agreement without his
suspicions being raised.
‘You have explained why you came to Cambridge,’ said Michael, smiling politely at the Oxford man. ‘But you have not told us
how you know Richard.’
‘I tutored him during his time at Merton,’ replied Heytesbury. ‘It was I who persuaded him to give up the notion of becoming
a physician and to study law instead. It is safer than poking around with leprous sores and more stimulating than inspecting
flasks of urine. And there is always a need for good lawyers these days.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Richard fawningly. ‘Ever since the Death, large numbers of wills have been contested, and so there is always
work for those who understand the law.’
The conversation turned to legal matters, although Heytesbury did not join in. It was clear to Bartholomew that Heytesbury
was uncomfortable with the notion that Michael might cheat him, and so had travelled to Cambridge to make more enquiries before
he accepted the terms the monk was offering. Michael also said little, although his eyes gleamed as he sensed Heytesbury was
worried enough to try to investigate him. Bartholomew saw that the monk anticipated a challenge, and was relishing the prospect
of locking wits with one of Oxford’s greatest thinkers.
‘The food is ready,’ said Edith, entering the room from the kitchen, flushed from the heat of the fire that was roaring there.
‘Then let us begin,’ said Michael, rubbing his hands in gleeful anticipation. Bartholomew was not sure whether his words referred
to the food, or to the impending battle of minds with Heytesbury.
Michael had been wise to inveigle an invitation to Edith’s house that night: the fare she provided was infinitely superior
to anything that would have been on offer at Michaelhouse. There was trout stuffed with almond paste, pike in gelatine surrounded
by roasted vegetables, followed by fried fig pastries, raisin slices and butter custard.Stanmore broached one of his barrels of best wine, a rich red from southern France, while Richard provided a flask of something
that he claimed was the height of fashion in Oxford. It was a colourless liquid that tasted of turnips and that burned Bartholomew’s
throat and made him cough. He wondered whether Richard would sell him some to use on those of his patients with painful bunions.
‘Is it true?’ asked Michael of Heytesbury, tilting his goblet and inspecting the drink inside doubtfully. ‘Do Oxford scholars
really drink this?’
Heytesbury drained his cup in a single swallow. ‘It is a brew the King is said to like.’
‘Then no wonder the country is in such a state,’ muttered Michael. ‘I am surprised the man has any wits at all, if he regularly
imbibes this poison. What is your opinion, as a medical man, Matt?’
Bartholomew shrugged, reluctant to engage in treasonous talk with Heytesbury present. For all Bartholomew knew, Heytesbury
could be the kind of man to report any rebellious sentiments among Cambridge scholars to the King’s spies, and Bartholomew
had no intention of losing his Fellowship for agreeing that any man who regularly drank the potion Richard had provided was
not fit to be in control of a plough, let alone a country. He was surprised that Michael was not similarly cautious.
‘I always knew Cambridge men had weak stomachs,’ said Richard, tossing back the contents of his goblet and then fighting not
to splutter. ‘We are made of sterner stuff in Oxford.’
‘We will see about that,’ said Michael, downing the remains of his own cup and then pushing it across the table to be refilled.
‘Will you accept my challenge?’
‘He will not,’ said Edith firmly. ‘This is supposed to be a pleasant family meal, not some academic drinking game. I do not
want either of you face down on your trenchers or ruining the occasion for the rest of us by being sick on thetable.’ She snatched up the flask and rammed the stopper into it so
suspicions being raised.
‘You have explained why you came to Cambridge,’ said Michael, smiling politely at the Oxford man. ‘But you have not told us
how you know Richard.’
‘I tutored him during his time at Merton,’ replied Heytesbury. ‘It was I who persuaded him to give up the notion of becoming
a physician and to study law instead. It is safer than poking around with leprous sores and more stimulating than inspecting
flasks of urine. And there is always a need for good lawyers these days.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Richard fawningly. ‘Ever since the Death, large numbers of wills have been contested, and so there is always
work for those who understand the law.’
The conversation turned to legal matters, although Heytesbury did not join in. It was clear to Bartholomew that Heytesbury
was uncomfortable with the notion that Michael might cheat him, and so had travelled to Cambridge to make more enquiries before
he accepted the terms the monk was offering. Michael also said little, although his eyes gleamed as he sensed Heytesbury was
worried enough to try to investigate him. Bartholomew saw that the monk anticipated a challenge, and was relishing the prospect
of locking wits with one of Oxford’s greatest thinkers.
‘The food is ready,’ said Edith, entering the room from the kitchen, flushed from the heat of the fire that was roaring there.
‘Then let us begin,’ said Michael, rubbing his hands in gleeful anticipation. Bartholomew was not sure whether his words referred
to the food, or to the impending battle of minds with Heytesbury.
Michael had been wise to inveigle an invitation to Edith’s house that night: the fare she provided was infinitely superior
to anything that would have been on offer at Michaelhouse. There was trout stuffed with almond paste, pike in gelatine surrounded
by roasted vegetables, followed by fried fig pastries, raisin slices and butter custard.Stanmore broached one of his barrels of best wine, a rich red from southern France, while Richard provided a flask of something
that he claimed was the height of fashion in Oxford. It was a colourless liquid that tasted of turnips and that burned Bartholomew’s
throat and made him cough. He wondered whether Richard would sell him some to use on those of his patients with painful bunions.
‘Is it true?’ asked Michael of Heytesbury, tilting his goblet and inspecting the drink inside doubtfully. ‘Do Oxford scholars
really drink this?’
Heytesbury drained his cup in a single swallow. ‘It is a brew the King is said to like.’
‘Then no wonder the country is in such a state,’ muttered Michael. ‘I am surprised the man has any wits at all, if he regularly
imbibes this poison. What is your opinion, as a medical man, Matt?’
Bartholomew shrugged, reluctant to engage in treasonous talk with Heytesbury present. For all Bartholomew knew, Heytesbury
could be the kind of man to report any rebellious sentiments among Cambridge scholars to the King’s spies, and Bartholomew
had no intention of losing his Fellowship for agreeing that any man who regularly drank the potion Richard had provided was
not fit to be in control of a plough, let alone a country. He was surprised that Michael was not similarly cautious.
‘I always knew Cambridge men had weak stomachs,’ said Richard, tossing back the contents of his goblet and then fighting not
to splutter. ‘We are made of sterner stuff in Oxford.’
‘We will see about that,’ said Michael, downing the remains of his own cup and then pushing it across the table to be refilled.
‘Will you accept my challenge?’
‘He will not,’ said Edith firmly. ‘This is supposed to be a pleasant family meal, not some academic drinking game. I do not
want either of you face down on your trenchers or ruining the occasion for the rest of us by being sick on thetable.’ She snatched up the flask and rammed the stopper into it so
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