A Deadly Brew

‘So you told him nothing?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘I was expecting him to come back to talk to me as soon as he had completed reporting the attack to the Vice-Chancellor,’ said Dame Pelagia. ‘I did not think he would take days to return.’

‘But you knew Harling was behind all this?’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘And you let Michael go to report to him, knowing that he might be signing his own death warrant? Someone tried to knife him that morning, you know.’

‘I did not know,’ said Dame Pelagia sharply. ‘And I did not know the villain was Harling, either. I knew Katherine Mortimer was involved, along with her pathetic son, Edward. My information, for what it was worth, was simply that: that the Sheriff should devise a plot to use Edward and Katherine to uncover the identity of these outlaws. I knew the real genius behind all this was some influential official, but I had not managed to discover who. I would have stayed longer at Denny to try to find out, but Michael was insistent I left with him that night. And, to be honest, Matthew, I have grown weary of subterfuge.’

Her bright eyes and the air of suppressed anticipation about her suggested that she was anything but weary of the subterfuge she had uncovered. Matilde had been listening to the exchange with such interest that she had forgotten all about tying the old lady’s shoes. Impatiently, Dame Pelagia pulled her foot away from the young prostitute, and tied the lace herself with strong, steady fingers. She stood and grinned at Bartholomew, looking far better equipped to deal with whatever the night might throw at them than was the physician.

‘Matilde says we are to be the bait in a trap,’ she said in a cheerful voice. ‘I wondered whether you might resort to that. I wish Michael had passed word to me sooner, because then I would have arranged for Matilde to be away.’

‘I lead a dull life, Pelagia,’ protested Matilde, flashing the old lady a radiant smile. ‘This will add a little much-needed excitement.’

Dame Pelagia laughed and patted Matilde’s hand. ‘Come then, my young friend. Let us look this wolf in the jaws together!’

Together they went back down the stairs. Bartholomew looked around the neat room, wondering if he were the only person to be feeling trepidation over the events that were about to unfold. Michael was hiding any fears he might have under a veil of calm, while Dame Pelagia and Matilde seemed to be looking forward to the coming confrontation with confidence and excitement.

He went to the window shutter and peered out. Shadows glided here and there, directed by a man in a long cloak: the outlaws springing their attack. It would not be long now, he thought. Before following Matilde and Dame Pelagia downstairs, he glanced around the neat bedchamber. He had never been in the room where he supposed Matilde entertained her customers, and was curious. There was a small bed in a corner with a straw mattress at its foot, both heavily laden with blankets of fine wool. A low table stood under one window, bearing a matching water-jug and bowl, and the stools to either side of it were handsomely carved. Matilde’s collection of expensive dresses hung in a line near the other window, so that the air could pass through them and keep them fresh.

He heard a voice outside, and ran down the steps to where the others stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

‘They are here,’ he whispered. He drew a surgical blade from his bag, pushed Matilde and Dame Pelagia behind him, and waited.

The door was kicked open with such violence that one of the hinges was torn from the wood, and a blast of cold air gusted around the room. Then the powerful Michaelhouse philosopher, Ralph de Langelee, stood aside and gestured for Edward Mortimer to enter in front of him.

‘I knew he had to be involved!’ muttered Michael, eyeing Langelee with disdain as the philosopher followed Edward into Matilde’s house. ‘I have never liked him and his grasp of Plato is deplorable!’

Behind Edward were one of Tulyet’s sergeants and the lay sister from Denny Abbey who had brought them their meals. Bartholomew realised that it must have been she who had been listening outside the attic door when Julianna had revealed her suspicions to Bartholomew and Dame Pelagia had pretended to sleep. She made a polite curtsey of greeting to the elderly nun, which was acknowledged, but not returned. Outside, others, whose faces Bartholomew could not see, milled around. The sergeant stepped inside and brandished his loaded crossbow, and then a fourth person stepped into the room. Harling regarded the scene with some amusement.

‘So,’ he said to Bartholomew. ‘We meet again!’

