‘But Aquinas disagreed,’ said Bartholomew, placing parchment and ink on a table and preparing to take notes. ‘He maintained that although the form of the spirit is shared by other members of the same species, a particular object is unique by virtue of its determinate quantitative extension in space and time. And, in knowing form, the mind knows matter only in general terms. Ergo, reason cannot know singulars directly.’
Duraunt clapped his hands in delight. ‘I see you have not forgotten what I taught you all those years ago, Matthew. But you did not come here to debate the question of corporeal substances.’ His expression was wistful. ‘Or did you? Such a discourse would make an old man very happy.’
‘That is not why we are here,’ said Michael, although whether he referred to academic polemic or to pleasing Duraunt was unclear. ‘We have come – yet again – to unravel the web of lies that has been spun at Merton Hall. First, there were untruths about Chesterfelde, then about Gonerby, then about Okehamptone, and now there is a fourth corpse to consider – one that has mysteriously disappeared.’
‘That had nothing to do with us,’ said Eu. ‘We have been too busy trying to solve Gonerby’s murder. Of course, that would not be an issue if your University was even remotely competent at deciding which of its members slaughters innocent merchants in alien cities.’
‘Then what about you?’ asked Michael, swinging around to Polmorva. ‘You have had plenty of time to drop corpses in cisterns and fish them out again, because you have not had the burden of identifying a killer, like these poor burgesses. Or have you? Since you witnessed Gonerby’s death, you are probably more than eager to see his murderer caught – so he does not try to silence you, too.’
Polmorva gave a tight smile. ‘I saw nothing to identify the culprit, and I can defend myself anyway. Brawling with Bartholomew as a young man allowed me to hone my martial skills.’
‘If you fight as poorly as Matt, then you should consider hiring a bodyguard,’ advised Michael. ‘But the body missing from the cistern is not my only concern today. I have recently learned that Eudo is a thief, and that he has been storing his ill-gotten gains on Merton property.’
‘That is no surprise,’ said Polmorva. ‘The man lived here, for God’s sake. Where else would you expect him to keep his loot? But this does not mean that you can charge us with his crimes.’
‘We shall see,’ replied Michael enigmatically. ‘One of the objects recovered from his hoard was an astrolabe. A silver one.’ He looked hard at Wormynghalle, who sat fiddling with his sheep-head pendant, although whether his restless twisting resulted from boredom, anxiety or a guilty conscience was impossible to tell.
‘That was Polmorva’s,’ said Eu. ‘But, not being brass, it did not work, so he sold it to our tanner.’
‘Why did you sell it, Polmorva?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Are you short of funds?’
Polmorva stared at him with glittering hatred. ‘No, I am not,’ he snarled. ‘How dare you – with your patched tabard and frayed tunic – accuse me of poverty. Do I look poor, when my clothes are the best money can buy, and Queen Philippa herself uses me as her occasional confessor and rewards me accordingly? And how could I buy silver astrolabes, if I were impecunious? Your question is foolish as well as impertinent.’
‘It is also unanswered,’ said Michael. ‘Why did you sell it?’
Polmorva turned his glower on the monk. ‘Because it did not work – the alidade sticks. I should have given it to Bartholomew, who would not know the difference between a good instrument and a bad one, and who will never own such a fine thing unless someone makes him a gift of one.’
‘Matthew was always better than you at astrological calculations,’ said Duraunt softly. ‘Do not accuse him of poor scholarship in an area where he excelled.’
‘Why did you buy it in the first place?’ asked Michael, while Polmorva reddened at the reprimand. ‘Or do you make a point of purchasing inferior goods with your unlimited wealth?’
The look Polmorva shot him was supremely venomous. ‘I have a liking for unusual objects – how many silver astrolabes have you ever seen? – and Dodenho asked a very reasonable price. Then Wormynghalle took a liking to it, and since it did not work well enough to be useful, I sold it to him. At a handsome profit.’
‘How handsome?’ demanded the tanner, not liking the notion he had been fleeced.
‘And why did you buy a defective astrolabe?’ demanded Michael, rounding on him.
‘Because he thought owning one would make him appear erudite,’ said Eu with a superior sneer. ‘He buys anything he thinks will raise him in the opinion of his peers.’
Wormynghalle came to his feet, his thick features flushed with rage. ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard,’ said Eu, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs in front of him in an attitude that screamed disdain. ‘No amount of good cloth and expensive jewels can change the fact that you hail from a ditch. You should have claimed a kinship with that grubby scholar from King’s Hall, because even he would have improved your pedigree.’
‘You vain cockerel-’ began Wormynghalle, making towards Eu with a murderous expression on his face. Michael interposed his substantial bulk between them and Wormynghalle almost lost his footing when he cannoned into him and bounced off again.
‘Now, now, gentlemen,’ said the monk. ‘I did not come to hear you quarrel. I want answers about this astrolabe. It belonged to Polmorva, who sold it to Wormynghalle. Then what?’
‘It was stolen,’ said Wormynghalle sullenly. He clutched his sheep-head pendant so hard that his fingers were white, and Bartholomew had the feeling he would dearly love to bludgeon Eu with it. It was heavy enough to do serious damage, and the physician made a mental note to check it for bloodstains, if Eu was ever murdered. ‘And I know exactly who took it.’
‘Who?’ demanded Michael. ‘Eudo? Boltone?’
‘Bartholomew,’ said Wormynghalle, pointing an accusing finger at the physician. ‘I wanted to report him to the Chancellor, but Duraunt persuaded me to overlook the matter, on the grounds that I can buy a better one in Oxford anyway.’
‘Of course it was him,’ said Polmorva, so Bartholomew knew exactly who had planted the seed of that particular accusation. ‘As I said, he will never earn enough to buy one for himself, so theft was his only recourse.’
‘I do not want us associated with any more disagreeable matters,’ explained Duraunt to Michael. ‘And if Matthew needed an astrolabe, then I could not find it in my heart to take it from him.’
‘I did not steal it,’ objected Bartholomew, amazed Duraunt should think he had. A charge from Polmorva was one thing, but to have his old teacher convinced of his guilt was another altogether.
‘You were the only one we saw looking at it,’ said Duraunt. ‘If it was not you, then who was it?’
‘It was him,’ snapped Wormynghalle. ‘He is poor and of course will covet such a lovely thing – especially knowing it had once been the property of his rival.’
‘But I do not want an astrolabe,’ objected Bartholomew indignantly. ‘I have no time for calculating pointless horoscopes that are of no use to man nor beast.’
‘Matthew!’ exclaimed Duraunt, shocked. ‘You are a physician: you cannot manage without the calculations that tell you how and when to treat your patients. It would be grossly negligent.’
‘He probably relies on the Devil to tell him what to do,’ said Polmorva.
Bartholomew did not deign to reply, suspecting that anything he said would be twisted and given a sinister meaning. Suddenly he wished Polmorva and the whole Oxford contingent would just go home, taking their petty disputes and unfounded accusations with them. He was tired of them all, even Duraunt, and regretted agreeing to accompany Michael to Merton Hall.