Deynman’s bluntness.
‘No,’ said Bartholomew tartly. ‘It is about another matter.’
‘Not the business of Armel and the poison?’ asked Gray.
‘What do you know about that?’ asked Bartholomew, startled.
Gray glanced furtively at his friends. ‘Nothing much. We heard that Xavier dragged you away from the feast and that Armel was poisoned. The story was all over the Brazen George last night.’
‘Was it now?’ said Bartholomew, eyebrows raised. ‘And how do you know? Surely you did not break College rules and slip out to visit a tavern while all the Fellows were at the installation?’
Gray flushed red and Bulbeck shuffled his feet around in the rushes.
‘Oh no!’ said Deynman, grinning cheerfully. ‘We went out long before that.’ The others gave him crushing looks. ‘What?’ Deynman demanded of them, oblivious of the implications of his reply. He turned back to Bartholomew. ‘We saw old Sacks selling Armel the wine, though.’
‘What?’ said Bartholomew, looking from one student to the other, confused. ‘Old Sacks?’
‘Sacks claims to be a Crecy veteran,’ said Gray reluctantly, still glaring at Deynman. ‘He is called Sacks because that is what he does – he makes sacks for flour and suchlike. He is often in the George, selling bits and pieces.’
‘Often?’ enquired Bartholomew casually.
Gray winced, caught out a second time.
Bulbeck gave Gray a withering glance and continued. ‘Sometimes he sells ribbons and laces, such as a chapman might have. Sometimes pots and pans. But recently he has had wine.’
‘My brother once bought a lute from him,’ said Deynman, eager to take part in the conversation, ‘but another student told him it had been stolen from Master Colton of Gonville Hall. We took it round to Gonville and the Master identified it as his, although all he did to reward us for our honesty was threaten to tell you that we had been drinking in the town’s taverns. So we never buy anything from Sacks because whatever he sells is bound to be stolen.’
‘Of course, Armel and his friends were not to know that,’ said Gray in a superior tone. ‘That bunch of nuns never break the University rules. They came to the George yesterday for the first time ever – can you believe it when the tavern is only next door to their hostel? – and fell for Sacks’s patter.’
‘Then why did you not warn them?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Surely it was uncharitable to allow them to buy potentially stolen goods?’
‘They are from Bernard’s,’ said Deynman with high indignation. ‘A hostel! Had they been Michaelhouse students, it would have been different.’
‘And it was only wine,’ said Gray, grinning at Deynman. He sobered suddenly as he thought about it. ‘Except it was not, was it?’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘It was not. What of Sacks? Has he a grudge against students?’
The three looked at each other, mystified. ‘I would say not,’ said Gray. ‘Students provide him with much of his trade. He has been operating in the George for years.’
So, it would seem that Armel had not been sold the poisoned wine intentionally – at least not by Sacks. But there was always the possibility that someone had given it to Sacks to peddle knowing exactly what was in it.
‘Where does Sacks live?’ asked Bartholomew.
Gray shrugged. ‘No one really knows. He has cheated so many people that it is safer for him to keep his lodgings secret. I think he has some kind of dwelling to the north, up in the Fens. He certainly does not live in Cambridge.’
‘Two more questions,’ said Bartholomew, ‘and then we will say no more about these illicit visits to taverns. First, how many bottles did Sacks have yesterday?’
‘Four,’ said Gray promptly. ‘And they looked like the same ones he had tried to sell last month – thin bottles of a smoky-brown colour.’
‘And second, to whom did he sell the other bottle?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘We know Armel bought three.’
The students looked at each other, frowning in concentration.
Deynman suddenly brightened. ‘One of fat old Stanmore’s apprentices bought one when Sacks first tried to sell the stuff a month or so ago. I do not know his name.’
‘One of Oswald Stanmore’s lads?’ asked Bartholomew.
Deynman blushed, embarrassed. He had forgotten Stanmore was his teacher’s brother-in-law.
‘That was … four weeks last Saturday,’ said Bulbeck hurriedly, before Deynman could dig himself into a deeper trench of indiscretion. ‘Perhaps Sacks still has the last bottle. He said he had half a dozen when he first tried to sell them, and he had four last night. So, if he had only sold two bottles in a month, he could not have been doing too well with them.’
Gray and Deynman agreed and looked at Bartholomew warily, not certain what he would do with the knowledge that they had been regularly and flagrantly flouting the University’s rules about inns.
‘We only went out because Sam has been depressed,’ said Deynman. He looked at Gray, who gnawed anxiously at his lower lip. ‘He has been sad since Eleanor Tyler left town last year. He was fond of her and we only wanted to cheer him up.’
Bartholomew was unmoved. ‘That was months ago and you had not known her for long.’
‘But it was love at first sight,’ protested Deynman, rallying to his friend’s defence. ‘They adored each other and he misses her terribly.’
Bartholomew sighed. Unconvinced as he was by Gray’s lovesick state – he seriously doubted that anyone could penetrate the thick skin of self-interest that was one of the less attractive aspects of Gray’s personality – he often felt the University’s regulations were too restrictive for young men with high spirits. Trying to ban them from taverns was as hopeless as emptying a well with a sieve. But he was fond of these three students nevertheless, and the thought that one of them might go the same way as Armel filled him with horror.
‘While I am gone, and until this business is over, I want you to promise me you will stay away from taverns and eat only in Michaelhouse. Do I have your word?’ He looked at them one by one.
‘But you might be gone for ages,’ protested Gray. ‘We will starve if we eat only Michaelhouse food.’ He looked sly. ‘And I need to build myself up for my disputation.’
Bartholomew could not help smiling. ‘Then you must attempt to ingratiate yourself with Agatha. She feeds Michael well enough.’
Gray could not argue that the obese Michael was anything but well fed. He nodded with ill grace. ‘I suppose, since you seem so concerned for our welfare, that we will humour you and suffer on Michaelhouse fare until you return.’
‘I am more concerned that years of my hard work should not be brought to an untimely end by a single sip of wine,’ said Bartholomew. He was gratified to see Gray look indignant. Gray had twice saved Bartholomew’s life and both times had claimed his sole motive was that if he lost his teacher it would interfere with his plans to become a wealthy and successful physician. Bartholomew felt somewhat avenged.
When he had wrung similar promises from the other two, he took his leave. Cynric was waiting for him, holding Bartholomew’s cloak over his arm and with spare shirt and hose packed in a bag. Michael joined them.
‘I need to talk to Harling before we leave for Ely. I must tell him what we have reasoned about Grene’s death.’
‘We should also speak to Oswald about the apprentice that Philius said he visited a month ago,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The one who died of symptoms similar to those suffered by Armel and Grene.’
‘Should we?’ asked Michael, raising his eyebrows. ‘And here was I under the impression that you wanted to have nothing to do with my investigation. Silly me!’
‘I do not,’ protested Bartholomew. ‘I only want to ensure the safety of Oswald and his apprentices. And I promised to check on Philius this morning. It will not take long.’
Michael glanced up at the sky. ‘We must leave enough time to reach Ely by nightfall and we will need longer than usual if the riding is rough. Especially with you along,’ he added rudely, referring to Bartholomew’s notorious lack of skill on horseback.
Leaving Cynric to take their bags to the Brazen George, Bartholomew and Michael went first to Gonville Hall.
