A Plague on Both Your Houses (13 page)

‘That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! I am sorry, Father, but what kind of nonsense have you

been listening to …?’

‘It is not nonsense, and we have proof!’ Aelfrith

snapped back. ‘Just listen to me! Every single Fellow

who died had been an Oxford student before he came

to Cambridge.’

‘That is not proof, Father, that is coincidence. I went to Oxford first, and so did you!’

‘Which is why I am telling you this,’ replied Aelfrith, regaining his calm with difficulty. ‘About thirty years ago, King Edward II founded King’s Hall. He gave it money,

buildings, and sent to it scholars and boys destined to be some of the most powerful men in England. Many

scholars at Oxford considered this a great insult to them - the King should have endowed this great foundation

in Oxford, not Cambridge. But the City of Oxford had

refused to help Edward’s - well, let us say “friend” - Piers Gaveston when he was imprisoned, and the man was later killed. Edward had no cause to love Oxford. The present King has continued to give money and influence to King’s Hall, and with its growing prestige and power, so grows the University of Cambridge. King’s Hall is the largest and most influential of all the Colleges and hostels in Cambridge.

‘There are many who believe that there is a secret

group of Oxford men who have come to Cambridge to try

to bring about the downfall of the Colleges, and when the Colleges fall, the University will crumble with them.’

‘Come now, Father!’ said Bartholomew, disbelievingly.

‘The University would not crumble without the

Colleges! Without the hostels, maybe, since there are

more of them, and they house the majority of the masters and scholars.’

‘Think, man!’ said Aelfrith, his agitation rising again.

‘The loudest and most frequently heard voices in the

University are not from the hostels, they are from the Fellows of the five Colleges. The Colleges own their own buildings, their own land, and the hostels do not. The hostels rely on the good graces of the town - a landlord only need say he wants to reclaim the hostel because

he wishes to live in it, then the hostel is finished, its scholars and masters no more than homeless vagrants.

It is rumoured that Edmund Gonville will found another College soon, and so might the Bishop of Norwich. The

Colleges are becoming powerful in the University - they are its future - and as the Colleges increase in power, so does the University.’

‘But there are scholars enough for both Oxford

and Cambridge, and we take them from different parts

of the country anyway,’ protested Bartholomew.

Aelfrith shook his head impatiently, and continued

his narrative. ‘You know the stories that a terrible

pestilence is coming. For seven years it has been coming, from the lands in the Far East and across Europe. Many said it would not come across the waters that separate us from France, but it is already in the West Country.

It is said that whole villages will be wiped out, and that it is a sign of God’s wrath for the sin of man. It is said that God is especially angry with his priests and monks, and that many of us will perish for our sins.’

‘With good reason,’ muttered Bartholomew, thinking

of the wealthy monasteries and the heavy Church

taxes on the poor.

‘You are failing to see the point!’ said Aelfrith, exasperated.

‘If there is a huge reduction in the clergy, then

the two Universities will be competing for scholars. And who will teach them if we are to lose most of our masters?

There are many, both in Oxford and Cambridge, who

believe that the Universities will be fighting for their very existences before the year is out. Cambridge, being the smaller, is the more vulnerable. The weaker Cambridge

is, the greater chance for survival Oxford will have. Ergo, some Oxford scholars are waging a secret war against us in anticipation of the events to come.’

‘You really believe this, don’t you?’ said Bartholomew, incredulously.

‘Yes, I do. And so should you. I spoke of evidence.

We are not without our own spies, and we have documents from Oxford scholars stating their intentions very

clearly.’

‘You say “we”,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Who else knows

of this?’

“I cannot say,’ said Aelfrith, ‘because we do not know who is truthfully for Cambridge, and who may have been sent by Oxford. I can only tell you that seven of the Fellows whose deaths I mentioned earlier were of the same mind as me, including Sir John and the two young lads you

tried to treat for food poisoning. This network of spies is nothing recent - there is nothing inherently wrong

in watching the moves of the opposition, and we have

had people who have traded information for as long

as University records exist. But there has never been

any violence, especially murder. Poor Augustus knew of the threat and he must have been killed because it was thought he might know something - someone believed

he should not have done.’

‘By whom? By Oxford people to strike at the

Colleges, or by Cambridge people to keep him from

spilling their secrets?’

‘That is my problem, Matthew. I do not know.’

Bartholomew looked at him through narrowed

eyes. ‘Good company you keep, Priest, if you think

them capable of murder.’

Aelfrith rose restlessly, and began to pace back and

forth. Bartholomew caught a sparkle of tears in his eyes as he walked, and was sorry for his comment. Aelfrith

was a virtuous man, and Bartholomew was sure that he

had allowed himself to become embroiled in the murky

world of University politics for the purest of reasons, and probably for what he considered to be the good of the

College.

‘You saw Augustus’s room,’ the friar said, after a

moment. ‘Someone was looking for something. Whoever

attacked us had chipped loose plaster from the walls and had tried to prise up the floorboards. I have an idea of what the person may have been looking for.’

‘What could possibly be worth the killing of two

old men?’

Aelfrith smiled. ‘You are a good man, Matthew, but

you have been out into the world and you should know

better than to ask a question like that. The lives of two old men are worth nothing to those that we are dealing with - on either side.’ He stopped pacing and came to

sit next to Bartholomew again. ‘The spy system uses

coded messages. We are dealing with some of the best

minds in England here, so the codes have become very

intricate and complex. All coded messages are affixed

with a specific mark, or seal, so that their authenticity can be assured. Each time a message is sent, the seal is attached.

