Reluctantly, he moved towards Thorpe and his findings.
The only sounds were Michael's noisy breathing behind him and the muffled rumble of carts from the High Street.
As he walked, the students moved aside so he could pass, their faces taut with anticipation.
He met Thorpe's eyes for a moment, then looked down into the Ditch to where Will and Henry crouched in the muddy water. A distant part of Bartholomew's mind noted that the piece of offal he had observed shortly before had made its way downstream, and was now bobbing past Will's legs. It served to dissolve the feeling that he was attending some kind of religious ceremony, attended by acolytes who generated an aura of hushed veneration.
He wondered how Thorpe had managed to effect such an atmosphere, disliking the way he felt he was being manipulated into complying with it. He saw that the mood of the onlookers was such that, even if they had discovered a donkey in the black, fly-infested mud, they would revere it like the relics of some venerable saint.
'What have you found this time, Master Thorpe?' he asked, his voice deliberately loud and practical.
Thorpe favoured him with a cold stare, and answered in subdued tones that had the scholars furthest away moving closer to hear him.
'We have discovered a relic of the saintly Simon d'Ambrey,' he said, clasping his hands in front of him like a monk in prayer. 'There can be no doubt about it this time, Doctor.'
He met Bartholomew's gaze evenly. Without breaking eye contact, he gestured to the Ditch, so that Bartholomew was the first to look away. Something lay on the cracking mud, carefully wrapped in a tabard to prevent the swarming flies from alighting on it. Bartholomew, aware that he was being watched minutely, clambered down the bank to examine it, while Michael, curiously silent, followed.
Bartholomew picked up the tabard and gave it a slight shake, causing what was wrapped inside it to drop out.
There was a shocked gasp from the watching scholars at this rough treatment of what they already believed was sacred. Michael bent next to him as he knelt, and hissed furiously in his ear.
'Be careful, Matt! I do not feel comfortable here. These scholars are taking this nonsense very seriously. I imagine it would take very little for them to take on the role of avenging angels for any perceived insult to their relic. I do not wish to be torn limb from limb over a soup bone.'
Bartholomew glanced up at him. 'This is no soup bone, Brother.' He looked back at the mud-encrusted object that had tumbled from the tabard. 'This is the hand of a man, complete with a ring on his little finger.'
CHAPTER 5
Michael pretended to look closer at the grisly object that lay on the bank so he could whisper to Bartholomew without being overheard.
'Hell's teeth, Matt! We have been desperate to avoid a situation like this! Now there will be gatherings of people to see the thing, and fights between town and gown will be inevitable. Are you sure this hand belongs to a man?
Can you not say it is that of a woman?'
Bartholomew shook his head. 'It is far too big. You are stuck with this, I am afraid. These are the bones from a man's hand without question, and any other physician will tell you the same. Unfortunately, the thing even looks like a relic with that ring on its finger. What do you want me to do?'
Michael sat back on his heels, and watched Bartholomew wipe away some of the mud from the sinister hand. 'Take it to St Mary's Church,' he said. 'The Chancellor will be able to control access to it more easily there, and the beadles will be able to break up any gathering crowds.'
Bartholomew re-wrapped the hand in the tabard and called out to the servant, Will, who was still grubbing about in the ooze of the Ditch.
'Have you found anything else?'
Will shook his head. 'We shall continue to look, though, sir. The rest of the skeleton must be here somewhere since we have the hand.'
Bartholomew exchanged a brief glance of concern with Michael. Above them, the scholars muttered approval.
Clutching the precious relic, Bartholomew began to climb back up the bank, followed by a puffing Michael.
'With your permission, Master Thorpe,' Bartholomew began, 'I will take this to St Mary's Church where I can examine it more closely…'
'You most certainly do not have my permission,' said Thorpe brusquely. He reached out his hand for the bones.
'It was found by Valence Marie scholars, and it will stay on Valence Marie land.'
Michael intervened smoothly. Ttwill be treated with all reverence at St Mary's,' he said. If this really is a sacred relic, then it should be in the most important church of the University for all to see. The Chancellor will want to verify it himself. And doubtless the Bishop of Ely will want to see it, too.'
'It does not belong to the University or your Bishop, Brother,' said Thorpe with quiet dignity. 'It belongs to Valence Marie. We found it, and with us it will stay.' He looked around him, appealing to the watching scholars.
Michael's fears had been justified and Bartholomew could detect that the atmosphere had undergone a rapid transition from reverent to menacing. Thorpe was a shrewd manipulator of crowd emotions.
Michael stepped forward as Thorpe tried to grab the bones from Bartholomew. 'It would be prudent to allow Doctor Bartholomew to examine them more closely, Master Thorpe, so that he can attest that they are genuine.'
'I need no such examination to convince me of the relic's authenticity,' said Thorpe, pulling himself up to his full height, and looking down his long nose at the monk.
'If you wish to satisfy your heathen curiosity, Brother, you may do so. But you will do so here, at the Hall of Valence Marie.'
Michael began to speak, but stopped as one or two scholars stepped forward threateningly. Bartholomew thought he heard the sound of someone drawing a dagger from its leather sheath, but could not be certain. The situation had become ugly: the scholars were convinced that Valence Marie now possessed a valuable relic and were prepared to go to extreme lengths to keep it. Bartholomew could already see the glitter of anticipated violence in the eyes of some students, their demeanour making it clear that if Bartholomew and Michael wished to leave the Ditch at all, it would not be with the bones.
Thorpe leaned forward and took the relic from Bartholomew's unresisting hands. He held the parcel in the air, and turned towards his scholars.
'The bones of a martyr have been entrusted to us,' he announced in a strong, confidentvoice. There was a growl of approval. 'There will be many who will want to come to see them, and we must allow them to do so. But we have a sacred trust to ensure that they will always rest at Valence Marie!'
There was a ragged cheer. Some of the scholars began to follow Thorpe as he led the way back along the bank of the Ditch to his college. Others remained with Bartholomew and Michael, and formed a tight escort that almost immediately began to jostle and shove them.
Michael spoke rapidly in Latin to Bartholomew, trusting that his low voice and the speed of his words would render him incomprehensible to the students surrounding them. One or two moved closer to try to hear what he was saying, but most ignored him, their attention fixed on the silvery head of Thorpe leading his procession, and carrying his precious bones.
'We are in a fix, Matt. Examine the wretched thing, but say nothing of what you find. It seems Thorpe has already convinced them that they have the hand of a martyr whether it is true or not.'
Bartholomew staggered as a hefty student crashed into him, almost knocking him over. With difficulty, he refrained from pushing him back, but almost fell again as someone gave him a hard shove from behind.
He felt Michael's warning hand on his shoulder, and did nothing.
They reached Valence Marie, where Thorpe laid his bundle gently on the high table and unwrapped it. He