For a moment no one spoke. Ralph de Langelee regarded Bartholomew and Michael with a gloating smile, while Edward Mortimer was clearly uncomfortable with the situation and licked his lips anxiously. The sergeant was unreadable, and stood like a statue with his crossbow aimed at Michael’s chest and the lay sister at his side. But the only person Bartholomew was aware of was Vice-Chancellor Harling. He stood just inside the door, dressed in his scholar’s tabard of black, and his hair, as usual, plastered into place with liberal handfuls of animal grease. There was a faint bruise on his chin, but other than that he appeared to be in perfect health.

‘Do drop that ridiculous weapon,’ he said, as he saw Bartholomew’s surgical knife. ‘If you try to use it, my friend here will be obliged to shoot Brother Michael with his crossbow.’

Bartholomew let the little blade clatter to the floor, where Langelee kicked it out of reach under a table.

‘I see you did not anticipate meeting me again,’ said Harling, smoothly gloating. ‘At least, not in this world.’

‘Then you are wrong,’ said Bartholomew coldly, hating the man for his smug arrogance. ‘I knew you had escaped when the beadles did not find you drowned. How did you do it?’

Harling shrugged. ‘Besides my skill with knives, growing up in the Fens equipped me with skills in the water. I am an excellent swimmer, and it was an easy matter to allow myself to be swept out of sight and then strike out for the nearest river bank.’

He lost interest in Bartholomew, and his glittering black eyes took in the room’s handsome furnishings, the defiant Dame Pelagia, the stunned Michael and, finally, Matilde.

‘Your prostitute!’ he said to Bartholomew, smiling in understanding. ‘Of course! Where better to hide an elderly nun? I should have guessed.’

He nodded to Langelee, who stepped forward to grab Pelagia. Bartholomew blocked his way. Langelee made a gesture of impatience and swung at Bartholomew with one of his huge fists. Bartholomew ducked and the punch passed harmlessly over his head, but Langelee followed it immediately with another with his opposite hand that landed squarely on Bartholomew’s jaw. Lights danced in front of the physician’s eyes, and he fell backwards in an undignified tangle of arms and legs.

Matilde screamed and darted to his side, swearing at Langelee with words that suggested her origins might not be as gentle as her appellation of ‘Lady Matilde’ implied. Bartholomew rubbed his chin and tried to stand, but Langelee planted a hefty foot on his chest and pinned him to the floor, grinning when Matilde battered his thick leg with her small fists.

‘Stay where you are, Bartholomew,’ said Harling sharply. He nodded to Edward, who took Pelagia’s arm. Michael started forward, but stopped when the sergeant cocked his crossbow. With a sudden shock that made his stomach churn Bartholomew recognised the sergeant as one of those who had been with Tulyet in his office when they discussed the plan to lay a trap for the outlaws. It became immediately clear to him that it had all gone wrong. Tulyet would not be coming to rescue them because he had been betrayed by one of his own men.

And that was it, Bartholomew thought numbly. Harling had outwitted them as easily as that. The sergeant had told him everything Tulyet had planned, and all Harling had to do was kill four people who stood in his way – the four who knew the identity of the outlaw leader and exactly what he had done. Dame Pelagia would be questioned to ensure she had shared her knowledge with no one else, while Michael, Matilde and Bartholomew would be executed where they stood. And Deynman? If he was not dead already, he would not have long to live either. Bartholomew closed his eyes in despair.

‘Give yourself up, Harling,’ said Michael with a boldness Bartholomew was sure he could not feel. ‘You cannot escape. Tulyet knows your part in this affair.’

‘Tulyet knows nothing!’ said Harling in disgust. ‘He did not even know that some of his trusted sergeants have been persuaded to join us in our business. I thought it would not be long before he became suspicious of his lack of success in hunting us down, and started to look towards his own soldiers when his attempts to catch us were repeatedly foiled. But he did not. He continued to chase around in the Fens, not realising that each time he missed catching my men at their camps, it was because they had been forewarned. The Sheriff is a fool. Do not