‘There is no more to tell,’ said Mallett apologetically. ‘Other than that Suttone was on the verge of tears, while Heltisle was gloatingly triumphant. It should not surprise you: Heltisle has been dabbling in University politics for years, and is as crafty as they come, whereas Suttone was an innocent in that respect.’
‘He was,’ agreed Islaye. ‘However, if Heltisle did harm him, he will answer to Brother Michael. He will not let that slippery rogue get away with anything untoward.’
Bartholomew was sure Islaye was right.
Mallett’s story had infuriated Bartholomew, because he was sure that Heltisle had done something unkind to Suttone, especially since it had happened when Michael was away and thus not in a position to intervene. As a consequence, he did not want to spend his evening at the butts, where he was likely to run into the Vice-Chancellor, afraid his antipathy towards the man would lead to an unseemly confrontation.
Unfortunately, he knew his absence would be noted, and he was loath to provide Heltisle with an opportunity to fine him. Faced with two unattractive choices, he asked Aungel to go with him, hoping the younger Fellow’s company would take his mind off Heltisle’s unsavoury antics. They chanced upon Theophilis in the yard, and the three of them began to walk there together. Theophilis held forth conversationally as they went.
‘There was nearly a fight at the butts last night. De Wetherset and Heltisle took their students there, but it was the town’s turn, and insults were exchanged.’
Bartholomew was disgusted. ‘They went anyway, even after Michael told them not to? What were they thinking?’
‘Apparently, Heltisle had informed de Wetherset that the Sheriff had invited them to share the targets. It was only when they were at the butts that Heltisle admitted to lying.’
‘So what happened?’ asked Aungel, agog.
‘Tulyet threatened to hang the first person who drew a weapon in anger,’ replied Theophilis. ‘You could see he meant it, so our lot went home.’
Bartholomew shook his head in disbelief. Did Heltisle want the University to be held responsible for igniting a riot? Then he stopped walking suddenly, and peered into the shadows surrounding All Saints’ churchyard.
Sister Alice was slinking along in a way that was distinctly furtive, pausing every so often to check she was not being watched. Curious, Bartholomew began to follow her, and as Theophilis and Aungel were also intrigued by her peculiar antics, they fell in at his heels. None of them were very good at stealth, so it was a miracle she did not spot them.
Eventually, they reached Shoemaker Row, where Alice peered around yet again. The three scholars hastily crammed themselves into a doorway, where Bartholomew struggled to stifle his laughter, aware of what a ridiculous sight they must make. Irked, Theophilus elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
Alice stood for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night – a dog barking in the distance, the rumble of conversation from a nearby tavern, the mewl of a baby. Then she scuttled towards a smart cottage in the middle of the lane and knocked on the door.
‘That is where Margery Starre lives,’ whispered Aungel, as the door opened and Alice slithered inside. ‘Visiting witches is hardly something a nun should be doing. No wonder she did not want to be seen!’
Bartholomew crept towards the window. The shutter was closed, but by putting his ear to the wood he could hear Margery’s voice.
‘Of course I can cast cursing spells,’ she was informing her guest. ‘But are you sure that is what you want? Once you start down such a path, there is no turning back.’
‘I started down it ages ago,’ Alice retorted harshly, ‘after I was ousted from my post for no good reason. They started this war, but I shall finish it.’
The voices faded, leading Bartholomew to suppose they had gone to a different room. He was disinclined to hunt out another window, because he was suddenly assailed by the conviction that Margery knew he was out there – she had other uncanny abilities, so why not seeing through wood? He slipped away, and told the others that he had been unable to hear. He would happily have confided in Aungel, but he could not bring himself to trust Theophilis.
‘I thought Alice was trouble the first time I set eyes on her,’ the Junior Proctor declared as they resumed their journey to the butts. ‘I have an instinct for these things, which is why Brother Michael appointed me as his deputy, of course.’
‘You mean his inferior,’ corrected Aungel. ‘He does not have a deputy.’
Theophilis shot him a venomous look. ‘I shall be Chancellor in the not-too-distant future, so watch who you insult, Aungel. You will not rise far in the University without influential friends.’
‘Is that why you are always pestering Clippesby?’ asked Aungel, regarding him with dislike. ‘Because he is a great theologian, and you aim to bask in his reflected glory? His next thesis is almost ready and–’
‘On the contrary,’ interrupted Theophilis haughtily. ‘All the time I have spent with him has been for one end: to assess whether he should be locked in a place where he can do no harm.’
Aungel bristled. ‘Clippesby would never hurt anyone – he is the gentlest man alive. Besides, it was you who insisted on sitting in the henhouse all afternoon, not him. He wanted to read in the hall.’
‘The way I choose to evaluate another scholar’s mental competence is none of your business,’ snapped Theophilis, nettled. ‘So keep your nose out of it.’
‘It is his business,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘And mine, too. We look out for each other at Michaelhouse.’
‘I am looking out for Clippesby,’ said Theophilis crossly. ‘I am trying to determine whether he should be allowed to wander about unsupervised in his fragile state. He may come to grief at the hands of those who do not understand him. I have his welfare at heart.’
Bartholomew was far from sure he did, but the Junior Proctor’s claims flew from his mind when they arrived at the butts. The town had not forgiven the University for disrupting its turn the previous evening, and had turned out in force to retaliate in kind.
As ordering one side home would have caused a riot for certain, Michael and Tulyet had divided the targets in half, so that the University had the four on the left part of the mound, and the town had the four on the right. Neither faction was happy with the arrangement, and Michael’s beadles and Tulyet’s soldiers were struggling to keep the peace.
‘Lord!’ breathed Aungel, looking around with wide eyes. ‘Everyone is here – the whole University and every man in the town. We will never get a chance to shoot.’
‘No,’ agreed Bartholomew, ‘so round up everyone from Michaelhouse and take them home. There is no point in risking them here needlessly. No, not you, Theophilis. You must stay and help Michael.’
‘But it might be dangerous,’ objected Theophilis. ‘Or do you mean to place me in harm’s way because I believe Clippesby is mad?’
‘I place you there because you are the Junior Proctor,’ retorted Bartholomew tartly. ‘It is your job.’
Aungel was wrong to say that the whole University and every man in the town was at the butts, because more were arriving with every passing moment, adding to what was becoming a substantial crush. The beadles and soldiers had joined forces to keep the two apart, but Bartholomew could tell it was only a matter of time before their thin barrier was breached.