To Kill or Cure (41 page)

‘Are you sure you should be eating?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps we should take you home.’

Paxtone shook his head. ‘This is more important – I will have no home if Arderne gets his way.’

‘Robin can fetch the pies while we wait here,’ said Rougham, handing the surgeon a coin. ‘Make sure you ask for the chicken,
Robin, because Honynge told me the mutton ones contain dog.’

‘Get me two,’ ordered Paxtone. ‘I find eating helps me think, and we shall need our wits if we are to devise an effective
strategy against this vile leech.’

When Robin had gone, Bartholomew and Rougham joined Paxtone on the tomb. Fortunately, trees concealed them from the folk who
walked along Bene’t Street, because Bartholomew was sure three physicians sitting in a row on someone’s grave would be considered
very peculiar behaviour. He heard two scholars discussing the Convocation of Regents as they passed, and learned that Trinity
Hall planned to support Michael, but Bene’t College would oppose him.

‘Michael has discovered that Lynton ran gambling sessions in his Dispensary,’ he said. He glanced at Paxtone, trying not to
sound accusing. ‘And you were one of his guests.’

‘What?’ exploded Rougham. ‘I do not believe you!’

Paxtone sighed mournfully. ‘I am afraid it is true. I enjoyed my Friday nights with Lynton – until he started to invite townsmen,
at which point I withdrew my custom. So did a number of others.’

‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew, while Rougham sat with his mouth open.

‘Because I felt I could not rely on a townsman’s discretion as I might a fellow scholar’s – it was in my colleagues’ interests
to keep quiet, but laymen have nothing to lose by blabbing. Besides, while I enjoyed the intellectual exercise – it was great
fun predicting the relative speeds of these fictitious horses – the townsmen were noisy in their excitement, and they ruined
the genteel atmosphere. Your brother-in-law was all right, but I disliked Candelby’s company.’

‘Candelby was noisy?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘When he won – which was often – he was a dreadful gloat. He was quick with his sums, so he acquired a small
fortune, including several houses. The games have had unforeseen consequences, though, because it is these very same buildings
that lie at the heart of the rent war.’

‘Here we are,’ said Robin, arriving with the pies. Rougham was still digesting the news that Lynton owned a gaming house as
he bit into his, but the rich flavours soon pushed the matter from his mind. Bartholomew remained overloaded with the Dominicans’
cakes, and declined the greasy offering, so Paxtone had it when he had eaten his own two. Then he finished Robin’s as well.

‘It will force out the blockage that is causing me pain,’ he explained, when he became aware that all three of his colleagues
were regarding him askance. ‘It worked the other day.’

‘Let us turn to the business at hand,’ said Rougham, brushing crumbs from his hands and declining to comment. ‘Robin’s practice
is finished – Arderne has ensured he has not a single patient left. Paxtone is now accused of seducing Mayor Harleston’s wife—’

‘Did you?’ asked Robin with considerable interest.

Paxtone was indignant. ‘Of course not! She is far too old for me.’

‘Townsfolk judge us by their own corrupt standards,’ said Rougham consolingly. ‘Meanwhile, Arderne has been telling
my
patients that my special digestive tonics do not work. Then he set Isnard against Bartholomew, and now he has initiated that
horrible rumour concerning Lynton.’

‘What rumour?’ asked Bartholomew, although he suspected he already knew.

‘He said you shot Lynton, then concealed the wound when you examined the body for Michael. He claims he heard it from Wisbeche,
although I doubt Wisbeche would have invented such a tale.’

‘Actually, Lynton
was
shot, and I
did
hide the evidence,’
said Bartholomew tiredly. Rougham and Robin stared at him in disbelief. ‘I did not kill him, though. Obviously.’

‘But I saw the wound on Lynton’s head,’ objected Robin. ‘I went to see if I could help him, but his skull was bruised, and
he was not breathing.’

Rougham was appalled. ‘Why did you not mention sooner that Lynton was murdered, Bartholomew? Arderne might be responsible,
and we could all be in grave danger.’

‘He mentioned it to me,’ said Paxtone. ‘And I have been on my guard since – for you two as well as for myself. Why do you
think I have spent so much time with you? Brother Michael did not want details made public, lest word leaked out, and there
was trouble.’

Rougham was unappeased, and glared at Bartholomew. ‘You could have trusted me. We have shared deeper and darker secrets in
the past, and you know you can count on my discretion.’

