To Kill or Cure (43 page)

‘A divided University will be a weaker one,’ agreed Michael. ‘I
must
solve these murders, before rumours about them cause even more harm.’

‘At least you do not have to look for Kenyngham’s killer,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Paxtone’s testimony proves his death was a natural
one, and the “antidote” you saw him swallow had nothing to do with poison. The letters you received are hoaxes.’

‘Two letters from two different men,’ said William, taking them from the desk and studying them. ‘The handwriting of the man
who offered you twenty marks is not the same as that of the man who claimed he had poisoned Kenyngham.’

‘Or woman,’ added Tyrington. ‘Some ladies can write – or hire scribes to do it for them.’

Michael acknowledged his point with a nod. ‘I wonder why anyone would want to confess to such a horrid crime in the first
place?’

‘I expect Honynge did it,’ said William, ‘so you would make a fool of yourself with an unnecessary exhumation. It is exactly
the kind of scheme he would concoct, because he is stupid.’

‘Unfortunately, he is
not
stupid,’ said Michael. ‘If he were, I would have bested him by now.’

‘Is Honynge the only suspect for the crimes you are
investigating?’ asked Tyrington. ‘I dislike speaking in his favour, but he does not seem the kind of man to break the law
in so vile a manner.’

‘I beg to differ,’ said Michael. ‘But no, he is not our only suspect. Matt still favours Arderne as the culprit, and there
are several curious facts about Isabel that add her to my list. Then, of course, Candelby and Blankpayn are obvious candidates,
given what we now know about Lynton.’

‘What about Lynton?’ asked William, using Michael’s glass to examine the two documents.

‘He ran this dispensary. Candelby won a lot of houses there, but was recently banned for gloating. He is said to be furious,
and the abrupt loss of substantial winnings is a powerful motive for murder.’

‘And Candelby
does
carry a crossbow,’ said William. ‘I have seen it. It is always wound, too.’

‘Is it?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Maud said it was not.’

‘Then she is mistaken,’ said William. ‘I have taken to searching his cart since he started this business with the rents –
I live in hope of discovering incriminating writs that will make him leave our University alone. He
always
carries a bow, and it is
always
ready to be whipped out and used.’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘Maud seemed very certain—’

‘Her eyes!’ exclaimed Bartholomew suddenly, making them all jump. ‘Watching William with the glass has just reminded me. She
suffered from a clouding of her vision, and Lynton summoned me for a second opinion. But there was nothing we could do.’

‘You mean she would not have been able to tell whether it was loaded or not?’ asked Tyrington.

Bartholomew nodded. ‘Candelby probably told her it was not, because I doubt she would have been impressed
by him toting such a deadly weapon. She must have believed him.’

William was disapproving. ‘A number of lies and misunderstandings seem to be flowing from her household. Did you know there
is a rumour that
you
killed her, Matthew? Apparently, you touched her face and poked about in her bandages. Then you gave her a potion that you
said would ease her pain, but that actually hastened her end.’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘Arderne has been spreading that tale, to prove to his new patients that anyone who puts faith in my medicine
is likely to pay a high price.’

Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘How did Arderne know you touched her face and looked under her bandages? He was not there. One person
was, though:
Isabel
must have told him what you did.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is Maud herself. Arderne came to see her after we left, and she might have mentioned
our visit.’

Michael continued as though he had not spoken. ‘Isabel must have told him about the pain-killing potion, too, giving him yet
more ammunition to use against you. And do you know why? Because she is enamoured of Arderne and will do anything for him.
Look at Falmeresham. I always thought him a sensible, rational fellow, but he fell for Arderne’s charm like a brainless fool.
Arderne attracts followers like flies swarm towards rotten meat.’

‘It is his eyes,’ explained William. ‘They drill into you, and you find yourself going along with what he is saying whether
you want to or not. It is uncanny.’

‘Paxtone said the same thing,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And I saw Isabel go quiet and submissive when Arderne fixed her with a stare,
too.’

‘It must be witchcraft,’ said William censoriously. ‘Like this love-potion he made for Agatha.’

‘Actually, I think he can just exert power over a certain kind of mind,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He possesses an ability to transfix
people, if they let him do it.’

