A Plague On Both Your Houses

by Susanna GREGORY

  'Within a few weeks, two more Fellows of King's Hall died, of summer ague. These three deaths disturbed the scholars of King's Hall, but a new Master was elected, and life returned to normal. About the same time, one of the Deans at Peterhouse was found dead in the fish-ponds.

  He was thought to have fallen in and drowned while in his cups.'

  Bartholomew wondered where all this was leading.

  Aelfrith continued, 'The Dean was a close friend, a Franciscan like myself. He did not like alcoholic beverages; he said they clouded his thoughts. I do not believe that he would have ever allowed himself to become drunk enough to drown in a fish-pond! A few days after the Dean, two Fellows at Clare lay dead from eating bad food.'

  Bartholomew recalled the two deaths at Clare. He had been called to help by Gregory Colet, the teacher of medicine at Rudde's Hostel, who had been a guest of the Master of Clare that night. He and Colet had been mystified by the case. The two Fellows had eaten some oysters sent by the grateful parent of a successful student. Others, including Colet, had eaten the oysters, too, and although some complained of sickness, only the two young men had died. Colet and Bartholomew had stood by helplessly, and had watched them die.

  'For several months there were no further deaths, but then, a few weeks ago, the Hall of Valence Marie, founded this most recent year, lost two Fellows to summer ague. Now, I know as well as you do that deaths from accidents and agues are not infrequent in Cambridge.

  But add these deaths to our four at Michaelhouse, and we have an unnaturally high figure: twelve in the Colleges in the last year.'

  'So what exactly are you telling me?' Bartholomew asked, the unease that he had experienced in Augustus's room the previous night returning.

  'That not all these deaths were natural, and that some of them are connected.'

  The feeling of unease intensified. 'But why?'

  'Not everyone wants the University to flourish,'

  Aelfrith said. 'There are those who wish to control it, or to stamp it out altogether. You know what happened to the University at Stamford in 1334.

  It was becoming a rival to Oxford and Cambridge, and the King suppressed it. He closed down all the hostels and forbade the masters to teach there. Many tried to go back to Oxford or Cambridge, but found that they were not granted licences to teach. If you remember your history, you will know that Henry III did the same to the University of Northampton in 1265.

  The University of Oxford is larger, older, and more powerful than Cambridge, but Cambridge is growing and is increasing its influence 'Are you saying that the University at Oxford is murdering our Fellows?' Bartholomew said incredulously.

  'That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! I am sorry, Father, but what kind of nonsense have you been listening to…?'

  'It is not nonsense, and we have proof!' Aelfrith snapped back. 'Just listen to me! Every single Fellow who died had been an Oxford student before he came to Cambridge.'

  'That is not proof, Father, that is coincidence. I went to Oxford first, and so did you!'

  'Which is why I am telling you this,' replied Aelfrith, regaining his calm with difficulty. 'About thirty years ago, King Edward II founded King's Hall. He gave it money, buildings, and sent to it scholars and boys destined to be some of the most powerful men in England. Many scholars at Oxford considered this a great insult to them — the King should have endowed this great foundation in Oxford, not Cambridge. But the City of Oxford had refused to help Edward's — well, let us say "friend" — Piers Gaveston when he was imprisoned, and the man was later killed. Edward had no cause to love Oxford. The present King has continued to give money and influence to King's Hall, and with its growing prestige and power, so grows the University of Cambridge. King's Hall is the largest and most influential of all the Colleges and hostels in Cambridge.

  'There are many who believe that there is a secret group of Oxford men who have come to Cambridge to try to bring about the downfall of the Colleges, and when the Colleges fall, the University will crumble with them.'

  'Come now, Father!' said Bartholomew, disbelievingly.

  'The University would not crumble without the Colleges! Without the hostels, maybe, since there are more of them, and they house the majority of the masters and scholars.'

  'Think, man!' said Aelfrith, his agitation rising again.

