The Hand of Justice

‘Then perhaps it did not include any such thing,’ suggested Paxtone. ‘Perhaps it just contained some strong decoction of poppy, which is what Lynton — and you, no doubt — would have recommended for Deschalers. If that were the case, then Deschalers might have swallowed it to dull the ache in his innards before he killed Bottisham. I knew Bottisham was no killer.’ He gave a grim smile of satisfaction.

Bartholomew supposed it was possible — just. But, even without the agonising pain of his sickness to contend with, he was not sure whether Deschalers could have mustered the strength to overpower Bottisham with nails. Paxtone seemed eager for Deschalers to bear the blame. Was it because he, like Bartholomew himself, had been fond of the gentle Bottisham? Was it because the town would have no excuse to attack the University if it was found that a townsman had killed a scholar and not the other way around? Or did he have his own reasons for wanting such a solution accepted?

‘But do not look to me for answers about Deschalers, Matt,’ Paxtone went on, when the physician did not reply. ‘I do not interfere with Rougham’s patients, no matter how wrong I think his treatments are. Have you considered the possibility that Deschalers stole the phial from him, in desperation?’

‘Or perhaps Rougham misled you, and he did prescribe something strong.’ Bartholomew sighed; every fact he uncovered seemed to raise more questions than ever.

‘Bishop Bateman was poisoned, too,’ observed Paxtone philosophically. ‘At Avignon. That papal court sounds a dangerous and disagreeable place — full of Frenchmen. But speaking of disagreeable, I attended a stabbing today. A debate spiralled out of control at Gonville, and knives were drawn.’

‘Gonville? Then why was Rougham not called? It is his College.’

‘He could not be found, and they needed someone quickly. Ufford came looking for you or me. He found me first.’

‘I assume Thorpe was the culprit?’

Paxtone nodded. ‘He had inflicted a shallow wound that bled a lot and frightened everyone.’

‘Who did he stab?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Not Rougham if he was away, more is the pity.’

‘The priest, Thompson. By all accounts, Thompson was trying to prevent the fight, and received a blade in the arm for his pains. Young Despenser was the real object of Thorpe’s ire. They were quarrelling over the Hand of Justice, apparently.’

‘Oh, that,’ said Bartholomew in disgust.

‘It is gaining in popularity. I know what you think about it, but you are in a dwindling minority. I petitioned it myself recently, and confess I felt better afterwards. God invests power in unusual things, so who is to say the hand of your pauper cannot inspire miracles?’

‘There have been no miracles. Isnard’s severed leg did not regrow. Una is still suffering from bile in the stomach. Old Master Lenne is still dead.’

‘But Thomas Mortimer claims the Hand has absolved him of responsibility in that death — and folk believe him. The furious whispers against him have abated.’

‘Lenne’s son’s have not, and neither did his wife’s.’

‘Two dissenting voices in a host of believers,’ said Paxtone. ‘I prayed that Michaelhouse’s cock would desist from waking me with its crowing in the middle of the night. That was answered.’

‘Quenhyth killed Bird,’ said Bartholomew, thinking it an unkind petition to have made. ‘Damn! If folk believe the Hand can achieve that sort of thing, there will be no end to the trouble it will cause. As you said, there are already quarrels in Gonville about it.’

‘Thorpe offered to ask the King if Gonville can have the Hand — to raise funds for their chapel,’ Paxtone went on. ‘But Despenser told him they have no right to it, and is afraid it will lead to Gonville being attacked by jealous townsfolk. That is why they fought. Acting Master Pulham told Thorpe that if he tries to win an argument with knives again he will be expelled — Hand or no. Of course, Pulham’s heart was not really in the reprimand.’

‘Of course,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That would mean the loss of the Hand, as well as a student.’

Stanmore had taken pity on his brother-in-law’s starving colleagues, and had asked Kenyngham, Clippesby and Langelee to dine with him that evening, as well as Michael and Bartholomew. Wynewyk, William and Suttone were pointedly excluded from the gathering, on the grounds that the merchant did not like William’s fanaticism, Suttone’s obsession with the Death, or Wynewyk’s habit of diving in and out of seedy alleys. Dame Pelagia was also present, although, judging by Stanmore’s stammering surprise when she was shown in, the merchant had evidently not expected her. The food was excellent, the fires burned warmly in the hearth, and plenty of wine flowed, but it was a gloomy party nonetheless.