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Authors: Susanna Gregory
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hospitality as a reward for a lifetime of service. The man who had attacked Bartholomew had been strong, and
of a height similar to his own. Bartholomew was above
average height, and sturdily built. He was also fitter and stronger than the average scholar since a good part of his day involved walking to see patients, and he enjoyed taking exercise. The attacker could not have been any
of the old men, which left four.
Of these, Roger Alyngton was Bartholomew’s size,
but had one arm that was withered and useless, and
Bartholomew’s attacker had two strong arms. So the
number was down to three. Father Jerome was taller
than Bartholomew by three inches or more, but was
painfully thin and was constantly racked by a dry rattling cough. Bartholomew suspected a wasting disease,
although Jerome refused all medicines, and would be far too weak to take on someone of Bartholomew’s size. That left two. These were the Frenchman, Henri d’Evene and
the brusque Yorkshireman, Jocelyn of Ripon. D’Evene
was slight, and, although it was conceivable that he
could have attacked Bartholomew, it was doubtful that
he would have the strength to overcome him. Jocelyn
was a recent visitor to Michaelhouse, and had come at
the invitation of Swynford. He was a large man with a
ruddy face and a shiny bald head. Bartholomew had not
seen him sober since he had arrived, and he had been
admonished several times by Sir John for his belligerent attitude when College members gathered in the conclave for company in the evenings. He certainly would have
the strength to overpower Bartholomew.
Bartholomew stood looking down at him. Even
in sleep, Jocelyn scowled. Could he be the assailant?
Bartholomew bent close to him and caught the fumes
of the previous evening’s wine. His attacker had not had alcoholic fumes on his breath. Of course, this could be a ruse, and he could easily have downed a glass of wine as a cover for his actions. D’Evene lay on the pallet next to him curled up like a child.
Bartholomew straightened, and tiptoed out of the
dormitory, wincing at his sore knee. He joined Aelfrith who was still standing in the doorway, looking grey-faced and prodding cautiously at the gash on his head.
‘How long was it before you were attacked?’
Bartholomew asked of the friar.
Aelfrith thought carefully. “I am not sure. The feast
became very noisy after I left. I expect the other Fellows left shortly after us for it would not be seemly to continue to carouse when one of our number lay dead. The
students, though, would have enjoyed their freedom
and the wine. None of the commoners had returned,
however,’ he said suddenly. ‘It is not every day that the commoners are treated to such food and wine, and,
like the students, they intended to wring every drop of enjoyment out of it that they could.’
‘So you, Paul, and Augustus were the only ones in
this part of the building?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘And all the others were in the hall?’
“I do not know that they were in the hall,’ replied
the logician, ‘but they were not here. The feast became noisy, as I said, and I found that it was distracting me from my prayers. I rose, perhaps shortly after midnight, to close the door to the room, and continued with my prayers. I may have nodded off for a while,’ he admitted, ‘but I
would have woken if the commoners had returned.’
‘Did you hear any sounds, other than the noise from
the hall?’
‘None,’ said Aelfrith firmly. ‘And what about you?
How did you come to be in the commoners’ room
so early?’
“I rose at my usual time,’ replied Bartholomew, ‘and
I saw a flicker of light coming from Augustus’s room. I came because I thought you might like to be relieved
for a while.’
Aelfrith acknowledged this with a bow of his head.
‘Pray continue,’ he said.
“I came as quietly as I could so as not to wake anyone, opened the door, and saw what I assumed to be you
kneeling on
hospitality as a reward for a lifetime of service. The man who had attacked Bartholomew had been strong, and
of a height similar to his own. Bartholomew was above
average height, and sturdily built. He was also fitter and stronger than the average scholar since a good part of his day involved walking to see patients, and he enjoyed taking exercise. The attacker could not have been any
of the old men, which left four.
Of these, Roger Alyngton was Bartholomew’s size,
but had one arm that was withered and useless, and
Bartholomew’s attacker had two strong arms. So the
number was down to three. Father Jerome was taller
than Bartholomew by three inches or more, but was
painfully thin and was constantly racked by a dry rattling cough. Bartholomew suspected a wasting disease,
although Jerome refused all medicines, and would be far too weak to take on someone of Bartholomew’s size. That left two. These were the Frenchman, Henri d’Evene and
the brusque Yorkshireman, Jocelyn of Ripon. D’Evene
was slight, and, although it was conceivable that he
could have attacked Bartholomew, it was doubtful that
he would have the strength to overcome him. Jocelyn
was a recent visitor to Michaelhouse, and had come at
the invitation of Swynford. He was a large man with a
ruddy face and a shiny bald head. Bartholomew had not
seen him sober since he had arrived, and he had been
admonished several times by Sir John for his belligerent attitude when College members gathered in the conclave for company in the evenings. He certainly would have
the strength to overpower Bartholomew.
Bartholomew stood looking down at him. Even
in sleep, Jocelyn scowled. Could he be the assailant?
Bartholomew bent close to him and caught the fumes
of the previous evening’s wine. His attacker had not had alcoholic fumes on his breath. Of course, this could be a ruse, and he could easily have downed a glass of wine as a cover for his actions. D’Evene lay on the pallet next to him curled up like a child.
Bartholomew straightened, and tiptoed out of the
dormitory, wincing at his sore knee. He joined Aelfrith who was still standing in the doorway, looking grey-faced and prodding cautiously at the gash on his head.
‘How long was it before you were attacked?’
Bartholomew asked of the friar.
Aelfrith thought carefully. “I am not sure. The feast
became very noisy after I left. I expect the other Fellows left shortly after us for it would not be seemly to continue to carouse when one of our number lay dead. The
students, though, would have enjoyed their freedom
and the wine. None of the commoners had returned,
however,’ he said suddenly. ‘It is not every day that the commoners are treated to such food and wine, and,
like the students, they intended to wring every drop of enjoyment out of it that they could.’
‘So you, Paul, and Augustus were the only ones in
this part of the building?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘And all the others were in the hall?’
“I do not know that they were in the hall,’ replied
the logician, ‘but they were not here. The feast became noisy, as I said, and I found that it was distracting me from my prayers. I rose, perhaps shortly after midnight, to close the door to the room, and continued with my prayers. I may have nodded off for a while,’ he admitted, ‘but I
would have woken if the commoners had returned.’
‘Did you hear any sounds, other than the noise from
the hall?’
‘None,’ said Aelfrith firmly. ‘And what about you?
How did you come to be in the commoners’ room
so early?’
“I rose at my usual time,’ replied Bartholomew, ‘and
I saw a flicker of light coming from Augustus’s room. I came because I thought you might like to be relieved
for a while.’
Aelfrith acknowledged this with a bow of his head.
‘Pray continue,’ he said.
“I came as quietly as I could so as not to wake anyone, opened the door, and saw what I assumed to be you
kneeling on
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