To Kill or Cure (34 page)

‘I cannot,’ said Michael shortly. ‘It would not be right to turn a blind eye to murder.’

‘Then I want my objections made public,’ said Honynge. ‘I want it recorded in the College annals that I consider this exhumation
wicked and unnecessary.’

‘Honynge is right,’ said Tyrington shyly. ‘Although I would not have phrased my reservations quite so baldly. The whole business
does not seem proper, somehow.’

Langelee sighed. ‘We had better vote on it. We shall meet back here in an hour, which will give us all time to reflect. It
is not something that should be decided without proper consideration.’

‘You can vote,’ said Michael. ‘But I am Senior Proctor, and I shall do what I think is right.’

‘You may be Senior Proctor, but you are also a Fellow of Michaelhouse,’ said Langelee quietly. ‘And I assert my authority
over you to bide by the decision of your colleagues.’

Michael was furious as he stamped from the conclave.

‘I cannot believe
you
are against me, Matt!’ The monk was almost shouting as he and Bartholomew walked towards Peterhouse, aiming to ascertain
whether there were other aspects to Lynton’s character that had been kept from the general populace.

‘And I cannot believe you are contemplating exhumation,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘It is horrible.’

‘You have done it before.’

‘Not to someone close to me.’

‘He has only been dead six days. I do not think you will see anything too distressing.’

‘That is not the point. Kenyngham was laid to
rest
. That does not mean hauled out of his tomb a few days later because you are beguiled by some lunatic letter.’

‘It bragged about the murder of a colleague. How can you remain dispassionate about it?’

‘For two reasons. First, the confession is false – Wynewyk is right, someone is trying to hurt you because of the rent war.
And secondly, you will not learn anything by unearthing Kenyngham anyway. I examined him twice and saw nothing amiss.’

Michael looked sly. ‘The fact that you went back for a second paw means there was something about the first examination that
bothered you. You are not as sure about this as you claim to be.’

‘Motelete,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘I thought he was dead, and was shocked when he sat up in his coffin. It made me question
myself – especially after Arderne’s claims about my competence.’

Michael’s anger faded when he saw the unhappiness in his friend’s face. ‘I would not take
his
criticism to heart. He is a … oh, Lord! Here comes Isnard. He is holding a sword, so I recommend you stand behind me. He will
not strike a man of God – especially one who is his choirmaster.’

‘Let me at him!’ shouted Isnard, hobbling faster than was safe for a man with one leg. ‘I said I would kill him the next time
we met. Well, we
have
met.’

His voice was loud, and people hurried to see what was happening. Before Michael could stop them, Kardington, Spaldynge and
a group of students from Clare had come to stand next to him, while three pot-boys and Blankpayn hastened to show their solidarity
with Isnard.

‘You are out a lot these days, Master Kardington,’ remarked Michael coolly. ‘In fact, this is the third time since Sunday
that you have been present at a confrontation.’

‘There are confrontations at every turn these days, Brother,’ said Kardington with a shrug. ‘You cannot take two steps without
town louts forming battle lines.’

Fortunately, he spoke Latin, so the ‘town louts’ did not understand. They knew it was nothing pleasant though, and Blankpayn
scowled. Meanwhile, Isnard was more concerned with carrying out his threat against Bartholomew. He was not drunk, but he was
not sober either, and there was a fierce light in his eyes. He took a step forward, gripping his sword two-handed, like an
axe.

‘Put that down at once,’ ordered Michael sternly. ‘Brawling may damage your throat, and I need you for the solo on Sunday.’

Isnard stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Solo?’

‘Never mind singing, Isnard,’ hissed Blankpayn. ‘Think about your leg – the one that was sawn off when you were too ill to
prevent it. The Bible says an eye for an eye, and a leg for a leg.’

‘Does it?’ asked Isnard, disconcerted. The weapon wavered. ‘I do not think I can bring myself to chop off a limb. It is too …
well, too
personal
.’

‘Kill him then,’ whispered Blankpayn. ‘He has all but killed you.’

‘If you do, I shall make sure you never sing in a choir again,’ said Michael, interposing himself between physician and bargeman.
Bartholomew tried to stop him, not wanting the monk to bear the consequences for something he had done, but it was not easy
to step around the Benedictine’s bulk.

