A Plague on Both Your Houses (15 page)

Lord Bishop. We felt that Augustus would not wish such a joyous occasion to be brought to an early conclusion on his account’

The Bishop looked at Swynford narrowly before

returning his attention to Wilson. ‘And what did you do after you left the hall, Master Wilson?’ he continued.

“I walked with Master Alcote to our room. I only

moved into the Master’s room today; last night I was

in my old room. We talked for a while about Augustus,

and then we went to sleep.’

‘Does this tally with your memory?’ the Bishop asked

Alcote.

The nervous little man nodded, looking even more

like a hen than usual. ‘Yes, we talked until the candle expired, and then went to sleep. Neither of us went out, or knew any more, until the next morning.’

‘Father Aelfrith?’

“I left the hall and went straight to Augustus’s room, where I stayed all night. At some point, I heard a noise and went to check Brother Paul, who had been ill. He

was asleep, and none of the other commoners had yet

returned. I went back to my prayers, and was hit on the head from behind. I heard nothing and saw nothing.

The next thing I recall was being helped up by Doctor

Bartholomew.’

‘Master Swynford?’

“I left the hall with Father William, and Masters

Alcote and Wilson. I saw Brother Michael and Doctor

Bartholomew walking together across the courtyard to

their staircase. I went straight to my room and went to sleep. I am afraid that because I room alone, I have no alibi,’ he said with an apologetic smile.

‘Who else lives on your staircase?’ the Bishop

enquired.

‘Father William lives downstairs from me.’

‘Father, what were your movements?’

“I left the hall and went directly to my room. I saw

Master Swynford go past moments later and disappear

up the stairs. I share a room with three others of my

Order, students, who left the feast when I did. All four of us prayed throughout the night for Augustus’s soul, as did Father Aelfrith.’

‘If Master Swynford had left his room during the

night, would you have heard him?’

“I believe so, my Lord Bishop,’ said William, after

a moment’s consideration. ‘The night was humid. We

did not want our voices to disturb others who were

sleeping, and so the window shutters were closed, but

the door was open to allow us some air. I am certain

we would have heard if Master Swynford came down

the stairs.’

‘There is your alibi, Master Swynford,’ said the

Bishop. ‘Doctor Bartholomew, where were you?’

“I went back to my room, checked on the blacksmith

- he had had his leg broken in the skirmish outside

the gates,’ he added hastily, seeing the Bishop raise his eyebrows. “I was tired and went to sleep straight away. I do not know when Giles returned. I rose while it was still quite dark, and, seeing the candle in Augustus’s room, went to offer to relieve Father Aelfrith. I fought with someone and was pushed down the stairs. I could find no trace of him when I went to look, and then discovered that what I had assumed to be Augustus’s body lying on the floor was actually Father Aelfrith, and Augustus had gone.’

‘So you have no one who can confirm where you

were all night?’ asked the Bishop.

Bartholomew shook his head and saw Wilson

exchange smug glances with Alcote.

‘Brother Michael?’ said the Bishop.

Michael shrugged. ‘Like our physician, I have no

alibi. We walked to our staircase together. I saw him

check the disgusting man with the broken leg, and go

into his own room. I went upstairs. My room-mates

were enjoying Master Wilson’s good wine in the hall, and were still enjoying it when dawn broke this morning. I was alone all night.’

‘And finally you, Master Abigny. What have you

to say?’

“I was in the company of Michael’s two room-mates

and the other students until I was too drunk to stay awake any longer,’ Abigny announced cheerfully, ignoring

Wilson’s look of anger. ‘The same two Benedictines

took time from their roistering to help me to my room, where I remember nothing until woken by Alexander

with stories of missing bodies and murder.’ He sat

back indolently, and Bartholomew knew that his entire

demeanour was carefully calculated to annoy Wilson as

much as possible.

