‘We have the right to go wherever we please,’ declared Morys. ‘However, in the light of what happened, we have advised all University men to arm themselves. We have also recommended that they do not wear their academic tabards, on the grounds that it makes them too visible a target. I have already seen a number of lads following our advice.’
‘Then the proctors’ coffers will soon be overflowing,’ said Michael. ‘And speaking of fines, you owe three shillings for the fracas last night. If you do not pay by noon tomorrow, I shall send beadles to seize the equivalent amount in goods. I am sure you have plenty of books we can take.’
Morys was furious. ‘You cannot! The Chancellor will not permit it.’
‘You have already summoned his mother, so he has nothing to gain by opposing me now.’ Michael smiled archly. ‘You should have confined yourself to threats, because then he would have been yours to manipulate as long as you wanted. You made a tactical error, Morys.’
‘How dare you-’ began Morys, but Michael overrode him.
‘Have any of you seen Wauter? He has disappeared, and while you may look the other way while your scholars wander where they please, we have rules at Michaelhouse. Unless Wauter returns immediately, he will lose his Fellowship.’
‘We no longer consider him a friend,’ said Kellawe sullenly. ‘He made a serious mistake when he abandoned us for another foundation. As far as I am concerned, he is dead.’
‘Figuratively speaking,’ added Morys quickly, shooting his colleague a warning glance. ‘We do not mean him physical harm, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ agreed Michael flatly. ‘But when he was still alive in your eyes, did you ever talk about the University moving to the Fens?’
The Zachary men exchanged glances that were impossible to interpret.
‘No,’ replied Kellawe shiftily. ‘But we are not discussing him or anything else with you. Now go away or we will-’
He was interrupted by the sound of a door being thrust open, after which Cynric burst in.
‘A number of scholars have marched against the dyeworks,’ the book-bearer gasped. ‘And Mistress Stanmore needs you to disperse them.’
Bartholomew was out of Zachary before Cynric had finished speaking, deftly jigging away when the book-bearer tried to grab his arm to explain further. However, Cynric had dealt with far more awkward customers than agitated physicians, and Bartholomew had not gone far down Water Lane before he found himself jerked roughly to a standstill. He tried in vain to struggle free.
‘Mistress Stanmore is safely inside with the door locked,’ Cynric said briskly, ‘as are her ladies and their guards. They are in no danger, but
Bartholomew wanted to argue, but the monk was puffing towards them anyway, a dozen beadles at his heels. Gripping the physician’s sleeve to ensure he did not outrun them, Cynric fell in behind. They arrived to find thirty or so scholars in a howling throng in front of the dyeworks. All had demonstrated there before, but never at the same time.
Bartholomew felt the cold hand of fear grip him. Was it coincidence that they should all decide to come at once, or had someone whispered in suggestible ears?
‘Here comes Zachary to swell their number,’ muttered Michael. ‘Damn it, Cynric! I wish you had taken us outside before announcing what was happening.’
It was not just scholars who were massing in the square. So were a number of townsmen, led by Hakeney, who brazenly sported Robert’s cross around his neck. As it would be like a red flag to a bull if the demonstrating scholars saw it, Bartholomew went to suggest that he tuck it inside his tunic. Only when the townsmen surrounded him menacingly did it occur to him that it had been stupid to move away from the beadles.
‘No, I will not hide it,’ snarled Hakeney indignantly. ‘I
The townsmen closed in even tighter, and Bartholomew braced himself for a trouncing, but suddenly Cynric was among them, hand on the sword at his side.
‘We were just talking,’ said Hakeney quickly, evidently aware of the Welshman’s military prowess. ‘No harm has been done, eh, Bartholomew? But you had better go and defend Brother Michael — those scholars look ready to attack him.’
He was right: tempers were running high in the University faction. The situation was aggravated by Kellawe, who directed a stream of invective not only against the dyeworks, but also against some of his fellow protesters. Bartholomew wondered if the Franciscan would be quite so vociferous if someone took a swipe at his pugnacious jaw and broke it.
‘We want those whores out!’ he screeched. ‘They are not welcome near Zachary. Put them by White Hostel instead — their members are not fussy about the company they keep.’