‘The tavern was full of townsmen,’ Heytesbury went on with a shudder. ‘At one point, a University doctor had the temerity to enter wearing his tabard, and, judging from the hostile reaction of the inn’s patrons, I suspect he was lucky to leave alive.’
‘It is good to see you, Heytesbury,’ said Simeon warmly. ‘You are a bright spark of culture and decency in this den of louts. Would you believe that I am obliged to remain here until Bene’t is completed? It might take months, at which point I shall be too ancient to be of use to anyone.’
‘You will never be too old for fun,’ said Heytesbury, smiling and clapping his friend on the back. ‘But it is a pity your Duke chose this godforsaken hole into which to plough his money. He should have given it to Oxford.’
‘I did my best to tell him that,’ said Simeon. ‘He declined to listen to a mere squire. But what did Langelee want with you? I am also acquainted with him, for my sins. I have been obliged to waste several evenings in his company, because I am too polite to tell him to go to the Devil.’
Heytesbury sighed. ‘He wanted to know about my dealings with Brother Michael. The stupid man apparently used Michael’s association with me to prevent the monk from becoming Master of Michaelhouse. From my personal impression of that good Brother, I imagine that Langelee is headed for a serious fall.’
Simeon raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you serious? You think that fat glutton can best a man like Langelee, with his years of experience as the Archbishop’s spy?’
‘Should I trust Michael then?’ asked Heytesbury thoughtfully. ‘Should I go ahead with this arrangement that will make Oxford richer by two churches and a farm in exchange for some information that is neither here nor there to us?’
‘Why not?’ asked Simeon. ‘It sounds to me as if you cannot lose.’
‘That is what worries me,’ said Heytesbury, frowning. ‘It seems like an offer made in Heaven, where we gain and Cambridge loses. That is why I came in person to see Michael, and that is why I asked you to meet me, so that you can give me your impressions of the man. He claims he plans to use the information only to secure himself the Chancellorship next year, but I remain sceptical.’
‘I think you credit him with too much cunning,’ said Simeon dismissively. ‘Brother Michael is a bumbling Benedictine who cannot even explain the deaths that have occurred in Bene’t College. I doubt he will raise his eyes from the dinner table long enough to be a threat to you.’
That Simeon had so badly misread Michael suggested that Langelee was not the only one in line for a hard fall. Bartholomew knew Michael well enough to be convinced that if Heytesbury and the monk struck some kind of deal, then Heytesbury would not be the one to leave with the better half of the bargain. He shifted slightly in his hiding place, growing chilled and stiff from lying still. He bumped against his medicine bag, which clinked softly as the birthing forceps inside it knocked against a glass phial. Fortunately, the two men below did not hear.
‘Now,’ said Simeon, shivering slightly as a gust of wind brought the first spots of rain. ‘I have fulfilled my part of our arrangement by informing you that you need not fear Brother Michael. What do you have for me?’
Heytesbury rummaged under his cloak and produced a leather bag. ‘New shoes, cut in the latest court fashion with toes that curl; a ham from the Duke’s kitchen; and a silk sheet, so that you will not have to endure Bene’t’s rough blankets.’
Simeon grinned, and took the bag from him. ‘Excellent. I will–’
When Bartholomew had bumped into his medicine bag, it had been nudged towards the edge of the bank, where it very slowly began to slide. Before he could stop it, it had gathered momentum on the slick grass, assisted by the weight of the heavy birthing forceps inside, and tumbled away down the bank to land with a heavy thud at Simeon’s feet. For one horror-stricken moment, Bartholomew was not sure whether to run away or to confront the two men. Although the rational part of his mind told him that he had done nothing to warrant flight, there was always the possibility that the mincing courtier was a murderer, who had already killed two of his colleagues and who would be quite happy to dispatch Bartholomew, too.
But the matter was decided for him. Without waiting to establish the identity of the bag’s owner, Heytesbury was away, bounding through the long grass towards the High Street at an impressive pace. Meanwhile, Simeon raced off in the direction of Luthburne Lane and the rear of his College. Bartholomew leapt to his feet, a vague notion of pursuing Simeon forming in his mind, although he was not sure to what purpose. The sudden movement was ill-advised, and his leather-soled boots skidded on the slick grass. He lost his balance, and fell flat on his back in a patch of grey-green slime just above the Ditch’s waterline.
Appalled by the notion that he might slide further and end up in the fetid black waters that slunk by in a foul, glassy-smooth curl, Bartholomew twisted on to his stomach and snatched at some weeds. Moments later, he was on firm ground again, although to his dismay he found he was heavily coated in the repulsive ooze from the Ditch’s muddy banks. Revolted by the sulphurous stench that already emanated from his clothes, he retrieved his bag and returned to Michaelhouse, earning some curious glances from passers-by as he went.
To his chagrin, one of the people he met was Matilde. She looked him up and down and seemed uncertain whether to express concern or be amused. She tried the former, but seeing he was unharmed, her natural good humour quickly bubbled to the surface and she started to laugh.
‘You look like a ditcher,’ she said, walking around behind him to appreciate the full scale of the mess he was in. ‘How did you manage to end up in such a state?’
‘I was listening to a conversation about Michael between Simekyn Simeon and a scholar from Oxford and I slipped. It must have been divine retribution for spying.’
‘Ah, you mean William Heytesbury of Merton,’ said Matilde immediately. ‘He is in Cambridge to learn whether Michael is a blustering fool who wants certain information simply to secure the Chancellorship of the University next year, or a cunning negotiator who will use the information to promote Cambridge’s interests over those of Oxford.’
Bartholomew gaped at her. ‘How do you know that?’
Matilde smiled at his astonishment. ‘Through the sisters, of course. Langelee feels guilty for his shameful tactics during the last election for the Master of Michaelhouse, and so will recommend that Heytesbury does what Michael suggests. And then, perhaps not next year, or even the year after, Michael will use Heytesbury’s information to steal away from Oxford the patronage of some wealthy and powerful people.’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘I gathered as much. But I thought his negotiations were secret. He certainly has told me very little about them.’
‘But Heytesbury is not as discreet as Michael,’ said Matilde. ‘He had already unburdened himself to Yolande de Blaston. Michael is a clever man. Heytesbury should be careful.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Bartholomew, suddenly feeling a strong desire to spend some time alone with her. ‘Will you come with me to the Brazen George for a while? Now?’
‘I certainly will not,’ she said, beginning to laugh again. ‘The landlord would not allow you in all covered in mud, and I have my reputation to consider.’ She sensed his disappointment and leaned forward to touch his arm with a slender forefinger. ‘But when you are clean and dry, I would welcome your company in my house. Will you come tomorrow evening?’