An Unholy Alliance by Susanna Gregory Page B

door, before Stanmore left for the Fair and Bartholomew returned to his teaching duties at Michaelhouse.
    Stanmore ordered that a fire be built in the solar, for, despite the fact that it was summer, the day seemed chilly. He and Bartholomew sat in front of the flames and sipped some mulled ale.
    ‘Have you heard about witchcraft being on the increase in Cambridge?’ Bartholomew asked, partly to change the subject from Frances and partly for information.
    Stanmore had a network of informants who kept him up to date with the various happenings in the town.
    There have been rumours, yes,’ said Stanmore. ‘A religion where fornication, drunkenness, and violent acts are regarded as acceptable will have a certain appeal to people frustrated with being urged to practise moderation and told that the injustices of their lives are God’s will.’ He stared into the fire.
    * ‘What about in Cambridge?’ Bartholomew tried to get comfortable on the wooden chair.
    “I have heard that lights have been seen moving about All Saints’ Church in the depths of the night.
    Many superstitious people think that part of the town is haunted. If you had not burned down those houses with the people still in them, the site of that settlement would not be so feared.’
    ‘“The people were dead, Oswald!’ said Bartholomew, angry at the misrepresentation of fact. ‘And no one wanted the task of taking the bodies to bury them in the plague pit! What would you have done? Left them there to rot and further infect the town?’
    ‘Easy now,’ said Stanmore, startled at his outburst. ‘I am only telling you what people think, and you did ask.
    What is your interest in witchcraft?’
    ‘None, really,’ said Bartholomew, still annoyed. ‘Old Brother Alban was rattling on about it and he thought it may have had something to do with the deaths of these women.’
    Stanmore thought for a moment. ‘It is possible, I suppose. I will ask my people to keep their ears open and will contact you if they hear anything.’ He stood as Bartholomew rose to leave. ‘Be careful, Matt. “The rumours about these covens are unpleasant. In London, some fiend takes children from their cribs at night.’
    “I am a little too old to be taken from my crib,’
    said Bartholomew, relenting from his irritation and laughing.
    Stanmore laughed too. ‘Your sister does not think so.
    You must visit her soon, Matt. She is lonely, and would like to see you.’
    As Bartholomew walked back towards Michaelhouse, he thought about Frances. Was the father of her child the man who had killed her? And if so, did this mean that he was also the killer of the other women? Had they also been pregnant by him? He shook his head.
    That was absurd: the other women had been prostitutes who had probably known how to prevent pregnancy, as far as that was possible. Hilde’s sister had not done very well, it seemed. But what had Frances’s dying words ‘not a man’ - meant? Was her death connected with
    the witchcraft that seemed to be on the increase all over the country? Why did so many people believe the Sheriff was reluctant to investigate? Bartholomew rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Was it possible he was involved in witchcraft too, and already knew the identity of the killer whom he had allowed to escape? Bartholomew ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The killer could be anyone! Hundreds of people had converged upon Cambridge for the Fair: any of them could be responsible.
    “The more he thought about it, the more
    he realised he had set himself an impossible task by agreeing to help de Belem.
     
    Bartholomew worked hard that morning, painstakingly discussing Dioscorides’s text on opiates and how they might be used to ease a variety of ailments. After dinner he gave Gray and Bulbeck mock disputations to test their knowledge of Hippocrates and Galen, and then went to visit three different people who had contracted summer ague, a shivering fever that struck many people in