To Kill or Cure (26 page)

Bartholomew was about to tell him it was all arrant rubbish, when various facts came together in his mind. He hesitated, and
began to think about it. ‘Do you remember Maud at the accident on Sunday? She was weeping bitterly. I assumed it was shock.’

‘But it was grief,’ finished Michael. ‘Her lover was dead, and
that
was the cause of her distress.’

‘It must be why she refuses to see Candelby, too. He publicly maligned Lynton – accused him of causing the accident deliberately.
No wonder she was upset.’

‘And we must not overlook the fact that she backs the
University against the town,’ added Michael. ‘She said she would not let Candelby get his hands on her property and use it
against us. It must be because she wants to support the foundation in which Lynton spent most of his adult life.’

‘How long had their affair been going on?’

‘Years, apparently. They started seeing each other during the Death, but were content to let their relationship stay as it
was. Lynton did not want to marry and forfeit his Fellowship, and she did not want to lose her independence.’

‘You mean her independence to accept Candelby’s attentions?’

‘She told us herself that she never took them seriously – that they were an amusing diversion.’

Bartholomew’s thoughts returned to his enigmatic colleague. ‘I would have thought Lynton was too old for this sort of thing.
It is hard to imagine him as a rampant seducer.’

‘You are never too old for an
amour
. Do you think
you
will lose interest in ladies when you are sixty? No, of course not! Still, I am surprised, because I always thought of Lynton
as rather priestly.’

‘He refused to take major orders, though, despite pressure from his College. Now we know why.’

‘If Candelby knew about the affair, it is yet another motive for murder. You think your case against Arderne is strengthened
because of what Edith told you about Lynton challenging him to fight, but Isabel’s confession means my case against Candelby
has also received a boost this morning.’

‘
Did
Candelby know about Lynton and Maud?’

‘Isabel said it was a secret, but you know how these things get out. Maud lives on Bridge Street, which is a
major thoroughfare. It would only take one too many visits to set tongues wagging.’

Prudently, Michael and Bartholomew left the Brazen George through one of the back doors, unwilling to be seen there by scholars
or townsmen. They walked to the High Street via a narrow, filthy alley that was partly blocked by a dead pig, and was so rank
with the stench of sewage that the monk complained of being light-headed. Bartholomew took his arm and helped him into the
comparatively fresh air of the High Street.

‘If you are unwell, Brother, you should ask
me
for a cure,’ came a voice from behind them. It was Arderne, his pale blue eyes fixed on the monk like a snake with a mouse.
‘I hear you are wealthy enough to afford my fees, and I promise you will not be disappointed.’

‘I do not drink urine, Arderne,’ retorted Michael, laying a calming hand on the physician’s arm. Bartholomew’s fury about
what had happened to his sister had subsided, but not by much.

‘Magister Arderne to you. And drinking urine comes highly recommended by the great Galen himself. Tell your physician friend
to go away and read him.’

‘I have read him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And nowhere does he suggest drinking urine, especially someone else’s. You might have
killed Hanchach. You still might, if he does not—’

‘Hanchach is
my
patient now, and his treatment is
my
concern.’ Arderne was smiling, pleased with himself. ‘You are only interested in his health because he is wealthy and you
want his money.’

Bartholomew regarded him coldly. ‘Unlike you, I suppose?’

Arderne’s grin widened. ‘I admit money is my main
reason for being a healer. However, there is also the satisfaction of seeing a man get well. Hanchach is already better, and
it is down to me.’

‘He tells me Galen is a personal friend of yours,’ said Bartholomew.

‘Did he?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘I thought Galen had been dead for the last thousand years.’

‘More,’ said Bartholomew. ‘So it must have been a fascinating encounter.’

‘I was referring to the
other
Galen,’ replied Arderne with cool aplomb. ‘The one who lives in Montpellier, and who is a great admirer of mine. Surely,
you have heard of him? He is the best
medicus
in the world – after me, of course. But I have no time to remedy your appalling education. Unlike you,
I
have patients who want to see me.’

‘Is there another Galen?’ asked Michael, watching people doff their hats to the healer as he strutted away.

