Death of a Scholar

‘Then who did dispatch him?’ asked Michael, while de Stannell blustered and huffed in indignation. Both scholars ignored him.

Bartholomew had been aware for some time that the devotions muttered by the window were gibberish. Bon was not praying, but listening to every word. And he knew why.

‘Bon,’ he said softly. ‘De Stannell is just his monkey.’

The wind was gusting so hard that it made the timbers in the hall creak and its steady roar was almost louder than the racket made by the invaders, who were pouring back into the yard after their fruitless foray to the Fellows’ quarters. Bartholomew jumped in alarm when a violent blast cracked one of the windowpanes, and there was a series of crashes as tiles were torn from the roof. There were screams, too, either because they had landed on the men milling outside, or as a result of Cynric’s resumed barrage from the dormitory.

‘Me?’ asked Bon, turning his milky eyes towards Bartholomew as he climbed to his feet. ‘How? I am blind, in case you had not noticed.’

‘You cannot deceive me about hypochyma,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I know what it entails. You cannot read, perhaps, but you have sufficient vision to let you carry out your wicked plans. And you had Uyten. Through him, you hired Jekelyn and Fulbut to commit murder, and tricked Richard into bringing his friends here.’

Bon spread his hands. ‘Uyten told you that Illesy did all that.’

‘A claim you cannot have known unless it originated with you,’ pounced Bartholomew. ‘We have told no one else, and he is in prison.’

‘In prison?’ echoed Bon uneasily.

‘You used and misled him, just as you have used and misled everyone else. He will not stand by you when he learns what you have done. He will tell us everything in an effort to save himself.’

‘But I cannot see,’ pressed Bon, all wounded reason. ‘How can I have written letters to Uyten purporting to be from Illesy?’

‘And there is another slip! How could you know that the orders came in the form of letters unless you had sent them? And you do not need to have written them yourself. You can dictate.’

For the first time, Bon looked directly at him, and the smile he gave was cold. ‘But no one can prove it. Uyten thinks he was following Illesy’s instructions, and you will not be in a position to put him right. I shall not bear the blame for any scandal that comes to light. Illesy will.’

There was a sudden cheering roar from the invaders below. Someone had found a robust piece of scaffolding that would serve as a battering ram.

‘What is going on, de Stannell?’ demanded Bon, going to the window. ‘I cannot make out who is doing what. Tell me!’

‘It is the sound of your machinations about to destroy you,’ said Michael. ‘The burglaries, the murders, the blackmail of another foundation — all these have made you enemies.’

‘I did what was necessary to ensure our survival. This is a noble venture, and I look to the day when the whole country is run by Winwick-trained lawyers. Nothing can stand in the way of such a dream. Our founder is a true visionary.’

‘Then I imagine he will be appalled when he learns what you have done.’

‘He will never find out. Everyone who knows the truth is either an ally or will be dead.’

Bon turned to de Stannell, to give the order to shoot, but both Bartholomew and Michael knew that by far the greater danger was the mob below. Desperately, the physician racked his brain for ways to restore calm, but nothing came to mind.

‘Elvesmere was your friend,’ said Michael, his voice full of distaste. ‘But you killed him without a second thought. You stabbed him, not this silly deputy here, but your poor eyesight prevented you from making a clean job of it.’

Bon grimaced. ‘It was fortunate a more loyal friend was on hand with poison — and to carry the corpse out of my room, where its discovery would have been awkward. I wanted to take it to another College, but there were too many beadles about, so we were forced to settle for the latrine.’

Bartholomew took over the discussion, to give the monk a chance to think of a way to quell the turmoil that boiled in the yard below, for his own mind was blank. He realised that they had been unforgivably careless when they had interrogated Uyten: they had not asked who had been with him in the boat, and Uyten had not volunteered the information.

‘Your hypochyma is no obstacle to collecting blackmail money in the dark,’ he said to Bon. ‘You have skills the rest of us lack, as you spend your whole life moving through shadows. Afterwards, Uyten rowed you away.’

‘Did you really think I would not guess that you were waiting? Or that I would march openly along a main road to collect my spoils? You should have paid and been done with it. The other Colleges did.’

‘You have blackmailed them, too?’ Bartholomew supposed he should not be surprised.

‘They all have secrets — and money to spare. Why did Michaelhouse refuse?’