The High Street was busy with people going to and from their Sunday devotions, and because they were all wearing their best clothes and the sun was shining, the town was ablaze with colour. The first person Bartholomew and Michael met was Rougham, who said he had invited Arderne to take part in a public debate, but the healer had only laughed derisively. When Rougham had demanded to share the joke, Arderne had replied that he had no wish to hear academics theorise when he could be out in the real world, curing real people and making real money.
‘Now what?’ asked Rougham, deflated. ‘The other plans we devised were not as good as that one, and left too much room for disaster, but we cannot let this continue. Not only did he kill Hanchach and that beggar, but Isnard is likely to die now, too.’
Michael was alarmed. For all the bargeman’s failings, he was still a member of the Michaelhouse Choir. ‘I did not know his condition was that serious. What is wrong with him?’
‘He drank one of Arderne’s decoctions. Visit him, Bartholomew; he is frightened and desperate, and I doubt he will threaten to kill you now. But what shall we do about Arderne? Surely you can think of something, Brother. You are a devious sort of man.’
‘Thank you,’ said Michael flatly. ‘I wonder if Cynric would be prepared to break into his house and have a look around. He is bound to discover something incriminating.’
‘We have already thought of that,’ said Rougham, ‘but nothing gained from such a search could be used against him in a public trial.’
‘Who said anything about public? I was thinking of acquiring the evidence, then having a quiet word while we wave it at him. The aim is to make him leave of his own volition.’
‘I like the sound of this,’ said Rougham, nodding eager approval.
‘Well, I do not,’ said Bartholomew. ‘First, it is sly, and I do not want to stoop to his level. And secondly, he will just foist himself on some other hapless town, and start killing people there.’
‘Our first responsibility is to our own patients,’ said Rougham soberly. ‘Remember that.’
‘Forget Arderne, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, when Rougham had gone. ‘He is not your problem, and you have enough to worry about already – catching whoever killed Motelete, Lynton and Ocleye, outwitting Honynge, defeating Candelby, and preventing St Mary the Great from being set on fire.’
‘If you are right, then neutralising Arderne will relieve me of at least half of these problems.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ groaned Bartholomew. ‘There he is, and Candelby and Blankpayn are with him.’
‘Say nothing, Matt,’ warned Michael. ‘He may try to needle you into a confrontation, but you must resist. Is that Isabel clinging to his right arm?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘And Falmeresham is clinging just as hard to the left one.’
Arderne was grinning as he approached. He looked rich, smug and confident, and had clearly been spending the money he had earned from his new patients – his clothes were so new they were stiff. Isabel had also been treated, and expensive jewellery and a fur-trimmed cloak transformed her into a woman of whom any wealthy merchant would be proud. Falmeresham looked disreputable by comparison; he had not shaved, and clothes were slovenly. Behind them were Candelby and Blankpayn, several lesser burgesses, and a lame man Arderne was said to have cured. It was not much of a miracle, because Bartholomew knew there had been nothing wrong with the fellow in the first place – the disability had been fabricated to allow him to beg.
‘Easy, Matt,’ warned Michael. ‘You just said you do not want to stoop to his level. Remember that includes challenging him to duels and punching him, too.’
In the event, however, it was not Bartholomew who challenged Arderne, but Candelby who challenged Bartholomew. The taverner stamped up to the physician and shook a finger in his face, while Blankpayn stood behind him, hand on the hilt of his dagger.
‘You killed Maud,’ shouted Candelby furiously. ‘You tampered with her bandages and gave her potions, one of which killed her. And why? To stop me from marrying her!’
Isabel looked uncomfortable. ‘He gave her something to ease the pain, it is true, but I took a sip of it myself after he had gone. I suffered no ill effects, and–’
‘I base my accusation on what Arderne says,’ snapped Candelby, rounding on her. ‘Not you, so mind your own business, woman. If I say Bartholomew killed Maud, then that is what happened.’
Michael stepped forward. ‘Now, now,’ he said softly. ‘The High Street is no place for–’
‘I shall do what I like, where I like,’ yelled Candelby. ‘You cannot stop me.’
‘It is undignified,’ said Michael, in the same calm voice. ‘And folk expect more from a merchant of your standing. Go home, before you say something you may later regret.’
Candelby was too angry to listen to advice. ‘There are slayings galore in this town, but you do not care. Indeed, it is said that you perpetrated them, and even your own Michaelhouse colleagues complain about you to the Chancellor. What have you done about Ocleye’s murder? Nothing!’
‘He wants to break you, because you oppose him over the rents,’ whispered Blankpayn, keen to make matters worse. ‘And Bartholomew killed Maud to render you helpless with grief.’
‘Well, they misjudged me,’ snarled Candelby, ‘because I am far from being helpless. I will win this battle, and the whole town will be the richer for it.’
‘You are right to defy them, Candelby,’ said Arderne with his self-satisfied smile. ‘Look at me. I challenged the Cambridge medici, and I am all but victorious. Robin is destroyed, Lynton is dead, and Paxtone will leave the town this morning. He is loading a cart as we speak. If you do not believe me, go to King’s Hall and see for yourselves.’
‘What did you do to him?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily. ‘Threaten to cure his blockage with one of your deadly remedies?’
Arderne’s pale eyes bored into him, and Bartholomew was unsettled to find he did not like meeting the stare. He forced himself not to look away, and it was the healer who backed down first.
‘Paxtone has been constipated for a week,’ explained Falmeresham, looking from one to the other uncomfortably. ‘So Magister Arderne offered to cure him – on condition that Paxtone leave Cambridge the moment the medicine worked. Paxtone accepted the challenge, and Magister Arderne’s purge saw him racing to the latrines within the hour.’
‘I pointed out that to renege on our agreement would cast a shadow of shame over the whole University,’ added Arderne. ‘And he did not want colleagues besmirched with his oath-breaking, so he is packing – and good riddance!’
‘What was in this purge?’ demanded Bartholomew, supposing that Arderne had bewitched Paxtone with one of his looks, and the poor man had been too unwell to resist.
‘I have told you before – I do not share professional secrets. And Rougham will be no trouble from now on, either. He treated Mayor Harleston for stones in the bladder, but his remedies failed. I cured Harleston and recommended he take out a lawsuit against Rougham for incompetence.’
‘Harleston was ill,’ acknowledged Falmeresham, when Arderne turned to him for confirmation. ‘And now he is not.’
Bartholomew glanced at his former student. He was pale, and uncomfortable with Arderne’s declarations. Isabel was also uneasy, despite the transformation wrought by her new finery. She gripped Arderne’s arm as if her life depended on it.