much as we should. I realised this was a mistake, and I determined such a lack of communication should not sully my working relationship with his successor. I told Timothy everything – which was also a mistake, as it happened.’
‘My role in this was rather worthless,’ said Matilde ruefully. ‘I thought I was helping you solve two murders, but despite the fact that I had a thoroughly enjoyable time at St Radegund’s Convent and I learned a good deal that might benefit the sisters, my spying was a waste of time as far as you are concerned.’
‘Not true,’ said Michael. ‘Matt was sure the nuns had a role in those deaths. And he was right in a way: Walcote’s meetings at St Radegund’s caused a good deal of trouble.’
‘Matt and I were mistaken about Tysilia, though,’ admitted Matilde. ‘We thought she was a highly intelligent manipulator, who masterminded the meetings and the murders. We could not have been more wrong. She is exactly what she appears to be: a pretty woman with a completely empty head. She thinks she will have a better life if she escapes from the convent, and regularly gives the men she meets small baubles in return for a promise of help.’
‘But she only keeps her lovers for a week, and so is obliged to buy off rather a large number of them,’ said Bartholomew, smiling. ‘She offered Richard trinkets to help her – which certainly accounts for how he paid for some of his new clothes.’
‘She gave him my locket,’ said Matilde, taking it from around her neck and gazing down at it. ‘She really is foolish: she has not realised that she needs to keep her lovers for longer than a few days if she ever wants to capitalise on the favours she has purchased.’
‘Richard was bitter about the nuns of St Radegund’s when we discussed them in the Cardinal’s Cap,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But I suspect that was because his week was up, and Tysilia had already abandoned him for her next victim.’
Michael frowned thoughtfully. ‘On the morning of his lecture, Heytesbury said that Cambridge “no longer held any attractions” for him. I wonder if he was Richard’s replacement for a while.’
Matilde nodded keenly, pleased to be able to provide at least some useful information. ‘He was. But she confided in me that men who drink a lot do not make good lovers. Poor Heytesbury was dismissed well before his week was up.’
‘Well, Tysilia need not worry about escaping from St Radegund’s any more,’ said Bartholomew. ‘She no longer lives there. Bishop de Lisle has removed her to the leper hospital.’
‘Has he?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘Does she have the disease, then?’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘But it is clear her mind is impaired, and she is pregnant for a third time in a very short period. Leper hospitals not only house lepers; they are a haven for those with other incurable diseases, too, including weaknesses of the mind. It is also cheaper than St Radegund’s, and the Bishop is apparently short of funds at the moment.’
‘Insanity?’ asked Michael bluntly. ‘She does not seem to be any more lunatic than most of the people who freely walk around Cambridge’s streets – including certain Michaelhouse scholars.’
‘I suppose we should feel sorry for her,’ said Matilde. ‘But she treated poor Brother Andrew shamefully, and it led to his suicide in the King’s Ditch. It is hard to feel compassion for someone who is so completely dedicated to her own selfish desires.’
‘I feel compassion for Faricius, though,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The poor man only wanted to express what he really believed, but academic bigotry silenced him. And I feel compassion for the Michaelhouse lad who was killed just for greeting Brother Timothy in a cheerful manner. And for Simon Lynne, murdered because he was walking down the street in the misguided belief that all his troubles were over.’
‘Simon Lynne is a good example of why liars are a danger to themselves,’ said Michael. ‘He told us untruths, and we later disbelieved him when he claimed he had an identical brother and that his aunt was Mabel Martyn. He was being honest, but we already had him marked as a liar. I might have been able to protect him if he had been open with me from the start.’
Matilde looked up at Michael. ‘Over the last two weeks, you have lost two Junior Proctors. What will you do? I cannot imagine that you have many willing volunteers lining up to take their places.’
‘No,’ admitted Michael. ‘Although there is one man who has offered me his services. I am seriously tempted to accept them, because at least I know that
‘Father William?’ asked Bartholomew, horrified. ‘You would appoint that old bigot to a position that will allow him to persecute anyone who fails to comply with his own narrow set of beliefs? And what about the realism – nominalism debate? It will never die down with William accusing all the nominalists of heresy.’
Michael shook his head slowly. ‘The fire has already gone out of that particular issue. When Heytesbury left, only one Carmelite turned up to hurl a clod of mud at his back, and a passing gaggle of Dominicans did no more than laugh at the mess it made. I even saw Dominicans and Carmelites standing side by side to watch the mystery plays in the Market Square yesterday. They are at peace again – for now.’
‘And what brought about this abrupt change?’ asked Matilde suspiciously. ‘Only a week ago, they were prepared to tear each others’ heads off in St Mary’s Church.’
‘Lent is over,’ said Michael. ‘The sun is shining and the spring flowers are out. People are happier. And there are no more of those silly meetings of Walcote’s; they hardly poured oil on troubled waters. Lincolne’s death has helped, too. The Dominicans believe that one of Lincolne’s own students made an end of him, and consider justice to have been done for both Kyrkeby and Faricius. I cannot imagine how they arrived at such a conclusion, personally.’
Bartholomew said nothing.
‘And once I appoint William as my Junior Proctor, I shall be able to relax again,’ continued Michael, leaning back and holding out his cup to Matilde to be refilled. ‘I am expecting a large consignment of cheese in a few days, and I want to be able to appreciate it without rushing off to see to students with broken heads and bloody knuckles. William can do that.’
‘Cheese?’ asked Bartholomew cautiously. ‘This would have nothing to do with Heytesbury’s deed, would it? Richard claimed you wanted it signed so that you could dine on fine cheese and butter. Do not tell me he was right!’
‘Of course that was not why I wanted it signed,’ said Michael. Then his large face broke into a grin of happy anticipation. ‘But it is certainly one of its advantages.’
Historical Note
THROUGHOUT MEDIEVAL TIMES, CAMBRIDGE WAS FRAUGHT with disputes of one kind or another. Some occurred when the townsfolk took exception to the influence and sway held by the University in a town that was really very small by modern standards; others happened when specific factions within the University took against each other. A number of these are recorded in historical documents, including a very serious contention in 1374, when the Dominicans and Carmelites were on opposite sides of a theological debate. One John Horneby was the spokesman for the Carmelites. Riots and civil disorder followed, and even the Pope was drawn into the argument.
The religious Orders comprised a large percentage of the student body in the University, although it did not mean that their students were saintly men dedicated to a life of learning or devoted to the service of others. Many were sent to Cambridge to acquire a basic education before taking positions in the King’s courts or high-ranking posts in the Church – indeed, some Orders were obliged to send a specific percentage of their friars to one or other of the universities. It is certain that some of the alliances formed in the friaries formed the basis of an ‘old boys’ club’, where favours were given to former acquaintances.
The Franciscans, in particular, were often accused of preying on the younger students and encouraging them to join their Order. Some of their converts were as young as fourteen, although most were in their late teens. It is not unreasonable to suppose that controlling large bodies of active young men was extremely difficult, and that this alone led to at least some of the trouble with the other Orders and the town’s apprentices.
