‘It has not done much for his, either,’ Michael pointed out. ‘I bullied the Weasenhams into silence, but it is like using a twig to dam a river. The rumours are rife, and his refusal to deny them has made tongues wag all the harder.’
‘We shall have to concoct an explanation that will restore our good names when this is over,’ said Matilde unhappily. ‘Folk respect Matthew, and will not believe ill of him for long.’
‘People are fickle,’ countered Michael. ‘They may well like him, but that will not stop them from turning on him like wild animals, if properly incited.’ He saw his friends wince at his choice of similes, and spread his hands in apology.
‘How is our patient?’ asked Matilde, indicating the upper chamber of her house with a nod of her head. ‘You said last night that you thought he might be on the mend, Matthew.’
‘His fever has lessened, and the wound does not burn so fiercely. I think he will survive now.’
Matilde heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God! I do not know what we would have done if he had died. We would have gone to the gallows.’
‘You took a great risk,’ agreed Michael. ‘Especially to help someone like Doctor Rougham. He would not have done the same for you, Matt. On the contrary: he would have used the situation as an excuse to cause you as much damage as possible.’
‘I am not doing it for him,’ said Bartholomew. He looked at Matilde and his bleak expression softened with affection. She smiled back, but sadly, and it did not touch her eyes. Michael watched the exchange with frank curiosity, but kept his thoughts to himself.
‘How did you guess what was going on?’ Matilde asked the monk, twisting her empty goblet through restless fingers. ‘Why did you not believe Matthew was enjoying the company of a harlot every night, as everyone else seems to have done?’ Her voice was bitter.
‘You cannot blame them,’ said Michael reasonably. ‘You must see how it looks for a man to slink away in the dark and visit you – Mistress of the Guild of Frail Sisters – night after night.’
Matilde shook her head, and the monk was startled to see the sparkle of tears. She was exhausted, and the relief of sharing her burden was almost too much to bear. Her voice was angry as she embarked on a sudden and uncharacteristic outburst. ‘It is not fair! I was awarded my dubious reputation the moment I set foot in this town, although I did little to deserve it. I admit, I accepted the occasional man into my chambers at first – if he could afford my fees – but they were infrequent. Do you know that no man has secured my favours for more than two years now? I am as chaste as you are, Brother.’
Bartholomew stared into the fire, thinking that she might have chosen a better example of chastity than the fat monk. However, he was certain she was telling the truth about her own situation; she had mentioned several times of late that her days of frolicking with wealthy patrons were over.
‘They jump to those conclusions because of your association with whores,’ said Michael gently. ‘You cannot stand up for their rights and expect not to be connected with what they do.’
Matilde was distressed. ‘When I first came here, I thought it was amusing to be the subject of such exotic tales. But those things are for younger women, and now I am older, I crave respectability – I want an end to all this merry chatter. But this business with Rougham has done damage I fear will prove irreparable.’
Bartholomew watched the flames devour a log, destroying it slowly but inexorably, just as the town’s gossip was doing to Matilde’s chances of earning respect. She would never have it, no matter how long she remained in Cambridge, playing the role of an upright and moral woman. It was simply more interesting for people to believe otherwise, and he knew they would do so for the rest of her life. Her only recourse was to move away, but he hoped she would not. However, if she did want to leave, he decided to go with her, prepared to give up his life as a scholar for the woman he loved so deeply. He felt an urge to ask her to marry him there and then, but an uncomfortable shyness suddenly assailed him, and he knew he could not broach the subject when Michael was present.
‘How did you guess, Brother?’ he asked instead, dragging his thoughts away from a future with Matilde, and grateful that at least he would not have to lie to Michael any more. The monk was astute, and it had been difficult trying to mislead him.
‘Through a few clues here and there, and a good deal of cleverness,’ said Michael, pleased with himself. ‘But I put the last pieces of the puzzle together when Cynric told that outrageous story about Gonerby being killed by a bite. You were appalled, but not surprised. While I argued with Cynric that it is impossible to die in such a manner, you remained suspiciously silent. And you are not usually mute about such matters.’
‘You mean on methods of killing?’ asked Matilde, regarding Bartholomew uneasily.
‘On anything to do with physiology. I had to ask him direct questions about these bites, whereas normally he would have volunteered the information in tedious detail. Also, he had mentioned a throat wound in the body in the cistern, but it was left to me to make the connection between that and Gonerby. He is not often slow to see such associations, and his reaction sent me a clear message: he had encountered such an injury before.’
‘But how did you go from that to me?’ asked Matilde.
Michael shrugged. ‘It was obvious once I thought about it. I have been nagging him about his visits here for days, and I sensed there was more to them than romping in your attic. Nor is he a man to put personal enjoyment before the reputation of a lady, especially one he adores. Therefore, I reasoned that it was not you he was here to see, but someone else. A patient.’
‘How did you guess it was Rougham?’ asked Bartholomew, acutely aware of Matilde’s flush of pleasure that accompanied Michael’s words.
Michael smiled ruefully. ‘I did not. He was the last person I expected to discover! But tell me again what happened.’ He raised a hand when Bartholomew started to object. ‘I know you swore never to reveal his secret, but I already know the essence of this tale, so it cannot harm to fill in the details. And I may be able to help. You two have aroused so much suspicion that you will be hard-pressed to remove him from this house without being seen. You will need my assistance.’
‘He will not like it,’ warned Matilde. ‘He almost died before I persuaded him to summon Matthew, and he made us both swear, on our lives, that we would keep his story secret.’
‘I do not care,’ said Michael harshly. ‘The man has been responsible for harming – perhaps permanently – two of my friends. I do not care what he likes or dislikes. And, what is more important, he is lucky I do not storm up to his sickbed and fine him for dallying with loose women.’
A weak knock sounded through the ceiling. ‘There he is again,’ said Matilde wearily. ‘I thought you said he was better.’
‘He is – and that will be the problem from now on,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘He is well enough to make demands. The sooner we take him to Gonville the better. Then his colleagues can tend him.’
‘I am exhausted,’ said Matilde, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. ‘You see to him, Matthew. I shall need all my strength to deal with him again tomorrow.’
‘Now I understand why you refused to let me visit her,’ said Michael softly. ‘You knew she would either be sleeping or wrestling with Rougham’s care.’
‘His illness has been severe, and he has needed someone with him almost every moment for the past two weeks. We agreed that Matilde would tend him from dawn until I was able to escape at night, and I would care for him during the hours of darkness – I could not come during the day, not without affecting my teaching and other patients. And there was you to consider: you would have been suspicious, had I started to visit her at the expense of my other duties.’