He followed the Master to the outskirts of the hospital, and watched as he opened a gate and headed for the house that had become Clippesby’s prison. Bartholomew followed, thinking no further ahead than his intention to protect Clippesby, but bitterly aware that he would need the element of surprise if he wanted to win the confrontation. Langelee was an experienced and able brawler, and Bartholomew doubted he could best him in a fair fight. He took one of the surgical knives from his medical bag, and hoped that would even the odds – at least for long enough to allow Clippesby to escape.
Langelee crept up the stairs, and Bartholomew heard the key being taken from the wall. He winced when the wooden steps creaked under his own feet as he climbed in stealthy pursuit. He watched Langelee remove the heavy bar, then open the door to Clippesby’s chamber. He realised he would have to make his move immediately, since he did not think the Master would engage in pleasant conversation before he executed his troublesome Fellow. As quickly and as softly as he could, he sped along the corridor and burst into the room, wrapping one arm around Langelee’s throat and pressing his knife against it firmly enough to ensure Langelee would understand he meant business.
Clippesby was sitting inside his cell. He had been reading by candlelight, and gazed in astonishment at the sudden and violent intrusion.
‘Matt! Did you bring those books you promised? You forgot to leave them yesterday – perhaps because I was not very welcoming when you came. I was grieving, because the wren who comes to take crumbs from my windowsill had died.’ He swallowed hard, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
‘Died?’ asked Bartholomew warily, wondering whether Clippesby, deprived of human victims, had resorted to dispatching his beloved animals as a means to satisfy his bloodlust.
‘The cat got her – it was my fault for encouraging her to be trusting.’ Clippesby’s voice wavered, but then he took a deep breath and pulled himself together. ‘Put down the knife, will you? This is a small room and I do not want an accident, especially one resulting from horseplay.’
‘I am not playing,’ said Bartholomew, bemused.
‘Let me go!’ ordered a familiar voice that shook with indignant fury. ‘Agatha?’ he asked in astonishment. ‘Of course it is me!’ she snapped, throwing him off and adjusting the clothes he had ruffled. ‘Who did you think it was?’
‘Agatha has been bringing me food and other supplies ever since I was brought here,’ said Clippesby when all three were sitting comfortably, and Agatha had finally, if reluctantly, accepted Bartholomew’s increasingly effusive apologies for daring to lay hands on her person.
‘It rained when I came here last night,’ explained Agatha. ‘I was drenched by the time I returned to Michaelhouse, and my cloak is still wet. Langelee forgot to take his with him earlier, and we are about the same height, so I decided to borrow it. I do not think he will mind.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Bartholomew, thinking the Master certainly would object if he thought the laundress was wearing his distinctive clothes to conduct dubious nocturnal errands, particularly when it had led to at least one person assuming he was up to no good.
‘I suppose you saw the garment and thought I was him,’ said Agatha, affronted. ‘I do not know how you could confuse us, Matthew. Langelee is hefty, while I retain the slim figure of my youth.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, not sure what else to say without incriminating himself. If the truth were known, Agatha was larger than Langelee, and there was little to choose between them from behind. ‘You hesitated when you went past the stationer’s shop, and I concluded you were Langelee looking for Alyce,’ he added, when she looked peeved that he had not immediately agreed with her assessment.
‘Of course I was careful when I passed that place,’ stated Agatha belligerently. ‘Weasenham would have invented all manner of lies, had he seen me. Did you know he has been telling people that I seduced the Master?’
‘Has he?’ asked Bartholomew, appalled how an idle quip by Michael had taken on a life of its own in the mouths of Deynman, William and the stationer.
‘I suppose he must have spotted me coming here one night,’ she went on. ‘However, it is Langelee who usually lingers around that shop after dark, not me. He is conducting astrological observations that he cannot perform at Michaelhouse, because it is too near Saturn. He told me himself.’
‘He has a lover,’ supplied Clippesby helpfully. ‘Edwardus Rex told me – he is the dog who lets Yolande de Blaston and her family share his house. It is none other than Alyce herself, and they often meet to frolic in Weasenham’s back yard.’
‘Do they?’ asked Agatha distastefully. ‘I should have known Langelee was not hanging around at that time of night for the benefit of his studies. Nor should I be surprised that you knew what he was up to, Clippesby. Very little happens that escapes your attention.’ Clippesby gestured around him. ‘And look where it has brought me.’
‘My nephew guards the bridge over the King’s Ditch,’ said Agatha, unable to think of anything to say to comfort him, so resorting to practical matters. ‘He knows better than to ask me questions, but how did you get past him, Matthew?’
‘I was quiet,’ said Bartholomew, unwilling to admit to climbing down river banks and creeping through fields. ‘Does no one else ever challenge you? You must have met soldiers or beadles at some point.’
‘A couple of watchmen looked as though they fancied their chances,’ she replied grimly, ‘but they backed off when I drew my sword.’
‘Your sword?’ echoed Bartholomew weakly, grateful he had not confronted her on the causeway.
She hauled a substantial weapon from the belt around her waist. ‘It belonged to my father, and is no longer sharp, but it does what I want: makes people mind their own business and leave me to go about mine.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I had no idea you were so well prepared.’
‘She has been good to me,’ said Clippesby fondly. ‘I would not have survived here without her friendly face coming to me every night.’
‘Every night?’ Bartholomew was astounded. ‘How do you manage to leave the College without the porters seeing?’
‘Through the orchard door,’ explained Agatha. Her expression became disapproving. ‘But I am not the only one who uses it – someone has been leaving it unbarred. Still, I thwart his nefarious plans by locking him out when I get back.’
‘That is you?’ asked Bartholomew, startled.
Agatha was equally astonished when she realised what had happened. ‘But you do not need to sneak around like an errant undergraduate – Langelee has given you permission to see your patients at any time, so you can come and go as you please.’
‘He has been visiting Matilde in the Jewry,’ said Clippesby, keen to be helpful. ‘That is why he could not use the front gate. The College cat told me all about it.’
‘Did she, indeed?’ asked Bartholomew, supposing Clippesby had heard the rumours during one of his bids for freedom.
‘William told me you were courting Matilde,’ said Agatha. ‘But I did not believe him. I know you have a liking for her, but I did not think you would spend every night at her house for nigh on three weeks because of the damage it might do to her reputation.’ She regarded the amber liripipe with rank disdain, and reached out to finger it. ‘This is nasty.’