Bartholomew wished the man would go away, since he was not prepared to be polite. ‘He gave me a gold noble to buy medicine for Godric of Ovyng Hostel a few weeks ago. Godric was bitten by a dog and the wound festered, but Ovyng did not have the money for salves. Bottisham has been helping Isnard and Mistress Lenne, too.’
Rougham stared at him angrily. ‘I did not know any of this. Why was I not called to attend this Godric? And why did Bottisham dispense funds to help men from other hostels, when we have a chapel to build?’
Bartholomew saw he should have remained quiet about Bottisham’s quiet generosity. Most men would have been impressed to learn that someone they knew had acted in an anonymously charitable manner, but Rougham seemed intent on being antagonistic that morning. Bartholomew decided it would be better for everyone if he did not dignify the man’s curt questions with a reply.
‘Bottisham was a good man,’ said Pulham. He smiled at Rougham in an attempt to placate him. ‘Perhaps he left us something in his will. Then we can rid ourselves of young Thorpe.’
‘You should not have accepted Thorpe as a student,’ said Michael. The monk had changed the subject, reluctant to begin an interrogation in which he would demand to know whether Bottisham had been involved in something sinister that had led to his odd death in the King’s Mill. ‘His presence in your College will only end in tears.’
‘He was persistent,’ explained Pulham. ‘He was determined to become a scholar, so I thought we may as well take his fees, since we are currently short of funds. He offered to sew us an altar cloth and chasuble if we took him. Besides, he does not want to live here, just to study occasionally.’
‘You will find yourselves the losers,’ warned Michael.
‘I certainly did,’ muttered Ufford, touching the cut on his nose.
‘Did you make an official complaint about this attack on you?’ asked Michael. ‘To the Sheriff or one of my beadles?’
Ufford pulled a disagreeable face. ‘There was no point. I am a lawyer, and I know any King’s Pardon is absolute. Complaints about Thorpe or Edward will just be seen as sour grapes. They are untouchable. Look what else they did to me.’
He pulled up his tabard to reveal a knee that was bruised and swollen. Bartholomew winced, knowing such an injury would make walking painful.
‘They stamped on it, when I was down,’ said Ufford, the indignation in his voice making it clear what he thought of their ungentlemanly conduct.
‘You did not tell me why they picked on you,’ said Michael. ‘Did you say something to antagonise them? They are spoiling for a fight, so it would not be difficult to do.’
‘I was praying to the Hand,’ said Ufford resentfully. ‘They had no right to resort to violence. I gave them no cause to do so – ask anyone. Several Michaelhouse students saw what happened. They will tell you I was an innocent victim of a gratuitous attack.’
Michael was disapproving. ‘I know the Hand is revered in some quarters, but I did not imagine the scholars of Gonville Hall to be among its foolish admirers.’
‘We are not,’ said Pulham firmly. ‘Most of us know it came from Peterkin Starre the simpleton.’
‘The Hand is imbued with healing powers,’ argued Rougham, fixing his colleague with an angry glare. ‘I often send my patients there when all else fails. Some have been cured instantly. Look at Ufford. He was on the verge of leprosy, but has been reprieved by the Hand’s intervention.’
‘Why should Thorpe and Mortimer object to your prayers to the Hand?’ asked Bartholomew of Ufford. He was proud of himself for not telling Rougham that his diagnosis was absurd.
‘Thorpe was telling people that the Hand should not be locked away in the University Church,’ replied Ufford. ‘He said it should be somewhere more public. Foolishly, I ventured the opinion that it was all right where it was, and that it should not be moved. St Mary the Great is a fine, strong church, and Father William is an honest guardian, who never refuses anyone access to it – scholar or townsman.’
‘Thorpe fought you over the location of a false relic?’ asked Michael incredulously.
‘No, Brother,’ replied Ufford gravely. ‘He fought me over the Hand of Valence Marie. It is not a false relic, and in time it will make Cambridge a site of great pilgrimage.’
‘Sweet Jesus!’ muttered Michael.
‘If the Hand is so powerful, then why is your nose cut and your leg swollen?’ asked Bartholomew archly, although the question was really aimed at Rougham. ‘Surely, you should be cured?’
‘I have not been to visit it since the attack,’ explained Ufford simply. ‘Rougham calculated my horoscope and he says it is not safe for me to leave the College for another two days.’
Rougham looked smug. Bartholomew thought Ufford would have benefited more from a poultice of powdered knapweed root and warm beeswax, but he held his tongue.
‘The Hand did not intercede for Deschalers,’ said Pulham to Rougham. ‘Even I could see that he had the taint of death about him. He told me you recommended a private audience with the relic, but afterwards, he became more ill than ever.’
‘He had a canker in the bowels,’ said Rougham. ‘I did suggest a visit to the Hand, but his sins must have been too great, for his prayers went unanswered. I knew he was not long for this world, although it is unfortunate he was deprived of his last few weeks by a nail.’
‘I agree,’ said Michael. ‘Was he depressed about his condition, do you think?’
‘You are asking whether I believe Deschalers was so distressed about his impending death that he murdered Bottisham and killed himself,’ surmised Rougham, who had evidently heard about the lack of a third party in the King’s Mill when the two men had died. ‘And the answer is yes. He was weak from his illness, but he could have mustered enough strength to perform one last act of violence. It is the only viable solution, because Bottisham cannot have murdered Deschalers.’
‘I heard they died from nails penetrating their brains via their mouths,’ said Pulham distastefully. ‘I do not see Bottisham inflicting that sort of injury – or any other, for that matter – on anyone. It seems an odd way to choose for a suicide. What was Deschalers thinking of?’
‘It does sound improbable, and I speak from my experience as a medicus,’ agreed Rougham. ‘I suppose the man must have used a nail on Bottisham, then felt obliged to dispatch himself in a like manner. Suicides are rarely rational in their thoughts as they prepare to die. He probably saw some contorted logic in his decision that is impenetrable to a sane mind.’
Bartholomew conceded that he was probably right, and the twisted reasoning of a deranged mind had led one of the two men to kill his enemy and then himself in this bizarre manner. He could think of no other explanation that made sense.
‘I heard Gonville will represent the Mortimer clan in their argument about water with the King’s Mill,’ said Michael, changing the subject. ‘Is it true?’
Pulham nodded. ‘We shall miss Bottisham’s incisive mind, though.’
‘Why have you chosen to support the Mortimers over the Millers’ Society?’ asked Michael. ‘Do you have shares in their venture, or have they promised to become benefactors?’
‘No,’ said Rougham shortly. ‘We took their case because they offered to pay us well.’
Ufford gave a rueful smile. ‘And because we are tired of seeing men like Deschalers, Morice, Cheney and Lavenham have their way in the town. They are all wealthy, yet they dabble in milling to make themselves richer still. It is time they learned they cannot always have what they want.’
‘But the Mortimers are wealthy and greedy, too,’ Michael pointed out. ‘And Thomas killed an innocent man by driving a cart when he was drunk. They are scarcely blameless.’
‘Bottisham was shocked by that,’ admitted Pulham. ‘I imagine that is why he visited Isnard and Mistress Lenne: to ease his troubled conscience.’