the first time: the cat showed no signs of poisoning.
He shrugged at Michael, who sighed, and gestured to Isaac’s body.
‘What can you tell us about his death?’
Bartholomew put the cat down, and knelt to re-examine Isaac. ‘He was hit on the head first, and I think the blow was sufficient to kill him. Can you see how I am able to move the bones of his skull in my hands? The brain underneath must have been seriously damaged.’
The small room filled with unpleasant grating sounds. Colton turned white and Michael looked away in revulsion. ‘Please, Matt!’ he said. ‘We do not need to know every gruesome detail.’
Bartholomew grinned at him behind Colton’s back. ‘I think his hands were bound behind him and he was hauled up to the rafters by the neck after he was struck. There are no marks on his wrists, so he did not struggle as he would have done had he been alive and conscious. Whoever did this wanted to make certain he was dead.’
‘They did a good job,’ said Michael soberly. ‘Could they not tell the blow to the head had killed him? Was it really necessary to hang him too?’
Bartholomew looked at Isaac’s head. ‘It was probably dark, and, although the bones of the skull are smashed, the skin is barely broken. Perhaps they thought they had only stunned him. Leaving someone to hang is a reliable way of ensuring death if you are in a hurry and cannot afford to wait.’
‘But so is stabbing,’ pointed out Colton. ‘And a quick thrust with a knife would be considerably easier than heaving an inert body up by its neck.’
‘True,’ said Michael. ‘But perhaps they had no weapons. They might have stabbed Matt, rather than engage in all that pointless struggling if they had.’ He gestured around the room. ‘And there are no knives here that could have been used, although there is plenty of rope.’
Bartholomew looked into the corner where Michael pointed and saw several lengths of rope discarded there that had been used to tie the sacks of flour. He was about to stand when a patch on one of Isaac’s hands caught his eye. He looked more closely, and saw the left palm was blistered and the surrounding skin was inflamed. Bartholomew racked his brains, trying to recall whether the injury had been present before Isaac had gone to the storeroom, but the memory eluded him. The porter at Valence Marie had complained of a burned hand after he had touched the bottles from St Bernard’s Hostel that Bartholomew had left in his care, and now it seemed as though Isaac might have sustained a similar wound after using the wine to prepare Philius’s purge.
Bartholomew and Michael took their leave of Colton, collected Cynric and walked the short distance back to Michaelhouse.
‘I was wrong about the outlaws,’ said Michael. ‘A band of thieves intent on robbery would not come without knives or swords with which to protect themselves. It must all relate to this vile wine. I will talk to Harling at first light, but I am sure he will want us to keep it quiet. There will be all manner of trouble if the scholars believe the town is trying to kill them with poisoned goods.’
‘There will be all manner of trouble if they succeed because we have not issued a warning,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘Our priority must be to save lives. We will not do that by staying silent.’
‘Oh, but we will, Matt,’ said Michael. ‘If we allow rumours to escape that three members of the University – Armel, Grene and now Isaac – have been murdered with or because of poisoned wine, the scholars will riot for certain. And then who knows what the death toll will be? We will talk with Harling and the Sheriff tomorrow, and decide what to do then.’
‘You talk to them,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I will test the wine from Valence Marie and Bernard’s. You need to be absolutely certain that the poison is the same before you start your inquiries. Then I will check Armel’s body and tell you whether the blisters are the same as the ones on Grene.’
‘What do you mean by
Bartholomew sighed. ‘Not this time, Brother. I have my teaching, my patients and my treatise on fevers, and I cannot spare the time to help you delve into the sordid world of murder. I have told you what I will do to help. The rest is for you and your beadles to investigate.’
Michael said nothing and Bartholomew suspected his clever mind was already devising some plot to ensure his co-operation. But it was late, he had had a long day and he was disinclined to discuss the matter any further that night. He waited in silence while Cynric rapped on the great gate for Walter to let them in.
‘You said you heard one of your attackers speak,’ said Michael, after a while. ‘Did you recognise the voice?’
Bartholomew considered and then shook his head. ‘It could have been anyone. It might even have been Colton.’
‘Really?’ said Michael, startled. ‘You think he might have set the fire in Philius’s room?’
‘That is not what I meant,’ said Bartholomew wearily, closing his eyes and rubbing them hard. Cynric banged on the door again. ‘I meant only that I did not hear the attacker speak long enough to be able to identify his voice.’
Michael pursed his lips. ‘Damn! I have a feeling this will not be easy to resolve. Especially if you refuse to help me.’ He shot the physician a resentful glance. ‘These killers have left little behind in the way of clues.’
‘You will not keep this wine affair quiet for long, you know,’ said Bartholomew, stepping forward to pound on the gate himself. Where was Walter? ‘The students at Bernard’s will talk and Grene died in front of a large audience.’
‘But they do not know Grene and Armel drank from similar bottles,’ said Michael. ‘And only you and I have surmised that there may be a plot afoot more damaging than the deaths of a couple of dispensable scholars – that someone is masterminding an attack on the University itself.’
‘I doubt Grene and Armel would regard themselves as dispensable,’ said Bartholomew drily. He hammered again, but the gates remained firmly closed.
Michael shuffled and tutted impatiently. ‘Wretched Walter!’ he grumbled. ‘It is one thing dozing all night, but it is another being so soundly asleep that he cannot hear us knocking.’
‘Perhaps he is out on his rounds,’ said Bartholomew, leaning back against the wicket-gate.
He staggered as it gave way beneath him; it swung open under his weight and almost deposited him in the mud of the yard.
‘So now, as well as sleeping, the lazy tyke cannot even ensure the College is secure!’ said Michael indignantly, elbowing past Bartholomew and heading for the porter’s lodge. ‘I will have words with Master Kenyngham about this!’
Bartholomew exchanged an uneasy glance with Cynric, and a chilling sense that all was not as it should be gripped at him as he followed Michael inside.
The porter’s lodge was in darkness, and Michael’s mutterings and irritable sighs as he fumbled with a tinder were loud in the still room. As Michael’s candle finally flared into light, Bartholomew braced himself for the unpleasant sight he was sure would greet them.
Walter lay on the floor, swathed in a blanket and bound with ropes at the feet, waist and elbows. The porter’s own hood had been rolled lengthways and tied firmly around his head to prevent him from raising the alarm. Michael stared in horror and Bartholomew had to push him out of the way so that he could begin sawing through the ropes to set Walter free.
He was relieved when the porter started to whimper. At least he was alive. The ropes had been tied securely, and it was some time before Bartholomew was able to loosen them all sufficiently to pull the blanket away.
Terrified eyes greeted him. Walter gazed at Bartholomew for a moment and then began to look about him wildly.
‘Are they still here? They said they would kill me if I moved before dawn!’
‘Who?’ asked Bartholomew, helping Walter to a stool. He went into the small adjoining chamber in search of the jug of stolen ale he knew he would find there. He poured some into a grimy clay goblet and handed it to Walter. The porter gulped it noisily and held out the cup for more.
‘The men who came,’ he said. ‘They asked me which was your room and which was Brother Michael’s, and then they trussed me up like a Michaelmas goose! They said if I tried to go for help or made a sound before dawn, they would kill me!’
