William nodded. ‘It is a pleasant place with a large garden, but it is on Bridge Street. We decided to hawk it, and use the money to acquire the Refham shops instead, which are next door to us. It is better to expand our core site, rather than to collect houses in distant parts of the town.’
‘I was cornered last week by a man interested in buying Sewale Cottage,’ said Langelee. ‘That is why I called this meeting, actually. If folk are going to approach individual Fellows, then we need to be sure we do not contradict each other by quoting different prices.’
‘Who cornered you?’ asked Michael.
‘That wealthy merchant from Norwich – Spynk.’
‘He came to me, too,’ said Wynewyk. ‘He said he plans to develop business interests in Cambridge, and a small house on Bridge Street would suit him very well.’
‘He offered me a horse today,’ said Bartholomew. ‘In return, he wanted inside information about bids made by other potential buyers.’
‘Good,’ said Langelee, pleased. ‘We could do with another nag. Next time you meet, you can report that Barnwell Priory is the most serious contender. Carton was negotiating with them.’
‘He already knows that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He sent his wife to spy there on Saturday, on the pretext of purchasing honey.’
‘That is the day Carton died,’ pounced Michael. ‘In the afternoon.’
Bartholomew had worked that out, too. He nodded. ‘She must have left before the commotion started, or she would have mentioned it.’
‘Unless she was responsible,’ said Michael pointedly.
‘She will not have stabbed Carton,’ said Langelee, with such conviction that Bartholomew glanced at him sharply, wondering why the Master felt able to make such a firm statement. ‘Seduce him, very possibly. But kill? Never! I wonder why Prior Norton wants to buy Sewale Cottage. It is too small to be used as a hostel for his novice-canons, so why is he so keen to have it?’
‘Barnwell will buy anything,’ explained Wynewyk. ‘They own more property than all the other Orders put together. And the more they buy, the richer they become, from rents.’
‘It goes against the grain to sell to another Order,’ said William. ‘Still, better Augustinians than Dominicans. I would never sell anything to a Dominican.’
‘Really,’ muttered Langelee under his breath. ‘You do surprise me.’
‘However,’ William boomed, fixing each of his colleagues with a beady glare. As one they braced themselves, knowing from experience that an announcement was about to be made, and that it was almost certain to be objectionable. ‘I have it on good authority that the canons of Barnwell want Sewale Cottage for sinister reasons.’
‘And what authority is that, pray?’ asked Michael, when the friar did not elaborate, but merely sat with his lips pursed meaningfully, as if the declaration was all the explanation that was needed.
‘I have my sources,’ replied William haughtily. ‘And they are secret. But it was Mildenale, if you must know. He says they plan to build a granary on the site.’
‘That is not sinister,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘Sewale Cottage is close to wharves they already own, and the garden has plenty of room for such a structure. They will unload their barges, and store–’
‘Actually, their purpose in building the granary is to entice rats to the town,’ declared William. ‘And that is sinister. Surely, you have not forgotten how they burned the Hardy house last year?’
There was silence, as his colleagues tried to fathom the logic behind his claims. Eventually, seeing there was none and that he was just giving rumours his own unique interpretation, they resumed their discussion as though he had not spoken.
‘What about the property we want to get?’ asked Langelee. ‘The Refham houses.’
Wynewyk sighed. ‘As you know, Mistress Refham said on her deathbed that we should have them at a reduced cost. Unfortunately, her son and his wife are being difficult, and they have put them on the market.’
‘How dare they!’ exclaimed William angrily. ‘She promised us first refusal.’
‘But it was a spoken agreement and nothing was written,’ said Wynewyk. ‘Refham is determined to make himself rich from his mother’s inheritance, so we are in for a battle, I am afraid.’
‘Do we really want them?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Yes we do, because of their location,’ explained Wynewyk. ‘We own the properties on either side of them, and they will allow us to expand in the future. If we do not buy them now, we might never have another chance. We will not use them in the short term – we shall rent them to Mildenale, so he can found his hostel – but their long-term importance cannot be overemphasised.’
‘Why Mildenale?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘We discussed this last time,’ said Langelee curtly. ‘Take notes, if you cannot remember from one meeting to the next. However, I shall repeat myself this once: it is because we are all a bit tired of his noisy religious opinions and it is a good way to be rid of him.’
‘I like his noisy religious opinions,’ objected William. ‘He is a man after my own heart and–’
‘And in recognition of his service to the College,’ added Suttone, more charitable than the Master. ‘He was a founding Fellow, and one of our very first teachers. I know he left Cambridge shortly afterwards, and spent the next three decades as a parish priest in Norfolk, but he has often sent us gifts of money and books through the years. He has been good to us.’
‘To summarise, we have two parties currently interested in buying Sewale Cottage,’ said Wynewyk, bringing the discussion back on track. ‘Namely Spynk and Barnwell. Meanwhile, I am trying to persuade Refham to honour his mother’s dying wish, but I suspect we will end up paying more than we want.’
‘Damn,’ said Langelee. ‘The last item is the Bishop. Have you heard from him, Brother?’
Before Michael could reply, there was a knock on the door, and Cynric came in.
‘Arblaster the dung-merchant is ailing again,’ said the book-bearer quietly to Bartholomew. The physician was alarmed to see the guide to witchcraft under his arm. ‘He needs you immediately. And Junior Proctor Bukenham reminds you to see him on the way home, too.’
‘Go,’ ordered Langelee, standing abruptly and making for the door. ‘It is time for a break anyway, and I am hungry. We shall finish our business when you return.’
Bartholomew was hungry, too, but the summons sounded urgent, and he did not want Arblaster to share the Bene’t student’s fate. He set off towards the Barnwell Causeway at a rapid clip and Michael, who had offered to accompany him part of the way, did not keep up for long. The monk disappeared into an alehouse in the Old Jewry, near where Matilde had lived, claiming it was the haunt of men who might be able to answer questions about the blood in the font.
The sun scorched the Fens so fiercely that even birds seemed oppressed by the heat, and the countryside was both still and silent as Bartholomew walked. Usually, there were some sounds, even if only the whisper of wind or a dog barking, but that day there was nothing. It felt unnatural.
He was soon drenched in sweat, and dust adhered to his wet skin and clothes. He forced himself on, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He had dispensed with his tabard the moment he had left the town – partly because it was an additional layer he did not need, but also because it was not wise for lone scholars to flaunt themselves outside the comparative safety of the town. The University was an unpopular institution, and academics made for tempting targets.
He tapped on Arblaster’s door and pushed it open without waiting for an answer, desperate to be out of the sun. It took a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light, but when they did, he was astonished to see the dung-master sitting at a table with his ledgers, while Jodoca sewed by the window. He regarded them uncertainly, wondering whether someone had made him the butt of a practical joke. Arblaster did not look as though he had taken a turn for the worse. On the contrary, there was colour in his cheeks, and the fact that he was out of bed showed he had made a good recovery. Furthermore, Jodoca’s presence suggested he was no longer afraid of dying and having Mother Valeria come to snatch his soul.