‘You might be right,’ mused Tyrington. ‘I saw him with Carton earlier today, and he was gazing at our hapless commoner as
though he was trying to put him in some sort of trance.’

‘What was Carton doing?’ asked Michael uneasily.

Tyrington shrugged. ‘Nothing. He was just listening. Then he nodded and sped away.’

The monk turned his attention back to the matter of Candelby’s loaded crossbow. ‘Ocleye must have been in on it, because Paxtone
saw him smiling and nodding in a way that suggested a plan had just come right. Doubtless Ocleye was astonished when Candelby
decided a spy did not make for a very reliable accomplice, and killed him to ensure his silence.’

No matter how hard Bartholomew and Michael tried to see patterns in the evidence they had collected, they still could not
reach any satisfactory conclusions regarding the identity of the killer, and both admitted that their suspicions were coloured
by personal prejudices. Michael was even more keen for Honynge to be the culprit, because he wanted to avenge himself on the
man who had publicly questioned his integrity, while Bartholomew wanted Arderne away from his patients.

Later that night, Bartholomew was summoned to tend Hanchach. Unfortunately, Arderne had been there first, and the ‘tonic’
he had prescribed had induced such violent vomiting that it had exhausted the glover’s scant reserves of strength. Bartholomew
watched helplessly as his patient slipped into an unnatural sleep, then stayed with him until he died quietly at dawn. Michael
came to
give last rites, and listened to the physician rail against Arderne until it was time for the Sunday morning mass. The peaceful
ceremony did nothing to soothe Bartholomew’s temper, and he was still angry when they sat in the hall for breakfast.

‘Arderne is responsible for Hanchach’s death for three reasons,’ he said, refusing the egg-mess Langelee offered. He could
not be sure what was in it, and he had no appetite anyway. Honynge, who had stationed himself at the very end of the table,
away from his colleagues, ate his share.

‘You are better off up here,’ the scholar muttered to himself. ‘The company is more civil.’

‘It is a pity he does not feel that way all the time,’ said Tyrington, regarding Honynge with dislike.

‘First,’ Bartholomew went on, ‘he told Hanchach to decline medicine that would have cured him. Second, he prescribed a potion
containing urine, which damaged a weakened body. And third, he dispensed a strong purgative – something even Deynman would
have known not to do.’

‘I know, Matt,’ said Michael gently. ‘But you were the one Hanchach summoned in the end.’

‘When it was too late. Cynric says Isnard has a fever now, although I doubt
he
will call for me. And a beggar Arderne “cured” was found dead last night. How many more people will he kill?’

‘Tell the Chancellor,’ suggested William. ‘He has the authority to ban anyone from his town.’

‘The Senior Proctor, who is Chancellor in all but name, says he cannot oust people on the grounds that I do not like them,’
said Bartholomew acidly. ‘And Arderne is currently popular with everyone except his medical rivals.’

‘If we expel Arderne, he will make a fuss,’ elaborated Michael, ‘and the town will be even more set against the University.
We cannot afford that – not at the moment.’

Langelee was more concerned by the looming crisis of the Convocation and, never a man to sit still when there was action to
be taken, he stood to intone a final grace. This was the sign for servants to begin clearing away dishes, despite the fact
that some students had not yet started eating.

‘I am off to King’s Hall,’ he announced, ‘to see if I can persuade a few friends to vote for your amendment tomorrow, Brother.
Meanwhile,
benedicimus Domino
and good morning to you all.’

‘
Deo gratias
,’ replied Bartholomew, the only one not desperately cramming food into his mouth.

‘I hate it when he does that,’ grumbled Michael, grabbing bread with one hand and smoked pork with the other.

‘So do I, usually,’ said William. He grinned and jerked a grimy thumb over his shoulder to where Honynge was trying to gobble
as much as he could in the short moments left to him. ‘But not when I am rewarded with the sight of him eating his dog-flavoured
egg-mess from the pan.’

Michael chuckled, then turned to Bartholomew. ‘There is a lot to do today, and I want you with me. I am afraid you might tackle
Arderne if I leave you alone, and that will do no one any good.’

