A Plague on Both Your Houses (46 page)

I was absolutely horrified when I heard he had been killed during the feast, especially after one attempt on the poor man had already been made. Anyway, I had never seen a

murdered man before, and I am afraid it unnerved me

more than I would have thought. I was afraid to look

into his face, because I have heard that a picture of the murderer is always burned into the victim’s eyes. I have also heard that a victim’s body bleeds in the presence of his murderer, and I felt that Augustus might bleed

for me because I was unable to save him when I knew

his life was in danger.’

He stopped, and looked at Bartholomew with a

weak smile. ‘All silly nonsense, of course, and I would not usually stoop to such superstition. But the whole

of that day was unreal - Wilson’s endless ceremonies,

all that wine, town people in the College, the riot, the Oliver brothers trying to lock you out, and then Augustus dead. It was all too much. I was deeply shocked, because I had seen him alive such a short time before. Does this explain my behaviour to you?’

Bartholomew shrugged. “I suppose so, but you do

not usually panic so easily.’

‘Well, there was one other thing too,’ he said. ‘The

Bishop spoke to me that day, and said that he wanted

me to act as his agent in Michaelhouse. He told me

about the deaths of Fellows in other Colleges, and said that Aelfrith was already acting as his spy. He said he wanted me to act totally independendy of Aelfrith, so

that if one line of communication were to fail, the other would remain intact. He gave me until the following day to decide whether I would take on the task. When Augustus died, I realised exactly what he was asking me to embroil myself in, and, frankly, it terrified me. But the next day, I spoke to the Bishop, and told him I would do it - for the College and for the University.’

He paused again. “I have been acting on behalf of

the Bishop ever since. I tried to warn you to keep out of it, Matt. I thoughtyou did not realise what you might get into, and Augustus’s murder showed me that it was no

longer a silly game played by bored scholars with active minds and too much free time, but something far more

deadly.’

Michael’s lighted stick crackled and popped, and

Bartholomew realised again how wrong he had been.

He stood up, and stretched carefully. He sat again, and made up his mind. He began to tell Michael everything

he knew and had surmised.

MICHAEL GAVE UP LIGHTING HIS

Fragments of wood, and most of Bartholomew’s

tale was delivered in darkness. That he had

been alone and in darkness for so long occasionally made him wonder whether Michael was really there at all, and several times he reached out to touch him, or asked

him a needless question just to hear his voice. Michael added scraps of his own evidence here and there, and by the time he had finished, Bartholomew felt at last that he understood most of what had happened. He heard

Michael give a sigh as his narrative was completed.

‘The Colleges will be powerful forces in the University, Matt. There are five of them now, and there

are plans to found another two next year. That will

mean there will be seven institutions with Fellows and their own property. The Fellows will be more secure in their futures than the teachers in the hostels, and the longer they remain at the Colleges, the more power

they will accrue. The hostels own no property, and are therefore inherently unstable, and, in time, the Colleges will take their power. As it is, the most powerful men in the University now are Fellows of the Colleges, not men from the hostels. Swynford must have determined that

the advance of the Colleges had to be stopped, because in time, they will become so powerful that they will become independent of the University, and they will crush the hostels.’

‘But why?’ said Bartholomew. ‘Swynford is a Fellow

with a powerful voice in the University, and he is now the Master of Michaelhouse.’

‘The Bishop’s records show that he owns many of

the buildings that are used as hostels,’ said Michael. The rents he charges have made him a rich man. He would

not wish to lose this source of income.’

“Is that it?’ asked Bartholomew incredulously. ‘Is it

about money? Like Stephen?’

Bartholomew heard Michael laugh softly in the dark.

‘Matt! Have you spent your life asleep? Do you not know that nearly all crime in this country is committed with the intention to increase personal wealth? Of course, there is good old-fashioned lust, too; that often plays a part. But the overriding human emotion is greed.’

They sat in silence for a while, before Bartholomew

started talking again, more to hear Michael’s voice than to resume their discussion. “I wonder why Swynford wants so much money. It is almost as if he is aiming for something specific’

‘Perhaps he is,’ said Michael. ‘Another hostel perhaps?

A position?’

‘A position?’ queried Bartholomew. ‘What sort of

position would he need to buy?’

Michael shrugged. “I do not know. Mayor? A position

at court? A See?’

‘A See?’ exclaimed Bartholomew. ‘You cannot pay

to become a bishop!’

‘Oh, but you can, Matt. Not direct payment perhaps,

but a sum of money forwarded to the King’s coffers might ensure a position of some kind.’ He suddenly slammed

his fist into his open palm. ‘Of course! That is it! The Bishop of Lincoln grows old, and Swynford asked our

Bishop about who might be next in line to succeed him

at Wilson’s feast. I heard him! Swynford was saving to become a bishop! And what a bishop he would make:

he is learned, of noble birth, and highly respectable.’

‘Respectable indeed,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Murder,

corruption, fraud. All highly respectable talents.’

Michael said nothing, but Bartholomew could

hear him shifting around, trying to get comfortable

on his crate.

‘So, let us summarise what we have reasoned,’

said Michael. ‘About a year ago Swynford decided

to crush the Colleges to strengthen the hostels. He,

and a band of selected helpers, put about rumours

to blame it all on Oxford, and even killed Fellows in

King’s Hall, Peterhouse, and Clare to make it appear

serious. Merchants were persuaded to give money on

the grounds that were the University to collapse, they would lose a good deal of trade. Sir John unwittingly

aided them in this because they took advantage of a spy system that had nothing to do with the Universities, but one in which Sir John played a minor role for the King.

When Sir John became suspicious, he was murdered, and

his death was made to look like suicide. Michaelhouse

was discredited because his body was discovered … not wearing his own clothes.’

