‘That makes me feel better.’
‘Easy, Matt. Remember that Lynton fought back against Arderne, and now he is dead.’
‘I thought you considered Candelby a more viable suspect for Lynton’s murder.’
‘I do, but that does not mean I am happy for you to take needless risks. Even if Arderne is innocent of shooting Lynton, he is still a very dangerous man.’
‘Then that is even more reason for taking steps to neutralise him. He gave Hanchach urine to drink last night, and God only knows what other toxic potions he is distributing in his ignorance.’ Bartholomew changed the subject when he saw Michael look worried. The monk had enough to occupy him, without being burdened by the physician’s concerns, too. ‘Where have you been this morning?’
‘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.’
‘I am sure you are right, but can you imagine what would happen if you were to kill or maim the town’s most popular medicus? Cambridge would erupt into violence for certain.’
Late that afternoon there was a knock on the gate, and Cynric opened it to see Tyrington and Honynge. Their students were with them, and all had hired carts to ferry their belongings from their hostels to the College. Cynric stood aside wordlessly, and watched the procession stream inside.
In the hall, where Bartholomew had been presiding over a disputation entitled ‘Let us enquire whether a simple diet is preferable to a varied one’, the sudden rattle of hoofs caught the junior members’ wavering attention. Unusually, all the Fellows were in attendance, sitting by the small collection of tomes that comprised Michaelhouse’s library; most of the books were chained to the wall, because they were an expensive commodity, and the College could not afford to lose any.
‘It is the new men,’ announced Deynman, leaning out of the window to see what was going on, and interrupting the point he was trying to make about vegetables. ‘They have arrived with their entourage – ten in total, but all with more luggage than the Devil.’
‘Satan does not own luggage, Deynman,’ said William with considerable authority. For a friar, William knew a lot about the denziens of Hell.
Deynman turned to face him. ‘No? Then how does he transport his spare pitchforks?’
There was laughter from the other students, but Bartholomew could tell from the earnest expression on Deynman’s face that the question sprang from a genuine desire to know, and was not prompted by any desire to be insolent.
‘Satan is irrelevant to our debate,’ the physician said quickly, seeing William gird himself up to respond. ‘Come away from the window, Deynman, and continue your analysis.’
‘You had just made the contention that a simple diet is better, because it requires less memory,’ prompted Carton, when he saw Deynman struggling to remember what he had said.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Deynman, returning to the front of the hall. Usually, Bartholomew avoided using him in disputations, on the grounds that when he did, they tended to degenerate into the ridiculous, but he could not ignore the eagerly raised hand for ever. Unfortunately, William had then offered to take the opposing side, which meant the students had so far learned very little – except perhaps how not to go about the business of scholarly discourse. ‘It is always good to be simple.’
‘And you should know,’ muttered Michael under his breath. He spoke more loudly. ‘You need to argue your case in more detail, Deynman. Some disputants take more than an hour to outline their arguments in a logical manner, but you have only given us two sentences. The whole point of the exercise is to anticipate your opponents’ objections and address them before he can give them voice. That is the skill we are trying to hone today.’
Deynman frowned as he strove to understand. ‘Yes, I have been told that before.’ The monk refrained from pointing out that it had been reiterated every day for the past two weeks. ‘A simple diet is better, because you can use the same dishes and never bother to wash them. Your servants will be pleased, and thus you will have a contented household.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, aware of the third-years struggling to suppress their mirth. He was almost glad Falmeresham was not there, because the whole hall would have been rocking with laughter at the witty commentaries he would have been providing. ‘And how does that pertain to medicine, exactly? What does Galen have to say about simple and varied diets?’
‘No, no, no!’ cried William. ‘You are giving him an unfair advantage by providing clues. It is my turn to speak now. A varied diet is better, because it confuses the Devil, and means it is more difficult for him to poison you. Of course, Dominicans brag about eating simply, but that is because they like to sit down and dine with Satan of an evening.’
‘Oh, really, William!’ called Langelee from the back. ‘You should watch what you say, because some of our students might not know you are making a joke, and they will take you seriously.’
Bartholomew saw the puzzled expression on the friar’s face and knew jesting had been the last thing on his mind. ‘Is there anything else, Father?’ he asked. Some of the students were easing towards the windows. The debate was amusing, but not as interesting as watching the new arrivals.
‘No. I have stated my case perfectly, and anyone who disagrees with me is a fool.’
‘Right,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘Does anyone else have anything to add? About Galen’s hypotheses relating to diet? Or Maimonides? Or even Aristotle?’ he added, a little desperately.
‘Galen believed that all foods should be classified according to their powers,’ said Michael, taking pity on him. ‘Whether they are costive or purgative, corrosive or benign, and so on. Too much of one power can lead to an imbalance in the humours, and thus Galen’s contention is that a varied diet is superior to a simple one. I think that is the answer my colleague was hoping for.’