‘You probably did not know that Sir John acted as

an agent for the King for many years. Essentially, his task was to act as a link, passing information up and down the chain of communication. Each contact had a different

sign that only he and Sir John knew, to ensure that only authentic information would be passed on. About a year ago - the same time as the first deaths in King’s Hall - one of Sir John’s contacts started to send messages

about a group of scholars at the University of Oxford

who are dedicated to bringing about the downfall of the University here.

‘The sign Sir John used with this contact was an

elaborate knot design carved into a gold signet ring

- they had one each, exact duplicates in every detail.

When a message came, Sir John only needed to match

his seal with the one on the message to know that it was authentic. The design of the seals was very complex, and Sir John would have known if a message was marked with an imitation. Sir John carried this seal with him always, on a thick cord around his neck. After Sir John died,

the seal he used to send his messages disappeared.’

Bartholomew nodded, a little impatient at the

lengthy explanation. He had seen the ring Aelfrith

was talking about. It always hung on a robust length

of leather around Sir John’s neck. Bartholomew had

asked him about it once, and Sir John had given him

the impression that it was a trinket of no inherent value, but of great personal significance. Bartholomew supposed, in the light of what Aelfrith had just told him,

that Sir John had spoken the truth.

‘On the night of his death Sir John visited Augustus,

and may have hidden the seal in his room. I am sure Sir John was killed because someone wanted to steal the

seal, but I am also confident that he was not wearing it when he died.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘The manner of his death. He is said to have thrown

himself into the mill race so that he would be either

crushed or drowned by the water-wheel.’

Bartholomew swallowed hard and looked away.

Aelfrith continued.

‘There were two odd things about Sir John’s death.

The first is that when you, Swynford, and I dined with him on the night of his death, he did not seem

like a man about to take his own life. Would you

agree?’

Bartholomew assented. It was a fact that had played

on his mind, increasing his sense of helplessness

about Sir John’s death. Had the Master seemed ill

or depressed, Bartholomew could have offered his

support and friendship.

‘The second odd thing was the clothes he was

wearing. Now,’ Aelfrith held up his hand as Bartholomew began to protest, “I am not going to say anything that will harm Sir John’s reputation further. He was wearing the habit of a Benedictine nun. Correct?’

Bartholomew refused to look at Aelfrith. It had been

the most disturbing aspect of Sir John’s death. It was bad enough to imagine him being in a state of mind where he could hurl himself under the water-wheel. But that his own clothes were nowhere to be found, and that he was

clad in the gown of a nun, drew much speculation on

Sir John’s sanity and personal life.

“I do not think Sir John was in disguise as has been

suggested,’ said Aelfrith. “I believe his clothes were stolen so that they could be thoroughly searched for the seal. I think he was killed - perhaps by a knock on the head - and his clothes taken after he had died. The nun’s habit was specifically chosen to bring Michaelhouse into disrepute.

Its Master wearing nun’s clothes to commit suicide at the mill! The plan succeeded: the town people still nudge

each other and grin when Michaelhouse is mentioned,

and scholars in Oxford claim that there, the masters are men in men’s clothing.’

Bartholomew winced, but said nothing. Aelfrith saw

his discomfiture, and hurriedly changed the subject.

‘But whoever killed Sir John did not find the seal,

and came to look for it in Augustus’s room, assuming

that Sir John had hidden it there because it was the

only place he had been between dining with us and

leaving the College. I was knocked on the head, Paul

stabbed, and the commoners drugged to allow time to

make a thorough search. You interrupted that search,

and were attacked.’

Bartholomew was about to dismiss Aelfrith’s explanation as inadequate, when he recalled Augustus’swords

on the afternoon of Wilson’s installation. He had spoken of an evil in the College that would corrupt all, but there was some thing else, too. Just remember John Babington, hide it well.’ Bartholomew’s thoughts raced forward.

Perhaps Aelfrith was right, and Sir John had hidden

the seal with Augustus, and Augustus had watched him.

So, did that mean that Augustus had been killed so that the discovery of the seal would remain a secret? Was

he killed because he had refused to reveal where it

was hidden? But Bartholomew had seen no marks on

Augustus’s body to support the possibility that he was forced to do anything.

‘But this does not explain what happened to

Augustus’s body,’ he said. He began to have hopes

that the bizarre manner of Sir John’s death might be

explained, and his good reputation restored.

Aelfrith sighed. “I know. But one of the last messages Sir John received from Oxford said that our protagonists are in league with witches and warlocks,’ he said.

“I do

not think we will see our Brother Augustus again.’

Bartholomew disagreed. ‘Bodies do not just disappear,

Father,’ he said. ‘His will be found, especially if it is hidden away in this heat!’

Aelfrith pursed his lips in disgust. ‘This is the part that disturbs me most of all,’ he said. “I believe the disappearance of Augustus’s body was the work of the

Devil, and that the Devil has a servant in this College!’

Bartholomew was surprised that Aelfrith would so

readily accept witchcraft as an answer. He had also been surprised with Brother Michael for the same reason. It was too convenient an answer.

‘So who do you think attacked us and killed Paul

and Montfitchet?’ he asked, to move the discussion

on. Bartholomew could believe that the Devil had a

servant in the College easily enough - someone who

was committing murder and stealing bodies - but the

idea that the Devil was responsible he found too hard

to accept. He sensed he would not agree with Aelfrith

on this point, and that if he questioned it further they might end up in the orchard for hours discussing it as a point of theology.

‘The Devil’s servant,’ replied Aelfrith in response to Bartholomew’s questions. He turned to Bartholomew. “I

have told you all this because I wish you to be on your guard - for your own life and for the security of your University.’

‘Do the other fellows know all this?’ asked