A Poisonous Plot

‘Not my College,’ declared Michael. ‘We prefer honey.’

‘Good luck for tomorrow,’ said Tulyet. His sardonic expression suggested that he did not believe Michael, but was not about to call him a liar. ‘I shall attend the debate with the town’s burgesses, who tell me I can expect to be impressed.’

‘You will be impressed,’ promised Michael. ‘We are the University’s best and most stable foundation, and I would appreciate you saying so to your wealthy friends.’

‘So they will give you donations?’ asked Tulyet, amused by the bald instruction.

‘So we can say prayers for their immortal souls,’ said Michael grandly.

Bartholomew and Michael arrived home to find Michaelhouse in the grip of frenzied activity, and the hall was in such disarray that they regarded it in horror, sure it would not be ready in time. The Austins were at their mural, while all around them was a frantic hubbub of scrubbing, dusting, buffing and brushing. Agatha the laundress was standing on a table in the middle of the room, screeching orders at Fellows, students and servants alike.

Women were not generally permitted in University foundations, but exception could be made if they were old and ugly, and thus unlikely to inflame carnal desires among the residents. Agatha was not particularly old or notably ugly, but it would be a very reckless scholar who would foist himself on her. She had been part of the College for so long that no one recalled how she had come to be there, and she was comfortable in the knowledge that she was a permanent fixture.

‘Polish the benches, Doctor,’ she instructed, shoving rags and a jar of beeswax into Bartholomew’s hand. ‘And do not stop until you can see your face in them. Brother? I need you to taste the marchpanes in the kitchen, because I think I used too much sucura.’

‘Sucura?’ echoed Michael in alarm. ‘But the Sheriff is coming, and I have just told him that we do not have any.’

‘He dislikes sweet food,’ said Wauter, who was folding tablecloths. ‘So I doubt he will find out. However, sucura is a sign of wealth, and if we fail to flaunt it, people will think we are poor — which defeats the whole exercise.’

‘Then make sure no one offers Dick a marchpane or he may think we are so rich that we can afford to pay a fine for defrauding the King of his taxes,’ said Michael, not much comforted.

‘Who bought the stuff?’ asked Bartholomew keenly.

‘I am not at liberty to say,’ replied Agatha haughtily, although the physician was sure Michael had made some sly signal to her behind his back. ‘Lest someone decides to tattle and we are made an example of — which would be unfair, as we only have a few grains, while places like King’s Hall buy it by the bucket-load.’

‘Hakeney the vintner,’ said Michael to Wauter, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion. ‘He told us today that you knew Frenge.’

‘Did he?’ asked Wauter, startled. ‘Then he is mistaken. I might have exchanged nods with Frenge on occasion — as I do with many people — but I did not know him.’

‘So Hakeney was lying?’

Wauter smiled. ‘I imagine we Austins all look alike in our habits, so perhaps he thought I was someone else.’

‘He identified you as an ex-member of Zachary Hostel,’ Michael persisted, ‘which suggests he can tell you apart from the others.’

Wauter raised his hands in a shrug. ‘It still does not alter the fact that I did not know Frenge. Of course, Hakeney likes a drink, and his wits are somewhat pickled.’

‘True,’ conceded Michael. ‘Which is a pity, as we have no idea why Frenge should have died in the Austin Friary, and information from you would have been most welcome.’

‘I wish I could help, Brother, but I know nothing about it. Yet the whole business concerns me greatly, and makes me feel that the University should leave the town and resettle in the Fens. I have heard that you and the Chancellor are considering such a move, which is excellent news.’

‘It is untrue,’ said Michael. ‘A tale started by misinformed gossips. Pay it no heed.’

‘Really?’ asked Wauter, disappointed. ‘That is a pity. I dislike the ill-feeling we engender among townsmen, and I have no wish to antagonise anyone unnecessarily — if they want us gone, we should accede to their wishes and leave them in peace. How is Cew, by the way? Any better? It is a terrible thing when a gifted man loses his mind.’

‘It is,’ agreed Michael soberly. ‘Do you know him well?’

‘Not very well, but I spent many an evening with him, debating points of logic.’

‘You did not enjoy the intellects of your Zachary comrades? Kellawe, Irby, Nigellus, Morys and Segeforde. All charming men, I am sure.’ Michael’s dour expression made it clear he was not.

‘Irby is a fine man,’ replied Wauter. ‘But Kellawe is quarrelsome, Morys an ass, and Segeforde dull company. And as for Nigellus, I moved here before he was officially installed at Zachary, so he was never a colleague.’