A Poisonous Plot

‘We had better visit the Austins next,’ said Michael, glancing up at the sky as he and Bartholomew left Water Lane. The light was beginning to fade, and it would be dark soon. ‘Robert offered to ask the other friars if they know where Wauter might have gone, and we are in desperate need of answers — I sense time fast running out for us.’

They began to hurry towards the friary, using lanes rather than the main streets, to reduce the possibility of running into trouble. Michael’s beadles and Tulyet’s soldiers were everywhere, faces strained as they struggled to prevent skirmishes from breaking out. It was time for vespers, which meant scholar-priests were obliged to go to church. They assembled in large groups to walk there, and Bartholomew despaired when he saw how many were armed. He had no doubt that word was out that Kellawe would absolve anyone obliged to use weapons, and was glad that Cynric had agreed not to leave Edith’s side until the crisis was over.

‘There will be trouble before the night is out,’ predicted Michael. ‘I can sense it building. It is an unpleasant feeling, being pulled this way and that like a puppet — one no Senior Proctor should experience. Yet I do not know how to stop it.’

‘Yes, we are puppets,’ agreed Bartholomew soberly. ‘Because I think you are right to see a connection between the murders, the lawsuits and the aggravation at the dyeworks — everything is designed to exacerbate the tension between University and town. Whoever is behind it is very clever — more than us, I fear.’

‘Not more than me,’ declared Michael indignantly. He took a deep breath, and Bartholomew saw his resolve strengthen. ‘I am the Senior Proctor, and no one — whether it is Wauter or anyone else — is going to harm my University.’

Filled with new determination, he strode the rest of the way to the convent, this time not bothering to slink along alleys. He walked openly and confidently, and those whose hearts quickened at the prospect of catching him while he was virtually alone and unprotected quickly melted away when they read what was in his face.

The priory was locked when he and Bartholomew arrived, and it was some time before his knock was answered. Then the door swung open to reveal the friars standing in an uncertain semicircle beyond, wielding an eclectic array of ‘weapons’. Most were wildly impractical, and included a ladle, a trumpet and part of a spinning wheel. Hamo, whose bulk might have been a deterrent in itself, was not among them.

‘We do not feel safe here any longer,’ said Joliet, who gripped a chair leg in his good hand; the other was still cradled in the orange sling. ‘Folk are angry that a townsman was murdered in our grounds, and we have been discussing an escape to the Fens — while we still can.’

‘There is no need,’ said Michael briskly. ‘The tension will ease. It always does.’

‘Until the next time,’ said Robert bitterly. He alone of the friars was not brandishing something with which to hit someone. ‘When it will start all over again. We are tired of it, Brother. We have done our best with alms and charity, even when it has meant personal hardship, yet still the town turns against us.’

‘Because you are suing Hakeney,’ said Michael curtly. ‘A poor man who will never be able to pay whatever the courts decide.’

‘I would withdraw the suit,’ said Joliet. ‘But the other Orders say that if I do, everyone will think that priests are fair game for robbers. They threatened to denounce us if we weakened.’

‘So?’ shrugged Michael. ‘You are an independent house. You do not need their blessing.’

‘But we do, Brother,’ whispered Joliet. ‘We would be sacked for certain if word leaked out that the other convents will not come to our aid in the event of trouble.’

‘And besides,’ added Robert, ‘Hakeney ripped the cross from my neck with considerable force. It would be cowardly to pretend it did not happen. Yet there might be a way …’

‘Yes?’ asked Michael sharply.

‘We could put the matter in the Bishop’s hands and let him decide the outcome. He is neither scholar nor townsman, and thus the perfect arbiter.’

‘What an excellent notion!’ cried Joliet. ‘I shall write first thing in the morning, with your permission, Brother.’

‘Granted,’ said Michael in relief, a sentiment that was echoed in the faces of all the Austins. ‘I shall tell Stephen to forget your case until we have the Bishop’s reply. It was criminally reckless of him to recommend this course of action.’

‘It was not just Stephen,’ said Robert. ‘There was also a letter …’

‘A letter?’

‘From someone who just signed himself as a well-wisher,’ explained the almoner. ‘Hamo found it shoved under our front gate.’

‘Prior Etone of the Carmelites had one as well,’ added Joliet. ‘It urged him to convince us to sue.’ He glanced at Robert. ‘Personally, I suspect both were from Stephen, touting for business, although he denies it, of course.’

‘Do you still have this missive?’ asked Michael urgently.