‘Let us summarise,’ said the Bishop, ignoring

Abigny’s display. ‘Everyone’s movements can be vouched for except Bartholomew, Aelfrith, and Michael. Aelfrith could not have hit himself on the head from behind,

and Bartholomew saw him lying on the floor before he

engaged in his struggle.

‘So, what we have left is a mystery. There is no

doubt that evil deeds were committed, and that two

men died. I find it difficult to believe that Doctor Bartholomew would mistake a living man for a corpse, but these things happen, especially after copious

amounts of Master Wilson’s good wine.’ He raised his

hand to stall the objection that Bartholomew was about to voice. He had had very little to drink the night before, chiefly because he did not feel Wilson’s succession of Sir John good cause for celebration.

‘Augustus, whether dead or alive, has gone. We may

never know whether he was innocent or guilty of murder.

It is imperative that this business is done with as quickly as possible. Neither your College nor the University can afford to have gossip about missing corpses and murders.

You know what would happen - wealthy families would

decline to send their sons here, and the University would eventually cease to exist altogether.’

Bartholomew shot a quick look at Aelfrith sitting

next to him, echoes of their conversation coming back

to him. Perhaps Aelfrith was right, and the whole affair was a plot by rivals to strike at the very foundations of the University.

The Bishop looked at each of the Fellows in turn

before continuing. ‘Neither you nor I has a choice in

this matter. I have already spoken with the Chancellor and he agrees with me as to the course of action that

must be taken. I repeat that you have no choice in this matter. There will be a funeral service for Augustus the day after tomorrow. It will be said that his body was

discovered in the orchard, where he had been hiding.

The excitement of the installation was too much for him, and had addled his wits. There are, I believe, medical conditions that make a living man appear as a corpse.

Augustus was afflicted by this and was pronounced dead by the College physician. He later awoke from this trance, and struck Aelfrith from behind while he was praying.

He ran down the stairs and slipped through the College buildings to the orchard, where he later died. Brother Paul, who had become depressed with his illness, took

his own life. The other commoner…’ The Bishop waved his hand impatiently.

‘Montfitchet,’ offered Wilson in a small voice, the

enormity of what was being asked shaking him out of

his usual smugness.

‘Montfitchet, yes. Montfitchet died of his own

excesses. The commoners have already attested to

that. The man made a pig of himself all night,

despite complaining of stomach pains caused by his

gluttony. And that, Fellows of Michaelhouse, is what

the world will be told happened here. There will be no rumours of evil in the College,’ he said, looking hard at the Franciscans, ‘and no tales of dead bodies walking in the night to murder their colleagues.’

He sat back to indicate that he had finished speaking.

The conclave was totally silent, as the Fellows let his words sink in. The clerks, usually furiously scribbling when the Bishop spoke, sat ominously still. No record was being made of this meeting.

Bartholomew looked at the Bishop aghast. So, the

Church and the University were prepared to cover

the whole thing up, to smother the truth in a thick

blanket of lies.

‘No!’ he cried, leaping to his feet, wincing as his

injured knee took his weight. Ttwould be wrong! Brother Paul was a good man, and you cannot condemn him

to a grave in unconsecrated soil and allow his and

Montfitchet’s murderer to walk free!’

The Bishop rose, his eyes hard with anger, although

his face remained calm.’ Brother Paul will be buried in the churchyard, Doctor,’ he said. “I will grant him a special dispensation in view of his age and state of mind.’

‘But what of his murderer?’ Bartholomew persisted,

unappeased.

‘There was no murderer,’ said the Bishop softly.

‘You heard what I said. One suicide, and two deaths by misadventure.’

‘The servants already know Paul was murdered!

They saw his body! And there are already rumours

around the town.’

‘Then you must make certain that no such rumours

are given credence. You mustprey on people’ s sympathies - a poor old man, lying alone listening to the celebrations in the hall. He decides to release his soul to the Lord so that he will no longer be an encumbrance to his College.

Master Wilson tells me that there was a note saying as much found in Paul’s hand.’

