Death of a Scholar (49 page)

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Authors: Susanna Gregory

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Thriller & Suspense, #Historical Fiction, #_rt_yes, #_NB_Fixed

BOOK: Death of a Scholar
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‘Not that I saw.’ Uyten coughed when water went in his mouth. ‘But he is Provost. There is nothing he cannot organise.’

‘So where is he?’ Michael gestured at the deserted yard. ‘In fact, where is everyone?’

‘The students have gone?’ croaked Uyten, struggling to sit up. ‘The bastards! They could have dug me out first. They have been itching to join the fun outside for hours, but I have kept them in. I want them here to greet the founder when he arrives, you see.’

‘Where is Illesy?’ demanded Michael again.

‘Gone to the guildhall with his Fellows.’ Uyten began to pat himself all over to test for injuries. ‘Probably to consort with Potmoor and put some villainous plan into action.’

‘And what about
your
villainous plan? Let us start with the tale that Tulyet is beheaded.’

‘Oh,’ said Uyten sheepishly. ‘That was fast. Weasenham wastes no time.’

‘How could you have done such a thing?’ asked Bartholomew reproachfully. ‘Tulyet has a wife and child. How do you imagine they will feel when they hear this story?’

Uyten waved a dismissive paw. ‘Dickon will not care. The boy is a monster.’

There was a cut on one of his fingers, and as he peered worriedly at it, Bartholomew saw blisters on the palms of his hands, of the type that often appeared when some unaccustomed activity was undertaken. An activity like rowing.

‘It was you who paddled the boat up the King’s Ditch last night,’ he surmised. ‘You were not the one who collected the parcel from the tomb – that person was smaller.’

With detached fascination, he watched Uyten’s ponderous mind sort through its options: deny the charge, bluster or own up. In the end, the lad settled for a scowl.

‘You should not have left us a packet of nails. It was stupid. You have cost yourselves extra money, and another uncomfortable rumour into the bargain.’

Michael regarded him with dislike. ‘You had better cleanse your soul with a full confession, because you are bound for a very dark place indeed. That head wound looks nasty. Does it hurt?’

Alarm flashed in Uyten’s eyes as he raised a hand to his temple and it came away stained with blood. He gulped audibly. ‘Confession? You mean I am dying?’

‘It is time to make amends,’ said Michael. ‘But quickly. Time is short.’

The colour drained from Uyten’s face, leaving him so white that Bartholomew was almost moved to pity. ‘I did not mean to embark on such wicked business. I swear it!’

‘Start with Fulbut,’ ordered Michael. ‘And do not think of lying, because we already know the truth. Jekelyn told us everything.’

‘Oh, Lord, did he? I knew he could not be trusted. He is a slippery—’

‘You hired Fulbut to shoot my Junior Proctor,’ interrupted Michael. ‘But when he reneged on the agreement to leave Cambridge, you sent Jekelyn to murder him, lest he broke his silence.’

‘Yes, but the orders came from Illesy. He does not have the courage to deal with me face to face, so he writes notes and gets poor blind Bon to deliver them. Bon thinks they are reading lists and lecture notes. Illesy does not work alone, though. He has help from the Guild.’

‘Who?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Holm?’

‘Oh, certainly,’ gabbled Uyten, desperate to ingratiate. ‘Along with others. Richard Stanmore is easy to manipulate – a few careful words and he leapt at the chance to cause trouble. He thinks the town corrupted his father, although from what I understand, it was the other way around.’

‘How will having the town in flames benefit anyone?’ asked Michael, shooting Bartholomew a warning glance to prevent him from diverting the discussion by responding.

‘Simple – if the other Colleges are destroyed or weakened, Winwick can expand unfettered.’

‘I hardly think—’ began Bartholomew, seeing serious flaws in the plan.

‘Our founder wants it to be the biggest and best College in the country – a school of law founded by a lawyer, training men to rise to great power and influence. Illesy has a remit to do whatever is necessary to achieve it. He has been recruiting wealthy students as fast as he can, and he hates the fact that the Guild holds the purse strings. Please believe none of this is my fault.’

Bartholomew regarded him sceptically. ‘And what do you gain from all this?’

‘The founder promised to make me a prefect next year, and possibly even a Fellow.’ Uyten’s expression was bitter. ‘Then my family would
have
to acknowledge that I am no dunce.’

‘Oh, but I am afraid you are.’ Michael stood abruptly, and beckoned to his beadles. ‘He has told us all he knows. Take him away.’

Uyten gaped at him. ‘Take me away? But you cannot cart a dying man around!’

