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physician. But
     what has happened here?’ he asked, glancing down at the ominous trail of red that soiled the stones in St Botolph’s porch.
     ‘I hope no one was hurt when the Dominicans marched on the Carmelites earlier.’
    ‘Unfortunately, one of them was stabbed,’ replied Michael. ‘His name was Faricius.’
    Timothy raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Faricius? But he was no fighting man.’
    ‘You know him?’ asked Michael. ‘How?’
    ‘Faricius was a good scholar,’ said Janius. ‘Brilliant, even. He was one of the few Carmelites who came here because of a
     love of learning, rather than merely to further his own career in the Church by making useful connections.’
    ‘We were near St Mary’s Church when the Carmelites nailed their proclamation to the door,’ said Timothy, still shocked by
     the outcome of the riot. ‘I saw the Dominicans were furious, and it was clear that a fight was imminent, but I did not anticipate
     it would end quite so violently.’
    ‘But do not blame only the Dominicans,’ said Janius reasonably. ‘I heard the Carmelites taunting them and daring them to attack.
     One side was every bit as responsible as the other.’
    ‘As always,’ agreed Timothy. ‘These silly quarrels are invariably the result of two wrongs.’ He leaned forward, rather furtively,
     and spoke to Michael in a soft voice. ‘Isthere any more news about your negotiations with Oxford, Brother? Forgive me for mentioning this in such a public place,
     but you told me Doctor Bartholomew knows your business, anyway.’
    ‘He does,’ replied Michael. ‘But I am not expecting any progress on the Oxford matter until Ascension Day at the earliest
     – a good six weeks from now.’ He turned to Bartholomew and lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘We are talking about my plans
     to surrender a couple of farms and a church to Merton College at Oxford University in exchange for a few snippets of information.’
    ‘Right,’ said Bartholomew carefully. He knew Michael had been engaged in a series of delicate negotiations with an Oxford
     scholar for several months, and that the monk tended to tell different people different stories about his motives and objectives.
     The arrangements were supposed to be secret, but a Michaelhouse scholar named Ralph de Langelee had made them public the previous
     year in an attempt to discredit Michael and prevent him from becoming the College’s new Master. It had worked: Langelee had
     been elected instead.
    ‘What happens on Ascension Day?’ asked Janius curiously. He crossed himself and gave a serene smile. ‘Other than the spirit
     of our Lord rising to heaven, that is.’
    ‘Other than that, William Heytesbury is due to come to Cambridge to finalise our agreement,’ said Michael. ‘He is keen to
     secure the property for Merton, but he still does not trust me to deal with him honestly.’
    ‘And does he have cause for such distrust?’ asked Timothy bluntly.
    Michael’s expression was innocence itself. ‘Why should he? I have two farms and a church that are nearer Oxford than Cambridge,
     and I propose to transfer them in exchange for a little information and a document or two. It is a generous offer. Those Oxford
     men are so used to dealing with each other, that they do not recognise a truthful man when they see one.’
    Bartholomew, however, was sure Heytesbury had good cause to be suspicious of Michael’s ‘generous offer’. Whatever it entailed,
     the monk would make certain it was Cambridge that emerged with the better half of the bargain. He was surprised that Timothy,
     who seemed to know Michael well, should need to ask.
    ‘Here comes Prior Lincolne,’ said Timothy, looking down the street to where the leader of the Carmelite Order in Cambridge
     was hurrying towards them. ‘We will leave you to your sorry business, Brother. Come to see us soon: you are always welcome
     in Ely Hall.’
    ‘Thank you; I imagine I shall need a dose of sanity and