‘The town will refuse,’ predicted Michael. ‘They have already given a fortune for the bridge – a fortune that you recklessly entrusted to the thieving Baldok. Why should they hand you more?’
‘Baldok did not steal that much,’ argued Morys. ‘Just one instalment. We still have the bulk of it.’
Michael ignored him and forged on. ‘Some were almost beggared by the first levy, and even wealthy merchants like the Mortimers, FitzAbsolon, Chaumbre–’
Morys interrupted with a laugh. ‘I shall not be troubling Chaumbre, because he is not as rich as he would have everyone believe. But the University will pay its share. I can promise you that.’
‘I think we had better attend this meeting, Matt,’ said Michael, watching the Mayor strut away. ‘He is up to something, and I want to know what.’
Chapter 7
The guildhall was a large black and white edifice with elegant plasterwork, located near the Market Square. Inside was a porch leading to the massive central chamber where the burgesses did their business. A good deal of money had been spent on it in the past, although funds had been tight in recent years, so its grandeur was fading into shabbiness.
It was unusually full that day, because the meeting was open to any interested parties – and there were lots of those, as the Great Bridge affected everyone who lived in Cambridge. All twenty burgesses had shown up, and sat with Morys at a table on the dais. Those who wanted to listen to their deliberations perched on benches in the body of the hall or stood at the back, and included not only merchants, but knights from the castle, an assortment of priests, and a number of scholars, ranging from the principals of impoverished hostels to the heads of wealthy Colleges. Donwich was among the latter.
The chamber was swelteringly hot, despite all the windows being open, and there were complaints aplenty about the airlessness. Bartholomew was called to help Mistress FitzAbsolon, wife of the town’s cutler, who was on the verge of passing out.
‘Watch Morys today, Matthew,’ she warned, as he took her outside. ‘He is a sly rogue, and your University should not trust him.’
Inside again a few moments later, the roar of conversation had grown deafening. He saw Edith talking to Gayton of Peterhouse and Warden Shropham from King’s Hall, so he eased through the throng to join them, arriving at the same time as Michael, Tulyet and Dickon. Even as they exchanged greetings, Morys called the meeting to order.
‘We all know why we are here,’ he began. ‘The Great Bridge must be repaired – the King himself insists on it. The decision we shall make today is whether to mend it with wood that will rot again in a year or two, or with stone that will last for ever.’
‘Nothing lasts for ever, Morys,’ called Prior Pechem piously. ‘Except God.’
‘The Great Bridge has claimed two lives this year alone,’ Morys went on. ‘Namely Baldok and Aynton. I feel it is time to end such needless suffering, and build in stone, for safety and permanence. So first, I invite Doctor Rougham, the University’s most eminent medical man, to give his professional views about the situation.’
Rougham looked startled to hear himself so described, and cast an anxious glance at Bartholomew before taking the floor, evidently afraid of being challenged. He was currently building his College a chapel, and was always looking for new ways to pay for it – Bartholomew could only suppose his testimony had been bought.
‘The Mayor is right,’ Rougham began. ‘The Great Bridge is a serious hazard to public safety. Not only is it unstable, which has led to distressing mishaps, but the river below festers with vile diseases. No one who falls in it will survive.’
This was patently untrue, as children swam in it every day, but Bartholomew did not object to the exclamations of alarm that rippled through the hall, feeling it was not a bad thing for people to be reminded that the filthy Cam represented a significant danger to health.
After Rougham came more witnesses, all of whom were in the pro-stone camp, until it was time for the last and most important opinion of alclass="underline" Shardelowe, sent by the King to provide an official verdict on the matter. The builder presented such a bleak picture of the bridge’s current condition that there was not one person present who did not wonder how it could still be standing.
‘So my advice to you,’ he said in conclusion, ‘is to keep the granite piers and spandrels, but to strengthen them with a limestone balustrade and a durable cobbled pavement. And I am the man to do it for you.’
‘Why is that, Shardelowe?’ prompted Morys, nodding encouragingly.
‘Because I am cheaper than anyone else,’ replied Shardelowe, ‘and because the King admires my work so much that he sent me to assess the situation here. After all, what is good enough for His Majesty should be good enough for anyone else.’
Aware that Morys had already promised Shardelowe the work, and that the council’s decision would thus be a foregone conclusion, Bartholomew’s attention wandered. His gaze fell on Chaumbre, who had left the dais to stand with Edith instead. The dyer took her hand and gave her the sweetest smile imaginable. She returned it and Bartholomew saw there was genuine affection between them. It made him feel treacherous for having Chaumbre on his list of suspects, and he hoped the man could be eliminated before she found out, or she would be furious with him.
Next to him, Dickon sighed and fidgeted with boredom. Then the boy remembered that he had a catapult in his scrip. He pulled it out and began flicking an assortment of missiles at people he did not like. When these included Father William, Bartholomew took it away from him, earning himself a malevolent glower in the process.
‘But who will pay for this extravagant stone creation, Morys?’ called Burgess FitzAbsolon worriedly.
‘All of us,’ replied Morys smoothly. ‘Shardelowe and I have negotiated an excellent price, and the money sent by the King, plus what we have already collected in taxes, will cover three-fifths of it. Show them, John.’
The order was directed at his cousin, the battle-honed knight who was training Dickon in hand-to-hand combat. John flung open the lid of a chest that stood nearby to show it was full of coins. There was an appreciative sigh from those close enough to see them.
‘What says the University?’ asked Morys. ‘You promised a tenth of the cost of a wood bridge, but that is unfair, given that you use it just as much as we do. What about dividing the outstanding amount between us – one fifth from you and one fifth from the town?’
‘So that is why he called an open meeting,’ breathed Bartholomew in understanding. ‘Not to persuade the council to his point of view, because he has probably already bought most of them, but because it is more difficult for us to refuse with half the town looking on.’
‘No,’ called Donwich, before Michael could respond. ‘We are not obliged to contribute anything. The cost must be borne by the town alone, as is right and proper.’
‘You cannot speak for the University,’ said FitzAbsolon crossly. ‘You are not its Chancellor. I want to hear what Brother Michael–’
‘I am the Anti-Chancellor,’ interrupted Donwich grandly, ‘which means I have just as much authority as he does. Besides, it is only a matter of time before the Archbishop’s agents find in my favour, so you would be wise to watch your tongue.’
‘Brother?’ asked Morys, while most townsmen regarded each other in bafflement that such a peculiar situation could exist. ‘Will you show your contempt for the good people of Cambridge by refusing to part with a little of your University’s fabled wealth?’
He and Donwich exchanged a quick glance of triumph, and Bartholomew wondered how much Donwich had been paid to back Michael into an impossible corner. To refuse to contribute to the scheme would antagonise the town, but to agree would allow Donwich to bray to their colleagues that he would not allow himself to be bullied by the Mayor.