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Authors: Susanna Gregory
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bade farewell to Michael, and began to stride towards the Church of St Andrew that stood just outside the Barnwell Gate.
Timothy followed him, his head already bowed as he began his own pious meditations.
‘They are good men,’ said Michael warmly, watching them go. ‘And there are not many of those around these days.’
Chapter 2
O N THEIR WAY BACK TO THE DOMINICAN FRIARY , Bartholomew and Michael met Walcote, who offered to accompany them with a pack of beadles, in case the Dominicans took exception
to the Senior Proctor arresting some of their number. With Walcote and the men at his heels, Michael strode up to the friary
gate and hammered on it. It was answered almost immediately by a strange-looking man, whose hair stood in an uncertain halo
around his tonsure and who had a wild look in his eyes.
‘Clippesby,’ said Michael in surprise. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were at Michaelhouse, overseeing the polishing
of our silver in preparation for Easter.’
‘I finished that,’ said Clippesby shyly. ‘Then I offered to help the cooks shred the cabbage, but they were afraid I might
cut myself, so I went for a walk instead.’
Then the cooks had been very tactful, thought Bartholomew, hiding a smile. It was well known in the town that the Dominican
John Clippesby, Michaelhouse’s master of music and astronomy, was not entirely in control of his faculties, and that he was
always being given time-consuming and usually pointless tasks to keep him out of harm’s way. The cooks would certainly not
want him in the kitchen with a sharp knife in his hands.
‘But what are you doing
here
?’ pressed Michael, suspecting that Clippesby had somehow slipped past the porters, and that the Master of Michaelhouse did
not know he was at large.
‘I heard there was trouble between my Order and the Carmelites, so I thought I should come to see what was happening,’ replied
Clippesby. ‘But I was just leaving,actually. For some reason, Prior Morden said he did not want me here, and suggested that I should go home.’
‘I bet he did,’ muttered Michael, who had been trying for some time, without success, to foist the unstable Dominican back
on his own friary and out of Michaelhouse. Morden was no fool, however, and had no more wish to have a madman imposed on him
than Michaelhouse had been.
‘All the Dominicans are inside,’ Clippesby went on. ‘Prior Morden says that it is too dangerous for anyone to be out, although
he said
I
would be safe, because I am a Michaelhouse man and do not live in the friary.’
Bartholomew felt a surge of anger against Morden. The Prior knew perfectly well that marauding Carmelites would not ask a
man wearing the habit of a Dominican whether he lived at the friary or whether he was a member of a College. It would be irrelevant
anyway: the Carmelites’ antagonism was not aimed at the friary in particular, it was aimed at the Dominicans in general. Clippesby
would have provided an ideal target for the little group of sullen Carmelites Bartholomew and Michael had just followed home.
‘Wait here,’ said Bartholomew, reluctant for Clippesby to be alone. ‘We will walk to Michaelhouse with you after we have spoken
to Morden.’
‘I will be all right,’ said Clippesby, beginning to move away from them. ‘Saint Balthere appeared to me this morning and instructed
me to pray for him in St Michael’s Church. He would not have done that if any harm was due to befall me, would he?’
‘Saint who?’ asked Michael warily.
‘That does not necessarily follow,’ said Bartholomew, worried that the Dominican’s unstable condition might be taking a turn
for the worse. ‘Wait here until we have spoken to Morden.’
But Clippesby was already wandering away down the road, and Bartholomew had glimpsed the distant look in his eyesthat always appeared when the voices inside his head began to claim his attention. In the physician’s opinion, the
Timothy followed him, his head already bowed as he began his own pious meditations.
‘They are good men,’ said Michael warmly, watching them go. ‘And there are not many of those around these days.’
Chapter 2
O N THEIR WAY BACK TO THE DOMINICAN FRIARY , Bartholomew and Michael met Walcote, who offered to accompany them with a pack of beadles, in case the Dominicans took exception
to the Senior Proctor arresting some of their number. With Walcote and the men at his heels, Michael strode up to the friary
gate and hammered on it. It was answered almost immediately by a strange-looking man, whose hair stood in an uncertain halo
around his tonsure and who had a wild look in his eyes.
‘Clippesby,’ said Michael in surprise. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were at Michaelhouse, overseeing the polishing
of our silver in preparation for Easter.’
‘I finished that,’ said Clippesby shyly. ‘Then I offered to help the cooks shred the cabbage, but they were afraid I might
cut myself, so I went for a walk instead.’
Then the cooks had been very tactful, thought Bartholomew, hiding a smile. It was well known in the town that the Dominican
John Clippesby, Michaelhouse’s master of music and astronomy, was not entirely in control of his faculties, and that he was
always being given time-consuming and usually pointless tasks to keep him out of harm’s way. The cooks would certainly not
want him in the kitchen with a sharp knife in his hands.
‘But what are you doing
here
?’ pressed Michael, suspecting that Clippesby had somehow slipped past the porters, and that the Master of Michaelhouse did
not know he was at large.
‘I heard there was trouble between my Order and the Carmelites, so I thought I should come to see what was happening,’ replied
Clippesby. ‘But I was just leaving,actually. For some reason, Prior Morden said he did not want me here, and suggested that I should go home.’
‘I bet he did,’ muttered Michael, who had been trying for some time, without success, to foist the unstable Dominican back
on his own friary and out of Michaelhouse. Morden was no fool, however, and had no more wish to have a madman imposed on him
than Michaelhouse had been.
‘All the Dominicans are inside,’ Clippesby went on. ‘Prior Morden says that it is too dangerous for anyone to be out, although
he said
I
would be safe, because I am a Michaelhouse man and do not live in the friary.’
Bartholomew felt a surge of anger against Morden. The Prior knew perfectly well that marauding Carmelites would not ask a
man wearing the habit of a Dominican whether he lived at the friary or whether he was a member of a College. It would be irrelevant
anyway: the Carmelites’ antagonism was not aimed at the friary in particular, it was aimed at the Dominicans in general. Clippesby
would have provided an ideal target for the little group of sullen Carmelites Bartholomew and Michael had just followed home.
‘Wait here,’ said Bartholomew, reluctant for Clippesby to be alone. ‘We will walk to Michaelhouse with you after we have spoken
to Morden.’
‘I will be all right,’ said Clippesby, beginning to move away from them. ‘Saint Balthere appeared to me this morning and instructed
me to pray for him in St Michael’s Church. He would not have done that if any harm was due to befall me, would he?’
‘Saint who?’ asked Michael warily.
‘That does not necessarily follow,’ said Bartholomew, worried that the Dominican’s unstable condition might be taking a turn
for the worse. ‘Wait here until we have spoken to Morden.’
But Clippesby was already wandering away down the road, and Bartholomew had glimpsed the distant look in his eyesthat always appeared when the voices inside his head began to claim his attention. In the physician’s opinion, the
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