An Order for Death

with disapproval. ‘The man is leading him to a life of debauchery and lust.’

‘Heytesbury is leading Richard astray?’ asked Michael. He watched Bartholomew help Richard sip some water. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘Because Heytesbury is in an inn at every opportunity,’ said Stanmore crossly. ‘And when there is no tavern available, he insists on being provided with wine.’

‘Really,’ said Michael, interested. ‘Would you say that this affinity with wine is more marked than in most men?’

‘I certainly would,’ said Stanmore firmly. ‘He has already drunk the best of my cellars, and is inveigling invitations to friaries and Colleges all over Cambridge, so that he can have a go at theirs. He is one of those cunning imbibers – not the kind who becomes roaring drunk so that the whole town knows what he has been doing, but the kind who indulges himself steadily and heavily and shakes like a leaf when there is too long an interval between tipples.’

‘Like Dame Martyn,’ said Bartholomew. Stanmore nodded.

‘Well, now,’ said Michael, his eyes gleaming. ‘Perhaps Heytesbury will sign my deed sooner than he anticipates.’

‘Yes, blackmail him,’ said Stanmore harshly. ‘Then he will remove himself from my house and return to that den of iniquity he calls Oxford. I do not want to order him to leave, because he is Richard’s friend, but he cannot depart soon enough for me or Edith.’

Michael draped an arm over Stanmore’s shoulders with a grin of immense satisfaction. ‘Just leave it to me.’

‘I do not know why you needed Oswald to tell you this,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It has been apparent from the start that Heytesbury likes his wine. I have seen him in the Swan and the Cardinal’s Cap, and he carries gum mastic – a breath freshener – with him at all times to disguise the scent of wine on his breath.’

‘Then why did you not point this out to me sooner?’ asked Michael coolly. ‘Had I known, it would have made a big difference to the way I dealt with him.’

‘It was so obvious I did not think it necessary to mention it. You do not need to be a physician to detect the symptoms of a committed drinker. However, Richard has not been drinking – not today, at least.’

‘What is wrong with him, then?’ said Stanmore, finally becoming worried. ‘It is not the Great Pestilence again, is it? Oxford is exactly the kind of place it would come from a second time.’

‘It is not the plague,’ said Bartholomew, taking Richard’s wrist and measuring the pace of his life-beat. It was within the normal range for a man of his age and size, and Bartholomew did not think there was anything seriously wrong with his nephew. Richard’s eyes flickered and he began to show signs of awareness.

‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Where am I? Where is my horse?’

‘You fell off it,’ said Michael unsympathetically. ‘It is too spirited for you; you would do better with a palfrey.’

‘I cannot be seen on a palfrey,’ said Richard, not too unwell to be indignant. ‘What would people think?’

‘They would think that you are a man who is sensible, modest and steady,’ replied Michael. ‘They would not snigger behind your back because you have purchased a mount over which you have no control, and they would not think you are an ambitious toady, who is so aware of outward appearances that there is no substance to him.’

Richard’s eyes were wide. ‘Is that what you think?’

‘It is what you tell people to think with your Black Bishop of Bedminster and your dangling ear-ring and your glittering buttons,’ scolded Michael.

Richard turned on his father. ‘I told you that horse was too ostentatious and that we should have bought the brown one instead!’

Stanmore’s features hardened. ‘You told me you wanted to make an impact on the town. The brown nag would not have achieved the same effect.’

Bartholomew gaped at his brother-in-law. ‘You bought him that thing, Oswald? It was your idea?’

Stanmore sighed heavily. ‘Damn it all, Richard! The only condition I imposed on you for my generosity was that no one should ever know who paid for the Black Bishop.’

‘What were you thinking of?’ asked Bartholomew, appalled. ‘You must have seen that the impression your son was making was not a good one.’

‘On the contrary, Richard has secured a good deal of work since he arrived here,’ snapped Stanmore. ‘Several wealthy merchants have hired him. The black horse did exactly what we hoped. But you had better not tell Edith about this. She will be furious with me.’

‘Since we are on the subject of money, how do you afford all your fine clothes and your handsome saddle?’ asked Bartholomew of his ailing nephew. ‘I am sure Oswald did not give you funds to squander on those.’

‘The saddle came with the horse,’ admitted Stanmore reluctantly. ‘A splendid horse would be no good without a matching saddle, would it?’

‘The clothes are paid for with my own funds,’ said Richard sullenly, ‘although I cannot see it is any affair of yours. I worked hard in Oxford, and I have secured several lucrative customers here in Cambridge. I have no family to care for, so why should I not spend my earnings on clothes?’

‘Well, at least this tells us that not all your young nephew’s flaunted wealth was ill-gotten,’ whispered Michael to Bartholomew. ‘The most expensive item was a gift from his loving and very misguided father.’ He turned to Richard. ‘Never mind all this for now. I have a question to ask. What were you doing at St Radegund’s with Walcote?’

‘When?’ asked Richard, a trace of his old insolence insinuating itself into his voice.

Michael’s eyebrows drew together in annoyance. ‘Do not play games, boy. One of the items on the agenda of these gatherings was my murder. Why would you implicate yourself in that?’

‘Oh, no!’ breathed Stanmore, as he slumped into a chair with one hand pressed over his heart. ‘Not again! Do not tell me that another member of my family is involved in something criminal! I thought my brother’s fate five years ago would have warned you against that sort of thing, Richard.’

Richard hung his head, and Michael eyed him with distaste. ‘You came to Cambridge to make your fortune, and immediately set about wooing the richest and most influential men in the town. These included Junior Proctor Walcote, who invited you to one of his nocturnal meetings, probably not realising that you were the nephew of my closest friend.’

‘Walcote did not know that,’ acknowledged Richard in a low voice. ‘He was horrified when he discovered I am Matt’s kinsman. He was afraid I would tell you about his business.’

‘And why didn’t you?’ demanded Michael.

Richard rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘I only went to one meeting; then Walcote died and there were no more. The discussion included raising funds for mending the Great Bridge, and then went on at length about nominalism and realism. There was mention that you had been seen stealing from the University Chest in the Carmelite Friary, Brother, but I told them that they were insane if they believed you would do such a thing.’

‘Quite,’ said Michael, a little mollified by Richard’s belief in his innocence, regardless of the fact that it was wholly unjustified. ‘What else did you talk about?’

‘That was all. I doubt the whole thing took more than an hour. Nothing was decided and nothing was resolved, because Walcote was not forceful enough to allow any item to be concluded.’

‘Explain,’ ordered Michael.

Richard gave a wan smile. ‘He meant well, but he wanted to please everyone. No one will ever be happy with everything, and there comes a point where you just have to go along with the majority. But Walcote did not want to offend the dissenters. We made no decisions, and everything was postponed until later. Pechem told me it had been like that from the start.’

‘Walcote was weak,’ agreed Stanmore. ‘He was a nice man, who was a pleasure to have at the dinner table, but was far too conciliatory to make unpopular decisions. I cannot imagine him ever taking a stand on anything.’

‘He was a follower of nominalism, yet he readily agreed with you that realism was just as valid,’ said Bartholomew, recalling the discussion with Michael that had taken place after Faricius’s death. ‘He also thought you