‘It was not his secret to tell,’ argued Paxtone. ‘It is Michael’s.’

‘We cannot let Bartholomew’s reticence damage our alliance,’ said Robin reasonably. ‘Paxtone was watching out for us, Rougham,
so no harm was done. The real question we should be considering is, who killed Lynton? Was it Arderne?’

‘I am inclined to think so,’ replied Bartholomew, ‘but we have no evidence. Michael and I have been asking questions all week,
and although we have uncovered some startling facts about Lynton, we have discovered nothing to incriminate Arderne.’

Paxtone was thoughtful. ‘I was on Milne Street when Lynton died, too – as I told you before – and, like Robin, I assumed he
died because the horse kicked him. But since you told me he was shot, I have recalled two odd things. They are probably nothing …’

‘Tell him,’ ordered Rougham. ‘It is not for you to decide what is important and what is not. That clever monk has a way with
small clues, as I saw when I worked as his Corpse Examiner last year.’

‘I heard a couple of loud snaps,’ said Paxtone. ‘One just before Lynton’s horse collided with Candelby’s cart, and the other
some time after, when people had started fighting.’

‘The first was the bolt that killed Lynton,’ surmised Bartholomew. ‘Then the weapon was rewound to dispatch Ocleye. But there
is a problem with that: if Ocleye saw Lynton shot – which is why I believe he was killed – then why did he not run away? Why
did he wait to be picked off?’

‘And
that
is the second thing I recall,’ said Paxtone. ‘After Lynton died and the cart was smashed, I saw Ocleye pick himself up, unharmed.
Everyone was gazing in horror at the carnage, but he was looking in the opposite direction. And he was grinning.’

Bartholomew stared at him. ‘He was not surprised? But that suggests he knew Lynton was going to be shot. In advance.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Paxtone soberly. ‘I believe it does.’

The three physicians and Robin continued to discuss Lynton’s death, until Rougham pointed out that they had better devise
a plan to make sure the same thing did not happen to them.
He
did not want to be shot while riding down Milne Street and, as Brother Michael was having no luck in bringing the slippery
Arderne to justice, then it was up to Cambridge’s
medici
to think of a solution.

‘We tried to get the better of Arderne yesterday, by playing him at his own game.’ Rougham looked pained. ‘Unfortunately,
it went wrong.’

‘You did not provide him with a second chance to raise Motelete from the dead, did you?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily. ‘By poisoning
him?’

Rougham glared. ‘Be serious, man! This is no time for jests. One of Paxtone’s fourth-years pretended to be afflicted with
leprous sores, and went – well armed with money – to buy a cure. Our plan was to force Arderne to make a diagnosis, then publicly
wash off the paints to reveal him as a fraud. But Arderne got wind of it and sent him packing.’

It was not a clever idea, and Bartholomew was not surprised it had failed. He began to have second thoughts about joining
ranks with men who would stoop to such transparent tricks.

Rougham sensed his reservations. ‘I heard Edith was hurt the other day – she came between you and a rock. Unless you want
this sort of thing to continue, you cannot refuse to stand with us.’

‘Arderne probably killed Kenyngham, too,’ said Robin, trying another tactic to earn the physician’s support. ‘I heard Michael
plans to exhume him, and look for signs of poisoning, but—’

‘I examined him twice,’ said Bartholomew. ‘No one killed him, but Michael refuses to listen.’

Rougham was thoughtful. ‘Many poisons are impossible to detect. Some are obvious – like the one that killed Motelete, given
your description of his blistered mouth – but most are insidious substances, invisible to mere mortals like us. I doubt you
will discover anything on Kenyngham’s body that will help convict Arderne, so the poor man will have been disturbed for nothing.’

‘I will not be doing the disturbing,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You will.’

‘There is not—’ began Robin.

‘Then Michael is going to be disappointed,’ interrupted Rougham. ‘I would go a long way for him – including voting for his
stupid amendment to the Statutes – but I will not defile Kenyngham.’

‘And do not look at me, either,’ said Paxtone with a shudder. ‘I dislike corpses, and never touch them if I can help it. And
I certainly refuse to inspect one that should be in the ground.’

‘So will I,’ said Robin, although Bartholomew doubted Michael would stoop that low. ‘But—’

‘Kenyngham was not murdered anyway,’ said Paxtone. He grimaced, wrestling with some inner conflict. ‘I promised I would never
tell anyone this, but I think he would not mind under the circumstances. Kenyngham had been unwell for a week or so – his
pulses had begun to beat oddly.’

