‘Rubbish,’ snapped Candelby. ‘I am just standing up for what is right. I should be allowed to rent my own houses to whomsoever I like.’
‘I did not write the Statutes – they were composed more than a century ago, so do not blame me. If you do not like them, go and reside in some other town.’
‘I shall not!’ declared Candelby hotly. ‘It is your scholars who will leave, because either they will pay the rent I decide to charge, or they can live elsewhere. It is a straightforward choice. Personally, I hope they disappear – set up their nasty hostels in some other hapless town.’
Michael changed the subject, because they had been over the same ground a dozen times, and nothing would be gained by doing it again. ‘I did not come here to fight,’ he said tiredly. ‘All I want is to gain a clear picture of what happened yesterday.’
‘I was lucky Arderne was on hand to heal me. It is good to see medical care in the hands of a man who has nothing to do with the University. Patients will flock to him, leaving your scholar – physicians with nothing.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Michael with an affected sigh.
‘Your colleagues are hypocrites, Brother. You order me to lease my buildings to scholars, but Lynton rented his to townsmen. Did you know that?’
‘Yes,’ said Michael, abruptly taking the wind out of his sails. Bartholomew was uneasy, though, wondering how Candelby was party to such information, when Michael had only just learned it himself. ‘And if he were alive, I would fine him for it. But let us discuss yesterday’s events. Can you tell me exactly what happened?’
‘I was in my cart, taking Maud Bowyer home after church. Ocleye was riding in the back. Suddenly, I heard a snap. I looked up, and there was Lynton, riding straight at me. The next thing I knew was that my wagon was in pieces, Maud and I were in the wreckage, and Ocleye was fussing over me like a hen. Then Arderne arrived, and–’
‘And he healed you with his feather,’ finished Michael. ‘I think we have heard that part enough times. Do you mind if my colleague inspects this miraculous cure?’
Candelby proffered his arm. ‘He should see what lay-healers are capable of. Perhaps he will learn something. Ignore the discolouration, Bartholomew – Arderne says it will fade in two weeks.’
‘Did Lynton say anything when he rode at you?’ asked Michael. ‘Were his eyes open? Where were his hands? Clutching his chest or holding the reins of his horse?’
Candelby shrugged. ‘I have no idea – it all happened too fast. Ask Maud. She may remember.’
‘We shall,’ said Michael. He sighed again. ‘Look, Candelby, Lynton was not the kind of man to commit murder, and anyone who knew him would say the same. I doubt he intended to harm you.’
Unexpectedly, Candelby relented. ‘It did seem out of character. Let me think about your questions for a moment. I do not think he was holding the reins, but good horsemen control their mounts with their knees, so that is no surprise. He did not say anything that I heard. And I was more concerned with that great stallion bearing down on me, so I cannot tell you about his eyes.’
‘It was a mare,’ said Michael. He knew a lot about horses. ‘And a comparatively docile beast. She must have been startled by this snap you said you heard.’
‘It is possible,’ acknowledged Candelby. ‘The whole incident was dreadful, made worse by the brutal murder of Ocleye. And now Maud refuses to see me. I have asked Arderne to give her a potion that will bring her to her senses.’
‘She refuses to see you?’ asked Bartholomew, finishing his inspection of the man’s arm. ‘Why?’
‘I wish I knew, but there is no fathoming the female mind. It is a pity you cannot ask Ocleye about the accident, but scholars certainly murdered him – probably that rabble from Clare. At least poor Ocleye took one of them with him.’
Michael was thoughtful. ‘Yes, it is a pity we cannot speak to Ocleye. Tell me, does he have any family here, or close friends?’
‘No one. He arrived at Christmas, and he was lucky I offered him employment, or he would have been destitute. Still, he was a decent soul.’
‘Where did he live?’ asked Michael, a little carefully. He did not want to give too much away about the parchment his Corpse Examiner had recovered. ‘Here, or did he have his own lodgings?’
Candelby’s face was inscrutable. ‘He was a pot-boy, Brother, so what do you think? Now, is there anything else, or can I go back to work?’
‘Just two more questions. First, how did Ocleye die?’
‘He was stabbed in the chest by a student. The poor fellow lies in St Bene’t’s Church, so go and inspect him, if you do not believe me. Take your Corpse Examiner – he will confirm what I say.’
‘Unfortunately, it is hard to distinguish between wounds made by townsmen and wounds made by scholars,’ said Michael ruefully. ‘If he could do it, it would make my work very much simpler. And secondly, have you seen your friend Blankpayn? He seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth, along with one of our students.’
Candelby retained his unreadable expression. ‘I have not seen either of them, although I understand the boy was grievously wounded when he raced to attack poor Blankpayn.’
Michael left the Angel tavern aware that they had learned nothing useful. Either Candelby was unaware that his pot-boy had signed a rental agreement with a scholar, or he was unwilling to admit to it. Meanwhile, Bartholomew seethed with frustrated anger at the taunt in the taverner’s parting comment, and it had taken all the monk’s diplomatic skills – and physical strength – to make him leave the tavern without throats being grabbed.
‘He knows where Blankpayn is hiding,’ the physician snarled, freeing the arm Michael held with rather more force than was necessary. Michael staggered backwards. ‘But he refuses to help us.’
‘Perhaps. However, I suspect he just wants you to think he does. He is trying to aggravate you.’
‘He has succeeded.’
‘Throttling him will help no one, satisfying though it might be. I will set Meadowman to watch him, and if Blankpayn visits, we shall know about it. You will have to be patient. I know it is difficult, but there is nothing else we can do. If we use force, it will cause trouble for certain.’
Bartholomew supposed he was right, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Absently, he noticed that Bene’t Street was not as busy as it should have been at that time of day, and he wondered whether Arderne had taken half the town with him when he went to magic Isnard’s leg back into place.
‘Would you mind examining Ocleye?’ asked Michael. He spoke tentatively. Bartholomew did not often lose his temper, and the monk was not sure how to react to it. ‘He is not a scholar, and he did not die on University property, so technically my Corpse Examiner can refuse to do it. I know Candelby said he was stabbed, but I need to be sure.’
Bartholomew nodded, but his attention was still fixed on the tavern. ‘Is that Honynge, just going into the Angel?’
‘It is!’ Michael’s green eyes gleamed with delight at the notion of catching his future colleague flouting the rules. ‘The more I deal with him, the less I like him.’
Bartholomew had not taken to Honynge either, and sensed the man’s arrogance would create discord among the Fellows – William would take umbrage at his manner, and Michael would begin a war of attrition that would force everyone to take sides.