A Poisonous Plot

‘We failed,’ said Langelee hoarsely. ‘We gambled everything we had — and more — to win a benefactor, but the bad feeling Joliet generated in the town means that donors are withdrawing offers, not making them. Michaelhouse will be dissolved before the end of term.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Bartholomew, speaking over the immediate chorus of dismay. ‘Lady Joan was impressed by Edith’s efforts to reform the Frail Sisters, but thinks that dyeing is too arduous a trade for ladies. She told Tynkell to award my sister the contract for sewing the University’s robes instead.’

‘And Tynkell did it?’ cried William. ‘Our colleagues will wear garments made by whores? What will Oxford think?’

‘Ex-whores,’ corrected Bartholomew. ‘Well, mostly. Edith is relieved — she has accepted that the dyeworks are problematic, and is delighted to be able to provide her staff with safer work.’

‘I am glad the dyeworks will close,’ sighed Langelee. ‘They stink to high heaven. But what does this have to do with Michaelhouse? Or will your sister employ us as seamstresses? I might accept — I shall need to earn a crust somehow once the College folds.’

‘She has given the dyeworks to us,’ explained Bartholomew. He held out a piece of parchment. ‘I have the deed here. It includes not just the building, but a sizeable tract of land and that nice new pier.’

Langelee snatched it from him and the colour slowly seeped back into his cheeks. When he looked up, his eyes were bright with tears. ‘We are saved! God bless her.’

‘The revenue from the dock alone will keep us in victuals and fuel,’ said Clippesby, beaming happily. ‘And we can sell the building to-’

‘Sell?’ interrupted Langelee. ‘We most certainly shall not! Dyeing is a lucrative business. We shall take over the running of it, and it will earn us a fortune.’

‘But you have just explained why we cannot do that,’ said Bartholomew irritably. ‘The stench-’

‘What stench?’ interrupted William. ‘I cannot say I find it particularly noxious.’

‘On reflection, neither do I,’ said Langelee breezily. ‘In fact, it is extremely pleasant.’

For the rest of that term, Lady Joan became a familiar sight on the streets of Cambridge as Chancellor Tynkell showed her around his domain. She insisted on visiting every College, convent and hostel in the University, often multiple times, and it quickly became a point of honour for each to impress her more than their rivals. The frantic primping that took place, along with the numerous disputations arranged by Michael, served to keep the scholars far too busy to contemplate squabbling with each other.

‘It is a pity she is the wrong sex,’ sighed Michael. ‘She would make an excellent Chancellor — far better than her son.’

The town proved less easy to distract, and there was bitter disappointment that the promised exodus of scholars was not going to take place after all. Spats between them and the academics grew more frequent and increasingly violent. Michael, Bartholomew and Tulyet met to discuss them in the Brazen George one day just before Christmas.

‘Perhaps Prior Joliet was right,’ said Bartholomew, weary after dealing with the injuries arising from yet another brawl. ‘The town will never be easy with us in it, and it might be better for everyone if we go to live in the Fens.’

‘It will not,’ said Tulyet firmly. ‘Without the University, we would be nothing.’

Michael gazed wonderingly at him. ‘And this from a townsman?’

‘We sell you our ale, bread, meat, cloth, pots and fuel; and we rent you our houses and inns. In return, you provide us with scribes, physicians and priests, while the friaries do good work with the poor, despite the recent hiccup with the Austins.’

‘Then why do I feel as though we are not welcome?’ asked Michael.

‘Because you are arrogant, miserly and condescending; you make nuisances of yourselves with our womenfolk; and you do not pay fair prices for our goods. You belittle and cheat us at every turn, and you are rarely good neighbours.’

‘Well, yes,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But we cannot help that.’