A Poisonous Plot

‘Unfortunately, there is no longer a need,’ said Langelee. ‘There was another message within the hour to say that Irby had passed away. It was very sudden, apparently.’

‘Well,’ breathed Michael, while Bartholomew gazed at the Master in dismay. ‘Yet another of Nigellus’s patients dead in curious circumstances.’

‘We should go there now,’ determined Bartholomew, donning his cloak. ‘Nigellus was very open in wanting to be rid of Irby so that Morys could be Principal. Well, this is one death that will not go unremarked.’

‘Would he have expressed such an opinion if he were the killer?’ asked Langelee doubtfully. ‘It would be reckless, would it not, to announce a motive for murder before the event?’

‘He thinks we are stupid,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He does not fear an investigation, because he believes he can outwit us.’

‘Then he will learn the perils of underestimating the Senior Proctor and his trusty Corpse Examiner,’ vowed Michael. ‘But it is very late, and Irby will still be dead in the morning. I recommend we wait until tomorrow before beginning our assault — when daylight will assist in telling you what really happened to the unfortunate Principal of Zachary Hostel.’

CHAPTER 6

The All Souls’ Day celebrations marked the end of Hallow-tide, and the scholars of Michaelhouse woke the following morning aware that it was time to return to their usual routines. There were groans from Bartholomew’s students when the bell rang to call them to church, and everyone was tardy about assembling in the yard. There were sore heads aplenty, and no Fellow thought it would be a good day for teaching.

It was William’s turn to take the church service, and as he prided himself on the speed at which he could gabble through the sacred words, it was not long before everyone was walking back to College for breakfast. Any food left over from the reception had been eaten by the servants by the time they returned, so they sat down to watery oatmeal flavoured with cockles, cabbage and nutmeg. The dismal fare told them for certain that the holiday was over.

‘I thought about Irby all night,’ said Bartholomew unhappily, setting down his spoon when he found a slug in his bowl. ‘When Nigellus told me that he had confined him to bed, I assumed it was part of the ploy to foist nemo dat on us — to dispense with a member of the consilium who would have voted against it. I wish to God I had gone to see him at once.’

‘I wish you had, too,’ said Michael. ‘Then he might still be alive.’

‘He tried to summon me,’ Bartholomew went on wretchedly, ‘which suggests he was dissatisfied with Nigellus’s care. And with good cause.’

Michael nodded. ‘He is the tenth of Nigellus’s patients to die — the eleventh if we count Frenge. It cannot be coincidence, and he did say that Irby was not the leader he wanted for Zachary. I imagine we will find motives for the other deaths, too, if we dig deep enough.’

‘We might.’ Bartholomew was still racked with guilt for not going to Irby’s assistance.

‘But why kill them?’ Michael went on. ‘He must realise that people will notice if he loses more clients than other medici. Then the surviving ones will desert him, which he will not appreciate, given how much he loves the fees they pay.’

‘He practised at Barnwell for years before coming here,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He could not have dispatched those customers at this sort of rate, or the whole village would be in their graves. We must be wrong, Brother. He is a physician — a healer.’

‘Of sorts — even I can tell that he is barely competent. Hah! Now there is a thought …’

‘What is?’

‘Perhaps he dispatched them to conceal evidence of his ineptitude — his failure to cure them. After all, if he used poison, who would know? You detected signs of a corrosive substance on Frenge, but there was nothing on Letia, so perhaps he learned from his mistake. Meanwhile, Arnold and the Barnwell folk are buried, so unless we exhume them …’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly.

‘Then maybe the dyeworks are responsible,’ said Michael. He held up his hand when Bartholomew started to object. ‘Even you cannot deny that it produces some very foul substances, and I dread to think what is slyly dumped in the river when Edith’s ladies think no one is looking. You can ask when we visit her today.’

‘We are going to see Edith? Why?’

‘To warn her that I have received a lot of complaints about her reeking enterprise, and that she needs to find a way to eliminate the problem before there is serious trouble. But we had better visit Zachary first, to ascertain exactly what happened to Irby. Shall we go now?’

Bartholomew scribbled a list of passages from Galen’s De ossibus for Langelee to read to his classes, and followed the monk across the yard to the gate, where they met Prior Joliet, Almoner Robert and Hamo, coming to put some finishing touches to the mural.

‘Well?’ asked Joliet pleasantly. ‘Did Michaelhouse secure a wealthy benefactor last night?’