An Unholy Alliance (22 page)

Bartholomew started to laugh and poked the monk

with his elbow. ‘Go back to bed,’ he said. ‘I will get rid of this thing. We can do no more tonight, and you should rest.’

Michael stood with a sigh. ‘I am sorry, Matt,’ he said.

‘I was hasty in my accusation. Had I stopped to consider, I would have known that you, of all people, would do nothing that might endanger my health.’ He left and went back to his own room while Bartholomew looked for a cloth in which to put the animal’s head. He wrapped it up, and slipped out along the side of the north wing to the porch door. He unlatched it and went into the darkened building, first glancing across the courtyard to see if Walter were watching, but could see no moving shadows in the Porter’s Lodge.

He walked through the kitchen to the gardens at the back. He tossed his grisly bundle, still in its cloth, onto the refuse fires that smouldered continuously behind the kitchen, and retraced his steps. He felt angry at Walter for being more interested in his half-pennies from Alcote for tale-telling than in doing his job of watching the College.

He walked quickly around the courtyard to the small stone building that served as the Porter’s Lodge, intending to berate him for being negligent in his duties.

He pushed open the door and called out. There was no reply. Perhaps Walter was off checking some other part of the College. The small room where the porters usually sat was empty. Curious, Bartholomew went through to the back room where they ate their meals, relaxed and, occasionally, slept. Walter was sprawled out on the straw pallet that served as a makeshift bed. Bartholomew was about to shout at him, to wake him with the fright he deserved, when he saw the man’s face was unusually white in the light from the open window.

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SUSANNA QReqORY

Bartholomew knelt by him and felt a cold and

clammy forehead. He put a hand against Walter’s

neck and felt the slow life beat. Walter moaned softly, and murmured something incomprehensible. On the

table, Bartholomew saw the remains of a large pie, and some of it was on the floor. Walter had evidently been eating it when he was stricken.

‘Poisoned!’ muttered Bartholomew into the darkness.

He grabbed Walter by the shoulders and hoisted him on to his knees, forcing fingers down his throat. Walter gagged painfully, and the remains of the pie came up. He began to cry softly. Bartholomew made him sick a second time.

The porter slipped sideways and keeled onto the floor.

Bartholomew left him and raced to the room that

Gray shared with Bulbeck and Deynman, snatching the startled student out of bed by his shirt collar.

‘Fetch me some raw eggs mixed with vinegar and

ground mustard,’ he said urgently. ‘As fast as you can!’

Gray scuttled off towards the kitchens, unquestioning, while Deynman and Bulbeck scrambled from their beds and followed Bartholomew. Walter lay where he had fallen, and Bartholomew heaved him into a sitting position, helped by Bulbeck, while Deynman watched with his mouth agape. Bulbeck kindled a lamp, while Bartholomew heaved the porter onto his feet and tried to force him to stand.

‘What is wrong with him?’ said Bulbeck, staring in shock at the ghastly white face of the porter as the room flared into light from the lamp.

‘Poison,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We must force him to walk. If he loses consciousness he might die. Help me to hold him up.’

AN UNDOLY ALLlANCG

‘But who poisoned him?’ said Deynman, staring with wide eyes at Walter.

Bartholomew began gently slapping Walter’s face.

The porter looked at him blearily before his eyes began to close.

‘Walter! Wake up!’ Bartholomew shouted.

At that moment, Gray appeared with a large bowl of eggs and vinegar.

‘I did not know how much mustard you wanted,’ he said, ‘so I brought it all.’

Bartholomew grabbed the small bottle and emptied the entire contents into the slippery egg-mixture. Gray and Bulbeck exchanged a look of disgust. Bartholomew shook Walter until his eyes opened and forced him to drink some. He was immediately sick again, sinking onto his knees. Remorselessly, Bartholomew forced more of the repulsive liquid down his throat until the entire bowl had been swallowed and regurgitated. Walter began to complain.

‘No more!’ he whispered. ‘My stomach hurts, Doctor.

Leave me be.’

Bartholomew grabbed his arm and dragged him out

of the door. ‘Walk with me,’ he said. Bulbeck ran to grab Walter’s other arm, and they began to march him around the courtyard.

