A Poisonous Plot

Bartholomew sighed. ‘How many more times must I say it? The subject will be announced on the day. No one will prepare, which is the point — to test the participants’ mental agility when dealing with an entirely new thesis.’

‘But Principal Irby has already told his scholars,’ said William crossly, ‘which means that Zachary will emerge victorious, while our boys end up looking like fools.’

‘No, he has not,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘He cannot — we have not chosen the question yet.’

‘Really?’ asked Michael, frowning. ‘But the disceptatio is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Are you not leaving it a little late?’

‘A little,’ admitted Bartholomew. ‘Unfortunately, we cannot agree on a topic. But we are meeting again this morning, and I hope it will be decided then.’

‘Do not fret,’ said Langelee to William, who was red-faced and indignant. ‘If Bartholomew will not tell us, we shall have it out of Wauter. He will not be hobbled by foolish principles.’

He turned to where Michaelhouse’s newest Fellow, John Wauter, was reading in the window. Wauter was an Austin and a geometrician, and it had been his idea to hire priests from his own Order to help teach Michaelhouse’s overly abundant theologians. He had cropped black hair and a ready smile. He became aware that he was the subject of discussion and looked up.

‘I was just telling William that you will not let us down,’ said Langelee. ‘You will tell our students what they will be discussing at the disceptatio, so they can practise.’

Wauter blinked his surprise. ‘You mean cheat? Really, Master!’

Langelee regarded him frostily. ‘You were a member of Zachary Hostel before accepting a Fellowship here. I hope you know where your loyalties lie.’

It was a nasty remark and Wauter would have been within his rights to object to the slur on his integrity, but he merely closed his book and stood up.

‘With Michaelhouse — a College that will win honourably or not at all.’ He turned to Bartholomew. ‘The committee is due to convene soon. Shall we walk there together?’

‘Walk where, exactly?’ asked William casually.

‘To a place where you cannot eavesdrop,’ replied Bartholomew curtly.

Hallow-tide was popular in the town as well as in Michaelhouse. It meant time away from work, so folk could visit friends and neighbours, where soul-cakes — sweet spiced biscuits with a cross cut into the top — would be given in exchange for prayers for the dead, and there would be both laughter and sadness as lost loved ones were remembered. That evening, bonfires would be lit on street corners, and there would be a torchlit procession led by the parish priests.

‘Half the town is drunk already,’ muttered Wauter disapprovingly, as Bartholomew pulled him out of the path of an erratically steered handcart bearing a barrel of ale.

‘My remedies for sore heads will be in demand tomorrow,’ agreed the physician.

‘Good! The College needs every penny it can get. How much will you charge?’

Bartholomew smiled ruefully. ‘Nothing, because most of those who summon me will be unable to pay. Any spare funds they did have will have been spent on Hallow-tide treats, and who can blame them? This is the last fun they will have until Christmas.’

Wauter opened the door to St Mary the Great, where the meeting was to be held. The other committee members were already there, standing in a huddle in the centre of the nave, a place chosen specifically to thwart spies — the disceptatio always brought out the worst in its participants. Bartholomew and Wauter exchanged a wry glance when they spotted a Zachary Hostel lad lurking behind a pillar.

‘Can he read lips?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Yes, quite possibly.’ Wauter raised his voice. ‘Do not think you are hidden there, Yerland, because I can see you. Now go home before I tell the Senior Proctor that Zachary is resorting to unscrupulous tactics.’

‘And that goes for you, too, Melton,’ called Bartholomew, aware that one of his medical students had been trailing him ever since he had left the College.

Scowling, both youths slouched away, fortunately towards different doors. Although the disceptatio had originally been established to pit two randomly selected foundations in an innocent and enjoyable battle of wits, it was being taken more seriously that year, because one contestant was a College and the other was a hostel. Colleges were larger, richer and more secure — by virtue of their endowments, a perpetual source of money that hostels did not have — while hostels tended to be smaller and much less stable. Rivalry between the two had always been intense.

However, in a curious inversion of the usual state of affairs, Michaelhouse was on the brink of fiscal ruin — although only its Fellows knew the true extent of its problems — while Zachary was noted for its affluence. Zachary liked to gloat about its wealth, which Michaelhouse resented, so spats nearly always followed when their students met.