Isnard’s sword drooped a little more. The Michaelhouse ensemble was one of the greatest joys in his life. Not only did it
let him bellow at the top of his lungs with people he liked, but the College provided food and treats after performances,
and he enjoyed those, too. ‘But my leg …’

‘It was crushed beyond repair,’ said Bartholomew, finally succeeding in moving out from behind Michael. ‘You saw it yourself,
and I do not understand why you refuse to believe me.’

‘But I cannot remember,’ cried Isnard. ‘You gave me wine, to dull my senses.’

‘There!’ muttered Blankpayn. ‘He rendered you insensible before doing his evil work. Listen to what Arderne tells you. Make
the physician pay for what he did.’

‘I am no lover of physicians myself,’ said Spaldynge, shooting Bartholomew an unpleasant look. ‘But I do not recommend slaughtering
them in broad daylight. They are not worth hanging for.’

‘You seem very keen for someone to commit a capital crime, Blankpayn,’ lisped Kardington. He spoke English, so no one understood
him. ‘Why is that?’

‘Do not swear at us,’ snarled one of Blankpayn’s pot-boys, fingering his dagger meaningfully.

Isnard was confused and unhappy. ‘Falmeresham – your own student – said this morning that if he knew then what he knows now,
he would have stopped you from operating. How could you do this to me?’

The last part was delivered in an accusing wail that made Bartholomew wince; so did the notion that Falmeresham had turned
against him. He rubbed his eyes, tired of the whole business. There was nothing he could say to make Isnard believe him, and
he did not think he could bear weeks of accusing glances and angry High Street encounters until Isnard managed to do what
he threatened.

‘Do what?’ demanded Michael, when Bartholomew made no attempt to defend himself. ‘Save your life? Sometimes I ask myself the
same question. But I have had enough of this unedifying spectacle. Go home and practise the
Magnificat
, or I shall ask someone else to sing instead.’

Isnard started to obey – he had never been honoured with a solo before, and dispatching physicians could wait a day – but
Blankpayn was furious that a brawl was going to be averted. ‘You are a coward, Isnard! A stupid cripple. He should have amputated
you head, not your foot.’

There was a collective murmur of distaste at this remark, including from Blankpayn’s own pot-boys. They exchanged uneasy glances
and started to move away. The other townsmen were also loath to be associated with Blankpayn when he was of a mind to insult
the popular Isnard, and began to follow suit. In a matter of moments, Blankpayn found himself left with only scholars for
company; he did not like being outnumbered, and hastily made himself scarce.

‘I shall be voting against your proposal at the Convocation on Monday,’ said Spaldynge, when the taverner had gone. ‘I am
sorry, Brother – I know you are doing what you think is right, but the University must stand firm against these demands, because
they are the thin end of the wedge.’

‘Once landlords are free to charge high prices, bakers and brewers will do the same,’ elaborated Kardington. ‘We will be driven
away by rising costs – hostels first, and eventually the Colleges.’

‘Most hostels are poor,’ Spaldynge went on bitterly. ‘And my sale of Borden was intended to highlight that fact. But what
is the University’s response? To arrange a gathering of Regents, and ask them to give the Senior Proctor permission to raise
the rents even higher!’ He looked disgusted.

‘I am sorry you will not have Clare’s support, Brother,’ said Kardington apologetically, ‘but your letter of notification
did say we should all vote as our consciences dictate.’

Bartholomew was not deceived by their so-called moral stance. ‘
Your
conscience tells you to vote against the
amendment because Clare no longer owns any houses to lease out. Borden is sold, so you are no longer in a position to benefit
from charging higher rates.’

‘That is true,’ said Kardington, rather coldly. ‘However, my decision also happens to coincide with what I believe to be ethical.’

‘Damn!’ murmured Michael, as the Clare men walked away. ‘I thought I phrased that letter in a way that made it clear that
voting with one’s conscience meant voting for my proposal.’

‘You did – and it was not subtle.’ Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘I have said this before, but considering Spaldynge sold a
house that did not belong to him, he seems very good friends with the victims of his crime.’

Michael nodded. ‘Suspiciously so. I have a feeling there is something we are not being told about that College. I wonder how
well Spaldynge and Kardington knew Lynton.’

