The Hand of Justice

After leaving the Brazen George, Bartholomew and Michael saw a tabarded figure huddled in a nearby doorway with a large book under his arm. They watched Wynewyk nod quickly to someone, as though concluding a discussion, then glance around quickly before leaving. Wynewyk was not very good at conducting secret business without being seen, for he did not notice that Michael was observing his antics intently. But compared to Paxtone, who left their hiding place openly, as though there was nothing odd about two grown men crushed into a small place and muttering together, he was a veritable master of discretion.

While Paxtone headed for the Trumpington Gate, Wynewyk went north, but balked when he saw his Michaelhouse colleagues. He crossed the High Street so their paths would not meet. Michael’s eyes narrowed as he, too, cut across the road, ignoring the angry yell from a carter whose horse reared at the sudden movement. Wynewyk held his ground until the very last moment, when he shot back across the street. He was not pleased when he found Bartholomew blocking his way.

‘Going somewhere?’ asked the physician. His eyes strayed to the book under Wynewyk’s arm. A chain was attached to it, one end secured to the spine and the other hanging free. There were marks, where someone had taken a file and hewn through the links, releasing the tome from its secure place in a hall or a library. The damage looked new, and he recalled Wynewyk touting a book with a broken chain on a previous occasion.

‘Please,’ said Wynewyk, trying to nudge his way past. ‘I do not want to stop here.’

Bartholomew glanced across the road, and saw Michael pause to give Rob Thorpe a long, hard stare as they met. Thorpe glared back, his expression loaded with malice, but Michael was used to dealing with rowdy and occasionally violent undergraduates, and the ruffian found himself unable to intimidate the monk as he had many others in the town. Michael continued to glower until Thorpe was forced to look away and move on.

‘I am late,’ said Wynewyk, trying to push Bartholomew out of his way. The physician declined to let him. He was growing tired of Wynewyk’s suspicious behaviour, and wanted some answers.

‘You see a lot of Paxtone these days,’ he said.

‘Who?’ demanded Wynewyk testily. ‘I know no one of that name.’

Bartholomew regarded him uncertainly, thrown off guard by such flagrant lying. He saw Wynewyk’s shifty eyes and uncomfortable manner, and was about to demand the truth when Michael arrived. The monk snatched up the severed book chain and gazed accusingly at Wynewyk.

‘You could have borrowed a key to unlock this. You did not have to destroy the chain to get at it — they are expensive, you know.’

‘I do know,’ snapped Wynewyk. ‘I am in charge of the College accounts, remember? It is my duty to purchase chains, and I assure you that I am aware of exactly how much they cost. And I can also tell you we can ill afford to replace this one.’

Michael prevented Wynewyk from walking away. ‘What are you doing out with Michaelhouse’s much-prized copy of John Dumbleton’s Summa logicae et philosophiae naturalis?’

‘Someone has sawn halfway through its moorings,’ replied Wynewyk coldly. He waved the jagged end in Michael’s face. ‘So, I completed the task, and I am taking it to the smith for repairs. What would you have me do? Leave it for the would-be thief to steal when he finds time to complete his work? It is not the first time it has happened, either. Now, if you will excuse me-’

‘You should have reported it,’ said Michael, stopping him again. ‘Then I would not have assumed you were the thief.’

When it dawned on him that Michael had him marked down for a very grave crime, Wynewyk’s expression was one of open-mouthed horror. ‘You jump too readily to the wrong conclusions, Brother! Why would I want Dumbleton? I am a lawyer, not a philosopher. And why would I steal from my own College when, as you pointed out, I can borrow a key any time I like?’

‘That is the only copy of the Summa logicae in Cambridge,’ said Bartholomew, not bothering to point out that while Dumbleton’s text did indeed deal with philosophical issues, it was better known for its application to the study of logic. And logic was the basis of any academic discipline. ‘It deals with the intention and remission of certitude and doubt, and is very valuable.’

‘What are you implying?’ asked Wynewyk, red with indignation. ‘That I intend to sell it?’

Michael answered with a meaningful silence.

Wynewyk sighed and glanced behind him again. ‘I see what you are thinking. You imagine I was avoiding you when I crossed the road. Well, you are wrong. It was him.’

He pointed down the High Street at Thorpe who, as if he knew he was being discussed, stopped suddenly and turned to give them an insolent wave. Wynewyk took a gulp of breath, then released it in a gust of relief when Thorpe walked on.