He forced himself to concentrate, pushing all else from his mind. Tesdale held a blade in either hand, and was clearly adept at using both. Bartholomew winced when one tore through his sleeve, but managed to grab the young man’s wrist, twisting it hard and forcing him to let go of one weapon. But Tesdale still had another, and the vengeful, furious expression on his face told Bartholomew that the student intended to see him dead. He jerked backwards as the blade sliced towards him.
Then Michael staggered in, puffing like a pair of bellows. Without missing a beat, the monk grabbed one of Paxtone’s books and lobbed it with all his might. It was dead on target, and Tesdale crashed to the floor, clutching his head.
‘See to Risleye, Matt,’ ordered Michael, retrieving the knives Tesdale had dropped and walking to where the student was trying to struggle to his feet. ‘This little toad will not be going anywhere.’
‘Risleye was Paxtone’s spy,’ Tesdale said, ignoring the monk and addressing Bartholomew. ‘Paxtone urged you to teach him, just so he could report on you. I dispatched him for your benefit.’
‘Do not lie,’ said Bartholomew shakily, still shocked by the lad’s murderous attack. ‘It is not–’
‘It is true,’ said Paxtone quietly. There were tears in his eyes, and Bartholomew saw Risleye had died while he had been skirmishing with Tesdale. ‘I did recruit Risleye to watch your College.’
‘I knew it!’ muttered Michael. ‘I knew there was something suspect about that arrangement!’
‘But why?’ Bartholomew asked Paxtone, bewildered and hurt. ‘I would have told you anything you wanted to know. I like discussing medicine.’
‘It was not about medicine,’ said Paxtone tiredly. ‘And it was not about you, either – I wanted to know what Wynewyk was doing. He was an enigma, and Warden Powys and I were afraid he might damage King’s Hall. Risleye was loyal, and volunteered to find out…’
‘Wynewyk would never harm King’s Hall,’ objected Bartholomew, stunned by the accusation.
‘I disagree,’ said Paxtone in the same weary voice. ‘He was embroiled in some very unsavoury business, although Risleye learned very little about it. His life has been squandered…’
‘Let me go,’ said Tesdale softly. ‘Risleye was the spy, and I have exposed him. He–’
Bartholomew dragged his attention away from Paxtone, recalling what had been said as he had crept up the stairs. He looked hard at Tesdale. ‘Did you really kill Wynewyk?’
‘Yes, he did,’ said Paxtone, before Tesdale could deny it. ‘He knew Wynewyk was sensitive to foxglove, because Wynewyk told me and I mentioned it in a class – to make a point about the hidden dangers of potent cures. Tesdale was there. So he added foxglove to the Fellows’ claret: not enough to harm anyone else, but enough to kill a man who could not tolerate it.’
‘So the tale you spun earlier was untrue?’ asked Bartholomew of Tesdale. ‘Wynewyk did not demand access to my storeroom? You took the foxglove yourself?’
‘He was going to kill himself anyway,’ said Tesdale defensively. ‘He ate the cake, knowing it was full of nuts. I helped him – gave him an easier death.’
‘But why?’ cried Bartholomew, appalled. ‘Most people would have stopped him.’
‘He was damaging my College,’ snarled Tesdale. ‘And I was afraid the nuts might not work. He had swallowed almond posset a few days earlier and lived to tell the tale. So I decided that this time there would be no mistakes. I did the right thing.’
‘You fed poison to a man in the process of committing suicide?’ said Michael, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘If it were not so tragic, it might be funny.’
‘I thought you liked Wynewyk.’ Bartholomew was lost and confused. ‘You said he was kind to you, and you seemed genuinely distressed by his death.’
‘No – he was a bad man,’ said Tesdale angrily. ‘He got me a job at King’s Hall, but he was always asking me questions; he thought finding me employment put me in his debt. He was harming our College with his crafty dealings, so I pretended to befriend him. But it was really to learn what he was doing and stop him. I did it for Michaelhouse – for all of us.’
Michael regarded him with loathing. ‘You do not care about the College! What annoyed you was that Wynewyk’s financial games were resulting in dismal food. The rest of us can afford commons, but the meals in the hall are all you get. You blamed him for subjecting you to them.’
Tesdale raised his hands in piteous entreaty, trying a different tactic when he saw righteous indignation was not going to work. ‘It was not only that – it was Gosse. He kept demanding more and more money from me, making me poorer than ever. None of this is my fault. I am a victim.’
‘Of course you are,’ said Michael harshly, while Bartholomew sank down on a bench and put his head in his hands, repelled by the lad’s transparent efforts to worm his way out of trouble.
‘Gosse said he would forget my debt if I got rid of Wynewyk,’ Tesdale went on. ‘I was frightened, and had no option but to do as he ordered. You must see I was out of my depth. Terrified and–’
‘You were not terrified,’ said Michael disdainfully. ‘You are adept with knives, and know how to look after yourself. Besides, you were reluctant to travel to Suffolk with us. If you were frightened of Gosse, you would have relished the chance to be away.’
‘He did not want to go, because he is lazy,’ said Paxtone, regarding Tesdale with a mixture of shock and revulsion. ‘I hired him to work in our kitchens because Wynewyk asked me to – and I did not dare decline a request from him because he unnerved me so with his capacity for sly dealings – but it was almost impossible to get Teasdale to do any work, and we were on the verge of dismissing him.’
Tesdale pounced on the physician’s words. ‘Did you hear that? Well, I did not dare decline Wynewyk, either. And he did demand access to your storeroom. I admit he did not take foxglove, as I led you to believe. What he actually stole was pennyroyal, but I did not tell you because I was confused by all that was–’
‘More lies,’ said Michael in distaste. ‘Deynman took the pennyroyal – he has admitted it.’
‘But he also said it did not shine the metal on his books as it should have done,’ argued Tesdale. ‘And that was because Wynewyk had replaced it with water. Where do you think I got the idea? Wynewyk did not say why he wanted it, but he stole most of the bottle.’
‘No wonder you have nightmares,’ said Michael in distaste. ‘Your lying conscience plagues you.’
‘It is not his conscience that gives him bad dreams,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is the poppy juice he has been swallowing. It makes him lethargic, too, which is why we all think he is lazy. I should have known there was something wrong about a young man who was quite so sluggish.’
‘Poppy juice can induce night-terrors?’ asked Tesdale, uneasily. ‘I did not know that. Is it–’
‘Enough of this,’ interrupted Michael, taking a firmer grip on the dagger. ‘The Blood Relic debate will be starting soon and I have more important things to do than listen to your nasty tales. Start walking. We are going to the proctors’ prison.’
‘We are not,’ said Tesdale, backing away. ‘I know too much – especially about King’s Hall. If you arrest me, I will reveal all.’
‘No,’ cried Paxtone. ‘You cannot repay our kindness to you with–’