to endear him to Bartholomew.
'My job is slitting and slicing,' said Robin venomously.
'Hacking and slashing, more like,' muttered Bartholomew, wondering whether the man had been drinking.
His eyes were red-rimmed and he seemed unsteady on his feet.
'You are not a surgeon. You have no right,' persisted Robin. 'I do not profess to read the stars or inspect urine.
Keep to your profession, Bartholomew, and I will keep to mine. I shall complain to the master of Michaelhouse if you continue to poach my trade.'
'Complain then,' said Bartholomew carelessly, knowing that Master Kenyngham would do nothing about it. 'I am duty bound to do whatever it takes to ensure the complete recovery of my patients. If that involves a degree of surgery, then so be it.'
'You can call me to do it,' said Robin, wiping his runny nose with a bloodstained finger. 'The other physicians do so, and I insist you do not poach my work.'
'All right,' said Bartholomew, stopping outside the sore-eyed baker's house. 'I promise you I will ask any patient I operate on whether they would rather have you or me. Will that suffice?'
Robin saw it would have to, and slunk away down a dark alley, his canvas sack of saws and knives clanking ominously as he went. Before Bartholomew could knock at the baker's door, he was hailed a second time, and turned to see Adam Radbeche, the Principal of David's Hostel and the man responsible for Father Andrew and his unruly Scottish students.
Radbeche was a distinctive-looking man, with a shock of carrot-coloured hair that reminded Bartholomew of a scarecrow. The Scot was a well-known figure in the University, famous for his brilliant interpretations of the works of Aristotle, and Bartholomew was pleased that Radbeche's scholarship had been rewarded by an appointment to Principal — even if it were only to the small, anonymous David's Hostel. Students and masters from the same part of the world tended to gather together, so it was not unusual that Radbeche had attracted fellow Scots to his establishment.
The philosopher's hand was bandaged; he explained that he had been burned while assisting a neighbour to extinguish a fire. The students had also helped to bring the fire under control, but, Radbeche said, at least three times he had counted them all back in again, so Bartholomew was inclined to believe that the Scots had played no part in the rioting. He led Radbeche across the road to sit on the low wall surrounding the little church of St John Zachary — decommissioned since the plague had taken most of its parishioners, and now with weeds growing out of its windows and its roof sagging dangerously.
While Bartholomew inspected and re-dressed the burned hand, Radbeche informed him that the ailing student Bartholomew had treated the day before at David's was recovering well. When Bartholomew waved away the offer of payment, impatient to attend the baker who had emerged from his house and was blinking at him anxiously, Radbeche suggested instead that he might like to borrow a medical book by the great Greek physician Galen. Bartholomew was surprised.
'Galen? But you have no medical students.'
Radbeche smiled. 'It was a gift from a man who could not read and who purchased the first book that matched the price he was willing to pay. It is the only book we own, actually. We borrow what we need from King's Hall or the Franciscan Friary.'
'Which book by Galen do you have?' asked Bartholomew with keen interest.
Radbeche seemed taken aback. 'Prognostics., I believe.'
He saw Bartholomew's doubtful look at his ignorance, and shrugged. 'I am a philosopher, Doctor. I have no interest in medical texts — even if they are all we have!'
Despite the fact that the University was a place of learning, and students were obliged to know certain texts if they wanted to pass their examinations, books were rare and expensive, and each one was jealously guarded. Michaelhouse only possessed three medical books and Bartholomew was delighted by Radbeche's generous offer. He gave the Principal a grateful grin and made his farewells so that he could attend to the agitated baker.
Later, as he was returning to Michaelhouse for more bandages, Bartholomew saw the untruthful Brother Edred limping up the High Street. Moments after, his colleague Brother Werbergh slunk past sporting a bruised eye, looking very sorry for himself.
Justice in Cambridge was swift and brutal, and, before evening, four men alleged to have been ringleaders in the rioting were hanged on the Castle walls as a grim warning to others who might consider breaking the Ring's peace.
Other rioters were released when heavy fines had been paid, with warnings that next time, they too would be kicking empty air on the Castle walls. Whether the hanged men really were the ringleaders of the riot was a matter for conjecture. While Bartholomew imagined they might have been in the thick of the fighting — perhaps even urging others to do damage and harm — the evidence that they were the real instigators was, at best, dubious.
As the shadows began to lengthen, and the heat of the day was eased by a cooling breeze, Bartholomew finished his work. Sam Gray and Rob Deynman, the two students who had been missing from Michaelhouse the night before, had helped him with the last few visits. Deynman had shown an aptitude for bandaging that Bartholomew never realised he had; this offered some glimmer of hope that his least-able student might yet make some kind of physician.
'Where were you two last night?' asked Bartholomew as they walked home together.
The students exchanged furtive glances and Bartholomew, tired and hot, felt his patience evaporating.
His students sensed it too and Gray hastened to answer.
'We were at Maud's Hostel. I know we are not supposed to frequent other hostels,' he added quickly, seeing Bartholomew's expression of weary disapproval. 'But Rob's younger brother is there, as you know.' He cast Bartholomew a sidelong glance. Bartholomew, struggling to teach Rob Deynman — not the most gifted of students — had seen within moments that the younger brother made Rob appear a veritable genius and had refused to teach him at Michaelhouse. The younger Deynman, therefore, had secured himself a place at Maud's, an exclusive establishment with a reputation for rich, but slow, students.
'It was my brother Jack's birthday,' said Deynman cheerfully, 'and we were invited to celebrate at Maud's.
By the time the wine ran out and we were ready to leave, the riot had started. The Maud's Principal advised us to stay.'
'Very wise,' said Bartholomew, wondering whether the idea to stay was truly the Principal's, or, more likely, Gray's. Gray, with his loaded dice and silver tongue, would profit greatly from an evening among the wealthy, but gullible, students at Maud's. Deynman, slow-witted and naпve, was often an innocent foil to Gray's untiring and invariably imaginative ploys to make money by deception.
Still, Bartholomew was grateful that they had had the sense not to stray out on to the streets when the town was inflamed — whatever their motive. He was fond of Gray and Deynman, and had been relieved when they had reported to him unharmed earlier that day.
'Just the man I wanted to see,' came a soft voice from behind him, and Bartholomew felt his spirits sink.
Guy Heppel, the Junior Proctor, sidled closer, smiling enthusiastically from under a thick woollen cap. He held out a hefty pile of scrolls to Bartholomew. 'I have all the information you will need to conduct a complete astrological consultation on me. Would now be a convenient moment?'
'No,' said Gray, before Bartholomew could think of a plausible excuse. 'There is a new moon tonight, you see, and Doctor Bartholomew, being born under the influence of Venus, is never at his best when the moon is new. You would be better off trying him next week.'
Heppel nodded in complete and sympathetic understanding.
'Then I shall do so,' he said, rubbing his free hand up and down the sides of his gown in the curious manner Bartholomew had noticed earlier. 'It is just as well you are indisposed, I suppose. The Chancellor has ordered me to march around the town with the beadles to warn scholars that anyone caught out after the curfew will spend the night in our cells. So, it is all for the best that you cannot entice me from my duties to spend the time with you on my consultation. When I finish announcing the curfew, I intend to go home to King's Hall and spend the evening by
