‘Such as what?’ asked Michael nosily.
Wynewyk gave a strained smile. ‘The College is experiencing financial difficulties at the moment and there are people to see and arrangements to be made, if we are to eat next week.’
‘In that case, continue,’ said Michael, standing aside to let him pass. ‘However, last night, I was fed chicken giblets and a pile of stale barley. Such victuals are unacceptable, and I sincerely hope you plan to do better in the future.’
‘The food has only been poor over the last three weeks or so,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Before that, we all noticed a great improvement when you started to help Langelee with the accounts.’
Wynewyk smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Matt. But we have had unforeseen expenses recently: we had to replace the guttering on the hall, then Bird got into the conclave and scratched the wax off all the writing tablets. And we have had to purchase new arrows.’ His mouth hardened into a thin line.
‘What for?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘Who do you plan to shoot?’
‘Thorpe and Mortimer,’ replied Wynewyk. ‘Or rather, Langelee does. An old lady came to inspect our weaponry this morning, and recommended we replace our old arrows, because they have become dangerously brittle. She seemed to know more about such things than most mercenaries.’
‘Dame Pelagia,’ said Bartholomew, not surprised that even an experienced warrior like Langelee should defer to her on issues of defence. ‘If ever you are in a brawl, you could not do better than to have her at your side. I would even take her over Langelee.’
‘I do not brawl,’ said Wynewyk distastefully. ‘But, as I said, I am busy, so you must excuse me.’ He pushed past them, and was gone, walking briskly down the High Street with fussy little steps.
‘That was odd,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Why was he trying to hide from us? Did you notice that he never did tell us what he was doing?’
‘I doubt it was anything too mischievous,’ said Michael dismissively. ‘I am more concerned with Bottisham and Deschalers. We have learned that they disliked each other, but we still do not know who took a nail to whom. Or why their disagreement should erupt into violence now, after all these years. Perhaps it was exacerbated by the mill case: Deschalers on one side, Bottisham on the other. Or perhaps Deschalers decided that if he was to die, then Bottisham was going to go with him.’
‘I am not sure about that. Perhaps Deschalers did draw vestiges of murderous strength from somewhere, as Rougham maintains – although I am not sure he is right – but is it likely? Deschalers was the kind of man whose idea of vengeance was to damage his enemy’s finances.’
‘As he did with his withdrawn donation for Gonville’s chapel,’ mused Michael. ‘So we are back to the solution where we have Bottisham the killer, and Deschalers the victim. Damn!’
‘I do not believe that,’ insisted Bartholomew stubbornly. ‘Not Bottisham.’
‘I know how you feel,’ said Michael with a sigh. ‘I find it difficult to accept, too. But we cannot allow our liking for the man to blind us to the facts. Deschalers deserves justice, too, and if Bottisham killed him, then it is our moral duty to tell people what happened. However, while it is never good when a scholar kills a townsman, it is far worse when that townsman was a wealthy burgess.’
‘Then we had better keep our theories to ourselves, until we are certain.’
Michael regarded him with raised eyebrows. ‘Are you suggesting we prevaricate? That we warp the truth? I see I will make a University man of you yet!’
‘That is not what I meant,’ said Bartholomew tartly. ‘I am not suggesting we stay quiet because I am politicking, but because I do not want unfounded speculations to cause rioting and mayhem – or to damage Bottisham’s reputation prematurely.’
Michael rubbed his eyes and sighed again. ‘And how do we do that? It has been four days since the murders, and we are no further on with our enquiries than when they first happened. Poor Bottisham! And poor Deschalers, too.’
They started to walk to Michaelhouse. Bartholomew kept his eyes on his feet as he stepped around the street’s worst filth, only to collide with someone doing the same thing as he came from the opposite direction. It was Master Thorpe from Valence Marie, and in his wake were Warde, Lavenham and Bernarde the miller: the King’s Commissioners.
Bartholomew had never seen a more unhappy group of men. Bernarde was so angry he was shaking, and his face was flushed a deep, dangerous red as he played with his keys. Bartholomew thought he needed to sit quietly and take some deep breaths before he gave himself a seizure. By contrast, Lavenham looked bewildered, as though he was still trying to understand what had transpired. Bernarde grabbed his arm and hauled him away, whispering into his ear in savage hisses. Meanwhile, Thorpe looked weary, while Warde coughed.
‘I take it the first meeting of the King’s Commissioners did not go smoothly?’ asked Michael, amused. ‘You have not resolved the dispute in an hour, as Lavenham predicted?’
Thorpe grimaced. ‘I wish I were not involved in this. I see no solution that will please everyone, so someone must expect to be disappointed.’ He spoke hoarsely, as if he had shouted a lot.
‘Everyone will be disappointed,’ said Warde. He cleared his throat, then spat. ‘Both sides want nothing less than the dismantling of the other’s mill. In a case like this, there is no mutually acceptable solution. In the interests of fairness, I am arguing for the Mortimers – since Lavenham and Bernarde are for the King’s Mill; Thorpe is attempting to mediate. But it is worse than suing the French for peace. No wonder Bishop Bateman was never successful in Avignon! How can you reach an agreement with folk who will not even listen to you?’
‘We appreciate there is a lot at stake,’ said Thorpe tiredly. ‘Both mills represent substantial incomes, plus there is the matter of employment. I do not want to hurt innocent labourers by closing down either mill. But it may come to that, if we cannot reach a compromise.’
Warde coughed again. ‘Damn this wretched tickle! But that angelica is helping, Bartholomew. I must pay you for your advice.’ He started to hunt for coins, but the physician stopped him.
‘You can recompense me by not saying anything to Rougham. I do not want him to accuse me of poaching his patients.’
Thorpe was dismissive. ‘Warde was your patient long before Rougham arrived. He poached from you, not the other way around.’
‘I wish I had kept you, Bartholomew,’ said Warde fervently. ‘Did you know Rougham recommended Water of Snails for my malady? Does he imagine me to be a Frenchman, to suggest such a remedy? And that Hand is next to worthless! I have prayed to it three times now, and it has not seen fit to make me better.’
‘I do not know what to do about the mill dispute,’ said Thorpe, returning to the issue that clearly worried him. ‘The Mortimers’ case will be presented by the lawyers at Gonville Hall. Do you know why they agreed to become embroiled in this, Brother? It is because the Mortimers promised them a handsome donation for their chapel if they win! As I said, the stakes are high for all concerned.’
‘They said nothing of this to me,’ said Michael indignantly. ‘And I asked Acting Master Pulham straight out whether Gonville had interests in the Mortimers’ venture.’
Thorpe looked unhappy. ‘Then he was lying to you.’
‘We should visit the King’s Mill again,’ said Michael two days later, when Saturday morning’s teaching was done and the Fellows were enjoying a cup of cheap wine and a plate of stale oatcakes in the conclave. The monk was depressed and worried – both about the lack of progress in his investigation, and about the continuing decline in College food. ‘I need to see what it looks like when it is working, and I want to ask Bernarde more about what he knows of the two men who died so horribly among the grinding mechanisms he operates. He is my last hope – I cannot think of anything else to do that might throw light on this matter.’