‘Will he die?’ asked Bulbeck fearfully.

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘I think most of the poison must be out of his stomach. We need to keep him awake for several hours, though, just to make sure.’

‘I never sleep on duty,’ muttered Walter thickly.

Bartholomew smiled. The porter was regaining his faculties. Bartholomew had arrived just in time. The poison he suspected had been used was a slow-acting one that was virtually tasteless, and could easily be concealed in food or drink. It brought on a slow unconsciousness, and Walter probably just felt pleasantly drowsy, until he fell into the sleep that might have been his last.

‘Who did this to him?’ asked Bulbeck. Bartholomew had been wondering the same thing. It stood to reason it was the same person who had put the kid’s head on Michael’s bed. The noise they were making began to wake the other scholars, and soon the courtyard was full of curious and sleepy students and Fellows. The Master arrived breathlessly, followed by Alcote, who exclaimed in horror when he saw the state of his informant.

Bartholomew quickly explained what had happened, and instructed Gray and Bulbeck to walk Walter around the courtyard until he could manage on his own. The students hurried to do his bidding, proud to be the centre of attention as the other students clustered round them with questions.

Kenyngham watched them with his lips pursed. Where are the beadles? They are supposed to be watching the gates.’

‘They are watching the back gate, Master,’ said Alcote.

‘The front gate is locked after dark, and with a porter on duty is always secure. It is the back gate that is vulnerable.’

‘Cynric.’ Kenyngham looked around for the small

Welshman whom he knew would not be far away. ‘Find out where the beadles are, and then come back to me.

Matthew? Have you any idea what prompted all this?’

Bartholomew told him about Michael finding the

goat’s head on his bed, while the other Fellows

AN UMl)OlY ALLIANCE

exclaimed in horror. Michael paled as he considered the implications of Walter’s poisoning - that someone had wanted him to receive the goat’s head sufficiently to kill for it.

Bartholomew went to examine Walter again, and came back satisfied that he was recovering. The Fellows stood in a small group around Kenyngham, confused and fearful.

Father William muttered prayers to himself, while Father Aidan and Hesselwell looked on in shock.

Kenynngham ordered the students back to their rooms and Cenric returned from the back gate with Jonstan.

‘I saw and heard nothing!’ said Jonstan, appalled. ‘I have been patrolling the lane and keeping a permanent watch on the back gate since dusk. We saw nothing!’

‘Do not worry, Master Jonstan.’ said Kenyngham,

seeing the alarm in the jovial Proctor’s face. ‘You did your best. I suspect we are dealing with clever and committed people.’

‘But I am committed,’ saidjonstan, stung. ‘I have been overseeing my men and ensuring that the lane is checked constantly since dark. I saw Doctor Bartholomew and Brother Michael return, and I am willing to wager that they did not see me!’

The surprise on Bartholomew and Michaels faces told the watching Fellows that Jonstan’s claims were true.

‘I set up a regular patrol once the night became quiet,’

Jonstan continued.

‘How regular?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Every quarter of an hour,’ saidjonstan, his eyes still wide with shock.

‘Then that is probably why you did not see the intruder,’ said Baitholomew. if you were working to an established pattern, it would not take much to work it out and slip into the College when you were furthest away.’

Jonstan’s face fell. Kenyngham rubbed at his eyes wearily. ‘This cannot go on,’ he said, i will not have the lives of College members threatened, and poisoners breaking in. Come, Master Jonstan. We must discuss what more can be done.’

He held out his arm to indicate that Jonstan was to precede him to his room.

‘Poor man,’ said Hesselwell, watching the dejected Jonstan leave. ‘He thought he was being rigorous by establishing a regular pattern in his checks, while all the time he was achieving quite the reverse.’

Bartholomew nodded absently. He watched Gray and Bulbeck with Walter, although the porter was now able to walk on his own. Bartholomew was pleased at his students’ diligence, and knew they would remain with Walter until he gave them leave to stop.

‘Who is doing this?’ asked Aidan, his prominent front teeth gleaming in the candle-light. ‘Why would anyone mean Michaelhouse harm?’

i cannot imagine,’ said Hesselwell. i wondered

whether it might be a commoner, or perhaps one of the students, but that is unlikely. It must be an outsider.’

‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Bartholomew, surprised at Hesselwell’s quick deduction.

‘Because everyone in College knows that Walter sleeps all night when he should be on duty, and would know there would be no need to use poison in order to sneak unseen into the building.’

‘But the gate is locked and barred,’ said Bartholomew, gesturing to where the huge oak plank was firmly in place. ‘Even if Walter were asleep, it would be difficult to break in.”

‘There are places where the wall is easily breached, as you know very well, Bartholomew,’ said Hesselwell.

‘And before you ask me how I know, I occasionally have problems sleeping, and sometimes walk in the orchard at night. I have seen students using it, and I imagine you have used it yourself while out on your nocturnal ramblings.’

His tone was unpleasant, and Bartholomew resented the accusation in his voice. He had only ever climbed across the wall once, and would not need to do so again now he had the Master’s permission to be out to visit patients. Alcote looked on with malicious enjoyment.

‘And how would this intruder present Walter with the poison and be sure he took it?’ Bartholomew demanded.

‘Would you eat something that appeared miraculously in the middle of the night?’

Hesselwell smiled smugly. ‘I would not. But Walter might. He is not intelligent, and his greed might well get the better of his suspicion.’

Bartholomew realised that Hesselwell was right,

although it galled him to admit it. It did seem more likely that the person who poisoned Walter and left the grisly warning for Michael was from outside Michaelhouse, for exactly the reason Hesselwell suggested: that everyone inside knew Walter slept, and that it would not be necessary to kill him to move about the College unnoticed.

‘Where is Deynman?’ said Bartholomew suddenly,

looking around him.

Gray and Bulbeck looked round briefly, and shrugged, more interested in Walter than in Deynman’s absence.

When Bartholomew had hauled Walter out into the yard, Deynman had stayed in the porters’ lodge. Bartholomew began to walk across to the lodge, and then broke into a run. He shot into the small room, staggering as he slipped in the mess on the floor, and gazed at Deynman who was kneeling in front of the table, chopping the remains of the pie into ever smaller pieces. He grinned cheerfully at Bartholomew.

“I am looking for the poison,’ he said.

Bartholomew leaned against the door in relief at seeing Deynman unharmed. He had been afraid that Deynman might have eaten the pie to see whether it had been poisoned. His eye was caught by a goblet on the table.

He picked it up and looked at it before taking a cautious sip. It was slightly bitter and there was a grainy residue at the bottom of the vessel. He spat it out and looked at the bottle. It was not a kind that was kept in College.

He inspected the chopped remains of Walter’s pie: it was covered with some of Agatha’s hard, heavy pastry and had, without doubt, been made in Michaelhouse.

‘The poison was in the wine, Robert,’ he said, and explained why. Deynman looked at the mess he had made, and his face fell as he realised that his initiative had failed.

Bartholomew relented at Deynman’s crestfallen attitude.

‘I will show you how to test for certain poisons,’ he said, trying not to sound weary. ‘But you are unlikely to find any of them by chopping something into tiny pieces.

Go and help Sam and Thomas. I am trusting you to make sure that tonight Walter rests, but does not sleep. If he loses consciousness, fetch me immediately.’

Deynman’sface brightened at being given such responsibility, and he scampered off to do as he was told.

‘Is that wise?’ asked Michael, looming in the doorway and watching him go. ‘The boy is a half-wit.’

‘Oh, hardly that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He tries hard. I will give the others the same instructions before I retire.

It is about time they had some practical training. With any luck it might put them off. They might choose a monkish vocation instead.’

‘Heaven forbid!’ said Michael. He became serious.

‘Did you learn anything from Walter? Who poisoned him and when?’

Bartholomew rubbed a hand through his hair. Now

the initial excitement had worn off, he felt exhausted.

‘Walter had a close call. Whoever left that head was determined that you would get it.’

Michael shuddered. ‘We should talk to Walter,’

he said.

Out in the yard, Walter had recovered to the point of grumpiness. He glared at Bartholomew. ‘My throat hurts,’ he said aggressively, ‘and I can still taste mustard.’

Bartholomew raised his eyebrows. ‘Would you like some of that wine you were drinking in the lodge, to wash away the taste?’