A Poisonous Plot by Susanna Gregory

to lose half his brewery – assuming I can convince King’s Hall to do as I suggest, of course. They may decline.’
    ‘Then on their head be it,’ said Stephen, standing and making a small bow before aiming for the door. ‘And yours.’
    ‘Lord!’ breathed Tynkell, when he had gone. ‘He changes sides like the wind. I never know whether he is for us or against us.’
    ‘Whichever will make him richer,’ said Michael sourly. Then he glared at the Chancellor. ‘But I did not come here to talk about him. I came to discuss Zachary.’
    Tynkell grabbed a handful of parchments from the table, and clutched them to his thin chest, as if he imagined they might protect him. ‘My mother has recently married into Morys’s family, and she told me to accommodate him in any way I could, so I had to accede to his requests.’
    ‘How can you be frightened of your mother?’ asked Michael contemptuously. ‘She must be well into her seventh decade. Or even her eighth.’
    Tynkell nodded miserably. ‘But age has rendered her fiercer than ever, and only a fool would cross her, believe me. Worse, she is a close friend of the Queen, so any infractions on my part will be reported to royal ears.’
    ‘Then send Morys to me when he comes with his bullying demands,’ said Michael irritably. ‘I do not care what your dam whispers at Court, and his behaviour is unacceptable.’
    ‘I will try,’ mumbled Tynkell. ‘But he is like you, Brother – he just bursts in and starts giving orders. I cannot say I am pleased to call him kin, and dealing with him plays havoc with my nerves. I do not suppose you have any of that soothing remedy to hand, do you, Bartholomew?’
    It was mid-morning by the time Bartholomew and Michael emerged from St Mary the Great, but their journey to the brewery was interrupted yet again, this time by Acting Warden Wayt from King’s Hall who shoved his hairy face into the physician’s and spoke in a snarl.
    ‘Your sister’s whores have filled the river with blue dye, which has stained the wood on our pier. God only knows what toxins were in it. She poisoned Trinity Hall, after all, and it is probably her fault that Cew is so sick as well.’
    ‘You said it was Frenge’s antics that turned Cew’s wits,’ pounced Michael before Bartholomew could respond. ‘If it is the dyeworks, then you cannot sue the brewery.’
    ‘It was Frenge who sent Cew mad,’ Wayt snapped back. ‘But the dyeworks have given him stomach pains, nausea and vomiting.’
    ‘He is worse?’ asked Bartholomew, concerned. ‘Would you like me to visit him again?’
    Some of the belligerent anger went out of Wayt, and he nodded, although Michael rolled his eyes. Muttering under his breath, the monk followed them to King’s Hall, where the College continued in a state of watchful vigilance – its gates were barred, armed students patrolled the tops of its walls, and barrels of water had been placed ready to extinguish fires.
    ‘This would not be necessary if you dropped the case against Frenge’s estate,’ said Michael, as Wayt led him and Bartholomew along the maze of corridors to Cew’s quarters.
    ‘Never,’ declared Wayt. ‘I want reparation for the terrible crimes committed against us. That snake Stephen might have defected to Shirwynk for the promise of a larger fee, but we have good lawyers of our own, so he is no loss.’
    ‘His recommendation to sue was seriously flawed,’ said Michael. ‘He was motivated by personal gain, and you cannot trust his advice.’
    ‘He always did have an eye to his own purse,’ Wayt conceded. ‘But—’
    ‘What he failed to tell you was that going ahead will cost you dear, even if you win. You will earn the town’s undying hostility, and will have to pay a fortune in increased defences. None of us want trouble, so abandon this foolery and—’
    ‘I shall not,’ declared Wayt. He glared at the monk. ‘And we are not moving to the Fens either. If the University leaves Cambridge, it