An Order for Death by Susanna Gregory

to one that was equally contentious.
     ‘I have never been to Oxford, but Matt tells me it is an intriguing place. Personally, I have no desire to see it. I imagine
     its greater size will render it very squalid.’
    ‘It is not squalid,’ said Bartholomew quickly, seeing Richard look angry. ‘Well, not as squalid as some places I have seen.’
    Richard glowered, and was about to make what would doubtless have been a tart reply when Stanmore cleared his throat noisily
     as Edith walked in.
    ‘You still have not told us who you invited to dine tonight,’ said the merchant hastily, to change the subject before Edith
     saw that they were on the verge of a row. ‘When will he arrive?’
    ‘He is here already,’ said Richard. He gave an amused grin. ‘I met him quite by chance in the town a few days ago. Apparently,
     he has business in Cambridge, and has been lodging at the King’s Head.’
    ‘Good choice,’ muttered Michael facetiously. ‘It serves both bad food and a criminal clientele.’
    ‘We were delighted to run across each other,’ Richard went on, ignoring him. ‘I insisted he stayed with us for at least some
     of his visit, and I took him to the Laughing Pig when he accepted my offer today. Unfortunately, we both drank rather more
     than we should have done, and he went upstairs to sleep. He is a friend from Oxford.’
    Stanmore pursed his lips in disapproval. ‘Oxford. I might have guessed someone from
there
would not be able to pass a day without availing himself of a drink.’
    ‘We were only toasting each other’s health,’ objected Richard. He uncoiled himself from his seat as someone entered the room
     – a courtesy that had not been extended to Bartholomew and Michael – and gave the newcomer a genuine smile of welcome. ‘But
     here he is.’
    Bartholomew and Michael stood politely as a shadowy figure entered the room. And then Bartholomew saw Michael’s jaw drop in
     astonishment when he saw the man who stood in front of them. The newcomer seemed as discomfited by Michael’s appearance as
     the monk was by his.
    ‘William Heytesbury of Merton College,’ breathed Michael, staring at the man.
    ‘Brother Michael of Michaelhouse,’ replied Heytesbury. ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘You two have already met?’ asked Richard, surprised that the Oxford scholar, who now reclined in the Stanmores’ best chair
     with a brimming goblet of wine, should be acquainted with the likes of the obese Benedictine. ‘How?’
    ‘We are in the middle of certain negotiations,’ replied Michael vaguely. Although his plans to pass two farms and a church
     to Oxford in exchange for information were not a secret, he was evidently not prepared to elaborate on them for Richard’s
     benefit. He raised his cup to the Merton man. ‘Your health, Master Heytesbury. I was not expecting to see you until well after
     Easter.’
    ‘The roads have been dreadful,’ replied Heytesbury, stretching elegant legs towards the fire. ‘The snow and rain have turned
     them into one long quagmire from Oxford to Cambridge. I decided to start the journey early, so I would not be late for our
     meeting.’
    ‘But that is not until Ascension Day,’ said Michael, raising his eyebrows. ‘Six weeks hence. The roads are not
that
bad!’
    Heytesbury gave a small smile. ‘True. But I have other business in Cambridge, besides the agreement I am making with you.’
    ‘Such as what?’ asked Michael, affecting careless indifference, although Bartholomew caught the unease in his voice.
    Michael had already gambled a great deal on the success of his arrangements with Merton, and did not want them to fail. Bartholomew
     was hazy on the details, but he knew that the seemingly worthless information and documents Heytesbury would pass to Michael
     would eventually be worth a lot more than two farms and a church. Michael anticipated that he would be able to steal the patronage
     of someof Oxford’s wealthiest benefactors, and that