  'The loudest and most frequently heard voices in the University are not from the hostels, they are from the Fellows of the five Colleges. The Colleges own their own buildings, their own land, and the hostels do not. The hostels rely on the good graces of the town — a landlord only need say he wants to reclaim the hostel because he wishes to live in it, then the hostel is finished, its scholars and masters no more than homeless vagrants.

  It is rumoured that Edmund Gonville will found another College soon, and so might the Bishop of Norwich. The Colleges are becoming powerful in the University — they are its future — and as the Colleges increase in power, so does the University.'

  'But there are scholars enough for both Oxford and Cambridge, and we take them from different parts of the country anyway,' protested Bartholomew.

  Aelfrith shook his head impatiently, and continued his narrative. 'You know the stories that a terrible pestilence is coming. For seven years it has been coming, from the lands in the Far East and across Europe. Many said it would not come across the waters that separate us from France, but it is already in the West Country.

  It is said that whole villages will be wiped out, and that it is a sign of God's wrath for the sin of man. It is said that God is especially angry with his priests and monks, and that many of us will perish for our sins.'

  'With good reason,' muttered Bartholomew, thinking of the wealthy monasteries and the heavy Church taxes on the poor.

  'You are failing to see the point!' said Aelfrith, exasperated.

  'If there is a huge reduction in the clergy, then the two Universities will be competing for scholars. And who will teach them if we are to lose most of our masters?

  There are many, both in Oxford and Cambridge, who believe that the Universities will be fighting for their very existences before the year is out. Cambridge, being the smaller, is the more vulnerable. The weaker Cambridge is, the greater chance for survival Oxford will have. Ergo, some Oxford scholars are waging a secret war against us in anticipation of the events to come.'

  'You really believe this, don't you?' said Bartholomew, incredulously.

  'Yes, I do. And so should you. I spoke of evidence.

  We are not without our own spies, and we have documents from Oxford scholars stating their intentions very clearly.'

  'You say "we",' said Bartholomew. 'Who else knows of this?' "I cannot say,' said Aelfrith, 'because we do not know who is truthfully for Cambridge, and who may have been sent by Oxford. I can only tell you that seven of the Fellows whose deaths I mentioned earlier were of the same mind as me, including Sir John and the two young lads you tried to treat for food poisoning. This network of spies is nothing recent — there is nothing inherently wrong in watching the moves of the opposition, and we have had people who have traded information for as long as University records exist. But there has never been any violence, especially murder. Poor Augustus knew of the threat and he must have been killed because it was thought he might know something — someone believed he should not have done.'

  'By whom? By Oxford people to strike at the Colleges, or by Cambridge people to keep him from spilling their secrets?'

  'That is my problem, Matthew. I do not know.'

  Bartholomew looked at him through narrowed eyes. 'Good company you keep, Priest, if you think them capable of murder.'

  Aelfrith rose restlessly, and began to pace back and forth. Bartholomew caught a sparkle of tears in his eyes as he walked, and was sorry for his comment. Aelfrith was a virtuous man, and Bartholomew was sure that he had allowed himself to become embroiled in the murky world of University politics for the purest of reasons, and probably for what he
considered to be the good of the College.

  'You saw Augustus's room,' the friar said, after a moment. 'Someone was looking for something. Whoever attacked us had chipped loose plaster from the walls and had tried to prise up the floorboards. I have an idea of what the person may have been looking for.'

  'What could possibly be worth the killing of two old men?'

  Aelfrith smiled. 'You are a good man, Matthew, but you have been out into the world and you should know better than to ask a question like that. The lives of two old men are worth nothing to those that we are dealing with — on either side.' He stopped pacing and came to sit next to Bartholomew again. 'The spy system uses coded messages. We are dealing with some of the best minds in England here, so the codes have become very intricate and complex. All coded messages are affixed with a specific mark, or seal, so that their authenticity can be assured. Each time a message is sent, the seal is attached.

