The Hand of Justice

Bartholomew looked behind him, and saw the three scholars bowing to their other colleagues as they made their farewells. They were dressed for riding, with thick cloaks and boots with spurs. They completed their leave-taking, and walked towards Pulham and Rougham.

‘We are sorry, Pulham,’ said Thompson. Bartholomew saw that his arm was bandaged, and recalled he had been stabbed during the fight Paxtone had talked about. ‘But we cannot stay here as long as Thorpe is a student.’

‘Or as long as you intend to have the Hand of Justice installed,’ added Despenser. ‘I want no part of any institution that houses that fraudulent thing.’

‘You will have nowhere to house anything if you do not act,’ said Bartholomew urgently.

Rougham regarded him coldly. ‘Are you still here? I thought I told you to leave.’

‘I was mistaken when I prayed to it so fervently,’ said Ufford, ignoring Rougham and addressing Pulham. ‘I thought it was a holy relic, but now I see it is nothing of the kind. The sore on my mouth healed naturally, just as Bartholomew said it would.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ asked Pulham curiously, blithely oblivious of the danger his College was in. ‘You, of all of us, were its most fervent adherent.’

‘Thorpe,’ said Ufford with a grimace. ‘The very fact that he has taken an interest in it is enough to make me doubt its authenticity. I was a fool, too eager to accept it without question. But I question it now, and Despenser is right: I want no part of Gonville as long as either Thorpe or the Hand is associated with it.’

‘But the Hand will allow us to build our chapel,’ Rougham protested. ‘You know we are short of funds — indeed, we are in debt already and have been obliged to sell our books — so you cannot blame us for seizing an opportunity like this.’

Listening to them, Bartholomew suddenly understood exactly why Rougham had been so willing to spread the rumour that Isnard’s leg had regrown. If the Hand were to be housed in Gonville, then it made sense that he should want it connected to as many miracles as possible. It was not just blind stupidity that had made Rougham claim Isnard was cured, but greed, too.

‘We can and we do,’ said Despenser quietly. ‘That Hand will bring nothing but trouble. What do you imagine the other Colleges — or the town — will say when Thorpe asks the King to give it to Gonville? They will not sit back and allow it to happen, and I do not want to be part of the turmoil that will surely follow. I have my reputation to think about.’

‘So do I,’ said Ufford. ‘I intend to do well at Court, and the King will not promote me if I am implicated in a riot. Besides, I have had enough of Thorpe. Where is he, by the way?’

‘Probably somewhere near the fire,’ said Despenser disapprovingly. ‘It was probably him who started it. Ufford is right: Gonville will soon fall from grace if he is allowed to stay here.’

‘The fire is spreading,’ said Bartholomew, glancing at the sky again, and wondering why they persisted in having their debate now, of all times. He jumped back as Rougham came at him with a murderous scowl, and for a moment thought he intended to use his fists. He tensed, but Rougham was not the kind of man to engage in brawls he could not win — and he was wise enough to recognise that Bartholomew was bigger, fitter, and likely to hit back. Meanwhile, the students saw the danger of fire, even if the Fellows did not, and were pointing at the smoke and muttering uneasily. One or two, with more sense than their colleagues, started to run for buckets.

‘But we cannot rid ourselves of Thorpe!’ said Pulham, appealing to his three departing Fellows. ‘He paid a term’s fees in advance and we have spent the money on building materials. Also, we need the Hand of Justice, and he is our only chance of gaining it. And what about the fine altar cloths he will sew for our chapel? Do we let those go, too?’

‘Have you seen him put a stitch to them?’ asked Ufford. He saw the expression on Pulham’s face. ‘No, I thought not. He attacked me without provocation, and now he has stabbed Thompson. We will not stay here while he murders us all.’

‘The fire!’ shouted Bartholomew again. ‘You must fetch water, or you will lose more than fees.’ More students began to rush away from the Fellows, to collect pails.

‘I told you to mind your own business,’ snarled Rougham furiously. ‘Get out! You are not welcome here.’

Bartholomew considered doing as he suggested, but Michaelhouse was not far away, and his own College would be in danger if Gonville burned. He could not leave until something was done to prevent the inferno from spreading.

‘I am sure we can come to some arrangement that pleases us all,’ pleaded Pulham, sounding almost tearful as Ufford started towards his horse. He looked up at the sky, and Bartholomew saw he was torn between the need to prevent his three richest Fellows from leaving and the urgency posed by the flames. ‘Perhaps we should rid ourselves of Thorpe, and you may be right about the Hand.’