process might not have been honestly conducted. Was his illness that day a coincidence and, if so, did he know more about it than he was admitting? But it was surely in Michael’s interests to have Harling as Chancellor – rather than the unknown quantity represented by Tynkell – and Bartholomew did not believe that the fat monk would keep silent if he had tangible evidence that the election had been fixed.
He was about to reply in Michael’s defence, when Paul thrust something into his hand. Bartholomew stared down at the gold coins in astonishment.
‘I hear there is fever among the town’s poor,’ said Paul. ‘Perhaps this might go some way to providing medicines they might need.’
Bartholomew was startled. ‘It would, indeed. But you cannot give me all this!’
He tried to make Paul take the coins back, but the friar pushed his hand away. ‘I have recently come into a little money,’ he said enigmatically. ‘I would sooner it went to the poor than sat in my room. I plan to give the remainder to the leper hospital.’
‘Then, thank you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I will send Gray this morning to buy medicines, and Bulbeck can arrange for deliveries of eggs and bread to those that need them. The reason why many take so long to regain their strength is because they cannot afford the proper food.’
‘So I have heard,’ said Paul. ‘You believe the well in Water Lane is responsible?’
Bartholomew nodded, forgetting Paul could not see. ‘I have never encountered a fever quite like this – except once in Greece when a brook was fouled because a goat had died in it further upstream. But the Water Lane well is protected by a wall and a cover, and it is impossible for an animal to fall in. The only explanation I can think of is that the raised level of the river has invaded the well – the river became flooded around the same time that the fever claimed its first victim.’
They turned as a messenger was allowed through the gate and came racing across the yard towards them.
‘Brother Michael?’ he asked of Paul, and stopped dead as Paul’s opaque blue eyes turned towards him. ‘Where can I find Brother Michael?’
‘In the kitchens,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Do you have a message for him from the Bishop?’
The messenger nodded vigorously. ‘And then I must deliver the same message to the Vice-Chancellor. There was an attack yesterday on a party travelling from Ely to Cambridge for the installation. Three clerks lie dead. And among the injured is Chancellor Tynkell.’
Chapter 4
Bartholomew stared at the messenger in horror. While the road from Cambridge to London was dangerous, the one between Cambridge and Ely had always been comparatively safe from outlaws. The Bishop of Ely was a powerful man, and usually ensured the routes between his Abbey and the towns and villages with which he needed to communicate were well patrolled.
‘How many have been injured? How badly hurt?’ he asked.
The messenger shrugged. He was a young man and, judging from his rough clothes and casual manner, not someone regularly employed by the Bishop – the Bishop set great store by appearances and his staff usually wore liveries.
‘I was told only that three were dead and several injured, including the Chancellor,’ he said impatiently. ‘But I must find Brother Michael.’
Bartholomew hailed Cynric, watching curiously from where he was feeding the chickens outside the hall, and sent him to find Michael. Cynric knew exactly where Michael would be, and within moments the fat monk was puffing across the yard to greet the messenger. He received the news with the same shock as had Bartholomew.
‘But the Bishop keeps a regular patrol on the Ely to Cambridge road. How could such a thing happen?’
The messenger shrugged again. ‘I am telling you only what I know. The Bishop said that you are to go to Ely immediately, and that you are to bring Doctor Bartholomew for the injured.’
‘But Brother Peter at Ely is a fine physician,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘Why does the Bishop want me?’
The messenger was becoming exasperated at their questions. ‘I do not know! Perhaps the Chancellor asked for you specifically.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Michael. ‘The Chancellor is highly suspicious of Matt’s dedication to cleanliness. Given his own aversion to bathing, I suppose that is not surprising.’
‘We should not waste time,’ said the messenger, squinting up at the sky. ‘We do not want to be caught on the open road tonight, and the riding is hard after all this rain. The Bishop has provided an escort for you – I left them taking refreshments at the Brazen George. By your leave, I will give the Bishop’s message to Master Harling and wait for you in the tavern.’
Michael waved him away and turned to Bartholomew. ‘This is a bad business, but if the Bishop has commanded us to go, we have little choice in the matter. We will miss teaching for a few days. I will inform Master Kenyngham.
‘A few days?’ exclaimed Bartholomew in horror. ‘I cannot leave my students that long! I am already behind with the third years and Gray looks set to fail his disputation–’
‘Then they will just need to work harder when you get back,’ said Michael unsympathetically. ‘Your students are a worthless rabble anyway. None of them will make decent physicians, despite all the attention you have lavished on them.’
‘Bulbeck will,’ said Bartholomew, stung, but Michael was already striding away. Cynric, eyes alight with excitement, offered to pack what they would need and Bartholomew saw that the Welshman intended to accompany them, invited or not.
As he turned to hunt down Gray and Bulbeck, who would need to supervise the other students while he was away, Father Paul stopped him.
‘This has an odd ring to it,’ he said. ‘How could a large party – for the Chancellor never travels without his clerkly retinue – be attacked on the Ely road? And three dead? It sounds excessive!’
Bartholomew regarded him uncertainly. ‘Do you think the messenger is lying?’
Paul pushed out his lower lip. ‘I could not say,’ he said, after a moment’s thought. ‘But I think he is not telling you the whole truth. And why would the Chancellor suddenly ask for you when he has never requested that you attend him before?’
Bartholomew watched Cynric disappear through the door to his room to collect what they would require for the journey. ‘Are you suggesting we should not go?’
Paul shook his head. ‘I am only reiterating what I said to you earlier. Be careful.’ He sketched a benediction in the air above Bartholomew’s head, and took his leave. Bartholomew watched him walk away and then thrust the warning from his mind. He knew from long experience that men brought low by sickness and injury often did or said things out of character, so perhaps Tynkell’s request was not so curious after all. Perhaps he simply wanted a physician from his own University over the Benedictine infirmarian at Ely Abbey.
He found Gray and Bulbeck, his two senior students, playing dice in the room of one of his younger pupils, Rob Deynman. The substantial payments Deynman’s wealthy father made for the training of his barely literate son kept Michaelhouse in bread for at least half the year, and so Bartholomew was stuck with him, despite the fact that Deynman would never pass his disputations. In time, bribes would have to be made, but, in the interim Bartholomew intended to shield the unsuspecting public from the lad’s dubious medical skills for as long as possible.
He told the three students that he had been summoned to Ely and that they would need to supervise the other students’ classes until he returned. He handed Paul’s gold coins to Bulbeck, and issued instructions about the food and medicines for the poor.
‘Are you going to answer the charges of heresy brought against you for your theories about river water?’ asked Deynman, his eyes wide with interest. Gray was unable to prevent a muffled explosion of mirth at