Bartholomew frowned. ‘He was my patient, and he said nothing to me.’

‘He said he did not want you distressed during his last few days on Earth,’ replied Paxtone. ‘That is why he sought
me
out, and not you – his normal physician.’

Bartholomew was aghast. ‘He was ill, and he felt he could not tell me?’

Paxtone’s expression was kindly. ‘He wanted to spare you the anguish of not being able to save him. He was more fond of you
than you know.’

‘Perhaps he was being poisoned slowly,’ suggested Robin gratuitously. ‘By Arderne.’

‘It was his pulses,’ said Paxtone firmly. ‘I felt them myself, fluttering and pounding. He said it had been happening for
some time, but the condition had suddenly worsened. I told him there was nothing I could do, but he was not concerned. I think
he was looking forward to seeing Heaven.’

‘Well, he was a saint,’ said Rougham, laying a compassionate hand on Bartholomew’s shoulder.

‘I prescribed a potion to alleviate his discomfort – henbane is an excellent antidote to pain. He made me write “antidote”
on the pot, lest you should happen across it and quiz him. He really did not want anyone to know what was happening, and said
the word was vague enough to forestall any unwanted questions.’

‘Antidote,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘Will you tell Michael all this? Before he digs him up?’

‘There is no need,’ said Robin, loud enough to block Paxtone’s reply. ‘I have been trying to tell you, but you keep interrupting.
He heard from the Bishop’s palace this afternoon. Permission to exhume is denied.’

‘How do you know?’ demanded Rougham.

‘Because I saw the Episcopal messenger arrive at the town gate. Langelee asked for news, and I overheard him say that Kenyngham
is to be left in peace.’

‘Well, then,’ prompted Rougham, after a short silence. ‘We must decide what to do about Arderne.’

Bartholomew pulled his thoughts from Kenyngham. Even to the last, the elderly Gilbertine had been thinking of others, and
Paxtone’s description of his symptoms matched what Bartholomew himself had observed of Kenyngham’s final hours – his weariness
and peace.

‘Arderne’s eyes are the main problem,’ said Paxtone. ‘They bore into you, and you are powerless to resist. You find yourself
believing what he says, even though you know it to be rubbish.’

‘Then you must steel yourself against them,’ ordered Rougham. ‘He tried using them on me, but I met his gaze, and it was he
who looked away first. You must be strong.’

‘I know what to do,’ said Robin brightly. ‘Burgle his house, and hunt for his hoax potions. We shall lay hold
of them, then display them on the High Street for all to see.’

‘He would deny they were his,’ Paxtone pointed out. ‘And I dislike breaking the law, anyway.’

‘I suggest we fight him on his own terms,’ said Rougham. ‘I shall pay one of my students to play dead, and we can raise him.
Then people’s faith in us will be restored.’

‘But Arderne would subject him to the most dreadful tests, to ensure he was really gone,’ said Paxtone. ‘The poor fellow would
flinch or scream, and then
we
would look like the charlatans.’

‘Then
you
think of something,’ said Robin exasperated. ‘You have pulled our ideas to pieces.’

‘I could ask him for a remedy for these griping pains in my innards,’ suggested Paxtone. ‘Then I could swallow his cure and
pretend it makes me worse.’

‘He will say it is because you have an evil heart, or some such nonsense,’ said Rougham. ‘He will not accept responsibility
for the failure himself. Bartholomew, do you have any ideas?’

‘We could challenge him to a public debate,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We can ask an audience to present questions, and see who provides
the best answers.’

‘Yes!’ said Rougham, eyes blazing in triumph. ‘It will soon become clear that he does not know what he is talking about!’

‘But they might ask questions
we
cannot answer,’ said Robin uneasily. ‘Like how to prevent the bloody flux.’

‘Just because there is no cure does not mean there is nothing we can do,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There are remedies to alleviate
these conditions, and we can all quote our sources.’

‘Some of you might be able to,’ muttered Robin.

‘Bartholomew is right,’ said Rougham. ‘This will not be
a debate to see who can devise the wildest cures, but to assess who has the greatest knowledge of his subject. And obviously,
that is going to be us. However, we must remember not to contradict each other. We can argue in private, but at this debate,
we must maintain a united front. Agreed, Bartholomew?’