A Killer in Winter

Bartholomew wavered, and recalled that Bradwardine was the man who had challenged the traditional Aristotelian principle that half the force that caused an object to move would not necessarily mean half the velocity, and that twice the resistance that caused an object to slow down would not necessarily mean the speed was twice as slow. It was heady stuff, and even thinking about it sent a thrill of excitement down Bartholomew’s spine. But even so …

‘It is illustrated,’ said William desperately. ‘In colour.’

‘Done,’ said Bartholomew, offering the friar his hand.

‘You timed your injury well, Father,’ said Langelee, coming up to them. ‘You can spend your day here, next to a blazing hearth, while the rest of us have business to attend out in the cold.’

William nodded smugly. ‘I know.’

‘Deynman gave me this for the College library,’ said Langelee, reaching across to the table to retrieve a book that had been lying there. Bartholomew immediately recognised the cheap wooden covers and sparse pages, and wondered what his student had been doing in the King’s Head associating with Harysone. ‘Perhaps you can read it, Father, and let me know whether it is suitable material for us to keep.’

‘You mean you want me to work?’ asked William indignantly. ‘I have a broken leg, man!’

‘We do not need our legs to read,’ said Langelee. He glanced uncertainly at the friar, as though he was not sure that such a generalisation applied to the Franciscan. ‘It is not long, and it will only take you an afternoon. You do not want heretical books in our library, do you?’

William growled something under his breath, unable to think of a suitable answer, and began to flick listlessly through the pages.

‘Cann a Fishe enterr Heaven?’ read Clippesby, peering over his shoulder. He appeared especially manic that morning, with his hair standing up in all directions and his eyes wide and bright in his pale face. Bartholomew could not help but wonder whether he cultivated the look just to unsettle William, who was eyeing him nervously, not liking the sensation of a Dominican so close behind him. ‘Yes, read that, William. You may learn something.’

‘Did everyone survive the night?’ asked Langelee, cutting off William’s indignant response. ‘Wynewyk should check each staircase to make sure no one froze to death, while I imagine Bartholomew will want to visit his patients to do the same. We shall keep fires burning in the hall and conclave today, and I recommend we all stay inside as much as possible. This is no weather to be out unnecessarily.’

‘We will all go skating on the river,’ declared Deynman excitedly in his capacity as Lord of Misrule. ‘I have already been to inspect it. It is set like stone, and it is possible to walk from one side to the other. And then we can go sliding.’

‘Sliding?’ asked Wynewyk doubtfully. ‘I do not like the sound of that.’

‘It is where you sit on a flat piece of wood and skid down a hill,’ explained Clippesby. ‘Cows do it all the time.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘However, there is not much scope for that activity in Cambridge, Deynman. It may have escaped your notice, but there is a paucity of hills around here.’

‘There is the one at the Castle,’ said Deynman.

‘True,’ said Langelee. ‘But that is part of the town’s defences, and is manned by soldiers with bows. They would shoot you. Now, I know I agreed not to interfere, but I cannot allow anyone to venture on to the river yet. Did you not hear what happened to the husband of Bartholomew’s lover? He fell clean through the ice and died.’

‘But that was two days ago,’ protested Deynman, crestfallen, and speaking before Bartholomew could object to Langelee’s description of Turke. ‘It is different now – harder and firmer. None of us will fall in. Turke was fat and heavy, but we are not.’

‘No one skates on the river,’ said Langelee firmly. ‘We do not want anyone to end up like Turke – or like Father William.’

‘No,’ agreed Clippesby in distaste. ‘Or you might make us read that horrible book!’

Michael was already in the church when the rest of the scholars arrived for prime. He declared he had had no intention of freezing in his bed the previous night, and had visited his fellow Benedictines at Ely Hall, where there were plenty of fires and an abundance of warm woollen blankets. He had even inveigled himself the use of half a feather bed, as evidenced by the fact that he was still picking down from his habit when the mass had finished, breakfast had been eaten and the scholars were free to spend their day – the Feast of the Holy Innocents – as they chose. The physician went to his room to don as many clothes as he could fit under his cloak in anticipation of a morning outside.