To Kill or Cure (42 page)

‘You must, Matthew,’ said Paxtone, seeing him hesitate. ‘You are overly fond of disputation, and will start doing it with
us. Arderne will take advantage of any perceived dissent.’

‘We can challenge him to perform the perfect amputation, too,’ said Robin, brightening. ‘I wager he does not know how to cauterise
blood vessels before sewing up the wound, and onlookers will see that
we
know what we are doing and he does not.’

‘I think we had better to stick to the theoretical side of things to start with, Robin,’ said Paxtone with a shudder. ‘I am
not sure
I
want to witness that sort of thing, and I am used to a little blood.’

When Bartholomew arrived home, he found Michaelhouse in an uproar. Junior Proctor Bukenham had arrived with six beadles, and
they were standing in the yard. Michael was shouting, Langelee was trying to calm him, and Honynge was looking on with gleeful
malice. The other Fellows were in a huddle, lost and confused; Carton nursed a bruised nose, and Deynman was limping.

‘What is happening?’ demanded Bartholomew, going to help Deynman sit on a bench.

‘An accusation has been levelled against Brother Michael,’ explained Carton. He was pale and angry, an expression that was
reflected in the face of every College member – except Honynge. ‘He is said to be concealing evidence of murder, and his rooms
are going to be searched.’

‘An accusation made by whom?’

Carton glared in Honynge’s direction. ‘I tried to stop the beadles, but one punched me, and when Deynman came to my aid, he
was hit with a cudgel.’

‘You tried to fight beadles?’ Bartholomew was horrified.

‘Just one,’ said Carton. ‘The lout who seems to think Bukenham is right. The others did not raise a hand against us, because
they are loyal to Michael.’

Bartholomew glanced at the beadles and saw none were happy about the situation. Meadowman and four friends stood apart from
the remaining one, and it was obvious a division had formed. They looked from the monk to
Bukenham with wary eyes, waiting to see what would happen.

‘The Chancellor says that because an official challenge has been issued, Michael must submit to having his quarters searched.’
Tyrington was incensed on the monk’s behalf. ‘How
dare
he treat a Fellow of a respected College – and his own Senior Proctor – like this!’

‘There are guidelines for dealing with such eventualities, and Chancellor Tynkell is right to follow them,’ said Langelee,
the practical voice of reason. ‘I recommend we go to the hall until—’

‘I certainly shall not,’ declared Michael, shooting his deputy a look of pure venom.

Bukenham cringed. ‘It was not my idea,’ he wailed. ‘Tynkell ordered me to do it.’

‘Then fetch him,’ challenged Michael. ‘Let us hear it from his own lips.’

‘I wish I could, but he has locked himself in his room, in case you storm over to St Mary the Great and shout at him. But,
like me, he has no choice but to follow the proper procedures.’

‘Of course he has a choice,’ raged Michael. ‘He could tell this malicious complainant where to shove his filthy lies!’

‘But then people would be suspicious of
him
as well as you,’ Bukenham pointed out. ‘And they will call for his resignation. By searching your room, we can prove nothing
is amiss and Hon … the complainant will have to retract his accusation.’

Michael was so angry, his large frame quaked like jelly. ‘I will
not
give you permission to touch my belongings, and if you try, I shall sue you for trespass.’

The beadles exchanged more uncomfortable glances, and Bukenham’s expression was one of agony. He did not
know what to do, and Bartholomew suspected he was far more frightened of Michael than the Chancellor, Honynge and the rest
of the University put together.

‘If the monk has nothing to hide, he would not mind obliging you,’ said Honynge quickly, when he saw the force of Michael’s
personality and the loyalty he inspired in most of his beadles was about to win the day. ‘His ire is a sign of a guilty conscience.’

Langelee eyed his new Fellow with disdain. ‘It has come to this, has it? Not content with making silly accusations over documents
in the Illeigh Chest, you run to the Chancellor as well?’

Honynge’s expression was dangerous. ‘I dislike corruption, and I will not tolerate it in my own College. When Michael is found
guilty, I shall be calling for
your
resignation, too. There,’ he added in a whisper, ‘that told them you will not turn a blind eye to shabby morals.’

‘Ignore him, Master,’ said William coldly. ‘He is a petty man, unfit for Michaelhouse. I knew it the moment I heard him supporting
the wrong side in the Blood Relics debate.’