‘No,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘If I challenged him to a trial by combat now, he would be hard-pressed to weasel his way
out of it, and I am certain I would win.’

‘I am sure you are right, but can you imagine what would happen if you were to kill or maim the town’s most popular
medicus
? Cambridge would erupt into violence for certain.’

Late that afternoon there was a knock on the gate, and Cynric opened it to see Tyrington and Honynge. Their students were
with them, and all had hired carts to ferry their belongings from their hostels to the College. Cynric stood aside wordlessly,
and watched the procession stream inside.

In the hall, where Bartholomew had been presiding over a disputation entitled ‘Let us enquire whether a simple diet is preferable
to a varied one’, the sudden rattle of hoofs caught the junior members’ wavering attention. Unusually,
all the Fellows were in attendance, sitting by the small collection of tomes that comprised Michaelhouse’s library; most of
the books were chained to the wall, because they were an expensive commodity, and the College could not afford to lose any.

‘It is the new men,’ announced Deynman, leaning out of the window to see what was going on, and interrupting the point he
was trying to make about vegetables. ‘They have arrived with their entourage – ten in total, but all with more luggage than
the Devil.’

‘Satan does not own luggage, Deynman,’ said William with considerable authority. For a friar, William knew a lot about the
denziens of Hell.

Deynman turned to face him. ‘No? Then how does he transport his spare pitchforks?’

There was laughter from the other students, but Bartholomew could tell from the earnest expression on Deynman’s face that
the question sprang from a genuine desire to know, and was not prompted by any desire to be insolent.

‘Satan is irrelevant to our debate,’ the physician said quickly, seeing William gird himself up to respond. ‘Come away from
the window, Deynman, and continue your analysis.’

‘You had just made the contention that a simple diet is better, because it requires less memory,’ prompted Carton, when he
saw Deynman struggling to remember what he had said.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Deynman, returning to the front of the hall. Usually, Bartholomew avoided using him in disputations, on the
grounds that when he did, they tended to degenerate into the ridiculous, but he could not ignore the eagerly raised hand for
ever. Unfortunately, William had then offered to take the opposing side, which meant
the students had so far learned very little – except perhaps how
not
to go about the business of scholarly discourse. ‘It is always good to be simple.’

‘And you should know,’ muttered Michael under his breath. He spoke more loudly. ‘You need to argue your case in more detail,
Deynman. Some disputants take more than an hour to outline their arguments in a logical manner, but you have only given us
two sentences. The whole point of the exercise is to anticipate your opponents’ objections and address them before he can
give them voice. That is the skill we are trying to hone today.’

Deynman frowned as he strove to understand. ‘Yes, I have been told that before.’ The monk refrained from pointing out that
it had been reiterated every day for the past two weeks. ‘A simple diet is better, because you can use the same dishes and
never bother to wash them. Your servants will be pleased, and thus you will have a contented household.’

‘I see,’ said Bartholomew, aware of the third-years struggling to suppress their mirth. He was almost glad Falmeresham was
not there, because the whole hall would have been rocking with laughter at the witty commentaries he would have been providing.
‘And how does that pertain to medicine, exactly? What does
Galen
have to say about simple and varied diets?’

‘No, no, no!’ cried William. ‘You are giving him an unfair advantage by providing clues. It is
my
turn to speak now. A varied diet is better, because it confuses the Devil, and means it is more difficult for him to poison
you. Of course, Dominicans brag about eating simply, but that is because they like to sit down and dine with Satan of an evening.’

‘Oh, really, William!’ called Langelee from the back. ‘You should watch what you say, because some of our students might not
know you are making a joke, and they will take you seriously.’

Bartholomew saw the puzzled expression on the friar’s face and knew jesting had been the last thing on his mind. ‘Is there
anything else, Father?’ he asked. Some of the students were easing towards the windows. The debate was amusing, but not as
interesting as watching the new arrivals.

‘No. I have stated my case perfectly, and anyone who disagrees with me is a fool.’

‘Right,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘Does anyone else have anything to add? About Galen’s hypotheses relating to diet? Or Maimonides?
Or even Aristotle?’ he added, a little desperately.

