‘Start with Fulbut,’ ordered Michael. ‘And do not think of lying, because we already know the truth. Jekelyn told us everything.’
‘Oh, Lord, did he? I knew he could not be trusted. He is a slippery-’
‘You hired Fulbut to shoot my Junior Proctor,’ interrupted Michael. ‘But when he reneged on the agreement to leave Cambridge, you sent Jekelyn to murder him, lest he broke his silence.’
‘Yes, but the orders came from Illesy. He does not have the courage to deal with me face to face, so he writes notes and gets poor blind Bon to deliver them. Bon thinks they are reading lists and lecture notes. Illesy does not work alone, though. He has help from the Guild.’
‘Who?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Holm?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ gabbled Uyten, desperate to ingratiate. ‘Along with others. Richard Stanmore is easy to manipulate — a few careful words and he leapt at the chance to cause trouble. He thinks the town corrupted his father, although from what I understand, it was the other way around.’
‘How will having the town in flames benefit anyone?’ asked Michael, shooting Bartholomew a warning glance to prevent him from diverting the discussion by responding.
‘Simple — if the other Colleges are destroyed or weakened, Winwick can expand unfettered.’
‘I hardly think-’ began Bartholomew, seeing serious flaws in the plan.
‘Our founder wants it to be the biggest and best College in the country — a school of law founded by a lawyer, training men to rise to great power and influence. Illesy has a remit to do whatever is necessary to achieve it. He has been recruiting wealthy students as fast as he can, and he hates the fact that the Guild holds the purse strings. Please believe none of this is my fault.’
Bartholomew regarded him sceptically. ‘And what do you gain from all this?’
‘The founder promised to make me a prefect next year, and possibly even a Fellow.’ Uyten’s expression was bitter. ‘Then my family would
‘Oh, but I am afraid you are.’ Michael stood abruptly, and beckoned to his beadles. ‘He has told us all he knows. Take him away.’
Uyten gaped at him. ‘Take me away? But you cannot cart a dying man around!’
‘You are not dying,’ said Bartholomew. ‘In fact, you are barely hurt at all. It will take more than a bit of rubble to make an end of a brawny lad like you.’
‘You mean you tricked me?’ cried Uyten, as the beadles pulled him to his feet. ‘I am not destined for Hell after all?’
‘I imagine you are — just not yet,’ replied Michael. ‘When I said you were bound for a dark place, I was referring to the proctors’ gaol. Did you misunderstand? How unfortunate.’
‘Nothing I said will stand in a court of law,’ shouted Uyten desperately. ‘My “confession” was obtained by deception. You made me think I was dying, and promised absolution!’
‘I promised nothing,’ said Michael coldly. ‘You were complicit in killing my Junior Proctor, and I could never pardon you for that.’ He looked around him. ‘But Illesy and his Fellows are reckless to have gone out today. What will happen to their College while you are in gaol and all the other students have disappeared to cause mischief?’
‘You cannot let any harm befall Winwick just because Illesy is an incompetent villain!’ cried Uyten, distressed. ‘Let me go, Brother. I will stay here and protect it. Please! Our founder will be broken-hearted if his College is damaged.’
‘You should have thought of that before embarking on this wild plan,’ said Michael, indicating that his beadles were to haul the lad away. Uyten howled and writhed furiously, and they were hard-pressed to subdue him. Michael turned to Bartholomew. ‘We need to find Illesy — fast.’
‘We do, but Uyten is right: his testimony and Jekelyn’s will not convict someone who has made his living by outmanoeuvring the legal system. Unless you want Illesy to walk free, we need a more credible witness to stand against him. Such as one of his accomplices from the Guild.’
‘Do you have anyone particular in mind?’
‘Holm. He will turn King’s evidence to save his own neck.’
‘Why am I not surprised that you should choose him?’ muttered Michael.
The two scholars aimed for the surgeon’s house. It was difficult to keep their hoods up in the gusting wind, and whenever they blew back to reveal their faces, people glared. Bartholomew was grateful for the two beadles at their side, although he wished there were more. It had required three of them to drag a frantically struggling Uyten to the gaol, while another had been needed to inform Meadowman and his patrols of what was afoot.
‘We are going to be lynched,’ he muttered. ‘People are angry about Dick Tulyet.’
‘Not everyone.’ Michael was puffing hard at the rapid pace the physician was setting. ‘Isnard is waving a friendly greeting, and so is Ylaria Verius.’
It was a small ray of hope in an otherwise bleak situation.
‘Illesy,’ said Bartholomew, flinching when the wind ripped a tile from a roof and it smashed on the ground nearby. ‘I suppose we should have guessed.’