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suggests a certain even-handedness to me.’
    ‘Gentlemen, please,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to be discussing philosophy. We have
     a dead student here. Our duty is to discover who murdered him, not to assess the relative virtues of realism and nominalism.’
    ‘Then tell the Dominicans that,’ snapped Lincolne. ‘They are nominalists – every last one of them – and now a Carmelite lies
     dead.’ He rammed the stopper into the flask’s neck and heaved himself to his feet. He towered over Michael, and Bartholomew
     could not help but notice how the curious topknot quivered as if reflecting the rage of its owner.
    ‘It was the proclamation you wrote and pinned to the door of St Mary’s Church that precipitated this sorry incident,’ said
     Michael sharply. ‘And Faricius paid the price.’
    ‘That is grossly unfair—’ began Lincolne indignantly.
    Michael cut through his objections. ‘I sincerely doubt whether the student-friars – Dominican or Carmelite – genuinely feel
     strongly enough about a philosophical debate to kill each other: your notice was merely the excuse they needed to fight. And
     I will have no more of it. The next person who nails a proclamation to any door in the town will spend the night in the proctors’
     cells.’
    ‘The Carmelites are a powerful force in Cambridge,Brother,’ said Lincolne hotly. ‘We have forty friars studying here; the Dominicans only have thirty-three. You should think
     very carefully before you decide to take the side of the nominalists.’
    ‘I am not taking any side,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Personally, I am not much interested in philosophy. And numbers mean nothing
     anyway. At least half a dozen of your forty are old men, who will be no use at all if you intend to take on the Dominicans
     in a pitched battle. They will, however, be valiant in the debating halls, which is where I recommend you resolve this disagreement.’
    His green eyes were cold and hard, and even the towering Lincolne apparently decided Michael was not a man to be easily intimidated.
     The Prior knelt again and began to straighten and arrange the folds of Faricius’s habit, to hide his temper.
    ‘Now, I need to ask you some questions,’ said Michael, seeing that Lincolne seemed to have conceded the argument. ‘You say
     Faricius was a gentle man, but did he have any enemies? Did he beat anyone in a debate, for example?’
    Lincolne glowered at the sarcasm in Michael’s voice. ‘I am aware of no enemies, Brother. You can come to the friary and ask
     his colleagues if you wish, but you will find that Faricius was a peaceable and studious young man, as I have already told
     you.’
    ‘As soon as I heard that the Dominicans had taken exception to your proclamation, I sent Beadle Meadowman to tell you to keep
     all your students indoors until tempers had cooled,’ Michael went on. ‘So why was Faricius out?’
    Lincolne glared at him. ‘We have as much right to walk the streets as anyone – but we did comply with your request. I instructed
     all my students to remain indoors, even though it is Saturday and teaching finishes at noon.’
    ‘Then why did they not obey you?’ pressed Michael.
    Lincolne seemed surprised. ‘But they did obey me. None of them left the premises. It was not easy to keep them in, actually,
     given that the forty days of Lent have seemed verylong this year, and everyone is looking forward to Easter next week. The students are excited and difficult to control.’
    ‘So I gather,’ said Michael wryly. ‘But you have not answered my question. Faricius was found lying in a doorway on Milne
     Street. He was clearly
outside
the friary, not inside it. If none of your students left the premises, how did he come to be out?’
    Lincolne frowned as he shook his head. ‘When your beadle arrived to tell me that we should lock ourselves away when the Dominicans
     came, I rounded up
all
my students and took them home.