Bartholomew was silent as they walked the rest of the way to Peterhouse. An innate sense of survival made him turn sharply
when he sensed something behind him, and he managed to avoid the stone that was lobbed at his head. He looked around, but
could not see who had thrown it, although he heard running footsteps.

‘Perhaps we should ask Wisbeche if we can borrow one of Lynton’s knightly shields,’ said the monk facetiously. He saw Bartholomew’s
unhappy expression. ‘Do not worry about Isnard. He will not stay angry with you for long.’

‘It is not him I am concerned about – it is the people taking up his cause. If I knew where Falmeresham had buried Isnard’s
leg, I would excavate it, to prove it was beyond repair.’

Michael regarded him in askance. ‘You would do that, but you will not look at Kenyngham?’

Bartholomew sighed. ‘Actually, I will do neither. Arderne would claim it was someone else’s limb anyway, so there would be
no point.’

Peterhouse’s door was answered by Master Wisbeche himself. He did not look pleased to see them, and was reluctant to invite
them in. Bartholomew wondered if it was because of Isnard.

‘No,’ said Wisbeche shortly. ‘It is about Lynton. The woman who came to wash him has a habit of making off with body parts
for magic charms, so I decided to watch her, to make sure she did not do it to Lynton. While she was cleaning him I noticed
a wound in his chest. My colleague Estmed, who fought with the old King in Scotland, said it was made by a crossbow bolt.
Ergo
, Lynton did not die because he fell from his horse and hurt his head – he was shot.’

‘I know,’ said Michael quietly. He raised his hand when Wisbeche started to object. ‘We were afraid of what might happen if
we made the truth public. You can see for yourself how the town and the University are at each other’s throats, and a rumour
that a high-ranking scholar was murdered would have led to all manner of mischief. Our students would have rioted.’

‘
I
would not have rioted,’ said Wisbeche coldly. ‘You could have confided in me. However, not only did you choose to be secretive,
but you attempted to conceal the evidence – you plugged the wound with bandages. It is unconscionable, and everyone I have
told agrees with me.’

‘My apologies,’ snapped Michael, not sounding at all contrite. ‘But we did what we thought was best. I have a responsibility
to the University, you know, as well as to its individuals.’

‘Your actions show you do not trust me,’ Wisbeche went on accusingly.

‘And I am right,’ snarled Michael, temper finally breaking. ‘You
cannot
be trusted. The words “everyone I have told” suggest you have been gossiping to all and sundry. If you cannot see that flapping
tongues are the last thing we need, then I was wise to keep you in the dark.’

Wisbeche stared at him. ‘I was angry with you. I spoke in rancour.’

‘And that gives you the right to bray murder?’ demanded Michael. ‘Now, when we stand on the brink of some major civil unrest?’

Wisbeche swallowed uncomfortably. ‘I suppose my response may have been precipitous.’

Michael struggled to control himself; alienating the Master of a prestigious College would do no one any good. ‘You could
say that. But the damage is done, and there is no point in recriminations.’

Wisbeche regarded him coolly. ‘In that case, we shall say no more about your failure to tell me my senior Fellow was murdered
– or about the fact that you stuffed Lynton’s wound with rags, although I still think it is a ghoulish thing to have done.’

‘Yes, it was,’ said Michael, looking nowhere in particular. ‘So, we have a truce, then?’

‘We do. And just so you know I have the University’s best interests at heart, I shall vote for your proposal at the Convocation
of Regents on Monday. My Fellows will do likewise. I do not want a war with the town, and your measures to raise the rents
make sense to me.’

‘Thank you,’ said Michael. ‘How many of you are there?’

‘With commoners and pensioners, we number sixteen. Kardington says he will vote against you, but Clare is only fourteen, so
our support puts you two men ahead.’

‘Good,’ said Michael. ‘Of course, you have a vested interest in seeing me win. You will inherit all Lynton’s
houses, so my amendment will see you considerably richer.’

Wisbeche was about to argue, but he caught Michael’s eye and settled for a shrug. ‘You are right – higher rents will suit
us. However, we have already made the decision not to follow Lynton’s policy of leasing to townsmen. All our houses will be
loaned to scholars.’

‘While we are on the subject of Lynton, I would like to ask you a few questions about him.’