‘You are not the only one who can destroy reputations,’ yelled Shardelowe, beside himself with rage. ‘No builder will ever finish your bridge, because I shall put it about that you are all cheats and liars, not to be trusted.’
‘Gentlemen, please,’ said Bernarde, raising one hand in a gesture of peace. ‘There is no need for harsh words. We can resolve–’
‘I will cut out your tongue for slandering my town, Shardelowe,’ hissed Morys viciously, and turned to his cousin. ‘Well? Go on, John. Do it!’
No one found out whether John would have obliged, because there was a flurry of movement, and Tulyet and Dickon arrived to separate the two factions. Dickon held a dagger, but Tulyet did not need steel to impose his will on anyone. John backed off at once, and so did Bernarde, pulling Shardelowe with him. Unfortunately, Morys’s last threat had been one too many for Lyonnes. He released Shardelowe’s arm and drew a knife.
‘Out of my way, boy,’ he snarled at Dickon. ‘I am going to teach this bastard a lesson.’
‘You?’ sneered Morys, although he ducked smartly behind John for safety. ‘You are a worm, beneath my contempt.’
‘Worm, am I?’ screeched Lyonnes furiously, and waved the knife in a way that made it obvious he did not know what to do with it now it was out.
‘Slice out his tongue, Lyonnes,’ yelled Shardelowe, fighting to free himself from Bernarde. ‘He is a liar. Hearing his voice is an affront to honest ears.’
Morys addressed the watching crowd. ‘Everything I do is for you, to ensure your taxes are used wisely. Or should I let these rogues fleece us?’
Lyonnes was red with rage. He darted forward, but to reach Morys, he had to get past first Dickon and then John. The boy blanched in fright at the sight of an armed man bearing down on him. He dropped his dagger and struggled to draw his sword. It hissed from its scabbard, and more by luck than skill, managed to knock the blade from Lyonnes’ hand. Seeing him defenceless, Dickon went after him with more confidence, driving him back with a series of increasingly fancy swipes.
‘Enough, Dickon,’ said Tulyet hastily, before there was a mishap. ‘Sheathe your weapon. You have made your point.’
‘Yes, sheathe your weapon, Devil’s spawn,’ snarled Lyonnes, determined to have the last word. ‘And if you come near me again, I will plant a blade in your nasty little gizzard.’
‘If you try, I shall chop off your stupid head,’ countered Dickon, his face dark with indignation. ‘My sword is sharp enough. I hone it for hours every night.’
Lyonnes’ response was to spit on the ground at Dickon’s feet, and stalk away. Livid, Dickon made as if to follow, but Tulyet forbade it with a few sharp words. Dickon wavered, and for one horrifying moment, Bartholomew thought the time had finally come when the boy defied his father and did what he pleased. But Tulyet fixed him with a steely glare, and Dickon slid his sword back in its sheath, albeit with very ill grace.
‘Show me the contract, Shardelowe,’ ordered Tulyet, turning to the builder. ‘If Morys did agree to pay for supplies as they arrive, then that is what will happen.’
‘Now just a moment,’ objected Morys. ‘It has nothing to do with you, Sheriff. You cannot come here and start dictating–’
‘Some of the bridge money came from the King,’ interrupted Tulyet sharply. ‘And I am his representative. So, unless you want to challenge his authority, I suggest you shut up.’
Ignoring Morys’s furious glower, he took the document and held it so that Dickon could read it, too. The boy’s lips moved as he struggled to decipher the first few words, but he soon gave up and went to brag to John about his ‘defeat of the murderous Frenchman’. Everyone else watched Tulyet, and Bartholomew was not the only one holding his breath for the verdict. Eventually, the Sheriff handed the contract back.
‘Shardelowe is right,’ he said. ‘So Morys will provide payment for these cobbles by the end of the day. Any money-counting should be finished by then, so there can be no reason to defer it any longer. Agreed?’
Shardelowe opened his mouth to say he wanted it there and then, but Bernarde pulled him away before he could prolong the confrontation. Morys scowled at Tulyet, then stalked off in the opposite direction.
‘Dickon really is horrible,’ murmured Matilde to Bartholomew, watching the boy draw his sword again and strut about importantly in the hope of being noticed by Rohese Morys. ‘Obviously, I do not believe he is the Devil’s son, but, even so, I shall be glad when he goes a-killing in France.’
‘So will he,’ said Bartholomew.
The physician lingered outside Matilde’s house for some time after the spat was over, because it had happened on her doorstep, and he wanted to make sure it did not reignite. Tulyet and Dickon also stayed, and so did Brampton. The Senior Proctor should have ordered the remaining scholars home, but he chose instead to corner Father Aiden and demand Maud’s Hostel’s share of the University’s contribution to the bridge.
‘Michael’s replacement is useless,’ declared Dickon, watching in disdain. ‘I bet you anything that he will not have the bridge money by Wednesday. Some scholars will refuse to pay it, and he does not know how to make them. Perhaps I should show him.’
He drew his sword yet again, and began to practise more of the moves he had learned from John. Tulyet did not order him to desist, because the sight of Dickon with a naked blade was driving the last of the spectators away rather nicely.
‘I cannot imagine what Morys thought he was doing,’ Tulyet said to Bartholomew. ‘He was in the wrong and he knew it. All I hope is that his needless aggravation of the builders does not leave us with a sub-standard bridge.’
‘I think we might get one of those anyway,’ said Bartholomew. ‘How can it be otherwise when the work proceeds at such a breakneck speed?’
‘Perhaps that is why Lyonnes is so bad tempered,’ put in Dickon, still waving his sword around. ‘He is tired and needs to rest.’
‘I wonder what they are talking about,’ said Tulyet, nodding to where Chaumbre and Shardelowe were deep in conversation.
He started to stride towards them, but the builder saw him coming and hurried away.
‘We were discussing my dye-pits,’ said Chaumbre with a pleasant smile when the Sheriff put the question. ‘He thinks it is a pity such handsome structures must be filled in.’
‘Is that why you procrastinate?’ asked Tulyet, startled. ‘You like the workmanship in the things? Well, I am afraid you will have to grit your teeth and bear it, Chaumbre, because they are an eyesore and a danger.’
‘I disagree,’ objected Chaumbre. ‘However, a consignment of alum arrived this morning, and I must see to it at once, as it is worth a lot of money. I shall deal with the pits as soon as I have a spare moment.’
He bowed and took his leave. Tulyet watched him go.
‘I know he is your kin, Matt, but there is something odd about that man. For a start, I do not understand why he smiles all the time. It is hardly normal. And I do not believe that Shardelowe was admiring his holes in the ground.’
Unhappily, Bartholomew was inclined to agree.
It was unfortunate that Bartholomew did not corner Morys immediately after the spat on the High Street, because he reached the Mayor’s fine mansion only to learn that the man had already left town on business. Rohese told him that her husband planned to spend the night away, but would return in the morning.
‘Perhaps you should take the opportunity to leave yourself,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Your child will begin to show soon.’
Rohese rested a hand on her belly and smiled. ‘I will go in a day or two. I have decided to settle in Oxford, because I have always enjoyed the company of scholars.’