‘Because he was a selfish brute,’ said Thelnetham, before anyone else could speak. ‘And I am glad he is dead, for we are well rid of him. But we should not squander any more of our precious time debating what happened to him, because I, for one, do not care. We should concentrate on deciding what to do about our missing thirty marks.’
‘Oh, I know how to resolve that,’ said Langelee, inspecting the damage to the table with a puzzled frown, as if he could not imagine how it had happened. ‘Michael and Bartholomew will go to Suffolk, meet Elyan, d’Audley and Luneday, and ask if they have our money. And if they do, they will demand it back again.’
That evening, Bartholomew went to visit Isnard the bargeman, to see whether he had recovered from the bad ale that had made him so sick the night before. He took Risleye, Valence and Tesdale with him, because the rota said it was their turn, although they were not very pleased – they were hoping to win a rather more interesting case.
‘I made a few enquiries about your missing pennyroyal,’ announced Risleye, as they walked along the towpath towards Isnard’s house. ‘You were alarmed when you first learned it had gone, but you have paid it scant attention since, and it is too important a matter to neglect.’
Bartholomew felt his jaw drop. The lad was right: he should have spent more time assessing what had happened to the stuff – but it was not for a student to scold him about it, and he was on the verge of issuing a sharp reprimand when Valence spoke.
‘Your “enquiries” are nothing of the sort, Risleye. They are accusations without foundation.’
‘They are conclusions based on logic,’ Risleye flashed back. He turned to Bartholomew. ‘I have deduced that a servant is responsible. They have free access to every part of the College, and some of the substances in your room are worth a lot of money.’
‘Servants would not steal from a master,’ countered Tesdale. Then he frowned. ‘Would they?’
‘Sadly, some people will do anything for money,’ said Risleye. He glanced archly at his classmate. ‘Including you, Tesdale, so do not look so shocked. I know who made a whole two shillings from the sale of a remedy that had peacock feathers as a key ingredient.’
‘That was you?’ asked Bartholomew, dismayed.
‘No, it was not!’ declared Tesdale, but his face was red and he would not meet his teacher’s eyes. ‘I would never touch that nasty, greasy creature. It bites, for a start.’
‘You wore gloves,’ flashed Risleye. ‘I saw you.’
‘How could you, Tesdale?’ cried Valence, appalled. ‘That poor bird! How could you?’
Bartholomew closed his eyes, and supposed he would have to apologise to Walter for mentioning the superstitious cure, thus encouraging a callous student to profit from it.
‘They will grow again,’ said Tesdale sullenly. ‘No harm was done – and it was an experiment, in the name of science. I wanted to conduct an empirical test, to ascertain the efficacy of–’
‘You wanted the two shillings,’ interjected Risleye. ‘And you cannot–’
‘Stop,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘If you persist in squabbling, you can go home.’
‘Really?’ asked Risleye keenly. ‘Does this mean we can claim the next case on the rota instead, then? It must – we have not seen Isnard yet, so this “visit” cannot count.’
‘Not so fast,’ ordered Bartholomew, as all three young men started back the way they had come. ‘I want you to take a sample of Isnard’s urine, and assess whether you think he needs more charcoal to balance his excess of yellow bile.’
The students rolled their eyes, but followed him to the bargeman’s riverside cottage without further complaint. Isnard had made a miraculous recovery, given that he had been so wretchedly sick the night before. He was up and talking to Yolande de Blaston, who was known to supplement the family income by working as a Frail Sister. Bartholomew often wondered whether she might not have had fourteen children had she confined herself to the marriage bed.
Yolande was cooking something over the hearth, although the rumpled bedcovers suggested she had provided her professional services first. Bartholomew marvelled at the bargeman’s capacity for regeneration, certain such violent vomiting would have laid most other men low for days.
‘Good evening, Doctor,’ smiled Yolande. ‘Would you like some stew? It contains real meat – something Michaelhouse rarely sees these says, according to Agatha. She says you are destitute.’
‘You seem better, Isnard,’ said Bartholomew, ignoring the remark. He had gone out to escape College affairs, and did not want to discuss them with Yolande.
‘Much better,’ affirmed Isnard with a contented grin. ‘I am a little weak, but Yolande knows how to cope with a fellow’s temporary shortcomings. She is far more inventive than the other whores.’
‘Even though the twins are not long born, I am forced to work again,’ explained Yolande, while Bartholomew hoped she would not notice the way the students were sniggering at the bargeman’s blunt confidences. She had a fiery temper. ‘Food is dear, and we are worried about the winter.’
‘I will help,’ offered Isnard. ‘Especially if you do that again. I have never experienced anything quite like it. It is expensive, of course, but quality always costs, does it not, Doctor?’
‘I suppose it does,’ said Bartholomew, wondering what she had done.
Isnard seemed to think he knew anyway, because he addressed the three pupils. ‘Never think you can keep secrets from your master, because he can read your innermost thoughts.’
‘Can he?’ asked Tesdale uncomfortably. He blushed furiously, and Bartholomew supposed he had allowed his imagination free rein as the bargeman had waxed lyrical about Yolande’s talents.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Isnard. ‘If I tell him I was in church when I was in a tavern, he always knows.’
Bartholomew tended to know about Isnard’s drunken revelries because either they were the talk of the town, or he reeked of ale; there were certainly no uncanny abilities involved. But he saw his students would learn no new medicine now the bargeman was on the mend, so he indicated they could go. Risleye had the audacity to wink conspiratorially on the way out, clearly of the opinion that they were being dismissed so the physician could learn what Yolande had done for Isnard. Bartholomew did not know whether to be amused or irritated by the presumption.
‘I was sorry to hear about Wynewyk, Doctor,’ said Yolande, when the students had gone. She ladled stew into three bowls, and indicated that Isnard and Bartholomew were to join her at the table; evidently, her contract with the bargeman entailed being fed for her labours. ‘He was a good man, although he was never one of my regulars – I only saw him occasionally.’
‘Did you?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘I thought he preferred men.’
‘Oh, he did,’ said Yolande. ‘But we all like a bit of a change from time to time.’
To stop himself wondering whether Wynewyk had financed his frolics with Yolande by cheating Michaelhouse, Bartholomew concentrated on the stew instead. It was delicious, and he realised how much he missed decent food. Matilde had been an excellent cook, and had often fed him when the College was going through one of its lean phases. As usual, thoughts of his lost love deprived him of his appetite. He set down his spoon.
‘I have never heard of anyone dying of laughter before,’ said Isnard, grabbing the physician’s bowl and finishing it himself. ‘Does Brother Michael not think Wynewyk’s death suspicious?’
‘It brought on a seizure,’ explained Bartholomew hastily, aware that Isnard and Yolande were both rather keen on gossip. ‘It is sad when it happens to a man in his prime, but it is not unknown.’