The Hand of Justice (41 page)

They strolled slowly, stopping to exchange greetings with colleagues and acquaintances. Eventually, they reached the Mill
Pool, where both mills stood silent, and where Isnard’s neighbours had carried him to a bench outside his house, so he could
watch the ducks quarrelling.

‘These birds are like the Mortimers,’ said the bargeman, as Bartholomew and Michael approached, not lifting his eyes from
the feathered fracas in front of him. ‘They only care about themselves. I heard the family arranged for poor Master Warde
to die, too.’

‘I doubt that was them,’ said Michael, sitting next to him. ‘The Millers’ Society are the ones who will benefit from Warde’s
death, not the Mortimers. The Mortimers have just lost a Commissioner who was prepared to argue their point of view. Have
you recovered from your foray to St Mary the Great with your new leg last Thursday?’

‘No,’ replied Isnard shortly. ‘The Doctor says I damaged the wound so badly that I am forbidden to attach my new limb until
at least the summer. I should never have allowed Thomas Mortimer inside my house. I thought he had come to make amends, but
instead he used me for his own purposes. He did not even pay for the ale we drank together – he purchased it with the money
the Doctor gave me.’

‘Then what did you use to buy food and fuel?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Paxtone gave me a penny. And so did Clippesby, although he claimed he delivered it on behalf of Bird, who was unable to come
himself because of a “pressing appointment
to discuss creation theology with the Master of Trinity Hall”.’ Isnard shook his head. ‘Clippesby spins his tales with such
an honest face that I do not know whether he is a lunatic or a saint.’

‘A lunatic,’ answered Michael. ‘The Master of Trinity Hall knows nothing of creation theology.’

Isnard regarded Bartholomew sombrely. ‘Are you sure about my leg? Only Mortimer said he
saw
it healed. If I went back to the Hand of Justice and asked it nicely, it might help me a second time …’

‘Mortimer was lying,’ said Bartholomew gently. ‘Severed limbs do not regrow. He knew it would take little to intoxicate you
in your weakened condition, and he deliberately set out to deceive you. He wanted to stem the tide of ill feeling over what
he did to you and Lenne.’

‘But Rougham said it was a miracle, too,’ said Isnard miserably.

‘Rougham is a fool,’ said Bartholomew, no longer caring whether he offended his rival physician. Rougham had done nothing
but criticise him, upset his students and make silly diagnoses for days, and he was heartily sick of it.

‘Well, it made me happy for an hour,’ said Isnard with a sniff. He glanced up. ‘Here comes Master Lenne, old Lenne’s son.
He arrived late last night from Thetford.’

The younger Lenne had left Cambridge to become barber to the Cluniac monks at Thetford Priory some years before. He was a
wiry man in his early forties, with thin hair and a perfect set of white teeth that looked as though they belonged in someone
else’s head.

‘I owe you my thanks,’ Lenne said to Bartholomew. ‘You physicked my mother, but have not pestered her with demands for fees.’
He regarded Bartholomew’s shorn hair with a professional eye. ‘Did my father do that? I heard he was losing his touch, but
I did not know he had sunk that low.’

‘It will grow,’ said Bartholomew shortly.

‘Eventually,’ said Lenne. He handed Bartholomew a gold coin. ‘This should be sufficient to see her through to the end. It
cannot be long now.’

‘It will not,’ agreed Bartholomew bluntly. ‘She only waited this long because you were coming.’

‘Then I should go back to her,’ replied Lenne. He hesitated, then addressed Michael. ‘Isnard tells me Thomas Mortimer is not
to be charged with my father’s murder? Is this true?’

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ said Michael. ‘There were no witnesses to the accident, and—’

‘There was Bosel,’ interrupted the bargeman bitterly. ‘But Mortimer had him murdered, so he would not speak out. And there
is me, but the lawyers say I do not count, because I am a victim. They claim they need independent witnesses to bring about
a conviction.’

‘That cannot be right,’ said Lenne unhappily. ‘There is no such thing as an independent witness in a place like Cambridge,
where everyone is bound by allegiances, alliances and agendas. Even the beggar will have had his own reasons for stepping
forward.’

‘I am sure he did,’ muttered Michael. ‘And it would not surprise me to learn that he saw nothing of the accident. But I suspect
it cost him his life nonetheless.’