‘Galen believed that all foods should be classified according to their powers,’ said Michael, taking pity on him. ‘Whether
they are costive or purgative, corrosive or benign, and so on. Too much of one power can lead to an imbalance in the humours,
and thus Galen’s contention is that a varied diet is superior to a simple one. I think that is the answer my colleague was
hoping for.’

‘Oh,’ said Deynman, crestfallen. ‘That means I am wrong.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew, beginning to be exasperated. ‘No one is wrong – and no one is right. That is the nature of disputation.
It is about the
arguments
, not the conclusions.’

‘
I
am right,’ countered William immediately. ‘I always am, in matters of theology. That is why no one in the University ever
dares challenge me in the debating halls.’

‘I thought no one challenged him because he is in the habit of stating his own case, then going home before his opponent can
take issue with him,’ said Langelee to Michael. The monk sniggered, and the Master raised his voice. ‘So, Bartholomew, if
you will do the summing up, we shall—’

‘Is this the nature of disputation at Michaelhouse?’ came
a voice from the door. It was Honynge, and Tyrington was behind him. Honynge stalked in, looking around disparagingly. ‘A
simpleton versus a narrow-minded bigot?’

Langelee gaped in astonishment. ‘Did he just refer to Father William as a simpleton?’

‘Actually,’ whispered Wynewyk, ‘I think he meant William is the narrow-minded bigot.’

Some of the students were laughing at Honynge’s remark, because most shared his opinion about the friar, and applauded anyone
with the honesty to stand up and say so. Others, however, felt an insult to William was a slur on their College, and there
were resentful mutterings.

‘He is a dangerous fanatic,’ declared Honynge. ‘And I, for one, will not pretend otherwise.’

‘Most men wait until they have been officially admitted before launching an attack on their new colleagues,’ said Michael
mildly, going to lay a restraining hand on William’s shoulder.

‘We
are
officially admitted,’ sprayed Tyrington. ‘We swore our oaths yesterday, with William and Wynewyk as witnesses.’

‘It is true,’ said Langelee sheepishly, when Michael and Bartholomew regarded him in surprise. ‘You two were out, and no one
knew how long you would be. Honynge said he would accept the offer to be Principal at Lucy’s if we did not admit him straight
away.’

‘My students and I want to be settled in before the beginning of term,’ Honynge explained. ‘And Candelby was eager to repossess
the house we have been using as a hostel. If Michaelhouse had not opened its doors to us, we would have gone to Lucy’s. There
is not much to choose between you.’

‘I am delighted to be here,’ gushed Tyrington, attempting to make up for Honynge’s brusqueness. ‘It is good of you
to invite me, and I shall look forward to many entertaining debates during my tenure. Also, I would like to present this book
to the College library.’

‘Aristotle’s
Topica
,’ said Langelee, taking it with an appreciative smile. ‘How kind. And there is a lovely serpent embossed in gold on the cover,
too.’

‘A
sea
serpent,’ whispered Deynman to Carton. ‘Because it is swimming in spit.’

‘So much for the inaugural dinner,’ said Michael, disappointed that more had not been made of the occasion. ‘We do not have
new Fellows very often, and a feast is a good way to welcome them.’

‘Feasts are an unnecessary expense,’ countered Honynge. ‘I shall be urging moderation in the future. Besides,’ he added in
an undertone, ‘they may try to serve you dog, so you should veto repasts whenever you can.’

‘We do not eat dog,’ objected William indignantly. ‘We leave that sort of thing to Dominicans.’

‘And we shall have feasts whenever we feel like them,’ declared Michael, objecting to the notion that his stomach might be
about to fall victim to some needless abstention. ‘Besides, we have just been debating diet, and the general consensus is
that Galen was right when he recommended the consumption of a large variety of foods. Matt will support me in this.’

‘A “large variety” is not the same as a “large amount”,’ began Bartholomew. ‘And—’

‘I do not like my new room,’ said Honynge, moving to another issue. ‘It smells of mice, so I think I shall take Bartholomew’s
instead. He can share with Wynewyk, and Tyrington can have what was the medical storeroom. That will leave Kenyngham’s chamber
for my students.’