To Kill or Cure by Susanna Gregory Page A

his feather, I felt nothing.’
    ‘Does he cure anything else?’ asked Agatha. Bartholomew
was
surprised to see Michaelhouse’s laundress in the Angel, because taverns tended to be the domain of men – and prostitutes
     – and she should not have been there. However, as she was larger than most male patrons, and infamous for her touchy temper
     and powerful fists, no one was likely to oust her.
    ‘I have remedies for all manner of ailments,’ announced Arderne grandly. ‘Why? Is there something you would like me to repair?
     Or does your question relate to my other skills – for example, my ability to restore beauty to those of mature years?’
    ‘
I
have no need of beauty potions,’ said Agatha, astonished by the implication that she might. There was absolute silence as
     men held their breaths, lest even the merest sigh be misinterpreted. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of Agatha. ‘But
     I would not mind a love potion.’
    There was another taut silence, and the man sitting next to her gulped. He glanced at the door, as if assessing his chances
     of making a successful dash for it.
    ‘I can provide you with one of those,’ said Arderne, quickly regaining his composure. ‘Of course, it will be expensive. Good
     remedies always are, which is why you should distrust the low fees of men like Robin of Grantchester. You get what you pay
     for in the world of medicine.’
    ‘Is Robin cheap?’ asked Michael of Bartholomew. ‘I always thought him rather pricey.’
    ‘I would say he is about average. I wonder why Agatha wants this potion.’
    ‘It is for Father William,’ said Michael with a malicious snigger. His chortling stopped abruptly as another possibilityoccurred to him. ‘God and all His saints preserve us! I hope it is not for
me
!’
    ‘Do you see yourself as irresistible to portly matrons then, Brother?’
    Michael pursed his lips. ‘I am irresistible to anyone. Powerful men always attract that sort of attention – just ask the King.’
    Bartholomew laughed, appreciating a brief moment of levity in what had been a bleak few hours. Unfortunately, Arderne heard
     him. The healer stood suddenly and began to stalk towards them.
    ‘Damn!’ muttered Michael, as the tavern’s patrons started to look around, to see where he was going. ‘I wanted to catch Candelby
     alone, and we cannot risk a confrontation with this arrogant peacock. Do not let him goad you into an indiscretion, Matt.
     Not here.’
    ‘Why would he want to argue with me?’
    ‘Because Beadle Meadowman told me last night that Arderne has engineered public quarrels with all your medical colleagues
     – Robin, Paxtone, Rougham and Lynton. You have only escaped his vitriol because you have been busy teaching. Of course, the
     others are easy targets, and you will be far more difficult to harm. That means he will probably strike you hardest of all.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Rougham is arrogant and objectionable, Lynton was narrow-minded, and Robin is a repellent creature, to put it mildly. Paxtone
     is competent – just – but the Cambridge
medici
are, on the whole, an unprepossessing shower. You are by far the best, so Arderne will see you as his most dangerous opponent.
     He will want to silence you as soon as possible.’
    Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. ‘Silence me about what?’
    ‘About his dubious claims that a feather can mend broken bones, for a start. Here he comes. Be on your guard – and remember
     that we have a killer to catch. We have no time to waste on spats.’
    ‘Speak of the Devil and he will appear,’ drawled Arderne, as he approached. His unblinking eyes shone oddly, and his long
     black hair tumbled from under his red hat. ‘I was just saying how the people of Cambridge have been badly served by dirty
     surgeons and ignorant physicians since the plague, and here is one of them.’
    ‘Now just a moment,’ said Isnard, hobbling over to join them. ‘Bartholomew is a decent man. When my