Death of a Scholar

Bartholomew’s next port of call was a woman who lived next to St Clement’s. Ylaria Verius had been his patient for years, and was currently suffering from a persistent cough. Her husband — whom Bartholomew had met just before the fire the previous day — was a ditcher, but as he was too lazy to work he often supplemented his income with petty theft. Their meagre shack was gloomy, damp and cold, and Bartholomew was not surprised that Ylaria’s health improved slowly.

‘Your sister’s apprentices caused a terrible rumpus in the Cardinal’s Cap last night,’ said Ylaria, when the examination was over and they were waiting for water to boil for a soothing syrup. Normally, Bartholomew would have sent Verius with a note asking Eyer to prepare what was needed, but such luxury was impossible now he had no stipend.

‘I heard,’ said Bartholomew, not liking to admit what Aungel had claimed: that the new medical students had joined them there. ‘I will speak to her.’

‘Do not bother her with it,’ said Ylaria. ‘Corner your nephew instead. Tell him, Noll.’

‘Yes, tackle Richard,’ nodded Verius. ‘He was the one who led them inside.’

Bartholomew was annoyed. Townsfolk never visited that particular establishment, as it was the acknowledged domain of scholars — although taverns were off limits to academics, the Cap was a discreet exception, as it was frequented by sober clerics who never caused trouble. Richard should have known better than to take apprentices there.

‘Some friars asked them to leave,’ Verius went on, ‘but Richard refused. Insults were traded and there was a brawl, although your nephew did not join in.’ The ditcher was clearly disdainful of such unmanly behaviour.

‘Was anyone hurt?’ asked Bartholomew anxiously.

‘No, although Richard did his best to goad it into something worse. I know, because I was watching from the Angel Inn opposite. That Richard is an odious ba-’

‘Easy, Noll,’ interrupted Ylaria hastily. ‘Doctor Bartholomew may like him.’

‘I doubt it,’ averred Verius. ‘No one could be fond of a sly dog like him. He-’

‘There is a lot bad feeling towards the University at the moment, Doctor,’ said Ylaria quickly, cutting her husband off a second time. ‘Mostly because we dislike all these new students invading our town. There are far more of them than usual.’

‘Winwick Hall,’ spat Verius. ‘The showy place on the High Street — that is what is attracting all these pompous louts. I wish the Guild of Saints would not give it so much money.’

‘Money that should go to the poor,’ agreed Ylaria. ‘The Guild is not what it was when your brother-in-law was in charge, Doctor. There still are some nice people in it, but most are villains — such as the Fellows of Winwick, Deputy de Stannell and Potmoor.’

‘Potmoor is all right,’ objected Verius. ‘Nicer than the scholars.’

‘Rubbish — he is a rogue!’ Ylaria turned back to Bartholomew. ‘I am none too fond of that Julitta Holm either. I am sorry to say it, as I know you and her are close, but she used to be such a kind lady. Now she never gives money to the poor and-’

‘There is a rehearsal for the Michaelhouse Choir tonight,’ interrupted Verius, bored with the tirade. ‘I am a member, as you know, and Brother Michael has promised to execute a conductor for us. I am not sure who he plans to kill, but it will be interesting to see.’

‘It means he has written some music for you to sing,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘A processional piece, called a Conductus.’

‘Oh,’ said Verius, disappointed. ‘Well, no matter. I shall probably enjoy myself anyway. Ylaria says I have the voice of an angel, and Brother Michael has pledged me a solo part.’

Bartholomew did not like to imagine what manner of sound the gruff Verius would produce. He took his leave and walked towards the Jewry, but had not gone far before he met Edith and Richard. They were walking stiffly side by side, and he was sorry they no longer linked arms as they would once have done. Edith looked worn and haggard.

‘Matt,’ she said with a strained smile. ‘I have been looking for you.’

Bartholomew glanced at his nephew. ‘Because of the Cardinal’s Cap?’

‘No,’ said Richard quickly, and promptly went on a spiteful offensive of his own, to ensure events in that particular tavern were not discussed in front of his mother. ‘Have you seen Julitta Holm this morning? She has unveiled a plan to withdraw free bread for paupers, and some of the prostitutes have asked me to speak to her about it. She is your lover, so I thought you…’

He pretended to trail off guiltily, but his ploy to expose Bartholomew’s peccadillos failed. Edith knew all about her brother’s affection for Julitta, and considered it none of her business. Instead, her eyes narrowed, and she homed in on what Richard had said.

‘I sincerely hope you have not used prostitutes while living under my roof.’