A Poisonous Plot

‘Loss of appetite, apparently. I hope he recovers soon. Not only is he a friend, but he has promised to help me finish my Martilogium.’

‘Langelee says that we must clean the hall when the guests have gone,’ grumbled Suttone, slouching up and cutting into the discussion. ‘He wants to avoid paying the servants overtime. So no wandering off when the event is over, if you please.’

He looked hard at Bartholomew and Michael, the ones most likely to have business elsewhere, then went to take his place in the procession. The others followed in order of seniority — William directly behind Langelee, Bartholomew and Michael side by side, Suttone and Clippesby together, and Junior Fellow Wauter bringing up the rear.

‘We must interview all our suspects again as soon as we have a free moment,’ said Michael, while they waited for Langelee to set off. ‘I have little new to ask, but if they are guilty our questions may make them nervous — and nervous men make mistakes.’

Bartholomew listed them. ‘Rumburgh, Shirwynk, Peyn, Hakeney, Stephen, the three men from King’s Hall and Nigellus.’

‘And possibly Wauter,’ added Michael in a low voice. ‘But you should have put Nigellus first. Not only for his nine dead clients, but I learned last night that he was at Trinity Hall when everyone there was poisoned. He was not ill himself, and his advice to the sufferers was to stand on their heads to let the bad humours drain out. When that failed, they called you.’

‘Lord!’ breathed Bartholomew. ‘His “remedies” beggar belief sometimes.’

‘You should be pleased by the news — if he is the culprit, your sister’s dyeworks will be exonerated. And there is another thing …’

‘Yes?’

‘The only people who have died of late have been wealthy: Letia, Lenne, the Barnwell folk, Arnold and now your burgess. There is not a pauper among them. Do you not find that odd?’

Bartholomew supposed that he did.

There was to be an academic parade through the town before the disceptatio, although many scholars thought it should have been cancelled, given the town’s current antipathy towards them. Luckily, it was only along a short section of the High Street, and the hope was that it would be over before any serious protest could be organised.

Unfortunately, the town was only part of the problem, and trouble broke out between rival factions within the University before anyone had taken so much as a step. Peterhouse thought they should lead the way, because they were the oldest foundation, but King’s Hall had been built by royalty, which they claimed made them more important. Their antagonism sparked quarrels between other Colleges and hostels, and it was not long before a dozen spats were in progress.

‘It is Tynkell’s fault,’ grumbled Michael, watching his beadles hurry to intervene. ‘He should have published the order of precedence in advance, so there would have been no surprises. I reminded him to do it, but he claims he forgot.’

‘Perhaps it is just as well,’ remarked Bartholomew. ‘It would have given resentment longer to fester, and feelings would have been running even hotter.’

Michael sniffed, unwilling to admit that he might be right. ‘There is Peyn,’ he said, looking to where the brewer’s son was standing with his father. ‘Is he about to lob mud at King’s Hall?’

He was, and the missile sailed forth. Fortunately, Wayt chose that particular moment to adjust his shoe, so the clod sailed harmlessly over his head. Michael stalked towards Peyn, Bartholomew at his heels, but Shirwynk hastened to place himself between scholars and son.

‘You would be wise to take him home before he spends the rest of the week in the proctors’ gaol,’ growled Michael.

‘For what?’ sneered Shirwynk. ‘Accidentally flicking up a little dirt? You will have a riot on your hands if you try to arrest him for that.’

‘I am surprised to see you merrymaking when your wife is barely cold,’ said Michael, going on an offensive of his own. ‘Why are you not praying for her soul?’

‘My parish priest is doing that,’ replied Shirwynk. ‘A man with no connections to your University, because I would not want a scholar near her.’

He stared hard at Bartholomew, who wondered with a pang of alarm whether the brewer somehow knew that Letia had been examined without his consent. Or was it a guilty conscience that prompted another warning to stay away?

‘She and Frenge died on the same day,’ said Michael, apparently thinking likewise, and so launching into an interrogation. ‘That is an uncanny coincidence, do you not think?’

‘Not uncanny — cruel,’ said Shirwynk. ‘King’s Hall knew exactly how to inflict the maximum amount of distress on me. Thank you for the invitation to dine with you after this silly debate, by the way. However, I would sooner jump in the latrine than accept.’

‘You were asked?’ blurted Bartholomew.

‘By Wauter,’ replied Shirwynk coolly. ‘Many of my fellow burgesses will demean themselves by setting foot on University property, but I shall not be among them.’