As Honynge and William began a nasty, sniping squabble and Langelee tried to stop them, Bartholomew turned to Michael. ‘I
do not understand. How has this come about?’

The monk spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Obviously, Honynge has been listening to the rumours started by Wisbeche – before the
man agreed to keep his mouth shut – about Lynton’s wound being disguised. I told you it was a bad idea, and now look what
has happened.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Bartholomew, shocked that his hasty action should have caused such trouble. ‘I thought I was doing the
right thing – I did not imagine the repercussions would be so dire.’

‘Well, they are,’ snapped Michael. ‘Bukenham will find the bloodstained crossbow bolts you took from our two victims. They
will be used to prove
I
concealed Lynton’s murder, Honynge will call for my resignation, and I shall be hard-pressed to find reasons why I should
not oblige him.’

‘Do you mean these crossbow bolts, Brother?’ whispered Cynric, sidling up to him and flashing something that was mostly hidden
up his sleeve.

Michael stared at them in astonishment. ‘God and all His saints preserve us! How did you get those with no one seeing? I thought
you had been here the whole time.’

‘Then let us hope everyone else thinks so, too,’ said Cynric comfortably. ‘As soon as I heard what Bukenham had come to do,
I went round the back, and climbed through your bedroom window. Meanwhile, Carton and Deynman kindly staged a diversion –
they tackled your beadles and kept everyone occupied for a few moments.’

‘Thank God for friends,’ said Michael fervently.

‘I even took that flask of wine you stole from Father William,’ Cynric went on, pleased with himself. ‘And one or two other
items I thought you might prefer to keep from prying eyes.’

Michael sighed his relief. ‘Thank you, Cynric. I shall never forget this. And I shall never forget what my enemies have done,
either.’ He glowered in Honynge’s direction.

‘If Cynric has removed anything sensitive, you may as well let Bukenham do his duty,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Then you can demand
an apology from Honynge for the trouble he has caused.’

‘You can demand more than that,’ said Cynric. ‘You can call for
his
resignation for slandering you. I doubt Master Langelee would object.’

A grin of malicious satisfaction flashed across the monk’s face. ‘I am sure he will not. Perhaps Michaelhouse will be rid
of its viper sooner than I anticipated.’

Bukenham swallowed hard as Michael stalked towards him. Meadowman and his four friends immediately stepped behind the monk,
to show where their allegiance lay, and, after a moment of hesitation, the last beadle did likewise. The Junior Proctor was
alone.

‘You are in a tight corner, Brother,’ sneered Honynge gloatingly. ‘This search is legal, and Bukenham has no choice but to
carry out his orders.’

‘I will have a choice if I resign,’ said Bukenham shakily. ‘In fact, I do, with immediate effect.’

Honynge regarded him in disdain. ‘Do your duty, man. No one likes a coward.’

‘You
may
enter my chamber, Bukenham,’ said Michael, with the air of an injured martyr. ‘I have nothing to hide. Langelee – perhaps
you and William will accompany him, to ensure it is done properly. I do not want my accuser to come back later, and say the
first search was inadequate.’

‘Are you sure, Brother?’ asked Langelee uneasily. He lowered his voice. ‘Even under that loose floorboard, where we keep the
you-know-what?’

Cynric gave an almost imperceptible nod.

‘Even there,’ replied Michael haughtily. ‘Go. I shall be here, waiting for my apology.’

‘No!’ cried Tyrington. ‘Do not submit to this indignity. You are a senior member of the University, and Bukenham has no right
to paw through your personal effects. It is not decent!’

‘No, it is not,’ agreed Michael gravely. ‘But if spiteful villains attack me with their false charges, then this is the best
way to prove my innocence.’

‘Mind your own business, Tyrington,’ warned Honynge. His voice dropped to a mutter. ‘They are all united against you, Honynge,
but you are cleverer than the lot of them put together. Hold your ground, and justice will prevail.’

He turned and led the way to Michael’s room. Bukenham hesitated, but Michael nodded that he was to go, too, then ordered the
beadles to do likewise. Langelee and William went to ensure Honynge did not attempt any sleights of hand that would see evidence
planted, and because Wynewyk did not trust them to be sufficiently observant, he went as well. It was going to be crowded
in Michael’s room. The students milled about uncertainly, so Bartholomew ordered them to the hall, where he asked Carton to
keep them occupied by reading from Aristotle’s
Topica
.

