A Killer in Winter

There was a loud thump at the door and everyone jumped in alarm. Even Frith stopped in his tracks. Then there was a crash, and the blade of an axe could be seen glinting through the wood before it was torn out again. Langelee was coming to rescue his colleagues.

Frith glanced at Jestyn, and Bartholomew saw them reach an unspoken understanding. Not wanting to find out what it entailed, he went on the offensive. He lunged for Jestyn but missed, and the burly Wait raced past and hurled himself at one of the tall windows. Glass flew in all directions as he hurtled through, leaving a jagged hole behind him. Frith followed, lumbering like an ox, while the women were more agile as they disappeared. Bartholomew darted forward, half expecting to see them lying with broken bones on the ground below. But all were up and running, and heading for the open gate.

‘Catch them!’ he yelled to Quenhyth, who was gaping stupidly at the spectacle. ‘Do not let them escape!’

But even the Waits’ mediocre skill in somersaults and tumbles made them adept at avoiding Quenhyth’s clumsy lunges. They jigged past him, and he only succeeded in snatching thin air. Bartholomew watched helplessly as they reached the gate and Frith turned to make a defiant and abusive gesture. Makejoy was fumbling with the latch, and Bartholomew saw she would have it open long before Quenhyth could stop them.

The Waits, however, had not taken Michaelhouse’s stalwart Fellows into account. Alerted by Bartholomew’s shouts and the sound of smashing glass, they emerged from the porters’ lodge, where they had evidently been given gate duties by the Lord of Misrule. William was wielding a crutch like a madman, while Clippesby had grabbed a poker from the fire. Its end glowed red hot, and the Waits backed away in alarm. Wynewyk was waving the sword the porters kept for emergencies in a way that suggested that although he was not competent with it, he could still do a lot of damage. Suttone, while declining to go too near the affray lest he come to personal harm, lobbed logs at the escaping entertainers.

The Waits did not stand much chance once the Fellows had sprung into action. Makejoy dropped shrieking to the ground as a log caught her a nasty blow on one knee. Jestyn abandoned his knife in order to smother the flames that started to lick up his tunic, then surrendered to Clippesby when he saw the friar was prepared to set him alight again. Wynewyk had Yna backed up against a wall, and she was covering her head with her hands as the wavering blade threatened to scalp her. And, as for Frith, there was a sharp crack as a crutch met a head, and he crumpled into an insensible heap on the snowy ground.

The following morning, Bartholomew sat in William’s room, explaining to the bemused Franciscan Thomas Bradwardine’s theory about the relationship between moving power and resistance. It was a difficult text, full of mathematical statements and axioms, all leading to calculations showing the variations in velocity that occurred when the original ratios of moving force and resistance were less than, more than or equal to the proportio dupla, which was two-to-one. Despite its complexity, the physician regarded it as exciting scholarship, and tried hard to simplify it for William, so they could debate it together.

‘Heresy,’ muttered William darkly, before Bartholomew had reached the end of his analysis of the second of Bradwardine’s twelve conclusions. ‘You do not need to know ratios in order to apply force or resist something.’

‘That is not the point,’ said Bartholomew, frustrated. ‘Bradwardine is explaining moving power and resistance in mathematical terms – to define them as universal laws.’

‘Only God makes universal laws,’ said William firmly. ‘It is not for men from Oxford to try to do it.’ So much contempt dripped from his voice when the name of the Other University was mentioned that Bartholomew decided he had better find someone else to debate with. His eyes lit up when there was a perfunctory knock at the door and Michael entered.

‘Good,’ he said, pleased. The monk had a sharp mind, and was easily the best Fellow to engage in a discussion about natural philosophy. The others tended to dismiss physics and mathematics as secular – and therefore inferior – subjects. ‘Let me read you Bradwardine’s refutation of Aristotle’s theorem pertaining to the second opinion-’

‘When will Matthew’s own room be available?’ interrupted William rudely. ‘I do not think I can take much more of this velocity business. I should have offered him a copy of Thomas Sutton’s De pluralitate formarum instead. That is a religious commentary, and would have kept him away from all this nonsense involving resistance.’

‘You gave him a book?’ asked Michael suspiciously. ‘Why did you do that?’