‘The law is unjust,’ said Isnard softly. ‘Thomas should pay me for my injury, and he should pay Lenne for the loss of his
father. But the law disagrees. Meanwhile, Thorpe and Edward are claiming compensation because they were ordered to abjure
the realm. They were guilty, and everyone knows it, but the law says the town is to pay them. I heard it this morning.’

‘The King’s Bench has reached a decision about that?’ asked Michael. ‘Already?’

Isnard nodded. ‘A messenger arrived from Westminster
last night. The news is all over the town this morning, and people are furious – especially the merchants, who will be obliged
to provide the lion’s share. The King’s clerks were quite clear about what was to happen.’

‘Bribery,’ said Lenne in a disgusted voice. ‘I heard these clerks were
bribed
to issue the compensation order – with promises of a percentage of whatever was raised. Needless to say, the sum to be paid
to Thorpe and Edward is a large one.’

‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Michael uncertainly. It did not sound likely, even for England’s notoriously flexible legal
system.

‘Yes,’ said Isnard bitterly. ‘I have nothing to do but sit here and listen to gossip. Godric of Ovyng Hostel – he is a nice
lad – came and told me all about the letter Sheriff Tulyet had from these greedy Westminster clerks.’

‘I hope Tulyet orders Thomas Mortimer to pay most of it,’ said Lenne in disgust. ‘Justice!’ He spat at the river, causing
a flapping frenzy among the ducks, and stalked away. Bartholomew thought he had every right to be angry, and wondered if he
might decide to dispense a little ‘justice’ of his own. He said as much.

‘He will not,’ said Isnard. ‘He will rage and rail, then he will bury his mother and go back to Thetford. He is not stupid,
and knows the law favours the rich. But perhaps he should ask his prior to petition the King, to tell him what is really happening
here. His Majesty deserves to know what vile things are being done in his name.’

‘Unfortunately, I suspect he already does,’ said Bartholomew. He recalled what Tulyet had said about the law. ‘But it is all
that stands between us and chaos.’

‘I suspect we will soon learn that it does not make a very good barrier,’ said Isnard. ‘There are rumblings of discontent
in this town – about the ownership of the
Hand, about the mills, and about the compensation for Thorpe and Edward. It will not be long before we are in flames.’

Bartholomew felt even more restless after his encounter with Isnard, and did not know what to do to take his mind off the
array of problems and questions that tumbled about his mind like demanding acrobats. When Michael would have strolled back
towards Michaelhouse, Bartholomew steered him to the High Street instead, thinking they could walk as far as the Castle or
beyond. The hill would be good exercise for Michael, and there was a sick woman in the derelict cottages opposite the fortress
who might appreciate a visit from a physician and a monk.

As they approached the Church of All Saints in the Jewry, Bartholomew saw people begin to emerge after its Sunday service.
Among them were Stanmore and Tulyet, who expressed their sadness over the death of Warde.

‘What is this about the town paying Thorpe and Edward Mortimer for the costs of their exile?’ demanded Michael, brushing their
condolences aside. ‘Surely it cannot be right?’

Tulyet’s expression was disgusted. ‘I had word from the King’s Bench yesterday, and the sum we have been ordered to pay is
enormous. It will cause all manner of strife, because the burgesses are already demanding that some of it should be paid by
the University.’

‘Why?’ asked Michael indignantly. ‘Neither Thorpe nor Mortimer were scholars when they committed their crimes. Why should
the University contribute to compensation?’

‘Because the merchants are already struggling to fund the repairs to the Great Bridge,’ replied Tulyet tartly. ‘Thorpe and
Mortimer’s demand has come at a very bad time.’

‘The burgesses are right,’ said Stanmore who, as one of
the town’s wealthiest merchants, was likely to be asked to put up a significant amount. ‘The University
should
help us with this.’

‘Will you contest the decision?’ asked Bartholomew of Tulyet. ‘There must be something we can do to avoid rewarding criminals
for their wrongdoings.’

‘We have no case,’ said Tulyet. ‘The King’s Bench has made a decision in His Majesty’s name, and we cannot refuse to part
with our gold because we think it is wrong. The King would respond by accusing us of rebellion. All we can do is pay the money,
and hope Thorpe and Mortimer leave.’

‘I will never pay a Mortimer,’ vowed Cheney the spicer, overhearing their discussion as he walked past. He bustled forward
to have his say. ‘Not a penny! I hurl stones every time I see Edward swagger along the High Street, but I always miss.’

