Free A Masterly Murder by Susanna Gregory

were restless and unable to concentrate on their lessons, obviously far
     more interested in speculating on which of the Fellows might succeed the gentle Kenyngham as Master.
    His older students were not much better, and he could see their attention was wandering from the set commentary on Galen’s
De Urinis
. Bartholomew was not particularly interested in contemplating the ins and outs of urine on a cold winter morning, either,
     but it had to be endured if the scruffy lads assembled in front of him ever wanted to be successful physicians.
    When the bell rang for the midday meal, Cynric came to tell him that he was needed at the home of Sam Saddler, a man afflicted
     with a rotting leg. Bartholomew had recommended amputation two weeks before, but Saddler had steadfastly refused. Robin of
     Grantchester had finally relieved him of the festering limb the previous day, and Bartholomew was astonished that Saddler
     had survived the surgeon’s filthy instruments and clumsy stitching. Saddler’s hold on life was tenacious, but Bartholomew
     knew it was a battle Death would soon win. The flesh around the sutures was swollen and weeping, and angry red lines of infection
     darted up the stump of leg.
    Bartholomew always carried a plaster of betony for infected wounds, but Saddler’s state was beyond the efficacy of any remedy
     that Bartholomew knew about, although he spent some time trying to help. He prescribed a syrup to dull the pain, and warned
     Saddler’s two daughters to be ready to send for a priest within the next two days.
    On his way back to Michaelhouse, he saw Adela Tangmer, arm in arm with her father, although who was leading whom was difficult
     to say. Adela strode along in her customary jaunty style, but the vintner walked stiffly, every step suggesting that something
     had deeply angered him. Bartholomew tried to slip past unnoticed, but Adela was having none of that.
    ‘Hello, Matthew,’ she boomed across the High Street, making several people jump. ‘We have just been to a meeting of my father’s
     guild, Corpus Christi. What a dreadful gaggle of people – all arguing and bickering. They need to get out more – do a bit
     of riding and see the world.’
    ‘Bene’t College is at the heart of it,’ muttered Tangmer furiously. ‘I wish to God the Guild of St Mary’s had never persuaded
     us to become involved in that venture.’
    ‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew curiously.
    ‘We were doing perfectly well in establishing a modest little house of learning, but that
     was not good enough for the worthy people of the Guild of St Mary,’ said Tangmer bitterly.
    ‘They brought in the Duke of Lancaster as a patron,’ explained Adela. ‘He donated some money, but we have just learned that
     there are strings attached.’
    ‘You mean like a certain number of masses to be said for his soul?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Similar conditions were imposed by
     Michaelhouse’s founder, Hervey de Stanton. We are obliged to say daily prayers for him.’
    ‘I wish that were all!’ muttered Tangmer. ‘Prayers cost nothing, especially if someone else is saying them.’
    ‘The Duke wants Bene’t to rival King’s Hall and the Hall of Valence Marie for splendour,’ said Adela. ‘The only problem is
     that his donation will not cover all the costs, and so the guilds of Corpus Christi and St Mary are obliged to provide the
     difference. And money spent on Bene’t would be better spent on good horseflesh.’
    ‘Do you think of nothing but horses, woman?’ asked Tangmer in weary exasperation. ‘You should marry – that would concentrate
     your mind on other matters.’
    ‘I do not want to marry,’ said Adela with the same weary exasperation. ‘I like my life the way it is.’
    ‘What about you, Bartholomew?’ asked Tangmer, eyeing the physician up and down speculatively. ‘You are not betrothed, are
     you? Adela would make a fine wife for a physician.’
    Adela closed her eyes, although whether from