Death of a Scholar

He opened the parlura door to reveal the felon sitting at the table with Lawrence. The account books were open and the elderly physician had been reading them aloud — for the benefit of Bon, who was by the window, head cocked as he tried to gauge what was happening outside; and for Potmoor who, like most townsfolk whose occupations were manual, was illiterate. Deputy de Stannell was there, too, hovering at Potmoor’s side as usual, while Eyer was by the hearth, mixing another poultice for Bon’s eyes. Nerli was reading in a corner, brooding and baleful.

‘What is happening?’ demanded Bon, when he heard his Provost’s voice. ‘All is not well. I can hear horrible sounds.’

‘We are about to be besieged,’ replied Illesy shortly. ‘Our lads are raising a barrier to repel the villains who dare set angry eyes on our property.’

Before he had finished speaking, there was a furious clamour of voices from the Market Square, followed by the sound of marching feet. The attackers were on their way.

CHAPTER 17

There was a stunned silence in the parlura, then de Stannell raced to the window and peered out. Eyer’s hands flew to his mouth in horror, Lawrence looked frightened, Nerli seemed surprised, and Bon’s face flushed with indignation. Only Potmoor remained unmoved, giving the impression that he rather relished the prospect of violence.

‘Who?’ shouted Bon furiously. ‘Who dares assault us? Do they not know that our founder will be here at any moment? Order them to disperse, Brother. You are Senior Proctor, are you not? Use the authority vested in you.’

‘It is too late.’ Michael rounded on Illesy and Potmoor. ‘Your ostentatious College has done great harm, but not nearly as much as the crimes you have committed — murder and theft.’

‘Not me,’ declared Potmoor, his small eyes glittering. ‘God would not approve of his beloved breaking the law, so I have abstained from wrongdoing since my resurrection.’

‘You have done nothing of the kind,’ said Michael accusingly. ‘You have been out a-burgling virtually every night, as your lack of alibis attests.’ He glared at Illesy. ‘And I mean reliable alibis, not ones brazenly fabricated by your lawyer or the ludicrous claim that you were praying.’

‘I have alibis,’ flashed Potmoor, nettled. ‘Just not ones I am prepared to use.’

‘Olivia Knyt,’ blurted Bartholomew in sudden understanding. ‘Of course!’

‘Leave her out of it,’ snapped Potmoor angrily. ‘I will not have her name sullied. Or Knyt’s. He was a good man, although as dull as ditchwater. Lord! My head pounds! Sometimes I wonder whether my glimpse of Heaven was worth this agony. Give me more tonic, Lawrence.’

‘And you need not pretend to be bewildered either,’ snarled Michael, rounding on the elderly physician. ‘I know your close friend Potmoor does nothing without your blessing.’

Both men regarded him askance, and when Potmoor spoke he sounded amused. ‘I have every respect for my medicus, but why would I need his blessing when I have the Almighty’s?’

‘And I neither sanction nor condemn what my patients do in their spare time,’ added Lawrence. ‘Whatever gave you the notion that I might?’

‘Because you have lied,’ Michael forged on. ‘You deny that you argued with Hemmysby the night before he died, but witnesses say you did.’

‘Then they are mistaken,’ objected Lawrence. ‘I have never-’

‘And I do not believe that you came here because you love teaching,’ interrupted Michael.

Lawrence groaned. ‘Do not tell me that you credit the tale about me killing the old Queen! You should know better, especially if you have heard the one about Sheriff Tulyet’s execution. They are malicious falsehoods, Brother, designed to damage the innocent and cause trouble.’

‘That barricade is not going to hold!’ shouted Nerli urgently. ‘Everyone, come with me to shore it up! No, not you, Bon. You will be in the way.’

‘Stop,’ snapped Michael, as Lawrence hastened to oblige. ‘I have not finished with you.’

‘Later, Brother,’ ordered Nerli. ‘When we are not under siege.’

‘He means when outsiders are not here to hear Winwick’s crimes unveiled,’ muttered Michael, as Lawrence, de Stannell and Eyer raced away on Nerli’s heels, Lawrence with obvious relief. Bon fluttered uncertainly, but Potmoor and Illesy stayed put, clearly of the opinion that they were too grand to sully their hands with menial tasks. The monk rounded on the Provost again. ‘Why did you send Uyten to Ely last night?’

‘To buy parchment. It is cheaper there, and every penny counts, as you have just forced me to confess. Unfortunately, he disobeyed me, and did not go.’

‘I tackled him about that,’ added Potmoor. ‘He said he wanted to be on hand to monitor Lawrence, whom he believes is a poisoner. I could not tell if he was lying.’

‘Is Lawrence the villain, Brother?’ asked Illesy, his voice suddenly tired and plaintive. ‘If so, you cannot imagine the damage it will do us. Wealthy and powerful men will not send their sons to a foundation where they think they might be murdered by its Fellows.’