Cheney’s Millers’ Society colleagues were at his heels. They had evidently been using the service to engage in a little impromptu
business, because all held documents, and Morice carried an abacus.

‘We were sorry about Warde,’ said Isobel, breaking off from an apparently intense discussion with Bernarde and her husband.
‘He was a good man.’

‘The King’s Commission miss he,’ said Lavenham gravely, when she pinched his arm to tell him to make a suitably sympathetic
comment. ‘He school-man with nose in book, but honest.’

‘He was fair minded,’ agreed Tulyet. ‘I do not know how the King’s Commission will fare without his calm voice and gentle
reason.’

‘Master Thorpe will be even-handed,’ said Michael.

‘So will I,’ declared Bernarde, affronted. ‘And Lavenham. We will give the King the verdict he wants.’

‘Point proven,’ muttered Bartholomew.

‘I do not see your problem,’ said Bernarde, genuinely puzzled. ‘Surely you want the King happy?’

‘Everyone wants the King happy,’ said Stanmore, before his brother-in-law could incriminate himself by saying he did not much
care. ‘The King unhappy is always a bad thing, because it means increased taxes. None of us want that.’

There was a chorus of fervent agreement, with Cheney adding that it was especially true now everyone had to dig deep in his
coffers to pay Edward and Thorpe’s compensation – as well as financing the repairs to the bridge.

‘Master Warde was not as unbiased as everyone believes,’ said Bernarde, returning to the matter of the Commission. ‘When we
had our first meeting, he insisted on putting the Mortimers’ point of view – and Master Thorpe actually listened to him.’
He sounded as if he could scarcely credit their outrageous behaviour.

‘Did he, by God?’ said Cheney, pursing his lips in disapproval. ‘I might have known
scholars
would support the wrong side. After all, the Mortimers did choose Gonville Hall to present their case at the formal hearing,
and University men always stick together.’

‘They cleaves with each other,’ agreed Lavenham angrily. ‘Like with Hand of Injustice, which belong to town. School-men claim
belong to University.’

‘The Hand of
Justice
, Lavenham,’ corrected Bernarde. ‘It does not do to confuse them.’

‘Why not?’ muttered Bartholomew. ‘Everyone else does, including the King.’ Michael gave him a hard elbow-jab that hurt enough
to make him think twice about saying anything else.

‘If the University is forced to help pay this compensation, they will definitely keep the Hand of Justice for themselves,’
said Cheney angrily. ‘They will continue to lock it in St Mary the Great, and it will cost us townsfolk dear each time we
want to petition it.’

‘But Father William has been charging scholars and townsfolk the same amount,’ said Tulyet reasonably. ‘There was a nasty
argument this morning, because he refused Langelee a free viewing. They almost came to blows, and only the intervention of
Dame Pelagia prevented a brawl.’

‘That Hand will cause trouble wherever it goes,’ said Michael. ‘Young Thorpe has asked the King if Gonville can have it. But
other Colleges are sure to be jealous. As far as I am concerned, the town can have the thing, and good riddance.’

‘No, thank you,’ said Tulyet hastily. ‘I do not want to deal with the strife it will cause, either.’

‘Warde’s will is going to be read tomorrow morning,’ said Stanmore, changing the subject to one all merchants loved: money.
‘He was a wealthy man by University standards. I wonder what he will leave his College.’

‘Books, I imagine,’ said Cheney distastefully. ‘It is what they all like. Did you hear about Deschalers’s will? Julianna inherited
the lot.’

‘Except for a wooden chest,’ said Stanmore. ‘That went to some clerk, although I understand it is a paltry thing. The clerk
admired it – he was probably being polite – and Deschalers took him at his word. I suspect the fellow is now wishing he had
praised something a little more expensive.’

‘I would be,’ said Bernarde wistfully. ‘A box is useful, but virtually worthless. Deschalers did not leave his apprentices
a penny, you know. He was wrong to be so miserly. They served him for many years, and they deserved better.’

‘And then Edward dismissed most of them,’ added Cheney. ‘It is almost as if he
wants
his business to fail. How will he run it without men who know what they are doing? He has neither the experience nor the
knowledge to become a grocer.’

‘I do not think he intends to stay long,’ said Stanmore. ‘A man intent on making a venture profitable does not rid
himself of those who can help him. I suspect he intends to reap what funds there are – from Julianna’s inheritance and this
wretched compensation – and then leave.’