A Poisonous Plot

‘All I can say is that he lived for some time after he was attacked. He lay a while by the altar, but managed to rise and lurch to the door. I could tell by the way the blood had splattered.’

Michael regarded him in distaste. ‘What a ghoul you are!’

‘Most people in his position would have called for help or staggered out to find some, but he stayed in the chapel.’

‘He probably wanted to die in a holy place. He was a friar — these things are important.’

Bartholomew shook his head slowly. ‘Perhaps, but something is not right about the affair. He spoke one word — “all” — but what did it mean? He did not look as though he was praying to the Almighty.’

‘Then perhaps Overe was right, and he started to say aliteum — a crime.’

‘He would not have wasted his final breath stating the obvious,’ said Bartholomew impatiently. ‘And why did he not just tell us who stabbed him?’

‘The chapel was dark and he was stabbed from behind. He may not have seen his attacker.’

But Bartholomew remained troubled. ‘I cannot shake the conviction that he was trying to convey a message in that final word — one he mistakenly thought I understood. I have the sense that I have failed him.’

‘Then let us return to the friary now. Perhaps he left a clue, and all will become clear in the full light of day.’

Bartholomew and Michael were about to leave Michaelhouse when the gate opened, and Joliet and Robert walked in. Both were pale, and Joliet’s red eyes suggested he had been crying.

‘You need not teach today,’ said Langelee kindly. ‘Not after the nasty shock you had last night. I know from experience what it is like to lose a colleague. Go home and pray for his soul.’

Joliet looked away. ‘You are good, Master Langelee. However, we did not come to work, but to ask what Brother Michael plans to do about finding Hamo’s killer.’

‘All I can,’ replied Michael simply. ‘So perhaps we can walk to the friary now, to view the chapel in daylight.’

Joliet smiled wanly. ‘I hoped you would, so we shut it up after we took Hamo to the charnel house. No one has been in it since.’

They walked to the High Street, where they were hailed by Gilby, the dim-witted priest from White Hostel. He was riding on a cart that was piled high with his belongings. He was grey-faced, and one hand was clasped to his stomach.

‘I have the debilitas,’ he whimpered. ‘I do not want to die, so I have decided to leave Cambridge while I can. Three other scholars from White will follow me this afternoon, along with four from Trinity Hall and two from Peterhouse.’

‘We shall be sorry to lose you,’ lied Michael. ‘Where will you go?’

‘The Fens,’ replied Gilby with a vague flap of his hand. ‘We shall establish a new University where members can be free of poison — of the body and the mind. In time, this one will fade into oblivion, and we shall be regarded as the true studium generale.’

‘Are you sure it is wise to travel while you are ill?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Of course it is,’ said Michael quickly, scowling at him. He turned back to the priest with a bright smile. ‘Go and found your university, Gilby. I wish you every success.’

‘I do not want to leave,’ said Gilby, eyes narrowing when he saw the monk was glad to be rid of him. ‘But your ineptitude as Senior Proctor leaves me no choice. And do not come crying to me when the town destroys you, because you will not be welcome.’ He turned to the Austins. ‘But you will.’

‘Thank you,’ said Joliet. He glanced nervously around him. ‘If the town continues to descend into chaos, you might be seeing us sooner than you know.’

‘How can you think of going?’ asked Michael reproachfully. ‘What about the paupers who rely on you — the ones you starved yourselves to feed last winter, and who you will help with the money you have earned by teaching and painting at Michaelhouse?’

Joliet looked away. ‘I pity them, but I must consider the safety of my people. This week has proved beyond all doubt that the town loathes us, despite all our sacrifices.’

‘And one of them killed Hamo,’ added Robert. ‘We cannot fight such deeply held hatred.’

‘You are quite right,’ agreed Gilby. ‘So do not wait too long before joining us.’

He cracked the reins and the vehicle rumbled forward. Another followed, bearing two men from Gonville Hall, one of whom was the drunken Osborne. Both looked wan.

‘Where they will sleep?’ asked Bartholomew, watching the wagons clatter away. Joliet and Robert dropped behind to talk in low voices, obviously giving serious consideration to Gilby’s invitation. ‘All are used to comfort, and I doubt they will enjoy bedding down under a cart, especially if they are ill.’

‘They will not sleep under a cart,’ predicted Michael. ‘I suspect they will aim for a specific location — one the strategist has already chosen. A settlement left empty after the plague, perhaps.’