it. The Founder's Feast and the Festival of St Michael and All Angels the following Sunday-St Michael is the patron saint of Michaelhouse — come close together.'
'So, who have you invited to this feast?' asked Eleanor, raising her eyebrows.
'I had been planning to ask my sister and her husband, but I left it too late and they accepted an invitation from one of the commoners instead. So, I have invited no one.'
It would have been pleasant, he thought ruefully, to have taken Philippa. The mere thought of her long, golden hair and vivacious blue eyes sent a pang of bitter regret slicing through him. He looked away.
'I am free on Tuesday,' said Eleanor casually. 'And I have never been to a Founder's Feast before.'
'Would you like to come?' asked Bartholomew doubtfully, wondering why a lively and attractive woman like no Eleanor should want to sit through a long, formal dinner, with lengthy Latin speeches that she would not be able to understand, attended by lots of crusty old men whose aim was to eat enough to make themselves ill the following day and drink sufficient wine to drown a horse.
'Yes, I would,' she said happily, her face splitting into a wide grin. 'I would be delighted!'
'Good,' said Bartholomew, hoping she would not be bored. 'It begins at noon.'
Mistress Tyler arrived with the broth, and Eleanor's hand was withdrawn from his knee. Bartholomew ate quickly, concerned that he had already been away too long from his patients. It was excellent broth, however, rich and spicy and liberally endowed with chunks of meat that were edible. The bread was soft and white and quite different from the jaw-cracking fare made from the cheapest available flour that emerged from the Michaelhouse kitchens. Perhaps Michael had been right in the tavern the previous night, and Bartholomew did need to venture out of College more and sample what the world had to offer. Including the company of women, he decided suddenly.
As he took his leave, one of Jonas the Poisoner's children came to say that his father was inundated with requests for medicines after the riot, and that he needed Eleanor's help.
'You have some knowledge of herbs?' asked Bartholomew, impressed.
'She sweeps up,' said Hedwise with disdain.
'I do not!' Eleanor retorted, glowering at her sister.
'I have a good memory, and Uncle Jonas says I am indispensable to him in his work.'
'Then you had better go to him,' said Hedwise archly.
Ill 'I shall accompany Doctor Bartholomew to see his next patient.'
'There is no need for that,' said Bartholomew, not liking the way Eleanor's look had turned to something blacker.
Hedwise took his arm. 'Shall we be off, then? I shall return later,' she called to her family as she opened the garden gate and bundled him out.
'Do not be too long,' Eleanor shouted after her. 'You still have the pig to muck out, and I have that potion for the rash on your legs that you asked me to fetch from Uncle Jonas. You should apply it as soon as possible before it becomes worse.'
Hedwise laughed lightly and, Bartholomew thought, artificially, as she closed the gate behind her. 'Eleanor likes to jest, although mother is always berating her for being overly vulgar. But I have watched Uncle Jonas very carefully in his shop, and if I can be of service to you this afternoon, I shall be happy to oblige.'
'What about the pig?' asked Bartholomew, desperately trying to think of a way to reject her offer without hurting her feelings. It was not that he did not want her company, but some of the sights he had seen that morning had been horrific and he had no wish to inflict them on young Hedwise Tyler.
'The pig will manage without me for an hour or two,' said Hedwise, 'and I am sure I can do more good by assisting you than by dealing with that filthy animal.'
'Perhaps another time, Hedwise,' said Bartholomew gently, 'although I do appreciate your offer and the fact that you are prepared to subject yourself to some unpleasant experiences in order to help me.'
She looked away and, to his horror, he saw that her eyes brimmed with tears. At a loss, he offered her a strip of clean linen from his bag with which to wipe her eyes.
'I so seldom leave the house,' she said in a muffled voice. 'Eleanor, being the eldest, is always the first to go on errands and the like, while I have to stay at home with the pig.'
Bartholomew's discomfort increased, so, uncertain what to say, he said nothing. She gave a loud sniff.
'I never go anywhere,' she continued miserably. 'I have not even been to the Festival of St Michael and All Angels at St Michael's Church.'
'Oh, I could take you to that,' he said, relieved he could at least suggest something positive. 'It is the Sunday after next, although I cannot see that you would enjoy it — Michael's choir is going to sing, you see, and they are not what they were before the plague. Afterwards, Michaelhouse provides stale oatcakes and sour wine in the College courtyard. If it rains, we just get wet because the Franciscans outvote everyone else that the meal — if you can call it that — should be held in the hall. The Franciscans do not approve of townspeople in the hall except at the annual Founder's Feast.'
He realised he had not made the offer sound a particularly appealing one, and sought for something to say in the Festival's favour. Hedwise did not give him the chance.
'How wonderful!' she exclaimed, tears forgotten. 'Oh, thank you!'
'You can bring your mother,' he said, recalling that her elder sister had already inveigled an invitation to the Founder's Feast. He did not want Mistress Tyler thinking he was working his way through her entire family. Hedwise, however, had other ideas.
'Oh, no,' she said briskly. 'Mother will not want to sit in a damp church all day. But I will be delighted to accompany you. Just the two of us.'
'And a hundred other people,' he said. 'The church is always full for the Festival. Of course, it might not be so well attended if people hear the choir in advance. But if you have second thoughts about wasting a Sunday, you must tell me. I promise you I will not be offended if you find something better to do.'
'I can think of nothing better to do than to spend a Sunday with you at the Festival,' she announced. She gave him a huge grin and slipped away, dodging deftly out of the path of a man driving an ancient cow to the Market Square. A little belatedly, Bartholomew began to wonder what he had let himself in for.
CHAPTER 4
Barthoi.omew's fears for Hedwise's well-being were unfounded as it happened, and most of the cases he saw the afternoon after the riot comprised minor injuries, rather than serious wounds. He tended a merchant who had gashed his hand on glass when he tried to protect his home from looters, and then set off along Milne Street to where a baker with eyes sore from smoke awaited him. On his way, he was accosted by a shabby figure in dark green, with protuberant blue eyes and a dirty, unshaven look.
His hands, Bartholomew could not help but notice, were black with dried blood.
'Good afternoon, Robin,' he said, involuntarily stepping backwards as the surgeon's rank body odour wafted towards him.
'I hear you have been stitching and cutting,' said Robin of Grantchester in a sibilant whisper, pursing his lips and looking at Bartholomew in disapproval. 'Chopping and sewing. '
'Yes,' said Bartholomew shortly, walking on. He did not have the time to engage in a lengthy discussion with the surgeon about the techniques he used, despite the fact that Bartholomew thought the man could use all the help he could get: Robin of Grantchester was not noted for his medical successes. The surgeon scurried after him.
'Surgery is for surgeons,' hissed Robin, sniffing wetly.
'Physicking and reading the stars is for physicians. You are taking the bread from my mouth.'
Bartholomew heartily wished that were true, and that Robin would pack up his unsanitary selection of implements and look for greener pastures in another town.
The more Bartholomew observed the surgeon in action, the more he was convinced that his grimy hands did far more harm than good, and shuddered to think of anyone being forced to pay him for any dubious services he might render. The fact that Robin always demanded payment in advance because of his high mortality rate did little
