‘I have just returned from my home in Norfolk,’ he announced in a husky voice, trying his best to speak loudly and ensure that all in the room would hear him. ‘The journey was long and arduous, and I have an ague. I do not think I can walk any farther, so perhaps you would be kind enough to send for Gonville’s cart, Master Weasenham.’
‘I do not think there is any need for wagons,’ came a soft voice from the shadows. ‘You are not going anywhere today, Doctor Rougham.’
‘I am sorry, Matt,’ said Michael. He was sitting on the floor holding a hand to his bloody nose, and Bartholomew saw he had been put there by a punch. ‘I was going to warn you, but they anticipated me before I could call out.’
‘They have loaded weapons,’ came a small, frightened voice from a stool behind the table. It was Weasenham, looking terrified as he was held in place by a powerful hand on his shoulder.
‘Eudo!’ exclaimed Bartholomew. He saw someone else, too, moving behind him. He whirled around just in time to see Boltone push the door shut with his foot, and drop the bar across it, securing it from within. Both he and Eudo carried crossbows.
‘I do not know why you are surprised to see us,’ said Eudo in his penetrating voice. ‘You must have known we would not stand by and let the University defame our good names. We have been obliged to skulk in the Fens these last few days, not knowing how to help ourselves. But now we have a plan.’
‘You did the damage yourselves,’ said Michael, probing his swollen nose with tentative fingers. ‘You are the ones who have been stealing from people and falsifying manor records.’
‘We have not stolen anything,’ said Eudo indignantly. ‘And eccentricities of accounting hardly count as theft, either! Every clerk from here to Jerusalem does that. Is that not so, Boltone?’
Boltone nodded. ‘We have been doing well for twenty years, so why should Merton choose now to move against us? Someone must have told them – lied to them – about what we do.’
‘Well, it was not us,’ said Michael, climbing to his feet and not looking at Rougham. ‘And if you do not mind, we are busy today. The Archbishop is due soon, and I must be there to greet him.’
‘He will have to manage without you,’ said Eudo coldly. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? Weasenham said no one ever comes to his shop this early – especially not today, when everyone is preoccupied with Islip.’
‘They were helping me,’ said Rougham, collapsing white-faced on to a bench. ‘They met me near the Barnwell Gate, and offered to assist me on the final leg of my journey from Norfolk.’
‘But I saw you in Matilde’s house yesterday…’ began Weasenham immediately.
‘No, you did not,’ said Rougham with a conviction that Bartholomew could only admire. ‘That must have been someone else, because I have only just arrived. I was afraid I would miss the Visitation, but I am just in time.’
‘You will not be making the Archbishop’s acquaintance, either,’ said Eudo. ‘I have reason to believe it was you who wrote to Okehamptone, telling tales about us, so you are the reason we are in this vile predicament.’
‘Did you kill Okehamptone, Eudo?’ asked Michael, before Rougham could admit to anything. ‘Did you cut his throat because he believed you were dishonest?’
‘We have not killed anyone,’ said Eudo firmly. He indicated Bartholomew with a nod of his head. ‘Not even him, unfortunately.’
‘It was you who attacked me with the spade?’ asked Bartholomew. The weaving, cloaked figure in St Michael’s Church had been about the right size and shape for the tenant.
‘I should have gone through with it,’ said Eudo resentfully. ‘But you made me panic with all that yelling, and then the monk came. I shoved you in the cupboard, when I should have finished the job.’
‘But why?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘What have I done to you? We barely know each other.’
‘Enough chatter,’ said Boltone impatiently, seeing Eudo ready to oblige with an explanation. He stepped towards the stationer and brandished his bow. ‘We are short of time, so do not sit there listening to talk that does not concern you. Write.’
Weasenham flinched at the anger in his voice, and turned his attention to the parchment that lay in front of him. It was covered in the stationer’s small, neat script.
‘I want to go home,’ said Rougham feebly. He looked dreadful, with a sheen of sweat coating his pallid face. ‘And I need my colleagues to help me. I do not care what you are doing here.’ He attempted to stand, but Eudo strode towards him with a furious glower and he sank down again.
‘He is ill,’ said Bartholomew, moving instinctively to stand between his patient and the felons. He had a sudden inspiration. ‘It is a contagion, contracted on his journey from Norfolk. Possibly a fatal one. You do not want him in here with you.’
‘A contagion is the least of our worries,’ said Boltone bitterly, although Eudo looked alarmed. ‘But we will not catch it if he keeps well away from us. You two can sit next to him, and prevent him from coughing in our direction.’
‘I will stay here, thank you,’ said Michael, leaning against the shelves with his hand still clapped to his bruised face. He had no intention of going where they could all be conveniently covered with one weapon. ‘A man with a broken nose is vulnerable to contagions.’
Boltone should have insisted on obedience, but instead he turned on Eudo, and Bartholomew saw they were incompetent criminals. ‘I told you this was a bad idea, but you insisted it would work. Now what are we going to do?’
‘We will kill them before we leave. It is not our fault: they brought it on themselves.’
‘No,’ said Boltone, alarmed. ‘Not murder – especially of a monk! It will not matter that we are innocent of theft, if we then commit an even more serious crime.’
‘Listen to him, Eudo,’ recommended Michael. ‘You say you have not killed anyone so far, so it would be foolish to begin now. Let Rougham go, and we can devise a solution–’
‘We cannot be merciful. We have too much to lose.’ Eudo took a step towards Weasenham and his handsome features creased into a scowl. ‘Write! Or I will chop off your hands.’
‘I am going as fast as I can,’ bleated Weasenham. ‘I have been scribing all night, and my fingers are so cramped I can barely move them.’
‘You are preparing proclamations,’ said Bartholomew, craning his neck to see what Weasenham was doing. There was already a substantial pile of sheets on the table, at least half in a different hand, and he supposed Boltone too had been writing before he had been obliged to abandon clerkly activities to point a crossbow at Michael.
‘I told you to keep the door locked,’ grumbled Boltone, rounding on Eudo a second time. ‘But you would insist on looking outside every few moments to see whether Islip had arrived, even though it is still far too early. It is your fault we are in this mess. I would have devised a way to explain away Chesterfelde’s blood when the Senior Proctor came prying, but oh, no! You have to start a fight and we end up accused of killing Hamecotes.’
‘Write!’ shouted Eudo at Weasenham, refusing to acknowledge his friend’s accusations.