A Poisonous Plot

Robert bowed his head, cheeks red against his long white hair. Joliet opened his mouth to defend his almoner, but had second thoughts when he saw the dark expression on Michael’s face. He led his friars away, although Hamo felt compelled to have the final word.

‘Mistake,’ he murmured to Michael as he passed. ‘Sorry.’

Meanwhile, Edith was still furious — about Segeforde’s lunge, Shirwynk’s goading, Anne’s response and Bartholomew’s perceived treachery. The brewer was the first to feel her tongue.

‘How dare you tell Zachary that we run a brothel,’ she barked, stalking towards him. ‘Perhaps I should visit Stephen and take out a case against you — for slander.’

‘You could try,’ sneered Shirwynk. ‘But no judge will convict me, because your dyeworks do contain prostitutes, and the men guarding them are repaid with sexual favours.’

‘The men are paid with coins from me,’ countered Edith icily. ‘I assure you, nothing immoral happens here. It is a respectable establishment.’

Shirwynk attempted a sardonic laugh, although it was short-lived in the face of Edith’s wrath. He became defensive. ‘Well, it was not me who started that tale. Kellawe was lying when he claimed it was: I never said any such thing.’

‘Insult us again and you will regret it,’ hissed Edith, so venomously that the brewer blanched and retreated to his domain. When the door had closed behind him, she spun on her heel and stamped inside her dyeworks. Bartholomew followed, keen for her to know that Michael and Morys had misquoted him. He opened his mouth to explain, but the stench was far worse inside than out, and it took his breath away.

‘It really is foul, Edith,’ he gasped, once he had stopped coughing. ‘It cannot be doing anyone any good, especially the women who work here. Can you not open some windows?’

‘We could,’ replied Edith coldly. ‘But that would let the smell out, and we would have more complaints than ever. Besides, we barely notice it now.’

Bartholomew looked around unhappily. Several buckets of evil-smelling waste stood near the door, almost certainly destined for the river, while he did not know how anyone could bear the toxic atmosphere in the annexe, where Yolande was stirring the fermenting woad.

‘This cannot continue,’ he said quietly, holding his ground when Edith glowered at him. ‘The protesters have a point: there have been mysterious deaths and illnesses over the last few weeks — roughly coinciding with the time that this place opened.’

Edith’s expression went from angry to sad, which was much harder for him to bear as she doubtless knew. ‘So you are against us, too?’

‘I am against people becoming unwell and dying unnecessarily.’

Edith pointed at the watching women. ‘If my dyeworks are responsible for making people sick, then why are they not ill? They work most closely with these so-called deadly compounds.’

Bartholomew glanced at them, and thought that he had never seen a healthier horde. Every one was rosy-cheeked and sleek, and it was clear that regular meals and daytime work was doing them a power of good.

‘If you want a culprit, look to your own profession,’ Edith went on. ‘Everyone who has died — Lenne, Irby, Frenge, Letia, Arnold, Mistress Vine — was visited by a physician first.’

‘You mean Nigellus?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He was not Mistress Vine’s medicus.’

‘No,’ agreed Edith. ‘You were.’

Bartholomew winced. ‘But I never saw her. I meant to go, but …’

‘She was tended by Meryfeld in her final hours,’ said Yolande. ‘I am sure she would have preferred you, but she was too ill to argue, and Vine did not want to send for a physician who has ties to us.’

‘But she had this debilitas, which only affects the wealthy,’ added Edith stiffly. ‘And as I said earlier, the waste from our dyes cannot distinguish between rich and poor, so I suggest you find something else to blame.’

And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

‘Come with me to talk to Shirwynk, Matt,’ said Michael when Bartholomew emerged despondently from the dyeworks. ‘I want to know why he is so violently opposed to our University. We have had our detractors in the past, but none as vehement as him.’

‘Will you talk to Anne first?’ asked Bartholomew, hopeful that trouble might yet be averted. ‘She did not seem particularly upset by what happened — until Robert mentioned compensation.’

‘I will visit her later, but the prospect of “free” money is attractive, and nothing I say will make any difference now.’ Michael rubbed a hand wearily across his face. ‘That stupid incident will do much harm. The town will be offended on her behalf, and scholars will rally to Segeforde, especially when he claims it was an accident.’

‘Perhaps it was. I did not see what happened.’

‘He did make a grab for her, although I doubt he intended to tear off her clothes. However, it is clear that she has a certain history with him.’