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he recalled the people he had met since, particularly the beautiful prostitute, Matilde. He glanced behind him to make sure the students could not hear.
‘The Master did not really send me to Suffolk because of Matilde, did he? I can assure you he had no cause.’
    Michael chuckled softly, grateful to be thinking of something other than the pestilence. ‘I can assure you he did. Ever since your fiancee abandoned you for a wealthy merchant a couple of years ago, you have done nothing but make a nuisance of yourself among the town’s women.’
    ‘I have not!’ objected Bartholomew, startled by the accusation. ‘I—’
    ‘Do not try to deceive me, Matt. I have known you too long, and I have seen the way you look whenever Matilde speaks to you. Then there was that Julianna.’
    ‘That Julianna set her sights on Ralph de Langelee, as well you know,’ said Bartholomew tartly. ‘And she and I have never had the slightest liking for each other.’
    ‘I wonder what Langelee is doing now that Michaelhouse’s four most senior Fellows are away,’ mused Michael, changing the subject abruptly. ‘It would not surprise me if he took advantage of our absence somehow. Perhaps we will find that we have a new Master by the time we return.’
    ‘I wish Julianna
had
persuaded him to marry her,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Since Fellows of Colleges are not permitted to marry, it would have been an excellent way to rid ourselves of him without the need for violence.’
    ‘Funny you should mention that,’ said Michael. I heard a rumour that a certain ceremony involving those two took place recently in Grantchester Church. So far, I have been unable to verify it, but I can assure you I will look into the matter most carefully when we return. We do not want that belligerent lout as our next Master.’
    They had not travelled far before they reached a crossroads, where the others waited for directions to Grundisburgh. Bartholomew’s attention, however, was on something else. Gibbets were commonplace at crossroads, and the one near Grundisburgh was a stark wooden silhouette against the sky, comprising a central post with two arms, one of which had a corpse dangling from it. But it was not the sight of a hanged criminal that caught Bartholomew’s eye – he had lost count of the number of felons he had seen along the way, who had been executed and whose remains had been displayed to serve as a deterrent for anyone else considering breaking the law – there was something unusual about the body that made him want to take a closer look. First, the hands were not bound as was usual, but hung loosely at the sides; and second, the corpse was fully clothed. Ignoring William’s gusty sigh of irritation, and Alcote’s vocal revulsion at the physician’s unseemly interest, he dismounted and made his way to the foot of the gibbet.
    It was high, and the hanged man’s feet swung near Bartholomew’s shoulders. The shoes were of good-quality leather, with strong, almost-new soles, and a pair of gleaming silver-coloured buckles. The hose were made of soft-woven red wool, and the shirt was of fine linen, although the cuffs were beginning to fray. A handsome blue doublet embroidered with silver thread, and a thick belt, from which dangled a bejewelled dagger, completed the outfit. There was plenty of wear left in the garments, while the dagger would have fetched a good price, so why had no one relieved the corpse of them? Such items were usually considered the perks of the hangman’s trade, and to find clothes so casually abandoned in these times of acute need was curious to say the least.
    As Bartholomew looked upward, a flicker of movement caught his eye. At first he thought he had imagined it, but when he looked harder he saw it again. The hanged man’s mouth had moved: he was still alive!
    ‘He is still breathing!’ Bartholomew yelled, making his colleagues jump. He grabbed the hanged man’s legs, trying to lift him to relieve the pressure