A Poisonous Plot

‘She has a “certain history” with Stephen, Frenge and Wayt, too. Indeed, I wonder whether you and I are the only two men in Cambridge she does not count among her conquests.’

Michael made no reply as he hammered on the brewery door, although there was a distinct pink flush to the plump cheeks. He continued to pound, loudly enough to prevent Bartholomew from asking questions, until Peyn came to answer it.

‘Have you come for a drink?’ Peyn asked insolently, staggering as Michael shoved past him. ‘What will you sup? Apple wine or ale?’

‘Neither — not with you,’ retorted Michael. ‘Latet anguis in herba, to quote Virgil.’

Peyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘He said that about me? Perhaps I should sue him.’

‘You could try,’ said Michael caustically. ‘But he has been dead fourteen hundred years, so I doubt even Stephen will recommend it.’ He saw Peyn’s blank look and became impatient. ‘He was a Roman poet. Do you have no education? I doubt the clerks at Westminster will be impressed.’

‘Of course I know the poet Virgin,’ declared Peyn. ‘I read his verses when I am here at night, guarding the brewery against marauding scholars. He just slipped my mind.’

‘Then maybe you should drink less apple wine,’ said Michael, regarding him with dislike.

‘I never drink any apple wine,’ said Peyn sullenly. ‘I dislike sweet things.’

‘You prefer mud, which you enjoy lobbing at scholars. It was fortunate you missed Wayt yesterday, or you would have spent the night in my cells.’

‘Fortunate for you,’ sneered Peyn. ‘Because if you had laid so much as a finger on me, my new employers at the Treasury would have come here and crushed you like a worm. So perhaps you had better take your nasty University to the Fens, Brother — it is a place where you cannot get yourself into so much trouble.’

‘Was it you who started that ridiculous rumour?’ asked Michael in disgust. ‘I imagine it came from the town, because no scholar is foolish enough to have invented such a tale.’

‘I had nothing to do with it, but it is true. If you will not go of your own accord, then you will have to leave once these lawsuits begin in earnest — King’s Hall prosecuting us, us hitting back, and Anne suing Zachary. And if they do not force you out, the people suffering from the debilitas will do it — folk who are sick because his sister opened a dyeworks.’

Peyn jabbed an accusing finger at Bartholomew and stalked out, slamming the door behind him with a noisy crack. Thinking they had been left unattended, Michael was about to indulge in a prowl when Shirwynk emerged from the shadows.

‘My son makes very good points, Brother,’ the brewer said smugly.

‘Your son is a fool,’ retorted Michael. ‘As are you, spreading lies about the dyeworks and encouraging Anne to sue Zachary. Do you want the town ablaze? What is wrong with you?’

‘Nothing is wrong with me,’ replied Shirwynk coolly. ‘I just do not appreciate having my town infested with scholars. I want you gone.’

‘Then you are going to be disappointed, because we are here to stay. But you have done business with us for years, so what has turned you against us all of a sudden?’

‘It is not all of a sudden,’ snarled Shirwynk. ‘I have always disliked you, and the whole town feels the same. Now get off my property before my apprentices remove you forcibly.’

‘I have questions,’ said Michael, not moving. ‘And if you will not answer me, the Sheriff will put them to you instead. He will arrest you and keep you in a cell until he is ready, but he is a busy man, and it might be days before he finds the time. Will Peyn delay his journey to Westminster, to make ale and apple wine while you are indisposed?’

Shirwynk scowled, trapped. ‘Questions about what?’

‘About your wife. I find it odd that she and Frenge died on the same day.’

‘It was a nuisance. Do you have any idea how much burials cost? And I had to fund two — no joke, when I have Stephen’s bills to pay as well. But all will be well when I win my case against King’s Hall, because then I shall have more money than I can count.’

‘Frenge was frightened of you,’ said Michael, when he saw the brewer was not going to tell him anything useful about Letia. ‘He-’

Shirwynk interrupted him with a braying laugh. ‘Rubbish! We were the best of friends.’

‘Really?’ asked Michael archly. ‘That is not what you said when we first discussed your relationship with him. Then you gave the impression that you were no more than working colleagues — men who endured each other’s company for the sake of the business.’

‘You misunderstood,’ said Shirwynk sullenly. ‘We were fond of each other.’

‘Then why did you encourage him to invade King’s Hall?’

‘Not this again,’ groaned Shirwynk. ‘I would not have done it had I known those humourless rogues would respond by killing him. It is them you should be persecuting, not me. They are probably the ones stealing our apple wine, too. Some disappears almost every night, despite the precautions we take to repel burglars.’