‘I will not tackle him,’ said Bartholomew gloomily. ‘It would be like trying to catch an eel on the back of a shovel – far
too slippery. And he will only lie and deny the allegations anyway.’

‘First, we shall corner Isabel alone, to see if she can recall anything new about Lynton and her mistress. Next,
we shall go to Peterhouse, and ask if Wisbeche has unravelled any more of Lynton’s business dealings. Then I should speak
to Candelby, to see if I can learn more about Ocleye.’

Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘Their rent agreement
was
torn violently from Lynton’s hand, so it looks as though the killer did not want you to know about the association between
the two victims.’

‘Perhaps it is the house Ocleye was to have had that is the source of the trouble. There is a desperate shortage of accommodation
in Cambridge – for scholars and townsmen. Did Edmund Mildenale, one of our commoners, tell you he was planning to start a
hostel of his own, but decided to stay at Michaelhouse when he saw how rapidly the rent war was escalating? Candelby’s greed
is not only damaging hostels already in existence, but those in the future, too.’

The High Street was busy with people going to and from their Sunday devotions, and because they were all wearing their best
clothes and the sun was shining, the town was ablaze with colour. The first person Bartholomew and Michael met was Rougham,
who said he had invited Arderne to take part in a public debate, but the healer had only laughed derisively. When Rougham
had demanded to share the joke, Arderne had replied that he had no wish to hear academics theorise when he could be out in
the real world, curing real people and making real money.

‘Now what?’ asked Rougham, deflated. ‘The other plans we devised were not as good as that one, and left too much room for
disaster, but we cannot let this continue. Not only did he kill Hanchach and that beggar, but Isnard is likely to die now,
too.’

Michael was alarmed. For all the bargeman’s failings, he
was still a member of the Michaelhouse Choir. ‘I did not know his condition was that serious. What is wrong with him?’

‘He drank one of Arderne’s decoctions. Visit him, Bartholomew; he is frightened and desperate, and I doubt he will threaten
to kill you now. But what shall we do about Arderne? Surely you can think of something, Brother. You are a devious sort of
man.’

‘Thank you,’ said Michael flatly. ‘I wonder if Cynric would be prepared to break into his house and have a look around. He
is bound to discover something incriminating.’

‘We have already thought of that,’ said Rougham, ‘but nothing gained from such a search could be used against him in a public
trial.’

‘Who said anything about public? I was thinking of acquiring the evidence, then having a quiet word while we wave it at him.
The aim is to make him leave of his own volition.’

‘I like the sound of this,’ said Rougham, nodding eager approval.

‘Well, I do not,’ said Bartholomew. ‘First, it is sly, and I do not want to stoop to his level. And secondly, he will just
foist himself on some other hapless town, and start killing people there.’

‘Our first responsibility is to our own patients,’ said Rougham soberly. ‘Remember that.’

‘Forget Arderne, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, when Rougham had gone. ‘He is not your problem, and you have enough to worry
about already – catching whoever killed Motelete, Lynton and Ocleye, outwitting Honynge, defeating Candelby, and preventing
St Mary the Great from being set on fire.’

‘If you are right, then neutralising Arderne will relieve me of at least half of these problems.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ groaned Bartholomew. ‘There he is, and Candelby and Blankpayn are with him.’

‘Say nothing, Matt,’ warned Michael. ‘He may try to needle you into a confrontation, but you must resist. Is that Isabel clinging
to his right arm?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘And Falmeresham is clinging just as hard to the left one.’

Arderne was grinning as he approached. He looked rich, smug and confident, and had clearly been spending the money he had
earned from his new patients – his clothes were so new they were stiff. Isabel had also been treated, and expensive jewellery
and a fur-trimmed cloak transformed her into a woman of whom any wealthy merchant would be proud. Falmeresham looked disreputable
by comparison; he had not shaved, and clothes were slovenly. Behind them were Candelby and Blankpayn, several lesser burgesses,
and a lame man Arderne was said to have cured. It was not much of a miracle, because Bartholomew knew there had been nothing
wrong with the fellow in the first place – the disability had been fabricated to allow him to beg.