‘Spaldynge,’ said Kardington shortly, walking on before the old man could say anything else. He addressed Michael and Bartholomew in his careful Latin. ‘I am sorry we have not been of more help. We are united in our hope that you will catch the person who poisoned Motelete.’
‘Spaldynge thinks Matt did it,’ said Michael bluntly.
‘He is just upset,’ said Kardington apologetically. ‘And he does not like physicians. It is a shock, learning that a student is murdered, then he is alive, and now he is slain again.’
‘I saw Motelete in several taverns,’ said Michael. ‘Yet when we first started asking questions about him, everyone said he avoided them, because he was afraid of being fined.’
Kardington sniffed. ‘He liked the Angel, but who does not? Even the most rigorous adherent of the University’s rules cannot resist those lovely pies.’
‘He was not eating; he was drinking. Claret, no less.’
Kardington was sheepish. ‘Well, perhaps he did have a fondness for it, which became more noticeable after his resurrection. And I admit he was not the scholar we thought him to be, either.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We all wanted to get to know him better after he had that miraculous cure, but he was not the lad we remembered. He must have concealed his true character before. To be honest, I found I did not like him much, although that does not mean to say I am pleased that he is dead.’
‘Did you see him with anyone who might mean him harm?’ asked Michael.
‘His free time was spent either with Siffreda or Arderne,’ said Kardington. ‘But Arderne had saved him, so it is no surprise that they struck up a friendship. Your lad Falmeresham was jealous, though – I saw him glaring enviously myself. And he knows about poisons–’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew immediately. ‘Falmeresham is not a killer.’
‘I hope not,’ said Kardington softly. ‘I really do.’
‘I understand you visited the Dispensary,’ said Michael coolly. ‘Did you win much?’
‘Not really,’ said Kardington. He blushed guiltily, and could not meet Michael’s eyes. ‘I am not very good at calculating mean speed, although I enjoyed the exercise. Are you going to fine me?’
‘I wish I could, because you are supposed to be setting an example to those in your care. But why pick on you, when virtually every member of the University took part at one time or another? Even Matt admits that he would have joined in, had he known complex arithmetic was on offer.’
Kardington smiled, more in relief than amusement. ‘You would have been good, Bartholomew. I recall your performance at that debate in St Mary the Great, and it was highly entertaining. It is a pity you seem to have learned too late what was involved.’
‘It is a pity for all of us,’ said Michael ambiguously.
Bartholomew insisted on going to see Arderne next, so they trudged through the rain to the High Street, where the healer rented a house that had once been a hostel. Since its scholars had moved out, it had been given a new pink wash, and some of its rotting timbers had been replaced. Its thatch had been repaired, too, so it had gone from a rather seedy place to a home that any wealthy citizen would be pleased to inhabit. It raised the tone of the southern end of the High Street.
‘Do you think the town resents the fact that most buildings occupied by scholars tend to be shabby?’ mused Bartholomew.
‘They would not be shabby if the landlords were willing to effect repairs,’ retorted Michael. ‘Did you hear Rudd’s Hostel finally fell down yesterday, thanks to its landlord’s years of neglect?’
Rain had turned the High Street into a bog, and a foetid ooze of grey-brown mud squelched around their feet as they walked. Michael lost a shoe, and had to balance on one foot until the physician had retrieved it for him. It came free with a sucking plop, and while he waited for the monk to put it back on again, Bartholomew saw Blankpayn in a similar predicament. The taverner bellowed for someone to help him, but no one seemed much inclined to oblige.
There was a line of people standing outside Arderne’s door, shivering as the wind blew drizzle into their faces. Some had crutches or propelled themselves along on wheeled pallets, while others had bandages covering a variety of sores and afflictions.
‘They are here in the hope that Arderne will dispense one of his miracles,’ explained Michael. ‘He hinted the other day that he might take one or two charity cases, and this is the result.’
‘I know most of these people,’ said Bartholomew sadly. ‘Arderne will not be able to help them, because most are incurable.’
Several nodded to him as he passed, but more looked away and refused to meet his eyes, ashamed and uncomfortable that they were trying to defect after accepting his charity. Bartholomew did not blame them for wanting a miracle, and was only sorry that most would be disappointed. When they reached the front of the queue, they found the door open and Falmeresham standing in it. The student looked harried and unhappy.
‘He will not see you,’ he was saying wearily. ‘He only cures paupers on Fridays. At other times, he will only tend you if you can pay.’
‘We did come Friday,’ said the sightless beggar who was first in line. ‘But he only examined Will and Eudo – and he said they could not be healed because their souls were impure.’
‘How convenient,’ said Bartholomew to Michael. ‘Blaming the patient for his own failures.’
‘It is a good idea. You should do it – tell Isnard it is his own fault his leg has not grown back.’
‘I do not like Falmeresham involved in this sort of thing. I thought I trained him better than that.’
‘You did,’ said Michael soothingly. ‘He is not easy in his new role – you can see it in his eyes. It pains him to turn these people away.’
‘How much does a cure for blindness cost, Falmeresham?’ asked Bartholomew, approaching his student and regarding him rather accusingly.
‘Forty marks.’ Bartholomew gaped and Falmeresham shrugged. ‘Effective treatment costs. Are you here to see Magister Arderne? He is at breakfast, but I will tell him you are here.’
Arderne had converted one of his ground-floor rooms into a dispensary, which had pots on shelves around the wall, and a wide variety of surgical and medical equipment on a bench under the window. Bartholomew looked in one or two of the containers, and was not surprised to find them empty. Nor was he surprised to note that the surgical implements either did not work or were too blunt to be effective. The man used hot air and feathers more often than proper tools and medicines.
‘We heard Motelete spent a lot of time here,’ said Michael, taking the opportunity to speak to Falmeresham before Arderne arrived. ‘Before his sudden death last night, of course.’
‘He and Magister Arderne became fast friends quite quickly,’ replied Falmeresham. He stared out of the window. ‘Arderne has a way of making people want to be with him.’
‘Were you envious of the attention he gave Motelete?’ asked Michael baldly.
‘At first,’ admitted Falmeresham. ‘Especially because Motelete did not deserve it. He was just a common thief – I saw him shove one of Arderne’s phials in his purse when he thought no one was looking. But Arderne is astute, and would have seen through him in time. I did not poison Motelete, though, if that is what you are thinking. I have not been out of Arderne’s sight for a moment.’
‘You do not need to be alone to poison someone,’ Michael pointed out. ‘If Motelete visited Arderne yesterday, he was doubtless offered refreshments, and it is easy to slip something into a cup. After all, your medical training means you do know about dangerous substances.’