A Poisonous Plot

It was Suttone’s turn to officiate at Mass, and as he was inclined to be wordy, it went on longer than usual. The scholars arrived home to see smoke billowing from the kitchen, and the breakfast pottage was full of crunchy black bits. Agatha had attempted to disguise the damage with an additional dose of salt and a generous sprinkling of parsley.

‘Perhaps we should go to the Fens,’ said Michael, poking at the mess without enthusiasm. ‘Living off the land cannot be worse than this. I am glad no benefactor is here to see what we really eat, or he might be forgiven for thinking we will not last the term.’

‘We won’t,’ said Langelee in a low, strained voice. ‘Our creditors are demanding payment, and our coffers are empty. Word will soon spread that we cannot pay our debts, and that will be the end of us. If we had secured even one donation, we might have weathered the storm, but we have won nothing.’

‘It is your fault,’ said William sullenly to Michael. ‘The University has never been so unpopular, and as Senior Proctor, you should have taken steps to maintain good relations.’

‘The town does hate us,’ agreed Suttone unhappily. ‘Our College is usually exempt from animosity, because Matt tends the poor and Michael feeds the choir. But those vile dyeworks are owned by Matt’s sister, while Michael keeps arresting people for breaching the peace.’

‘At least we have a nice mural to look at in our final days as Fellows,’ said Clippesby, who was holding a pot on his lap, in which swam several fish. ‘Aristotle, Plato, Galen and Aquinas, all teaching eager students.’

‘It is a nice mural,’ said Suttone sadly. ‘And I like that oak tree — it reminds me of the one I used to scale when I was a boy.’

‘I wish we had commissioned a tapestry instead,’ said Langelee, after a brief silence during which they all tried to imagine the portly Suttone ever being lithe enough to climb anything. ‘We could have sold a tapestry, but we cannot sell a wall.’

‘The mural was Wauter’s idea,’ said William bitterly. ‘Perhaps he realises it was sheer folly, and that is why he has disappeared.’

‘I searched his room,’ said Langelee. ‘His Martilogium has gone, which makes me suspect that he plans to be away for some time — perhaps even permanently.’

When the meal was over, even the abstemious Bartholomew felt the need for something else to eat, so he went to see what Michael had in his private pantry. He tended not to buy spare food — called commons — himself because he either forgot it was there or his students got to it first. He was impressed when Michael produced smoked ham, an excellent cheese, several boiled eggs and half a loaf of bread. Obligingly, his students went to the hall to study, leaving the two Fellows alone to discuss their investigation. Michael began.

‘Our culprit — I shall call him the strategist, on account of the cunning way he manipulates us all — knows exactly how to stir up trouble between University and town, both with real events and with rumours.’

Bartholomew agreed. ‘Our so-called removal to the Fens; what or who is causing the debilitas; the murder of Frenge. All have aggravated the situation, especially when combined with the ill-feeling about the various lawsuits and the dyeworks.’

‘I visited every convent in Cambridge last night, and all had received an anonymous letter urging them to persuade the Austins to sue Hakeney.’

‘Then our culprit is Stephen,’ said Bartholomew promptly. ‘He is the one who will profit from all this legal activity.’

‘I managed to catch him in a tavern last night, and he says he had a missive as well. I am inclined to believe him. However, even the Senior Proctor is fallible, so he had better remain on our list of suspects for now.’

Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘These messages prove the strategist exists — that someone is prepared to do whatever it takes to achieve his ends.’

‘Even kill,’ said Michael sombrely.

‘I do not suppose Stephen or the priors showed you these letters, did they? In other words, could you match the writing to any of our suspects?’

‘None of the priors kept them, while Stephen was in the Cardinal’s Cap, and so not in a position to oblige. However, Hamo saw the one that was sent to Joliet, so perhaps he was killed because he recognised the hand.’ Michael regarded Bartholomew soberly. ‘He would have recognised Wauter’s — a fellow Austin.’

‘I suppose he would,’ acknowledged Bartholomew reluctantly.

‘So let us consider what happened in the chapel last night. Hamo went to prepare it for vespers. He was alone, and while he was there, someone slipped in and stabbed him. He was no weakling, so his attacker either approached very stealthily or it was someone Hamo did not perceive as a threat. Such as a colleague.’

‘But no one else saw Wauter in the convent last night.’

‘Because the culprit entered via the broken back gate, as you yourself discovered. Of course, it could just be a townsman, aiming to win justice for Frenge. Did Hamo’s body provide any clues?’