Free A Plague on Both Your Houses by Susanna Gregory Page A

can try to wake Jocelyn now,’ said Bartholomew.
    “I suspect he may be more resistant to strong drink
    than the others, and he almost woke when you banged
    the plate.’
    Bartholomew reached Brother Paul. Paul had not
    attended the feast, and if he too had been drugged,
    the chances were that the wine had been sent to the
    commoners’ dormitory to be consumed by them there.
    Bartholomew felt Paul’s neck for a life beat, his mind on the mysteries that were unravelling all around him.
    He snapped into alertness, quickly dragged the thick
    covering from the pallet, and stared in horror. Aelfrith came to peer over his shoulder.
    ‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ he breathed. He crossed himself
    and took a step backwards. ‘My God, Matthew, what
    is happening here? The Devil walked in Michaelhouse
    last night!’
    Bartholomew stared down at the blood-soaked sheet
    on which Paul lay. The knife that had caused his death still protruded from his stomach, and one of his hands was
    clasped loosely round the hilt. Bartholomew pulled at it, a long, wicked Welsh dagger similar to those that he had seen carried by Cynric and the soldiers at the Castle.
    ‘Another suicide?’ whispered Aelfrith, seeing Paul’s
    hand on the hilt.
    “I do not think so, Father. The knife was stabbed
    into Paul with such force that I think it is embedded in his spine. I cannot pull it out. Paul would never have had the strength for such a blow. And I do not think
    his death was instant. I think he died several minutes after the wound. Look, both hands are bloodstained,
    and blood is smeared over the sheet. I think he was
    trying to pull the knife out, and I think the murderer waited for him to die before arranging the bedclothes
    in such a way that no one would notice he was dead
    until the morning. And by then,’ he said, turning to
    face Aelfrith, ‘whatever business was going on last night would be completed:’
    ‘Or would have been,’ said Aelfrith, ‘had you not
    been an early riser and an abstemious drinker!’ He
    shuddered, looking down at the pathetic body of Brother Paul. ‘Poor man! I will say a mass for him and for Augustus this morning. But now, we must inform the Master. You
    stay here while I fetch him.’
    While Aelfrith was gone, Bartholomew inspected
    Paul. He was cold, and the blood had congealed. Aelfrith had said that he had heard a sound and had gone to
    check Paul. Had he already been dead then? Was it the
    murderer Aelfrith had heard? Bartholomew had heard
    Paul cough when he had looked in on Augustus before
    he went to the feast, so he must have died later than
    that. Had Paul seen something and called out? Or had he just been dispatched as a caution to ensure the strange events of the previous evening were kept secret?
    Bartholomew put his head in his hands. Two murders
    in his College. And what of Sir John? Bartholomew
    was beginning to have serious doubts that Sir John had committed suicide, and was inclined to believe that he had been murdered for something he knew or was
    about to find out. It seemed that Augustus was killed
    because he also knew, or someone thought he knew,
    something. And poor, gentle Brother Paul was murdered
    because he was too ill to attend Wilson’s wretched feast!
    Bartholomew went to check on Montfitchet. Perhaps
    it would be four murders before the day was out, for
    the tiny man showed no signs of improving, and was
    beginning to turn blue around the mouth.
    BARTHOLOMEW HEARD WILSON’S VOICE CARRYING across the courtyard. Wilson was due to move into Sir John’s spacious room that day, and the
    College servants had been working furiously to prepare it to his fussy requirements. So the previous night, he had been in his old room, which he shared with Roger
    Alcote. Bartholomew looked out of the window and
    saw that Alcote was hurrying over the courtyard behind Wilson, and that Aelfrith had awakened Father William, too. Michael, a light sleeper, was peering out of his
    window to see what was going on,