Bartholomew stared at Wilson in shock. The plan was

becoming more and more elaborate with each passing

moment. Wilson refused to meet Bartholomew’s eyes

and busied himself twisting the rings on his fat fingers.

“I agree with Bartholomew.’ Swynford was also

on his feet. ‘This plan is not only foolhardy, but

dangerous. If ever the truth were to be found out,

we would all hang!’

‘You will hang for treason if you do not comply,’

said the Bishop casually, sitting down again. “I have

already informed you that the University cannot afford a scandal. There are many at King’s Hall who enjoy

the King’s protection, who will consider any dissent in this matter to be a deliberate act of defiance towards the Crown.’

Swynford sat down hastily. He was well-enough

connected with the University’s power-brokers to know

that this was not an idle threat. Bartholomew thought

back to Aelfrith’s words. The King, and his father before him, had invested money and power in King’s Hall; any

weakening of the University would injure their institution too, and no King liked to discover that he had made a

poor choice in where he invested his authority.

‘But what if Augustus’s body is discovered after

we “bury” it?’ Bartholomew asked anxiously, his

mind running through a wealth of possibilities in

which the Michaelhouse Fellows would be discovered

and exposed.

‘Augustus will not be recovered, Doctor Bartholomew,’

said the Bishop smoothly. “I am sure I

can rely on you all to see to that.’

Bartholomew swallowed. ‘But this is against the laws

of the Church and the State, and I will not do it,’ he said quietly.

‘Against the laws of the Church and the State?’ said

the Bishop musingly. ‘And who do you think makes these laws?’ His voice became hard. ‘The King makes the laws of the State, and the Bishops make the laws of the Church.

You have no choice.’

“I will resign my fellowship,’ persisted Bartholomew,

‘rather than be a part of this.’

‘There will be no resignations,’ said the Bishop.

‘We can afford no scandal. Now, we must come to some

arrangement. Master Wilson informs me that you wish

for a larger room for your medical consultations and

an increase in your stipend

‘And I will not be bribed!’ retorted Bartholomew

angrily.

The Bishop’s face turned white with anger

and Bartholomew knew that his protestations had

touched a raw nerve. He stood again and advanced

on Bartholomew.

“I see you have a bad leg, Doctor. Perhaps you would

like to return with me to Ely so that my barber-surgeon can treat it? Perhaps there we can persuade you of your wisest course of action.’ He gave Bartholomew one of the coldest smiles the physician had ever seen, and pushed him back down onto the bench.

William grabbed Bartholomew’s arm as the Bishop

walked back to his chair. ‘For God’s sake, man! ‘he hissed.

‘The Bishop is being more than patient! He could hang

you for treason right now, and if you force him to take you with him to Ely, you can be sure that you will not return the same man!’

Aelfrith nodded vigorously. ‘Remember what I said

to you,’ he whispered. ‘There are forces at work here of which you have no idea. Your life will not be worth a fig if you do not comply.’

‘Now,’ the Bishop began again, having controlled

himself somewhat, “I will require all here to take an oath that you will act as I have suggested. Master Wilson.’

The Bishop extended his hand, and Wilson stood

slowly and knelt in front of the Bishop. He took the

proffered hand.

“I swear, by all that I hold holy, that I will do everything in my power to save the College, the University,

and the King’s name from disrepute. I will tell no one of the events of last night other than as you suggest.’ He kissed the seal on the Bishop’s ring, bowed, and left the hall without looking back. For the first time since he had known him, Bartholomew felt sorry for Wilson. As

Master, he had obviously been held responsible for the events of the night, and would have a formidable task in ensuring the Bishop’s fabric of lies was accepted outside the College.

The Bishop eyed Swynford, who rose and swore

the same oath. Bartholomew’s thoughts were in turmoil.

How could he make such a promise? It would be a

betrayal of Sir John, Augustus, Paul, and Montfitchet.

He would be saying that he, one of the most highly