‘Shortly afterwards, Colet and Swynford decided to

add credence to the plot by undertaking to look for

Sir John’s seal. They killed Augustus and Paul, and

Montfitchet died too. They failed to find the seal, even after tearing out Augustus’s entrails. Wilson sneaked off into the night to search for it too, acting on behalf of the Chancellor, but he also failed. The damage was done to Michaelhouse, even though the seal remained hidden.

The Bishop, realising that there was more at stake than Michaelhouse’s reputation, forced the Fellows to deny

the truth. Perhaps Colet and his friends realised they had gone far enough, or perhaps they were more concerned

with the approaching Death, for they made no further

attempts to find the seal. They poisoned Aelfrith when his enquiries brought him too close to the truth.’

‘Of course!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, leaping to

his feet and pacing in the darkness. ‘William, without knowing what he said, told me why Aelfrith was killed

a long time ago, but I did not see it. He told me

that before his death Aelfrith had seemed depressed

because he had heard the deathbed confession of the

Principal of All Saints’ Hostel. That Principal must have been involved too! News must have got out that he had

made a confession, and Aelfrith was killed in case he

had been told something sensitive.’

‘Aelfrith believed in the seal of confession,’ said

Michael. ‘Even if the dying Principal had told him

everything, Aelfrith would never have revealed it to

another.’

‘Stephen is prepared to kill his own brother for

this,’ said Bartholomew, ‘and the others seem equally

fanatical. Killing a friar as a safeguard would be nothing to them.’

‘Sadly, I suspect you are right,’ said Michael. ‘But,

to continue. Wilson told you about the attic, perhaps

so that you might try to see justice done for the poor victims whose deaths he and the Bishop had ensured

went unavenged. It was no secret Wilson spoke to you

at length on his deathbed, and it would not take a genius to suppose that Wilson might have told you of the attic, where Augustus’s body still lay. I imagine either Colet or Jocelyn carried the body to the stables, hoping that it would be taken away unnoticed by the plague cart.’

He paused again and sniffed. ‘Lord, it is as cold as

the grave in here.’

‘Apt description,’ muttered Bartholomew, his mind

still on the web of intrigue he and Michael were

unravelling.

Michael continued. ‘The pestilence must have

brought about the deaths of some of those involved in

this affair - like the Principal of All Saints’. I suppose now is a good time to strike more blows at the Colleges, while we are weakened and unsuspecting. They have made moves

against Alcote, an attack on whom will not reflect badly on Swynford, and might even enhance his reputation he

will be seen now as an honourable man returning

from protecting his female kinsfolk in a vain, but noble attempt to save the College from corruption. You and

I will also provide them with a godsent opportunity to kill us in a way that will bring Michaelhouse into further disrepute. What a fool I was to try to question them!’

‘Do you think all the hostels are involved in this?’

Bartholomew asked after a pause.

Michael sucked in his breath. “I doubt they could

have operated so efficiently and secretly for such a long time if all the hostels were implicated. The Bishop’s

records indicate that certain people are definitely

involved: John Rede, Principal of Tunstede Hostel, but he is dead of the plague; Jocelyn and Swynford from

Michaelhouse; Burwell and Yaxley from Bene’t’s; Stayne from Mary’s; the Principals of Martin’s and All Saints’

Hostels, although the plague took them, too; Colet from Rudde’s; and Caxton and Greene from Garret Hostel,

but Greene is dead.’

Bartholomew leaned against the damp wall and

folded his arms. ‘And do you know which of the

merchants were involved?’

‘None,’ saidMichael. ‘Only hostel men were allowed

in on the real plot. But the merchants were an essential component in Swynford’s plan. It would not have worked without them. He would not wish to spend his own money, nor that of his colleagues, on fighting the Colleges. The merchants contributed generously, thinking that they

were saving the University from being crushed by

Oxford, when the reality was that their money was

used to undermine the Colleges.’

Lies, counter-lies, and more lies, thought Bartholomew.

Good men had lost their lives because of

this wretched business.

‘What about the need to protect both Universities

so that there will be two places in which to train new priests and clerics when we recover from the effects of the plague?’ he asked.

“I am sure they endorse it fully. The more priests and clerics that can be encouraged to come to the University the better. They will live in the hostels Swynford owns, and their rents will swell his coffers. The Bishop believes that half our clergy will perish from the Death, and

that the country will desperately need to train more

if we are to retain our social order. Without priests

among the people, there will soon be insurrection and

bloodshed. Swynford’s hostels will be offering England a vital service.’

At least Stanmore’s money had not totally been

squandered, thought Bartholomew, if it could help to

achieve some degree of social stability once the plague had burned itself out.

‘Why do you think Colet became involved?’ asked

Michael. “I always understood he had a glorious future as a physician - far more so than you because he is less controversial.’

“I do not know. Perhaps because of the pestilence?

First, a good many of his wealthy patients were likely to die, thus reducing his income. Second, the plague is

not a good disease for physicians: the risk of infection is great, and the chances of success are low. We discussed it ad nauseam before it came, and he knew as well as I that physicians were likely to become social outcasts shunned by people who were uninfected, and treated

with scorn by those that were because we would be

unable to cure them. His leeching for toothaches and

hangovers would not stand him in good stead with the

Death. He was probably taking precautions against an

uncertain future, like Stephen.’

Bartholomew gazed into the darkness and thought

about Colet. He had stopped treating his patients when Bartholomew became ill and Roper had died. But about

the same time, the wealthy merchant Per Goldam had

died, and he had been Colet’s richest patient. Colet must have decided that helping Bartholomew in the slums

and with the plague pits was not for him. What better

way to escape from constant demands from people for