To Kill or Cure by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online

from the Carmelites and a group of scholars from Clare. Bartholomew was alarmed to see the crowd
     had separated into two halves. He put his hand on Falmeresham’s shoulder, silently ordering him to say no more.
    ‘You are a surgeon?’ asked Bartholomew politely. He pointed to Arderne’s red robes, fighting the urge to walk away from the
     man and talk to Michael. It would be deemed rude, and he did not want to antagonise anyone.
    ‘I am a
healer
,’ replied Arderne loftily. ‘No mere sawbones – and no urine-gazer, either. I am superior to both trades, because
my
remedies are efficacious and
I
know what I am doing.’
    ‘A leech,’ sneered Falmeresham. ‘A common trickster.’
    ‘Perhaps we can talk another time,’ said Bartholomew hastily, before Arderne could react to the insult. ‘But now, your patients
     need you, and I must carry Lynton to his College.’
    ‘Here comes my personal transport,’ said Arderne, turning as a cart clattered rather recklessly into the onlookers. It was
     painted with herbs, stars and signs of the zodiac, and looked more like something a magician would own than a
medicus
. He addressed its driver. ‘Help my new patients, but be gentle. My cure is working, and rough treatment might see it all
     reversed again.’
    ‘Damned liar!’ spat Falmeresham. ‘A cure either works or it does not.’
    Arderne chose to ignore him, but a nondescript man, whom Bartholomew had seen working in the Angel when he had bought his
     pie – his name was Ocleye – was unwilling to let the matter pass. ‘What can apprentice physicians know about the power of
     magic?’ he demanded. ‘Your teachers do not choose to initiate you into such mysteries, so you will always remain ignorant
     of them.’
    ‘Lynton will not be teaching any mysteries now, magical or otherwise,’ brayed Blankpayn. He had enjoyed his cronies laughing
     at his first witticism, and was eager to repeat the experience. After another pause, his friends cackled obligingly.
    ‘Poor Lynton,’ said Carton. He knelt, and Bartholomew thought he was going to pray. Instead he began to tidy the cloak that
     covered the body, straightening it with small, fussy movements that betrayed his unease at the hostility that was bubbling
     around them.
    Michael had ordered his beadles to stand between the two factions, in the hope of preventing more violence. ‘Who saw the accident?’
     he asked, looking around.
    ‘Lynton came racing along Milne Street at a speed that was far from safe,’ replied Blankpayn immediately. ‘His death serves
     him right. He might have killed poor Candelby.’
    ‘Perhaps he intended to,’ said Arderne slyly.
    Bartholomew glanced sharply at the healer. Arderne knew perfectly well that such a remark might stoke the flames of hatred.
     Of course, a brawl would almost certainly result in casualties, some of whom might require the services of a
medicus
. The physician struggled to mask his distaste for the fellow’s unethical tactics.
    ‘Did you actually
see
cart and horse collide, Blankpayn?’ pressed Michael, choosing to overlook Arderne’s comment. The monk was pale, and Bartholomew
     sensed his growing unease with the situation.
    ‘I was close by,’ hedged Blankpayn, indicating that he had not. ‘And Candelby told me the whole incident was Lynton’s fault.’
    ‘I shall question Candelby myself – we do not condemn anyone on hearsay.’ Michael raised his voice. ‘Everyone should go home.
     There is nothing to see here.’
    ‘Lies!’ shouted Arderne, startling everyone with his sudden vehemence. ‘How can you say there is nothing to see when
I
am at work? How
dare
you denigrate my performance!’
    ‘Your
performance
?’ Bartholomew was startled by the choice of words.
    ‘My miraculous healing of Candelby and Maud. They would be dead by now, had it not been for my timely intervention. I healed
     them with my magic feather.’
    Bartholomew declined to argue with him. He knew from experience that