A Poisonous Plot

‘There is no time,’ interrupted Nigellus curtly. ‘Or do you suggest that we keep hundreds of people waiting while we go through a host of petty formalities? I am sure Michaelhouse will not object to the substitution, given the immediacy of the situation.’

‘Do you?’ asked Joliet of Bartholomew and Wauter. He grimaced. ‘I confess I am worried about the uneasy atmosphere in the church today, so the sooner we start, the less opportunity there will be for trouble. It would certainly make for a quieter life if you agree to Morys’s nomination.’

‘True,’ agreed Wauter. ‘I do not mind him in lieu of Irby.’

Bartholomew did, and wished Wauter had consulted with him before replying. Uncharitably, he wondered whether the geometrician’s loyalties still lay with the hostel that had housed him for a decade, rather than the College that had kept him for a few weeks. And was Irby really ill, or had Nigellus simply decided to exchange a moderate man for one with opinions akin to his own?

‘The motion is carried then,’ said Joliet, casting an apologetic glance at Bartholomew, whose opinion did not matter now the majority had spoken.

‘Good,’ said Nigellus smugly. ‘Then the subject of the debate will be nemo dat, as I have been suggesting for weeks. Are you in agreement, Morys?’

‘Yes, I am,’ replied Morys firmly. ‘It is by far the best idea.’

‘So there are two votes in its favour,’ said Joliet. ‘Wauter? What do you think?’

‘It would make for an interesting-’ began Wauter.

‘Three,’ pounced Morys. ‘Which means that the views of Bartholomew and Joliet are now immaterial. I shall inform the Chancellor at once.’

‘Now just a moment!’ Joliet put out a hand to stop him. ‘Wauter did not say he was voting for nemo dat — he merely said it was interesting. Besides, I am chairman, Morys, not you, so it is for me to speak to the Chancellor when we make our choice.’

Morys glared at him. ‘You want Michaelhouse to win because they hire you to teach and paint murals. You are unfairly biased, and should not have accepted a place on this committee.’

Joliet and Bartholomew gaped at him, astounded by such intemperate accusations.

‘Steady on, Morys,’ murmured Wauter. ‘And Joliet is right — I did not vote for nemo dat. I want to hear a few more suggestions before making my final decision.’

‘Why?’ demanded Nigellus. ‘Morys and I have made up our minds and we will not be swayed. Now, Joliet, will you tell Tynkell or shall I?’

‘I recommend that we select a theological or a musical-’ began Joliet, pointedly turning his back on the Zachary men.

‘No,’ snarled Nigellus. ‘It is nemo dat or nothing.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Morys.

‘Then Joliet, Wauter and I will choose the question,’ said Bartholomew, objecting to their bullying tactics. ‘If we can agree on a subject, you two are irrelevant.’

Nigellus addressed Joliet in a voice that held considerable menace. ‘Vote as I suggest or I will tell the Sheriff that you bought illegal sucura for Arnold in his final days. All the money you have hoarded to feed the poor this winter will be gone in a fine.’

Bartholomew felt his jaw drop, while the blood drained from Joliet’s face.

‘You would never do such a terrible thing!’ breathed the Prior, shocked.

‘No?’ sneered Nigellus. ‘Just try me.’

‘You want nemo dat because your students have been practising it,’ said Bartholomew accusingly, unable to help himself. ‘Do not look indignant — we all know the truth. But there is no glory in a victory won by cheating. Moreover, the Chancellor will not stand by and let you make a mockery of-’

‘He will never oppose my wishes,’ interrupted Morys. ‘And if you accuse us of foul play again, I shall sue you for slander. Now, Joliet, what will it be? Nemo dat or poverty?’

Joliet’s answer was in his silence and bowed head.

‘Morys, tell Tynkell that the subject is nemo dat,’ ordered Nigellus, allowing himself a tight, smug smile of triumph. ‘I shall inform our students. No, do not argue, Bartholomew — we have the necessary three votes. The matter is over.’

He and Morys hurried away. The Zachary students began to cheer when he addressed them, a reaction he quelled with an urgent flap of his hand. It told Bartholomew all he needed to know about the hostel’s sense of honour. Wauter watched for a moment, then ambled away to report the ‘decision’ to Michaelhouse, although given that every moment of preparation counted, Bartholomew thought he should have moved more quickly.

‘I am sorry, Matt,’ said Joliet wretchedly. ‘But I am afraid we did buy sucura to make poor Arnold smile during his last few days. And as legitimate sources are prohibitively expensive, we were obliged to turn to an illegal one.’

‘How did Nigellus know?’ Then Bartholomew sighed and answered the question himself. ‘Because he was Arnold’s medicus, and took a professional interest in his diet.’