A Poisonous Plot

‘But the wine comes from Shirwynk, while sucura is whisked through the Fens,’ Thelnetham pointed out. ‘You cannot link them, just because both are sweet.’

‘But they are linked,’ insisted Bartholomew. ‘I should have seen it days ago. The sucura is not “whisked through the Fens”, which is why Dick Tulyet has had so little success in tracing it. It comes from the brewery. Look at my tabard — Shirwynk shoved me against one of his tanks earlier, and I came away covered in the stuff.’

He hauled the garment over his head, and pointed at the white dust that still adhered to it, despite Edith’s efforts to brush it off. When Thelnetham and Michael continued to look blank, he produced the packet of sucura that Cynric had given him. It and the dust were identical, and a lick proved they tasted the same as well.

Michael was stunned. ‘So sucura is brewery dust? But it cannot be, Matt! It has been sold in London for years, and I know for a fact that it is imported at great cost from Tyre.’

‘Not this “sucura”,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is different.’

Michael rubbed his jaw. ‘So are you saying that Shirwynk is the strategist?’

‘I do not know about that — only that the source of the debilitas is his brewery. The apple wine and sucura do not kill instantly, but work over a period of time — although a heavy dose, as was in Trinity Hall’s syllabub or Thelnetham’s whole cask of apple wine, will have a more immediate effect. And they are fatal to those weakened by age or sickness, like Lenne, Letia, Irby and Arnold.’

‘Lord!’ gulped Thelnetham. ‘I shall never drink wine again.’

He grimaced as he spoke, which allowed Bartholomew to see a faint line of grey on his gums. It was identical to the ones on the scholars from King’s Hall and Rumburgh.

‘Go to Michaelhouse and ask Agatha for some Royal Broth,’ Bartholomew instructed. ‘If you eat it with nothing but plain bread and watered ale for a week, you will be cured.’

He suspected that just avoiding the white powder would be enough to do the trick, but patients liked to be given ‘medicine’ and tended to get better more quickly if they thought they were taking a remedy that worked. Besides, a diet of vegetables, bread and weak ale would do no one any harm. Thelnetham nodded his thanks and hurried away, eager to start the treatment as soon as possible.

‘We cannot march into the brewery and accuse Shirwynk,’ warned Michael. ‘We tried it with Nigellus and look how that turned out. We dare not make another mistake.’

‘There is evidence at Barnwell. The canons’ elderflower wine has a reputation for being sour, but they gave me a cup on Tuesday and it was unbelievably sweet. Two clerics died, along with a cook and a gardener — who would certainly have been in a position to filch it from the kitchens. At first, I thought the culprit might have been river fish …’

‘You mean fish that had been poisoned by the dyeworks?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘Nigellus identified the wine as the cause, which offended Prior Norton, but he was right. The two dead canons were elderly and in frail health, while the servants were fat, and probably sat around downing a lot of it.’

Michael was still unconvinced. ‘Did Norton admit that sucura had been added?’

‘Of course not. He claimed the wine’s sweetness was due to the sun ripening the grapes at the right time, but I could tell he was lying. Send a beadle to Barnwell to get the truth. Norton will confess if he knows it is important.’

Michael did so at once, urging the man to hurry. Then Bartholomew spotted Rumburgh scurrying along with his head down, aiming to conceal himself from scholars who thought that Anne had torn off her own dress in the fracas outside the dyeworks. The burgess blanched when Bartholomew ordered him to tip his head back and open his mouth. The grey line on his gums was thicker than it had been a few days before.

‘Do you like apple wine?’ Bartholomew demanded.

Rumburgh shook his head. ‘I am an ale man myself. There is nothing more delicious than ale and a cake of a morning. It-’

‘Sweet cakes?’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘Ones flavoured with sucura?’

‘Oh, no,’ gulped Rumburgh unconvincingly. ‘That would be illegal.’

‘This is not evidence, Matt,’ warned Michael, after Rumburgh had scuttled away. ‘Shirwynk will claim that you are trying to protect Edith by sacrificing him. And others will agree.’

‘Stephen wanted to be an architect, did he not?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘And he has a lot of books on the subject?’

Michael blinked at the abrupt change of topic. ‘Yes — a library that should have come to Michaelhouse. Why?’

But Bartholomew was already running towards the High Street. Michael hurried after him, and caught up just as he was hammering on Stephen’s door.

‘Why are you interested in architecture all of a sudden? How will Stephen’s books prove that Shirwynk is the poisoner?’

‘Years ago, I read something in De architectura by the Roman engineer Marcus Vitruvius Pollio,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘Michaelhouse does not have a copy, but Stephen will.’