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as Michael and Bartholomew approached. ‘It was intended to please the University, not be a source of discord.’
    Julitta laughed, a pleasant sound that reminded Bartholomew even more acutely of Matilde. His stomach lurched, and he could not stop staring at her. She had long, silky brown hair that she wore in a plait, and her slender figure was accentuated by the elegant cut of her kirtle. But it was her face that was her most striking feature. It was clear and sweet, and with the exception of Matilde, he could not ever recall seeing anyone so lovely.
    ‘What did you expect?’ she asked, eyes dancing. ‘Cambridge’s academics are clever men with strong opinions. I imagine any proposal will meet with opposition, no matter how kindly meant.’
    ‘True,’ admitted Michael grudgingly. ‘Of course, it is a pity the Carmelites
and
Batayl feel they have a right to Newe Inn. It would have been better had you donated a different building to the venture, and I understand you have plenty. Perhaps you will give us another.’
    It was Dunning’s turn to laugh. ‘You scholars are never satisfied!’
    ‘On the contrary, we are very grateful,’ said Michael, although he failed to sound sincere. ‘But my point was that you had already promised—’
    ‘I promised nothing,’ interrupted Dunning wearily. ‘The White Friars and Batayl have been clamouring at me for months to give them Newe Inn, and in an effort to shut them up, I said I would consider their applications.
Consider
, not agree to them. And that is all.’
    ‘I suspect Principal Coslaye and Prior Etone embellished the tale because they want my father to withdraw his offer to establish a library,’ explained Julitta. ‘They are not naturally sly, but the issue seems to have made them extraordinarily excitable.’
    ‘We have just visited it,’ said Dunning with a sudden smile. ‘I go there as often as possible, to monitor progress. Walkelate is an impressive fellow; he vowed it would be ready by Corpus Christi, and I am beginning to think he will succeed.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Michael. He did not add ‘more is the pity’, but it was evident in his tone.
    ‘Our scheme is a good one, Brother,’ insisted Dunning, hearing the censure. ‘And Chancellor Tynkell assures me that it will benefit all concerned, even those who object now. A lack of books prevents many scholars from achieving all they might. A library will help them, and earn your
studium generale
the respect and fame it deserves.’
    ‘I suppose it might,’ conceded Michael reluctantly. ‘But Tynkell’s motives for encouraging this scheme are not altruistic. He wants to be remembered after he retires next year.’
    ‘Is that so terrible?’ asked Julitta. ‘I understand he has done very little else during his tenure.’
    ‘The library will be a credit to you, Sir Eustace,’ said Bartholomew, finding his voice at last. ‘In fact, Kente has already made you immortal by carving your face on one of the lecterns.’
    ‘You noticed, did you?’ Dunning was pleased. ‘There is one of Julitta, too, and of Ruth, my other daughter.’
    ‘Kente has immortalised Tynkell, too,’ said Michael sullenly. ‘As Eden’s serpent.’
    ‘Nonsense, Brother!’ exclaimed Julitta, laughing again. ‘What an imagination you have!’
    Dunning changed the subject by turning to Bartholomew and asking conversationally, ‘Surgeon Holm, who is soon to be my son-in-law, told me last night that you drilled a large hole in Coslaye’s skull after it was crushed by a flying book at the Convocation. Is it true?’
    Bartholomew found himself strangely reluctant to have Julitta think badly of him by admitting that he regularly trespassed on barber-surgeon territory, especially as she was betrothed to one of them. ‘Well,’ he hedged awkwardly. ‘It was …’
    ‘He also said that Coslaye would have died had you not done so,’ added Julitta. ‘I think you were extremely brave to have undertaken such a difficult