Mystery in the Minster by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

his colleagues some distance ahead, talking to a few of the vicars-choral. The discussion appeared to be amiable, and he wondered whether they were trying to make amends for their sub-chanter’s earlier hostility.
    But bad-mannered vicars flew from his mind when he turned his attention to the minster, which was even moremagnificent close up than it had been from afar. Delicately arched windows soared skywards, interspersed with buttresses and arcades that were simultaneously imposing and elegant. Above him, the lofty towers seemed to graze the dark clouds that scudded overhead, their stone a deep honey-gold in the sullen grey light.
    ‘It is grand,’ said William, smiling as the physician gazed in open-mouthed admiration. ‘We are very proud of it.’
    Bartholomew was about to tell him he had good cause, when there was a hiss followed by a thump. He had seen enough of war to recognise the sound of an arrow hitting flesh when he heard it, and he whipped around to see Sir William crumple, both hands clasped around the quarrel that protruded from his side.

CHAPTER 2
     
    For a moment, Bartholomew was too stunned to do more than stare at Sir William’s prostrate form, but a scream from a passing woman jolted him back to his senses. He dropped to his knees and fought to stem the bleeding with a piece of clean linen from the bag he always carried over his shoulder. He was dimly aware of a crowd gathering, but his mind was on medicine as he pressed on the wound with one hand, and groped for forceps with the other.
    As a physician, he should not have been considering a procedure that was the domain of barber-surgeons, but Cambridge had no competent sawbones of its own, and as he was of the opinion that patients should have access to any treatment that might save their lives, he was more skilled at such techniques than he should have been. Working quickly, he inserted the forceps into the wound, careful to place them around the barb, so it could be neutralised before removal.
    ‘I told you,’ murmured a familiar voice, and Bartholomew glanced up to see Cynric crouching beside him. ‘I said something terrible would happen. This arrow was intended for you.’
    Bartholomew gaped at him. ‘At me? Why? I have no enemies here.’
    ‘No, but Michaelhouse has,’ whispered Cynric. ‘A distant College, which has laid claim to a
local
church. There will be more than vicars-choral who resent us for it.’
    Bartholomew thought it a ludicrous assertion and dismissedit from his mind. He started to ease the arrow out, but William began to writhe, and the book-bearer was unequal to keeping him still. He was on the verge of commandeering help from the spectators, when someone knelt next to him and expertly pinioned the knight’s arms. It was still not enough, but within moments more help arrived in the form of the woman who had shrieked. She was extremely attractive, with olive skin, dark eyes and silky black hair. She was past the first flush of youth, and her figure was mature but shapely. Bartholomew was slightly ashamed when Cynric was obliged to elbow him in order to bring his attention back to medicine.
    ‘It is all right, William,’ the lady was whispering encouragingly. ‘I am here, and so is Fournays. We will look after you.’
    Once the patient was immobile, removing the arrow was easy. The wound bled copiously, but Bartholomew hoped this would serve to wash out any dirt. Unfortunately, it also meant the patient would bleed to death if he was carried home before it was sutured, so Bartholomew decided to complete the task in the street. He enlarged the hole slightly so that he could see what he was doing, found needle and thread, and began the laborious process of repairing damaged blood vessels and layers of muscle. William fainted, leaving Bartholomew’s assistants free to talk.
    ‘Did anyone see what happened?’ asked Fournays. He glanced at the woman. ‘Lady Helen?’
    ‘Yes, but I cannot credit it,’ replied Helen,