They knocked on Ovyng’s door, and were admitted by Godric, who had a smear of ink on his face and held a sheaf of parchment. He wore thick hose and outdoor boots against the cold, and his woollen habit looked bulky, as though he had pulled on as many clothes as he could underneath it. Even so, his fingers had a bluish tinge at their tips, and he was shivering as he stepped aside to let Bartholomew and Michael in.
A small fire was burning in the hearth of the main hall, but it was wholly inadequate to warm a large, stone-built room that had gaps in its window shutters and a wide chimney, both of which allowed the wind to blast through them. All the student friars and Ailred were present, sitting around a table that had been placed as close to the fire as possible, and looking as chilled and miserable as did Godric. Ailred had a pile of sad-looking fish in front of him, which he was patiently gutting. He was leading a debate on the sermons of Thomas Aquinas at the same time.
Some of the fish were cooking over the meagre flames, and the distinctive aroma of food that was past its best pervaded the hostel. Two loaves of bread were being warmed in an attempt to disguise the fact that their outsides were blue with mould, and a bucket of cloudy ale stood behind the hearth, so that some of the chill might be driven from it. Godric kept glancing towards the fire. Bartholomew had the feeling he was hungry, and the visit from the Senior Proctor meant that his meal was being delayed.
‘Finances,’ he said in a subdued voice, seeing the Michaelhouse men absorbing the details of their frigid room and paltry meal. ‘I know we friars are supposed to seek ways to deny ourselves bodily comforts, but freezing solid and eating food unfit even for animals is not generally recommended by our Order. Norbert’s death has been a bitter blow for Ovyng.’ He scowled at Ailred.
‘Tulyet has stopped paying for Norbert’s education,’ said Bartholomew in understanding, thinking the dead man’s family must have been charged some very princely fees if their cessation resulted in such sudden and abject poverty at Ovyng. ‘But you must have anticipated their loss when he died, so you cannot be surprised.’
‘We are not surprised,’ said Ailred, a little testily. ‘But we did not expect the weather to turn quite so bitter before we could think of ways to manage the shortfall. We have food, but little fuel.’
‘Food of sorts,’ muttered Godric under his breath. ‘Stinking fish that even the cat would not touch, and blue bread.’
‘You should mention your plight to Robin of Grantchester,’ said Bartholomew to Ailred. ‘He conjured peat faggots and wood from thin air when Dunstan the riverman was in need.’
‘That is different,’ said Ailred stiffly. ‘Dunstan’s is a case of genuine hardship, whereas we are merely uncomfortable. We will not die from the cold.’
‘We might,’ muttered Godric resentfully, and Bartholomew concluded that their reduced circumstances were something about which the two men did not agree. Some of the students nodded, and the physician saw that they definitely sided with Godric.
‘We shall have to get out our begging bowls,’ said one, while the others muttered rebelliously. ‘We will not survive the winter if we do not do something to help ourselves.’
‘We shall manage,’ said Ailred sharply. ‘You must remember that however cold and hungry you feel there is always someone worse off than you. Do not complain unnecessarily, and give the saints cause to increase your hardship.’
‘I have come to ask you about Master Harysone the pardoner,’ said Michael conversationally in the silence that followed. ‘He speared himself while dancing in the King’s Head, and has accused a Franciscan of holding the knife. Does anyone have anything he would like to tell me?’
Ailred looked horrified. ‘I can assure you that no one here would set foot in a house of sin like the King’s Head.’
‘Which houses of sin do you set foot in, then?’ asked Michael, aware that the students were not so quick to deny the accusation. They were exchanging guilty, anxious glances, and clearly wondering whether their Michaelhouse colleagues had betrayed them.
‘None!’ protested Ailred, appalled at the notion. ‘Such behaviour would break University rules. I do not need to tell you that, Brother.’
‘What about you, Godric?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘We are not interested in whether you imbibe in the King’s Head regularly, just whether you were there on St Stephen’s Day, when this particular incident occurred.’
‘I do recall a brief sojourn in a tavern around that time,’ replied Godric ingenuously, making it sound as though it was of so little importance that it had all but slipped his mind. ‘And I do recall a pardoner doing strange things with his body. It was why we left, actually.’
‘We?’ pounced Michael. ‘Who was with you?’
