A Poisonous Plot

Loath to dispense a remedy, even vegetable soup, without examining the patients first, Bartholomew offered to accompany him to King’s Hall while Michael went to question the Austins again. As they walked, Dodenho regaled the physician with opinions, one hand on the sword he wore at his side. Bartholomew was grateful for his martial presence, given the amount of hostility he himself was attracting.

‘If the University does go to the Fens, we shall not join it,’ Dodenho declared. ‘It would be a bleak and impoverished existence, and our scholars are all from noble households, so they expect a degree of comfort. I imagine you feel the same, given the luxury in which you live.’

Bartholomew gave a noncommittal grunt, thinking that Langelee’s ruse had been successful indeed if even the elegant King’s Hall was convinced of Michaelhouse’s affluence.

When they arrived, Wayt gave reluctant permission for Bartholomew to examine the men who were ill. There were seven in total, exhibiting symptoms as varied as nausea, stomach pains, headaches, insomnia and dizziness. One lad, who had been ill longer than the rest, showed Bartholomew how his foot dropped when he tried to walk, a peculiar problem that had afflicted Cew, too.

Cew, on the other hand, was considerably improved. His gait was back to normal, there was colour in his cheeks, and he seemed much stronger. Unfortunately, he was again convinced that he was the King of France.

‘The metal has gone,’ he confided. ‘We cannot taste it any longer. It must have been in the oysters. They were brought here on the river, you see, and we all know the Seine is poisoned.’

‘He means the Cam,’ put in Dodenho helpfully. ‘The Seine is in France.’

‘Our sucura is imported via the Seine,’ Cew went on. ‘Our courtiers adore sweet things, and it is our pleasure to indulge them, especially as they put extra in our own soul-cakes as a reward. King’s Hall is awash with it, although Wayt will tell you otherwise. But Frenge knew.’

Bartholomew glanced at the Acting Warden, and when he saw the expression of weary exasperation on the hirsute face, something suddenly became abundantly clear.

‘You lied!’ he exclaimed. ‘You did not argue with Frenge about Anne the day he died — you quarrelled about sucura.’

Wayt opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but Cew clapped his hands in delight. ‘You have it! You have it! What a clever fool you are!’

Wayt cast a venomous glare at his colleague, who rocked back and forth, grinning wildly. There was a moment when Bartholomew thought the Acting Warden would attempt to dismiss the claims as the unfounded ravings of a lunatic, but then he threw up his hands in resignation.

‘Very well,’ he sighed irritably. ‘Yes — Frenge threatened to tell the Sheriff that we bought illegal sucura, and King’s Hall cannot afford to be seen breaking the law. However, I did not kill him. I merely informed him that if he ever breathed a word of our doings to another living soul, I would sue him for slander.’

‘You should have told Michael the truth,’ said Bartholomew accusingly. ‘It was-’

‘And risk him betraying us to Tulyet? Do not be stupid! However, you cannot go running to him with this tale, because physicians are morally bound to keep their patients’ ramblings quiet. Ergo, anything that Cew brays is confidential.’

‘No one from Michaelhouse would blab about sucura anyway,’ interposed Dodenho. ‘Being so affluent, they purchase it by the bucket load themselves.’

Bartholomew regarded him thoughtfully. Every College and wealthy hostel in the University had reported cases of the debilitas except one: Michaelhouse. Was it because no one there could afford sucura — that it was the illegally imported sweetener that was making everyone ill? Had it become contaminated somehow, perhaps from the dyeworks? Was that why no pauper had been afflicted by the debilitas, and why it remained exclusively a ‘disease’ of the rich?

He pulled the little packet that Cynric had given him from his bag, ignoring Dodenho’s triumphant hoot that he had been right, and poured some into his hand. He licked it cautiously. It did not taste as though it would do him harm, but only a fool thought that everything with a pleasant flavour was safe to eat.

‘Your theory is flawed,’ said Wayt, when Bartholomew explained tentatively what he was thinking, careful not to reveal that while Agatha had used sucura in the Hallow-tide marchpanes, all the other cakes had been made using the considerably cheaper honey. ‘Osborne of Gonville Hall has the debilitas, but he never touches sweet foods.’

‘The same is true of Lenne and the Barnwell folk,’ said Dodenho. ‘They had the debilitas so badly that it killed them, but they never ate sweetmeats either.’