  'You probably did not know that Sir John acted as an agent for the King for many years. Essentially, his task was to act as a link, passing information up and down the chain of communication. Each contact had a different sign that only he and Sir John knew, to ensure that only authentic information would be passed on. About a year ago — the same time as the first deaths in King's Hall — one of Sir John's contacts started to send messages about a group of scholars at the University of Oxford who are dedicated to bringing about the downfall of the University here.

  'The sign Sir John used with this contact was an elaborate knot design carved into a gold signet ring — they had one each, exact duplicates in every detail.

  When a message came, Sir John only needed to match his seal with the one on the message to know that it was authentic. The design of the seals was very complex, and Sir John would have known if a message was marked with an imitation. Sir John carried this seal with him always, on a thick cord around his neck. After Sir John died, the seal he used to send his messages disappeared.'

  Bartholomew nodded, a little impatient at the lengthy explanation. He had seen the ring Aelfrith was talking about. It always hung on a robust length of leather around Sir John's neck. Bartholomew had asked him about it once, and Sir John had given him the impression that it was a trinket of no inherent value, but of great personal significance. Bartholomew supposed, in the light of what Aelfrith had just told him, that Sir John had spoken the truth.

  'On the night of his death Sir John visited Augustus, and may have hidden the seal in his room. I am sure Sir John was killed because someone wanted to steal the seal, but I am also confident that he was not wearing it when he died.'

  'How can you be sure of that?'

  'The manner of his death. He is said to have thrown himself into the mill race so that he would be either crushed or drowned by the water-wheel.'

  Bartholomew swallowed hard and looked away.

  Aelfrith continued.

  'There were two odd things about Sir John's death.

  The first is that when you, Swynford, and I dined with him on the night of his death, he did not seem like a man about to take his own life. Would you agree?'

  Bartholomew assented. It was a fact that had played on his mind, increasing his sense of helplessness about Sir John's death. Had the Master seemed ill or depressed, Bartholomew could have offered his support and friendship.

  'The second odd thing was the clothes he was wearing. Now,' Aelfrith held up his hand as Bartholomew began to protest, "I am not going to say anything that will harm Sir John's reputation further. He was wearing the habit of a Benedictine nun. Correct?'

  Bartholomew refused to look at Aelfrith. It had been the most disturbing aspect of Sir John's death. It was bad enough to imagine him being in a state of mind where he could hurl himself under the water-wheel. But that his own clothes were nowhere to be found, and that he was clad in the gown of a nun, drew much speculation on Sir John's sanity and personal life.

  "I do not think Sir John was in disguise as has been suggested,' said Aelfrith. "I believe his clothes were stolen so that they could be thoroughly searched for the seal. I think he was killed — perhaps by a knock on the head — and his clothes taken after he had died. The nun's habit was specifically chosen to bring Michaelhouse into disrepute.

  Its Master wearing nun's clothes to commit suicide at the mill! The plan succeeded: the town people still nudge each other and grin when Michaelhouse is mentioned, and scholars in Oxford claim that there, the masters are men in men's clothing.'

  Bartholomew winced, but said nothing. Aelfrith saw his discomfiture, and hurriedly changed the subject.

  'But whoever killed Sir John did not find the seal, and came to look for it in Augustus's room, assuming that Sir John had hidden it there because it was the only place he had been between dining with us and leaving the College. I was knocked on the head, Paul stabbed, and the commoners drugged to allow time to make a thorough search. You interrupted that search, and were attacked.'

  Bartholomew was about to dismiss Aelfrith's explanation as inadequate, when he recalled Augustus'swords on the afternoon of Wilson's installation. He had spoken of an evil in the College that would corrupt all, but there was some thing else, too. Just remember John Babington, hide it well.' Bartholomew's thoughts raced forward.

  Perhaps Aelfrith was right, and Sir John had hidden the seal with Augustus, and Augustus had watched him.