‘You are not dying,’ said Bartholomew. ‘In fact, you are barely hurt at all. It will take more than a bit of rubble to make an end of a brawny lad like you.’

‘You mean you tricked me?’ cried Uyten, as the beadles pulled him to his feet. ‘I am not destined for Hell after all?’

‘I imagine you are – just not yet,’ replied Michael. ‘When I said you were bound for a dark place, I was referring to the proctors’ gaol. Did you misunderstand? How unfortunate.’

‘Nothing I said will stand in a court of law,’ shouted Uyten desperately. ‘My “confession” was obtained by deception. You made me think I was dying, and promised absolution!’

‘I promised nothing,’ said Michael coldly. ‘You were complicit in killing my Junior Proctor, and I could never pardon you for that.’ He looked around him. ‘But Illesy and his Fellows are reckless to have gone out today. What will happen to their College while you are in gaol and all the other students have disappeared to cause mischief?’

‘You cannot let any harm befall Winwick just because Illesy is an incompetent villain!’ cried Uyten, distressed. ‘Let me go, Brother. I will stay here and protect it. Please! Our founder will be broken-hearted if his College is damaged.’

‘You should have thought of that before embarking on this wild plan,’ said Michael, indicating that his beadles were to haul the lad away. Uyten howled and writhed furiously, and they were hard-pressed to subdue him. Michael turned to Bartholomew. ‘We need to find Illesy – fast.’

‘We do, but Uyten is right: his testimony and Jekelyn’s will not convict someone who has made his living by outmanoeuvring the legal system. Unless you want Illesy to walk free, we need a more credible witness to stand against him. Such as one of his accomplices from the Guild.’

‘Do you have anyone particular in mind?’

‘Holm. He will turn King’s evidence to save his own neck.’

‘Why am I not surprised that you should choose him?’ muttered Michael.

The two scholars aimed for the surgeon’s house. It was difficult to keep their hoods up in the gusting wind, and whenever they blew back to reveal their faces, people glared. Bartholomew was grateful for the two beadles at their side, although he wished there were more. It had required three of them to drag a frantically struggling Uyten to the gaol, while another had been needed to inform Meadowman and his patrols of what was afoot.

‘We are going to be lynched,’ he muttered. ‘People are angry about Dick Tulyet.’

‘Not everyone.’ Michael was puffing hard at the rapid pace the physician was setting. ‘Isnard is waving a friendly greeting, and so is Ylaria Verius.’

It was a small ray of hope in an otherwise bleak situation.

‘Illesy,’ said Bartholomew, flinching when the wind ripped a tile from a roof and it smashed on the ground nearby. ‘I suppose we should have guessed.’

‘Yes,’ panted Michael. ‘Founding a new College is expensive, and he will need all the funds he can get. John Winwick and the Guild have been generous, but more will always be required. He blackmailed us for money, and I cannot help but wonder whether he persuaded his friend Potmoor to use his talent for theft – that the proceeds from all these burglaries are in Winwick’s coffers.’

‘Not all, Brother. Verius and Fulbut were responsible for some. And Illesy certainly would not have ordered Fulbut to commit crimes in the town – he wanted him dead or vanished, lest he was caught and decided to talk.’

‘True,’ acknowledged Michael. He sighed bitterly. ‘If we had not gone to Peterborough, none of this would have happened. I could have slowed everything down, thus allowing time for Winwick Hall’s money to be raised legitimately.’

‘You might have tried, but Felbrigge was shot when
he
attempted to introduce measures to curb its progress, and—’

He stopped when he saw Julitta, serene and beautiful in a pale blue dress and cream cloak. Knowing he would be unable to lie convincingly if she asked where he was going, he attempted to sidle past her, but she grabbed his hand and brought him to a standstill. Michael, wheezing and grateful for the respite, staggered to a halt beside them.

‘You two should not be out today,’ she chided, her lovely face creased with concern. ‘Not with all these silly tales about Sheriff Tulyet. I ordered Weasenham to desist, but it was too late. Go back to Michaelhouse and stay there until the town has something else to gossip about.’

‘Is your husband home?’ asked Michael, to prevent time being lost on a wasted journey.

‘Yes, with Hugo,’ replied Julitta. ‘They are discussing—’

‘Please excuse us,’ said the monk, beginning to trot again. ‘We are in a hurry.’

But he was still winded, so it was easy for Julitta to keep pace. At first he refused to say what was afoot, but she was a determined lady, and soon had the whole sorry story out of him.

‘Will has his failings, but he would never condone poisoning,’ she stated firmly. ‘Or setting churches alight. You are mistaken.’

