Michael nodded. ‘Jealousy – because Lynton was making money hand over fist by leasing his houses to townsmen, while Candelby himself is forced to accept pittances from scholars.’
‘Is he your only suspect?’
‘No. Lynton may have accumulated some dissatisfied patients. Plus we only have Wisbeche’s word that Peterhouse is a peaceful College – we must ask others if there were private disputes among the Fellowship. And then, of course, there are Lynton’s rival physicians.’
Bartholomew gazed at him in horror. ‘You think Paxtone or Rougham might be responsible?’
Michael nodded slowly. ‘Suddenly, a lucrative post is available–’
‘It is not available. Wisbeche intends to keep it vacant, to save money.’
‘But that decision has only been made public today,’ argued Michael. ‘Until then, we all assumed Lynton would be replaced. Peterhouse Fellows have a far more luxurious existence than those of us who live in most other Colleges, and it would not surprise me to learn someone had killed him for his post. Obviously, I know you are innocent, but I certainly hope no one saw you whip that bolt from Lynton’s body or finds out that you later disguised the wound.’
‘On reflection, they were stupid things to have done – at the time, I just wanted to avert trouble.’ Bartholomew turned his thoughts back to Michael’s distressing contention. ‘But no one will think we physicians killed Lynton, Brother! I am happy at Michaelhouse, Paxtone is extremely well looked after at King’s Hall, and Rougham is one of Gonville’s founding Fellows, and will never leave it for another College. Of course, Arderne might fancy himself a University man.’
‘He might – and it does not take a genius to see he is a ruthless villain who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. However, my favourite suspect remains Candelby. What did you think of his claim that he saw nothing suspicious when Lynton died?’
‘He might have been telling the truth. Maud was with him, and he has been courting her for months. It is possible that he had no eyes for anything but the woman he loves.’
‘Piffle! A man like him has eyes everywhere, even when his lady of choice sits at his side. We shall visit Maud this afternoon, and have her version of events.’
‘We are due to attend Lynton’s requiem mass in an hour, so it will have to be after that.’
Michael glanced up at the sky. ‘Lynton puts me in mind of Kenyngham. I know you say his death was natural – and I said I believe you – but the letter offering me that reward keeps preying on my mind. Will you look at him again before he goes in the ground, just to be sure?’
Bartholomew suppressed a sigh. ‘If you like, but I will find nothing amiss. He just died, Brother. People do. You should know that by now.’
‘Yes, but they do it rather too often in Cambridge. I sometimes wonder whether I would be safer back at my abbey in Ely. I could be prior in a couple of years, and then I would have myself appointed as bishop somewhere. Not London – too many people. Ely or Durham would be best.’
Bartholomew struggled not to gape at him. ‘Those are lofty ambitions.’
‘Do you not think me capable? I have been running the University for years, and the Church is not so different.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Bartholomew, declining to comment further. ‘And you are right about one thing – it will almost certainly be safer than life in Cambridge.’
CHAPTER 4
The next day was windy, and bright white clouds scudded across a pale blue sky with the sun dodging in and out between them. It was Bartholomew’s turn to preside over the morning debate, which he did with help from Carton, which was appreciated, and from Deynman, which was not. Meanwhile, Michael had persuaded several landlords to talk to him about the rent impasse, and was due to meet them in the Chancellor’s office at St Mary the Great. The monk intended to reiterate the fact that he did not have the authority to triple the hostels’ rents, and then inform the landlords that they would be considerably worse off if the King became involved – which he would, unless they came to their senses and agreed to negotiate a settlement.
Unfortunately for Michael, Candelby had got wind of the gathering, and was among the sheepish burgesses who were waiting at the church. Candelby refused to accept that he was breaking the law by ousting scholars from their hostels, and, in a calculated effort to annoy, repeated his ultimatum over and over again, simultaneously placing his hands over his ears so he could not hear anything the monk said. The meeting went nowhere, and Michael brought it to a close with a sigh of frustration. His agitation increased further still when Beadle Meadowman reported that he had made no headway in discovering Falmeresham’s fate, and Junior Proctor Bukenham described two brawls between scholars and townsmen the previous night, one of which had ended in a fatal stabbing.
He sent a message to Michaelhouse, asking his Corpse Examiner to meet him at St Edward’s Church the moment the disputation was over, and then struggled to find beds for scholars from Tyled Hostel and Cousin’s Place, rendered homeless when landlords had refused to renew their leases. Bartholomew was waiting at St Edward’s when he arrived, although it did not require an expert to tell him that the great slash in the student’s abdomen had been the cause of death, or that it had been made by a knife. Monk and physician stared unhappily at the body.
‘He was just a child,’ said Bartholomew softly. ‘No more than fifteen.’
‘Old enough to shoot arrows at your brother-in-law’s apprentices, though. Thank God he missed! We arrested his killer this morning, but many are saying the fellow was right to rid the town of a student who is overly eager for a fight. I have a bad feeling I might be calling on your services more often than I would like in future. Damn Candelby and his greed!’
‘We should visit Clare,’ said Bartholomew, keen to resume their investigation. ‘It is all taking far too long, and I feel answers slipping away from us with every passing moment. Falmeresham …’
‘We will find him,’ said Michael, when he faltered into silence. But his voice lacked conviction, and it was obvious his hopes for a happy ending were fading fast.
‘I am sorry I could not come with you to see Maud Bowyer yesterday,’ said Bartholomew as they left the church. ‘Prior Morden was ill again, and I could not leave him until I was sure he was feeling better. What did she tell you about the accident?’
Michael rubbed a hand over his eyes, tired and disheartened. ‘Nothing. She was too ill to receive visitors, so I had a wasted journey. It seems answers are destined to elude us on this case, Matt, no matter how hard we try to find them.’
It was not far to Clare, but the journey took longer than it should have done, because people were worried about the escalating trouble, and kept stopping Michael to ask about it. It was not just scholars who were concerned. Bartholomew’s brother-in-law, Oswald Stanmore, demanded to know what was being done to defuse the situation, and the physician’s sister, Edith, begged him to leave Michaelhouse and stay with her in Trumpington until the matter was resolved.
‘He cannot leave me to fight this alone,’ objected Michael, indignant that he had not been invited, too. Edith kept a good table, and the monk disliked the notion that his friend might spend the holidays eating while he quelled riots.
‘He should,’ said Edith, a little curtly. She and Bartholomew had always been close, because as ten years his senior, she had cared for him after the early death of their parents. ‘The dispute is largely of your making. If you agreed to parley, then we might have some peace.’