  So, did that mean that Augustus had been killed so that the discovery of the seal would remain a secret? Was he killed because he had refused to reveal where it was hidden? But Bartholomew had seen no marks on Augustus's body to support the possibility that he was forced to do anything.

  'But this does not explain what happened to Augustus's body,' he said. He began to have hopes that the bizarre manner of Sir John's death might be explained, and his good reputation restored.

  Aelfrith sighed. "I know. But one of the last messages Sir John received from Oxford said that our protagonists are in league with witches and warlocks,' he said.

  "I do not think we will see our Brother Augustus again.'

  Bartholomew disagreed. 'Bodies do not just disappear, Father,' he said. 'His will be found, especially if it is hidden away in this heat!'

  Aelfrith pursed his lips in disgust. 'This is the part that disturbs me most of all,' he said. "I believe the disappearance of Augustus's body was the work of the Devil, and that the Devil has a servant in this College!'

  Bartholomew was surprised that Aelfrith would so readily accept witchcraft as an answer. He had also been surprised with Brother Michael for the same reason. It was too convenient an answer.

  'So who do you think attacked us and killed Paul and Montfitchet?' he asked, to move the discussion on. Bartholomew could believe that the Devil had a servant in the College easily enough — someone who was committing murder and stealing bodies — but the idea that the Devil was responsible he found too hard to accept. He sensed he would not agree with Aelfrith on this point, and that if he questioned it further they might end up in the orchard for hours discussing it as a point of theology.

  'The Devil's servant,' replied Aelfrith in response to Bartholomew's questions. He turned to Bartholomew. "I have told you all this because I wish you to be on your guard — for your own life and for the security of your University.'

  'Do the other fellows know all this?' asked Bartholomew.

  'Master Wilson does. He thinks you are a spy because you have a degree from Oxford, because your practice takes you out of College a lot, and because he was suspicious of your relationship with Sir John. He warned Sir John about you many times. He does not like you, and now he is Master, he will undoubtedly try to see that your days as a Fellow here are numbered.'

  That Wilson thought the worst of him, and might attempt to rid Michaelhouse of him, did not come as any great shock to Bartholomew. 'Who else knows?' he asked.

  'Michael seems to know some of it, although he did not learn it from me. William and Alcote know. It was William who told me to warn you. Alcote is in W
ilson's pocket, and believes you are a spy. They both think you were looking for the seal when you took so long with Augustus.'

  'And what do you think, Father?'

  'That you are innocent in all this, and that you should remain so. I also reason that you grieve too deeply for Sir John to have been involved in any way with his death, and that you have continued to be a good friend after most others have abandoned him.'

  Bartholomew squinted up into the apple trees. He wished Sir John were with him now, to help him reason out all this subterfuge and plotting. 'What of the others?

  Swynford and Giles Abigny?'

  'Swynford is aware of the Oxford plot, but declines to become involved. His family have lands near Oxford, and he says it is in his interests to remain neutral. Sirjohn's contact has already reported that Swynford declined Oxford when they tried to recruit him. Abigny would not find the time between his love affairs for matters of such seriousness, and in any case, I could not trust his judgement nor his discretion. He has no connections with Oxford anyway, and would make them a poor spy.

  He does not move in the right circles to be of interest to them, unless they are concerned with tavern gossip.'

  Bartholomew smiled. The flighty Abigny was from a different world than the austere Franciscan friars, and they would never see eye to eye. But Aelfrith was right.

  Abigny was appallingly indiscreet, and would never manage to remain sober long enough to do spying of any value. Aelfrith stood to leave.

  If you think of anything, however small, that might throw light onto this wretched affair, will you let me know?'

  Bartholomew nodded. "I will, but I have thought it over many times, and have not deduced the tiniest shred of evidence that could be of value. I think I would be as much a loss as a spy as would Giles!'

  Aelfrith reached out to touch Bartholomew on the shoulder, a rare gesture of affection for the sombre friar, and walked out of the orchard.