‘Oh,’ said Deynman, crestfallen. ‘That means I am wrong.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew, beginning to be exasperated. ‘No one is wrong – and no one is right. That is the nature of disputation. It is about the arguments, not the conclusions.’
‘I am right,’ countered William immediately. ‘I always am, in matters of theology. That is why no one in the University ever dares challenge me in the debating halls.’
‘I thought no one challenged him because he is in the habit of stating his own case, then going home before his opponent can take issue with him,’ said Langelee to Michael. The monk sniggered, and the Master raised his voice. ‘So, Bartholomew, if you will do the summing up, we shall—’
‘Is this the nature of disputation at Michaelhouse?’ came a voice from the door. It was Honynge, and Tyrington was behind him. Honynge stalked in, looking around disparagingly. ‘A simpleton versus a narrow-minded bigot?’
Langelee gaped in astonishment. ‘Did he just refer to Father William as a simpleton?’
‘Actually,’ whispered Wynewyk, ‘I think he meant William is the narrow-minded bigot.’
Some of the students were laughing at Honynge’s remark, because most shared his opinion about the friar, and applauded anyone with the honesty to stand up and say so. Others, however, felt an insult to William was a slur on their College, and there were resentful mutterings.
‘He is a dangerous fanatic,’ declared Honynge. ‘And I, for one, will not pretend otherwise.’
‘Most men wait until they have been officially admitted before launching an attack on their new colleagues,’ said Michael mildly, going to lay a restraining hand on William’s shoulder.
‘We are officially admitted,’ sprayed Tyrington. ‘We swore our oaths yesterday, with William and Wynewyk as witnesses.’
‘It is true,’ said Langelee sheepishly, when Michael and Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. ‘You two were out, and no one knew how long you would be. Honynge said he would accept the offer to be Principal at Lucy’s if we did not admit him straight away.’
‘My students and I want to be settled in before the beginning of term,’ Honynge explained. ‘And Candelby was eager to repossess the house we have been using as a hostel. If Michaelhouse had not opened its doors to us, we would have gone to Lucy’s. There is not much to choose between you.’
‘I am delighted to be here,’ gushed Tyrington, attempting to make up for Honynge’s brusqueness. ‘It is good of you to invite me, and I shall look forward to many entertaining debates during my tenure. Also, I would like to present this book to the College library.’
‘Aristotle’s Topica,’ said Langelee, taking it with an appreciative smile. ‘How kind. And there is a lovely serpent embossed in gold on the cover
, too.’
‘A sea serpent,’ whispered Deynman to Carton. ‘Because it is swimming in spit.’
‘So much for the inaugural dinner,’ said Michael, disappointed that more had not been made of the occasion. ‘We do not have new Fellows very often, and a feast is a good way to welcome them.’
‘Feasts are an unnecessary expense,’ countered Honynge. ‘I shall be urging moderation in the future. Besides,’ he added in an undertone, ‘they may try to serve you dog, so you should veto repasts whenever you can.’
‘We do not eat dog,’ objected William indignantly. ‘We leave that sort of thing to Dominicans.’
‘And we shall have feasts whenever we feel like them,’ declared Michael, objecting to the notion that his stomach might be about to fall victim to some needless abstention. ‘Besides, we have just been debating diet, and the general consensus is that Galen was right when he recommended the consumption of a large variety of foods. Matt will support me in this.’
‘A “large variety” is not the same as a “large amount”,’ began Bartholomew. ‘And—’
‘I do not like my new room,’ said Honynge, moving to another issue. ‘It smells of mice, so I think I shall take Bartholomew’s instead. He can share with Wynewyk, and Tyrington can have what was the medical storeroom. That will leave Kenyngham’s chamber for my students.’
‘Bartholomew is not moving,’ said Langelee, after a short, startled silence. ‘And he needs that storeroom for his potions. They sometimes stink, and we do not want them near the kitchens.’
‘Potions are the domain of apothecaries,’ said Honynge icily. ‘So, it would be better if he mixed no more medicines in Michaelhouse. And it would also be wise if he severed ties with his town patients, too. There is a war brewing, and we do not want the College targeted by bereaved kin.’
‘I am sorry to say he has a point,’ said Wynewyk to Bartholomew. ‘There have been bitter mutterings against you of late, and Isnard said—’
‘Isnard would have been dead by now, if Doctor Bartholomew had not removed his leg,’ interrupted Deynman angrily. ‘I saw the injury myself, and I know about these things, because I am his senior student.’
To Kill or Cure: The Thirteenth Chronicle Of Matthew Bartholomew (The Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew) Page 20