Eventually, the yard was empty of everyone but Bartholomew, Michael, Cynric and Tyrington. Distress was making Tyrington spit
more than usual, and the others tried to stand back.

‘You should not have let them browbeat you,’ he said, rather accusingly. ‘Honynge will use anything he discovers to damage
you – and he will damage Michaelhouse at the same time.’

‘You seem very sure there is incriminating evidence to find,’ said Michael coolly.

Tyrington regarded him uncertainly. ‘You mean there is not? But you are Senior Proctor, and we all know you bend the rules
in order to catch some of the cunning villains who pit themselves against you. I just drew the conclusion …’ He trailed off
and stared at his feet, mortified.

Michael smiled, amused by the fact that everyone seemed to assume he was guilty. ‘Normally, you would be right, but I am above
reproach in this instance. Why did you speak
in my favour, if you believe Honynge’s accusations might be true?’

‘It is a question of loyalty,’ replied Tyrington, sounding surprised by the question. ‘Langelee lectured Honynge and me about
College allegiances the day we were admitted, and I applaud his sentiments. I like Michaelhouse, and I am glad I came here,
not Clare.’

Bartholomew raised his eyebrows. ‘No wonder Honynge set out to make himself objectionable – he resented Langelee telling him
how to behave. And who can blame him?’

‘I can,’ said Michael firmly. ‘And I shall enjoy his apology in a few moments. I will ask for it in writing, too. In fact,
he can read it publicly at the Convocation. What do you think?’

Tyrington leered voraciously. ‘Yes! That would teach him not to take against his colleagues.’

It was not long before Bukenham emerged from Michael’s room, with Honynge and the others at his heels. Honynge’s face was
black with fury, while Langelee and Wynewyk maintained a cool dignity. William was jabbing Honynge in the back with a dirty
forefinger, crowing his delight.

‘Well?’ asked Michael archly. ‘What did you find?’

‘Well, there was this,’ hissed Honynge, holding up a piece of parchment. Bartholomew’s heart sank, supposing Cynric had not
been as careful as he had thought. ‘It is a letter from a
woman
.’

Langelee snatched it from him, then started to laugh. ‘It is a note from Bartholomew’s sister, thanking Michael for his prayers
after she was hit by a stone. I hardly think that constitutes a crime, Honynge. Now you owe the good Brother two apologies:
one for thinking he was concealing evidence of murder, and one for reading private correspondence addressed to a priest.’

‘Well, come on, then,’ said Michael, in the ensuing silence. ‘I am waiting.’

‘I am sorry, Brother,’ said Bukenham immediately. ‘I never believed you were guilty, and—’

‘I was not talking to you,’ said Michael contemptuously. ‘Well, Honynge? You maligned me and you were wrong. I am purer than
the driven snow, and I demand you acknowledge it.’

‘Do not push it, Brother,’ said Bartholomew in a low voice. ‘There is a big difference between innocent and pure. Kenyngham
was pure. You are not even innocent – thanks to me.’

‘I will
not
apologise,’ snarled Honynge. ‘The Chancellor or one of the beadles must have warned you, and you removed the evidence before
it could be found. They are as corrupt as you are.’

‘And now you owe him even more apologies,’ shouted Tyrington, as Honynge stamped away.

It was not a pleasant evening, because a wickedly cold wind was slicing down from the north, carrying with it the dank odour
of the Fens. Bartholomew wanted to sit in his chamber and write his treatise on fevers, but that was impossible, because all
five of his roommates were home, and there was barely space to move. Two sat on his bed. Another pair occupied the desks in
the window – they offered to yield, but he was not a man to pull rank over students with upcoming examinations – and the last
was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

‘You cannot work – we have too much to do,’ said Michael, when Bartholomew went to see if there was a spare corner in the
monk’s quarters. ‘I have a terrible feeling that Honynge plans to make a hostile move at the Convocation on Monday – one that
might divide the University even further.’

‘And we need it united against the town,’ said William, who had also come looking for a vacant spot. He had four students
in his room, and they were chanting a tract they were obliged to learn by rote. It meant he could not concentrate on what
Bajulus had to say about Blood Relics. Or so he claimed. Bartholomew suspected he had reached a difficult section, and was
making excuses not to tackle it. Tyrington was there, too, drinking some wine he had brought with him.