, then he is deluded – and so is Blankpayn for believing him.’
‘Can you think of a way to expose him?’ asked Bartholomew, watching Paxtone replace his salve on a shelf. ‘We must do something, because it is only a matter of time before someone dies.’
‘Even if someone does perish, he will deny responsibility,’ said Paxtone gloomily. ‘Maud Bowyer is sinking fast, but he declines to accept the fact that he failed to clean her wound properly. He is blaming her illness on you, because you gave her something to swallow.’
‘Poppy juice and henbane.’
Paxtone raised his hands in a shrug. ‘A powerful elixir for a painful condition. It is what I would have prescribed myself. Wretched man! To catch him will be like laying hold of a snake – whichever end you grab will result in a bite. But you know all this, so there is no point in me harping on it. Have you come any closer to learning why Lynton rode his horse at Candelby?’
Michael shook his head. ‘Although we are certainly learning a lot about Lynton himself. Did you know he trained as a knight, and that he owned buildings all along the High Street?’
Paxtone raised his eyebrows. ‘I knew about the properties, but not about his military expertise, although it does not surprise me. He was elegance itself astride a horse.’
‘He was murdered,’ said Michael baldly. ‘Shot. We have not told anyone else, except Langelee, because we fear reprisals. However, Matt believes Arderne may be responsible, so you may be in danger, too. I tell you for your own safety, although I would appreciate you keeping it to yourself.’
Paxtone was appalled. ‘But this is dreadful! I had no idea!’
‘Good,’ said Michael. ‘That is what we intended.’
Paxtone took a gulp of wine, straight from a container that looked suspiciously like a urine flask. ‘You must do all you can to catch this monster – whether it is Arderne or someone else. But, of course, that is what you have been doing. Forgive me. It is the shock. Poor Lynton!’