Even the poor were out in force, spending carefully hoarded pennies on jugs of strong church ale or the aromatic pies sold illegally – Sunday trading was an offence punishable with a heavy fine – by Constantine Mortimer the baker. Entertainers had flooded into the town, too, ready to take advantage of the holiday spirit among the townsfolk. Troops of jugglers vied for attention with singers and fire-eaters in the Market Square, although only the very best could compete with the threadbare bear that danced an ungainly jig in the graveyard of St Mary the Great. It revealed broken yellow fangs as it scanned the fascinated spectators with its tiny, malevolent eyes, and gave the impression that it would dearly love to maul someone.
The atmosphere was generally amiable, although Bartholomew did not like the way the townsmen congregated in sizeable gaggles to savour their ale, or the fact that students from various Colleges and hostels tended to form distinct bands. He knew from experience that it took very little to spark off a riot – as Oxford had learned that February – and large gatherings of men with access to strong drink was often more than enough.
He considered the pending Visitation, and hoped the town would be peaceful when the Archbishop arrived. Simon Islip was deeply concerned about the number of clerics who had died during the plague, and had made it known that he intended to establish a new College for the training of replacements. He had studied in Oxford himself, and most people thought he would build it there, but every Cambridge scholar was united in the hope that he might be persuaded to change his mind. It was therefore imperative that he should find a town that was strife-free, clean and peaceful, filled with industrious, law-abiding scholars – and with townsmen who would welcome another academic foundation. Bartholomew thought uneasily of Chesterfelde’s death, and three merchants intent on investigating a murder, and prayed they would not spoil Cambridge’s chances of winning Islip’s patronage.
Then his mind drifted to the St Scholastica’s Day riot in Oxford, and he wondered whether the wanton destruction and indiscriminate killing would encourage Islip to look more favourably on Cambridge. Both towns and their universities were notoriously unstable, and fights were commonplace, despite Cambridge’s current attempts to pretend they were not. It occurred to him that Oxford’s disturbances must have been particularly serious, if they had encouraged ambitious and scheming men like Polmorva to abandon their homes. He said as much to Michael.
‘It was the most devastating incident Oxford has ever known,’ replied Michael gravely. ‘Did you not pay attention when I told you about it? We had the news four months ago, and I remember very clearly regaling you with details. I thought you seemed distant at the time, and now I see why: you were not listening.’
‘I am sure I was,’ said Bartholomew. He vaguely recalled the conversation, but it had been about the time when Clippesby had taken a turn for the worse and, as his physician, Bartholomew had been more concerned with him than with Michael’s gossip about a fracas in a distant city.
‘Well, I am sure you were not,’ retorted Michael. ‘Or we would not be having this discussion now. The riot started when scholars began an argument over wine in a tavern called Swindlestock.’
‘I know it,’ said Bartholomew with a smile. ‘I have done battle in it myself – against Polmorva, in fact, when he referred to Merton as a “house of fools”. The landlord threw us into the street, and told us to take our quarrels to University property, and leave his alone.’
‘Well, he was not so fortunate this time. He was hit over the head with a jug. His patrons came to his defence, and the scholars were obliged to take up arms to protect themselves. And then everything flew out of control. The townsfolk also grabbed weapons, and the Mayor urged them to slaughter every student they could find, so Oxford would be rid of the curse of academia once and for all.’
‘I doubt he did any such thing! There are thousands of clerks in Oxford and he could not possibly hope to dispatch them all. Your version of events came from a scholar with a grudge against the town, Brother.’
‘My “version of events” came from Chancellor Brouweon himself, in his official report to Tynkell,’ argued Michael. ‘The fighting continued into the next day, and only stopped when every scholar had been killed, wounded or driven from the city. Eventually, the Sheriff managed to impose calm and the King was informed. Four days later, all privileges and charters were suspended and the whole city was placed under interdict.’
‘The whole city?’ Bartholomew was astounded: these were Draconian measures. ‘When was this interdict revoked?’
Michael nodded in satisfaction. ‘You see? You did not listen back in February, or you would not be asking me this. You would have remembered that the University was pardoned and encouraged to resume its studies almost immediately, but that the town remains under interdict to this day.’
‘Still?’ asked Bartholomew in horror. ‘But that means the functions of the Church are suspended: no masses can be said, no townsman can have a Christian burial, his children cannot be baptised–’
‘I know what an interdict is. And Oxford’s looks set to remain in force for some time yet.’
‘I suppose this is good for us, though,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘I cannot see Islip founding a College in a city under interdict.’
‘No,’ agreed Michael. ‘However, he will not build one in a town rife with unsolved murders, either – which is possibly what someone is hoping. So, I intend to have Chesterfelde’s killer in my prison before Islip arrives.’
‘You think Chesterfelde was killed to harm Cambridge’s chances with the Archbishop?’ Bartholomew was unconvinced. ‘It seems a drastic step, and not one that will necessarily work – especially if you discover that Polmorva is the culprit. Exposing an Oxford scholar as a murderer will only serve to make our case stronger, and theirs weaker.’
Michael’s expression was wry. ‘I suspect it is not as simple as that – not when men like Polmorva and Duraunt are involved.’ He overrode Bartholomew’s objection that his teacher would have nothing to do with such a plot. ‘I do not like the fact that as soon as Islip announces his intention to come here we have an invasion of Oxford men. Eight of them is a significant number.’
‘But two are dead,’ Bartholomew pointed out.
‘And the survivors include three merchants intending to solve a murder; Polmorva and Spryngheuse claiming they came for their safety; and Duraunt investigating his bailiff, despite the fact that you tell me he is the kind of man to believe good of Satan himself.’
‘Duraunt did not come for sinister purposes,’ reiterated Bartholomew firmly.
Michael shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but he is the Warden of a powerful Oxford College, and he is here. That is all I need to know at the moment. But leave him for now, and consider the others. Polmorva is the kind of fellow who enjoys feuds, while Chesterfelde made himself an enemy so bitter that he ended up dead. These Oxford men are clearly not peace-loving citizens.’
‘And the merchants?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Oxford’s burgesses hate scholars just as much as do the ones in Cambridge. Surely it would be in the interests of these three merchants to see Islip found a new College here, rather than in their own city?’
Michael’s green eyes gleamed, pleased by the prospect of a challenge that would require his wits. ‘I have been restless lately. Tynkell does everything I say, and the University is operating exactly as I want it. Michaelhouse thrives under Langelee’s surprisingly enlightened rule, and there is little for me to do there. We solved that crime involving the Mortimers and Gonville Hall recently, and since then I have been bored. Now things are looking up.’