Bartholomew was appalled. ‘This is an ill-conceived plan – and dangerous, too, to risk something so valuable. He might manage to spirit the thing away. And then what will we say? That it was last seen by William, who hid it in the Illeigh Hutch to trap a thief?’
‘That is a clever notion, Matt,’ said Michael comfortably. ‘We do not have to declare it was Honynge we wanted to catch out, do we?’
Grinning like a madman, William raced away to do as Michael suggested. Bartholomew gave up trying to reason with the monk, and started to think about Arderne instead. He was still deep in thought when Carton approached, Falmeresham at his side. Carton was holding his friend’s arm, alarmed that he was walking about when Bartholomew had recommended rest after his ordeal.
‘Isabel St Ives has just been,’ said Carton. ‘Maud Bowyer is worse, and wants you to visit as soon as possible. It sounded urgent, so I thought I should find you myself, but Falmeresham insisted on accompanying me, even though he should be in bed.’
‘I came because Maud has no right to summon you,’ said Falmeresham, freeing his arm. ‘She is Magister Arderne’s patient, and he will not like it if you interfere. Isabel should not have come.’
‘Isabel thinks the same, actually,’ said Carton to Bartholomew. ‘She believes her mistress should be left to Arderne, too. But Maud wants you, and Isabel cannot ignore a direct order.’
‘Arderne is a good man,’ said Falmeresham, rather defiantly. ‘If Maud can be healed, he will do it. She does not need the services of another medicus.’
‘Arderne cannot be a good man, or he would not be saying spiteful things about the town’s other practitioners,’ said Carton snidely.
‘You mean Robin of Grantchester?’ asked Falmeresham. ‘It is about time someone reviled him – he is a menace. And Rougham is no better, with his archaic skills. They should be denounced.’
‘What about Doctor Bartholomew?’ demanded Carton archly. ‘Should he be denounced, too?’
‘Of course not,’ snapped Falmeresham. ‘But it is not Arderne who is doing that. It is Isnard.’
‘Because Arderne told him to. He raised Isnard’s hopes by saying he might be cured, but dashed them cruelly when it proved impossible. Then he blamed Doctor Bartholomew, even though it was his failure.’
‘But Arderne might be right about amputation,’ argued Falmeresham. ‘We are taught certain injuries are irreparable, and specific diseases are incurable. But I saw Arderne healing several such complaints with my own eyes. I think he possesses skills superior to anyone in Cambridge.’
‘Visit Maud, Matt,’ said Michael, cutting into the debate before it could erupt into a serious quarrel. ‘She trusts you, even if your students do not.’
‘I trust what works,’ countered Falmeresham. ‘My mind is open to anything new.’
Bartholomew took Falmeresham with him when he went to tend Maud, seeing it as a chance to teach the student something about fatal fevers. Michael insisted on accompanying them, lest a lone physician and his apprentice prove too tempting a target for mud-slingers and bone-lobbers, and Carton followed without being invited, loath to let his friend out of his sight.
When they arrived at the handsome house on Bridge Street, Maud was indeed worse. The smell of decay was stronger, and Bartholomew knew she did not have long to live. Isabel was almost in tears.
‘You have done enough damage already,’ said Isabel accusingly, watching Bartholomew kneel by the bed and examine the patient. ‘I would never have called you, had my mistress not insisted. I summoned Magister Arderne first – although she objected. He waved his feather, but said you had destroyed all hope of a cure, because you had laid tainted hands on her. It is your fault she is dying.’
‘Arderne says tainted hands are the reason why he could not save Ocleye, either,’ added Falmeresham, rather unhelpfully.
Bartholomew regarded Isabel unhappily. Her eyes were red from crying, but there was a hard, cold glint in them that he had not seen before. He had a feeling he was about to acquire yet another enemy. ‘I gave her a potion to relieve her pain,’ he said quietly. ‘And that is all.’
‘You put your hand against her cheek to feel her fever,’ countered Isabel. ‘And you raised the bandage to inspect the wound. Arderne said that was enough to cause the damage, because evil miasmas went from you to her.’
‘Claptrap,’ declared Carton angrily. Falmeresham glared at the friar, and with a shock, Bartholomew saw his student believed Arderne’s wild claims.
‘You can discuss this later,’ said Michael softly, nudging the physician with his elbow. ‘Tend Maud, Matt. You know you can do more for her than a leech with a feather.’
Bartholomew began to administer a powerful potion that would ease her pain. After a few moments, the lines of suffering around her eyes and mouth began to fade. He mixed more of the remedy, and gave it to Isabel with instructions on how to use it.
‘But it will not make her live?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘I am sorry,’ said Bartholomew. ‘This often happens with wounds caused by jagged splinters – small fragments remain behind, and they fester. The medicine will ease her end, but no more.’
‘I can hear you,’ said Maud, in a voice that was unexpectedly strong. She opened her eyes. ‘Or rather, I can hear voices. Are you talking about me?’
‘We are talking about Master Lynton,’ said Isabel, saying something she thought might please her. ‘He was a good friend of Doctor Bartholomew, who has come to see you.’
Maud smiled. ‘Did you know Lynton and I were close? We grew up together – born in adjoining manors. I should have married him, but we left it too late; he became a scholar, and I took another husband. He was a fine warrior in his day – tall, strong and true of hand. Still, at least we enjoyed each other after I became a widow.’
‘It is difficult to imagine him as a knight,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Or a lover.’
Her smile became wistful. ‘He was an enigma, and one I shall love to my dying day. Arderne tells me that might come sooner than I would like. What do you say, Bartholomew?’
‘I imagine that is true for most people.’
She smiled again. ‘You have a clever tongue. And now tell me the truth.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I doubt you will see another Sunday.’
‘Arderne said I would not see another hour, and that it is your fault that I am doomed. I do not believe him, though. You told me the truth – and did not demand five shillings for it.’
‘Magister Arderne always charges for consultations,’ said Falmeresham defensively. ‘He says offering services free of charge suggests they are not worth paying for.’
‘Hush,’ said Bartholomew sharply. It was impolite to argue with a patient, especially one who was dying, and he was surprised at Falmeresham.
‘Arderne is shallow and mean,’ said Maud. ‘I know you summoned him because you are desperate to help me, Isabel, but I do not want him here again. Doctor Bartholomew’s medicine is working, and the pain is less now. I ask for no more.’
She began to drowse, and Isabel opened the door, indicating it was time for the visitors to leave. ‘Magister Arderne is coming back later, and I do not want him to find you here,’ she said. ‘You will quarrel, and it might upset her.’
‘Maud just said she does not want him,’ said Bartholomew, loath to abandon anyone to the healer’s dubious ministrations.
‘He is not coming to see her,’ said Isabel with a smile that was a little wanton. ‘He is coming to see me. But I shall make sure he does not come up here, if that is what she wants.’