bubbled through his blue lips.
He opened his eyes when William's mutteiings finished. 'The third Master to die in less than a year,' he said in a whisper. He looked around the group of people until he found Bartholomew.
'You are still alive,' he said. 'I was not sure whether Colet would get you. You have really confounded my plans this time. Another few months, and I would have been Bishop, and I would never have needed to step in this accursed town again.'
He closed his eyes then, and did not open them again.
Colet and Stephen had already been hustled away to the Castle when Oswald Stanmore, his face white with strain, sought out Bartholomew.
'Oh, God, Matt,' he said. 'What happened?'
Bartholomew could think of nothing to say, and made him sit on one of the benches that was not too singed and drink a cup of wine. Richard sat next to him, his face tear-streaked.
Stanmore sipped at the wine and then cradled the cup in shaking hands. 'He played me like a fool, Matt,' he said. 'He took my money, made me believe all Swynford's lies, and then tried to kill you. My own brother!'
Bartholomew rested his hand on his shoulder. 'What will happen to his wife and children?'
'Stephen and his wife had not been close for some time,' Stanmore said. 'She had been complaining about his absences during the night. I should have listened to her. Richard has offered to stay with her for a while at the house on Milne Street. There is plenty of room, so there is no reason she and the children should not stay. Also, Edith will help them as much as she can.' 'I will help, too,' said Bartholomew.
Stanmore nodded. 'I know you will. What will happen to him, Matt?'
Bartholomew did not know. He imagined there would be a trial, and there was enough evidence to hang them all. Michael told him that Stephen had started to confess everything before he was even out of the College gates, despite dire threats from Colet. On his evidence, the Sheriff and the Proctor would round up the others who had been involved.
'I am sorry, Matt,' sighed Stanmore. 'What a vile mess.'
'It is over now,' said Bartholomew. 'We both need to put it behind us and look to the future.'
'Yes, I suppose so,' Stanmore replied. Accompanied by Richard, he left to tend to his affairs. He was still not out of the woods, and there would be many questions to be answered and accounts to be examined before this business was over.
Brother Michael had been engaged in deep conversation with the Bishop in the solar. As Stanmore left, Michael poked his head round the door and beckoned Bartholomew over. The Bishop was wearing a plain brown robe, a far cry from his finery of the previous visit. He looked at Bartholomew's bruised hands. 'I hear you tried to give Master Colet his just deserts,' he said.
Bartholomew looked at Michael. 'I was stopped before I had really started.'
'Just as well,' said the Bishop. 'There has been enough murder in this College to last a century.'
'What happened?' Bartholomew asked Michael.
'How did you manage to arrive in the nick of time?
How did you escape Yaxley?' 'I was sent a message, supposedly from the Bishop,' said Michael, 'asking me to meet him at the Carmelite Friary at Newnham. I saw nothing odd in this and assumed my lord the Bishop merely wanted me to provide him with the details of what I had learned before he arrived at Michaelhouse. As I walked, I heard St Mary's bell in the distance calling scholars to the Debate in the church and I suddenly realised I had made a dreadful mistake. We had already discussed Swynford's love of false messages, but I never thought he would dare to send me another.
'It became horribly clear. Me out of the way, perhaps heading into a trap, and all the scholars at the Debate.
You are a heavy sleeper at the best of times, and I knew the bell would not wake you. Colet, who knows you well enough, would also guess you would sleep through the bell. I knew he was going to come for you, Matt, as you slept alone in the College. I ran back as fast as I could, stopping at St Mary's to raise the alarm on the way.'
'The Chancellor was none too pleased at being interrupted mid-argument by my yelling, but your Gray got the students mustered. When we came near the College, I saw smoke coming from one of the windows.
I thought perhaps we were too late, and rushed up the stairs. I saw Colet kill Swynford by mistake, and then try to shoot me.'
He poked Bartholomew with his elbow. 'I saw what you did,' he said.
'What do you mean?' asked Bartholomew wearily.
'You saved me from Colet's crossbow. He could not have missed me from that range. I saw you knock him over.'
Bartholomew gave a soft laugh. 'Alcote did the same for me. The bolt that killed Swynford was meant for me, and he pushed me out of the way.'
The Bishop spread his hands. 'So, Michaelhouse Fellows risk their lives to save each other,' he said. 'Not all that has come of this is bad, and now you know whom you can trust.'
At last, thought Bartholomew, looking out of the window at the bright blue sky.
The Bishop stood to leave. 'These men have committed treason, and they will be taken to the Tower to stand trial. Stephen's willingness to confess in a vain attempt to save himself will ensure that they are all caught, and then the University — both hostels and Colleges — can begin again. I believe the Chancellor will need to make a visit to Oxford to explain what has happened, and to offer his abject apologies for blaming her for crimes of which she was wholly innocent.' He put his hand on Bartholomew's head. 'No secrets this time,' he said softly. 'Everything will be made known, from the murder of the Master of King's Hall fifteen months ago right up until the evil-doings of today.'
He went to the door, and then turned. 'Sir John Babington,' he said. 'He was no suicide, and can rightly be buried in the church. Shall I arrange that?'
Bartholomew thought about the revolting black effigy he had promised to have made for Wilson and shook his head. 'Sir John would prefer to be where he is, among the oak trees, and as far away from Wilson's glorious tomb as possible.'
The Bishop smiled. 'I believe you are right,' he said, and left.
Bartholomew and Michael sat in companionable silence for a while, each rethinking the events of the past few days.
Michael went to look out of the window. 'The Death is still out there,' he said softly. 'Despite all that has happened, it is still there.'
Bartholomew stood next to him. 'And I still do not understand it,' he said. 'I still do not know why some live while others die, and I have no more idea how it spreads now than I did when it first came.'
'Perhaps there is nothing to understand,' said Michael, watching the Proctor organising his beadles in the yard for the arrest of the hostel men. 'Perhaps we are all doomed.'
'No, Brother. There are those that have remained healthy, like you and Agatha, and there are those who have recovered. We will survive it.' He shivered, and wondered whether he should ask Cynric to build a fire.
He glanced through the open door where Gray and a few other industrious students were clearing the floor of debris, and decided that he had had enough of fires for one day.
'Matt!' Philippa exploded into the solar, followed more sedately by Abigny. 'Thank God you are safe!
We saw the smoke coming from Michaelhouse, and I thought Bartholomew rubbed his hands over his face, leaving smears of black. 'I owe you and Giles an apology,' he said.
'I misjudged you both, and Giles has saved my life.'
'Yes. I was there when Cynric came to him with his dilemma, and I told them the answer was quite simple,' said Philippa. 'I told them to enlist the help of Rachel Atkin and to go to see whether you and Michael were being held prisoner under Stephen's stables as she surmised. They were considering leaving it until tonight, but I said to go there and then. I would have gone myself, but I am not so foolish as to risk the success of such a mission merely to satisfy my own curiosity.'
Bartholomew stared at her wonderingly, and then hugged her, first gently, then harder. He could feel her laughing as she tried to catch her breath, and was reminded of how carefree they had been in the summer.
Abigny and Michael watched with obvious delight, and Bartholomew became embarrassed. Still with an arm
