Death of a Scholar

Suddenly, there was a crack that was far louder than anything they had heard so far. Everyone looked around in alarm, and Michael stabbed his finger at a large fissure that had appeared in the wall. Moments later, Illesy thundered down the stairs and flung open the door.

‘The fallen buttress, the wind and the battering ram have rendered the building unstable,’ he yelled. ‘We cannot stay here a moment longer. It is set to collapse!’

‘Collapse?’ echoed Bon. ‘No! It is the best hall in the-’

‘Fool!’ shrieked the Provost. ‘It was raised so fast that the foundations are too shallow, the mortar was not given time to set, and the workmanship is shoddy. If you were able to see, you would not be making asinine claims about its quality.’

Furious at the insult, Bon tore forward with a knife in his hand. The Provost was too startled to defend himself, and went down in a flurry of blows. He was dead before Bartholomew or Michael could move to help him.

‘There,’ said Bon in satisfaction, keeping a grip on the weapon and obviously ready to use it again. ‘Now I shall be Provost.’

When Bon and de Stannell began an urgent discussion in hissing undertones, Bartholomew decided it was time to make a move before anyone else died. De Stannell posed no threat, so he hurtled towards Bon, but the lawyer’s reactions were faster than he had anticipated, and he was sent sprawling by a well-timed punch. Moments later, Lawrence entered. He faltered at the sight of Bartholomew on the floor and de Stannell with a crossbow. When he saw Illesy, his face drained of colour and he hurried to kneel next to him. Then Nerli arrived.

‘What is going on?’ demanded the Florentine. ‘Did that rabble kill Illesy? By God and all that is holy I will track down the villain and make him pay.’

‘I think we have found our culprits at last, Nerli,’ said Lawrence in a small voice, looking first at de Stannell and then at Bon. ‘You crossed Bon off our list of suspects, but…’

‘You have been investigating?’ asked Bon dangerously.

Nerli reached for his sword, only to find it was not at his side. He grimaced, but his voice was steady as he replied. ‘Two of our Fellows vilely poisoned, along with Knyt and Hemmysby, who were the best of men? Of course we were looking into the matter.’

‘You are part of it, Lawrence,’ said Michael accusingly. ‘Do not try to deceive us.’

Bartholomew glanced at Nerli, and saw the Florentine’s muscles bunch as he prepared to leap at Bon. But there was a sudden movement behind him, and he pitched forward with a cry of pain. Eyer stood there, his pink face cold and hard. The apothecary held a crossbow in one hand and a bloodstained dagger in the other.

‘No,’ whispered Bartholomew in stunned disbelief. ‘Not you as well.’

‘I should have known,’ said Lawrence contemptuously. ‘You were a rogue at Oxford, and you are a rogue now. I should have spoken out the moment I recognised you, but I thought you deserved a second chance. I suppose you did it for money? You always were a greedy fellow.’

Eyer shrugged. ‘Establishing a new business is expensive, so I was delighted to start earning profits sooner than I expected.’

‘But you are wealthy,’ objected Bartholomew, bewildered. ‘A member of the Guild of-’

‘I joined for appearances’ sake, as I told you,’ snapped Eyer. ‘People are more likely to trust a rich apothecary than one who can barely make ends meet.’

‘Then why have you been giving me free remedies for the poor?’

‘To put you in my debt, so you will feel obliged to buy medicines from me in the future. I did the same with the other physicians, careful to make each think that he is the only one so favoured.’

Answers tumbled into Bartholomew’s head. ‘You tried to make me suspect Lawrence and Nerli by telling me that they were Potmoor’s minions. You also said they engaged in questionable business after dark, and bought realgar, dwale and hemlock-’

‘Lies,’ interrupted Lawrence contemptuously. ‘I am too old to venture out at night, and I rarely use potent herbs — I have seen too many accidents to be comfortable with them. Such as at Oxford, when a certain patient was killed with liquorice root.’

Eyer smiled coldly. ‘A lesson that has been of considerable use to me in eliminating rivals, as Ratclyf learned to his cost. I imagine your heart is not what it was when you were young, so perhaps I shall give you a dose, too.’

‘Enough!’ snapped Bon, as another crash on the door caused a sconce to drop off the wall. He gestured to Bartholomew. ‘Pick up Nerli, and put him in the corner. I can hear him breathing, and we do not want him sneaking off while we are not looking.’