‘Illesy is the mastermind behind all this trouble,’ said Bartholomew. ‘A man with sinister connections to Potmoor. And your husband spends a lot of time with Potmoor’s son…’

Julitta glared angrily at him. ‘And you think Will’s friendship with Hugo means he is part of this nasty affair? Well, you are wrong. He is not a brave man, no matter what impression he tries to give, and would never have the nerve to throw in his lot with poisoners and arsonists.’

‘Uyten said otherwise,’ rasped Michael, while Bartholomew thought Julitta’s defence was a poor indictment of Holm’s character – that she thought him innocent only because she considered him too cowardly for anything so daring as breaking the law.

‘Uyten is a ruffian,’ said Julitta tightly. ‘How can you believe anything he says? Will would never harm the town
or
the University.’

‘Yes, he would,’ countered Michael. ‘He hates scholars, because Matt and you…’

‘Are friends,’ finished Julitta. ‘Yes, he does not like the situation, but he is not so low as to wreak revenge by embroiling himself in a plot to murder people. However, I have never liked his association with Hugo, and I rue the day that Lawrence introduced them to each other.’


Lawrence
did?’

‘He is not only Potmoor’s personal physician, but his confidant and adviser. Potmoor and Illesy do nothing without
his
blessing.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew impatiently. ‘Lawrence is not involved.’

Julitta shot him an irritable, exasperated glance. ‘I know this is difficult, Matt, but look at the evidence. Lawrence says he wants to dedicate his evening years to teaching, but it is rumoured that his incompetence killed Queen Isabella—’

‘So what? Even if the tale is true, it does not make him a criminal.’

‘No, but it makes him a liar. And while he pretends to be kindly and amiable to his fellow
medici
, he steals their best patients behind their backs – just ask Meryfeld and Rougham. He has probably taken yours, too, but you are too busy to notice. Moreover, I have not forgotten that he quarrelled with Hemmysby. Did you ask him about that?’

‘Yes,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘He denied it.’

‘Well, there you are, then! More proof that he is not a truthful man. He is almost certainly Illesy’s helpmeet in whatever is unfolding.’

‘He probably just enjoys teaching,’ persisted Bartholomew stubbornly. ‘Like me.’

But Michael agreed with Julitta. ‘Men do not give up lucrative posts for no reason, and I have always been suspicious of Lawrence. I strongly suspect that he
did
fail the old Queen, and aims to worm his way back into royal favour by making a success of Winwick.’

Bartholomew looked from one to the other, unwilling to concede they might be right. ‘We still need to talk to Holm,’ was all he said, then broke into a run that had them both scrambling to keep up.

It did not take long to reach the surgeon’s elegant house on Bridge Street, and Julitta led the way into the cosy parlour where she and Bartholomew had spent so many enjoyable evenings while her husband was out. Holm and Hugo were standing on either side of the hearth, and it was clear that a disagreement was in progress.

‘We have very little time and a lot of questions,’ began Michael, too breathless from the rapid dash to provide explanations. ‘If you cooperate, I shall see what can be done to save you.’

‘Save us from what?’ Holm glanced uneasily at the two beadles who stood in the doorway. ‘We have done nothing wrong.’

‘Except peddle false cures,’ growled Hugo. He wore a sword, and Bartholomew was suddenly seized with the conviction that the situation was going to turn ugly.

‘Leave, Julitta,’ he said in a low, urgent voice. ‘Find somewhere safe to wait while—’

‘They are not false,’ snapped Holm. ‘You just did not follow the instructions properly.’

‘Lawrence says my gums might never recover from your stupid tooth-whitener,’ snarled Hugo. ‘And your remedy for gout made my grandmother worse. You are a fraud!’

‘Now just a moment,’ said Julitta indignantly, pulling away from Bartholomew, who was trying to manoeuvre her towards the door. ‘No one
forced
you to take Will’s medicines, Hugo.’

‘See?’ sneered Holm. ‘You only have yourself to blame. It—’

The end of his sentence dissolved into a squeal of alarm when Hugo whipped out his blade. The beadles surged forward to prevent a skewering, and there followed a vicious exchange of blows. Michael snatched up a poker and waded into the affray, while Bartholomew hauled out his trusty forceps, shouting again for Julitta to leave. He had taken no more than a step forward when Holm moved. The surgeon had a dagger, and Bartholomew only just managed to avoid the swipe intended to disembowel him. Holm prepared to strike again, but the physician was quicker. He lunged with his forceps and knocked Holm to his knees.

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