that the murderer was a College man, who knew the habits and routines of its members.
Bartholomew glanced along the table at his colleagues.
Which one, if any, had murdered Paul, Augustus and
possibly Sir John, and attacked him and Aelfrith? From size alone it could not have been Alcote or Abigny - they were too small. Brother Michael was fat, and since he
deplored exercise of any kind, Bartholomew thought it
unlikely that Michael could best him in a tussle, although it was possible. That left William, Wilson, and Swynford, all of whom were tall and probably strong enough. Then there were the commoners, Henri d’Evene and Jocelyn
of Ripon.
The only way he could reduce the list would be
by establishing who was where, when, and with whom.
Michael and Bartholomew had seen Augustus alive
before the beginning of the feast, which meant that
he had died at some point between the time when
Bartholomew left him and Alexander had found him.
All the Fellows and commoners had been at the feast
the entire time that Bartholomew had been there. There were privies between the hall and the conclave, so no one had needed to leave the hall for that reason.
Bartholomew rubbed his eyes. Had Augustus been
murdered? He had spent a long time looking for evidence that he had been, and had found nothing. But it was all too coincidental - Augustus dying the night Paul was
stabbed and the commoners drugged. And for what had
Bartholomew’s attacker been searching?
And what of Paul? When had he died? Assuming
that Aelfrith was telling the truth, Paul had probably been killed about the same time that the Franciscan had been knocked on the head. Bartholomew remembered
that Paul’s blood had congealed slightly, and the body was cold and beginning to grow stiff. If all the Fellows had retired to their beds around the same time as had
Bartholomew, any of them could have slipped over
to the south wing, murdered Paul, and drugged the
commoners’ wine.
But why? What could be so important as to warrant
murder? Why was Augustus’s room ransacked? And
where was his body? Why would anyone want to take
it? And how did all this tie in with Sir John’s death? The more Bartholomew thought about it, the more confused
and inexplicable the possibilities became.
The meal took longer than usual because some of the
servants were still employed in searching for Augustus.
The Bible scholar droned on and Bartholomew grew
restless. He should question the commoners about the
drugged wine, and visit Agatha and Mistress Atkin. He
had badgered a fellow physician, Gregory Colet, to lend him a scroll containing some of the writings of the great physician Dioscorides, and Bartholomew was anxious to
begin reading it. Despite being a centre for learning, copies of books and scholarly writings were scarce in
Cambridge, and each was jealously guarded. Colet would not wait too long before he wanted his scroll back. If the students were to pass their disputations, they had to
know Dioscorides’s lists of healing plants. But for
Bartholomew merely knowing was not enough: he
wanted his students to understand the properties of
the potions they used, the harmful and beneficial effects these might have, and how they might affect the patient when they were taken over a long period of time. Before he began teaching them this, he wanted to refresh his
memory.
At last the meal was over and the scholars rose
for the final grace. Then the Fellows clustered around Wilson, who had just been listening to Gilbert.
‘Still nothing,’ he informed his colleagues. ‘But I
have alerted the porters to watch both gates for Augustus, and we will continue our search for the rest of the day if necessary. The man must be found. The Bishop will be
here this evening, and I will turn this miserable business over to him, as is my duty. Doubtless he will want to see us all when he arrives.’
Bartholomew was glad to leave the hall and go out
into the fresh air. It
Bartholomew glanced along the table at his colleagues.
Which one, if any, had murdered Paul, Augustus and
possibly Sir John, and attacked him and Aelfrith? From size alone it could not have been Alcote or Abigny - they were too small. Brother Michael was fat, and since he
deplored exercise of any kind, Bartholomew thought it
unlikely that Michael could best him in a tussle, although it was possible. That left William, Wilson, and Swynford, all of whom were tall and probably strong enough. Then there were the commoners, Henri d’Evene and Jocelyn
of Ripon.
The only way he could reduce the list would be
by establishing who was where, when, and with whom.
Michael and Bartholomew had seen Augustus alive
before the beginning of the feast, which meant that
he had died at some point between the time when
Bartholomew left him and Alexander had found him.
All the Fellows and commoners had been at the feast
the entire time that Bartholomew had been there. There were privies between the hall and the conclave, so no one had needed to leave the hall for that reason.
Bartholomew rubbed his eyes. Had Augustus been
murdered? He had spent a long time looking for evidence that he had been, and had found nothing. But it was all too coincidental - Augustus dying the night Paul was
stabbed and the commoners drugged. And for what had
Bartholomew’s attacker been searching?
And what of Paul? When had he died? Assuming
that Aelfrith was telling the truth, Paul had probably been killed about the same time that the Franciscan had been knocked on the head. Bartholomew remembered
that Paul’s blood had congealed slightly, and the body was cold and beginning to grow stiff. If all the Fellows had retired to their beds around the same time as had
Bartholomew, any of them could have slipped over
to the south wing, murdered Paul, and drugged the
commoners’ wine.
But why? What could be so important as to warrant
murder? Why was Augustus’s room ransacked? And
where was his body? Why would anyone want to take
it? And how did all this tie in with Sir John’s death? The more Bartholomew thought about it, the more confused
and inexplicable the possibilities became.
The meal took longer than usual because some of the
servants were still employed in searching for Augustus.
The Bible scholar droned on and Bartholomew grew
restless. He should question the commoners about the
drugged wine, and visit Agatha and Mistress Atkin. He
had badgered a fellow physician, Gregory Colet, to lend him a scroll containing some of the writings of the great physician Dioscorides, and Bartholomew was anxious to
begin reading it. Despite being a centre for learning, copies of books and scholarly writings were scarce in
Cambridge, and each was jealously guarded. Colet would not wait too long before he wanted his scroll back. If the students were to pass their disputations, they had to
know Dioscorides’s lists of healing plants. But for
Bartholomew merely knowing was not enough: he
wanted his students to understand the properties of
the potions they used, the harmful and beneficial effects these might have, and how they might affect the patient when they were taken over a long period of time. Before he began teaching them this, he wanted to refresh his
memory.
At last the meal was over and the scholars rose
for the final grace. Then the Fellows clustered around Wilson, who had just been listening to Gilbert.
‘Still nothing,’ he informed his colleagues. ‘But I
have alerted the porters to watch both gates for Augustus, and we will continue our search for the rest of the day if necessary. The man must be found. The Bishop will be
here this evening, and I will turn this miserable business over to him, as is my duty. Doubtless he will want to see us all when he arrives.’
Bartholomew was glad to leave the hall and go out
into the fresh air. It
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