A Plague on Both Your Houses Read Free Page B

what
    rubbish he speaks.’ He put his arm over Augustus’s
    shoulders and waved across for Alexander the Butler
    to come to take him back to his quarters. Augustus
    flinched away from his touch.
    “I will take him,’ said Bartholomew, noting the old
    man’s distress. ‘He has had enough for today. I will make a posset diat will ease him.’
    ‘Yes, all the pomp and ceremony has shaken his mind
    even more than usual,’ said Swynford, eyeing Augustus
    with distaste. ‘God preserve us from a mindless fool.’
    ‘God preserve us from being one,’ snapped Bartholomew, angered by Swynford’s intolerance. He was
    surprised at his retort. He was not usually rude to
    his colleagues. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself
    that Wilson’s installation and old Augustus’s words had unsettled him.
    ‘Come, Matt,’ said Swynford, dropping his usual
    bluff manner. ‘It has been a hard time for us all. Let us not allow the ramblings of a drooling old man to spoil our chances of a new beginning. The man’s mind has
    become more unhinged since Sir John died. You said
    so yourself only yesterday.’
    Bartholomew nodded. Two nights before, the entire
    College had been awakened by Augustus, who had locked
    himself in his room and was screaming that there were
    devils trying to burn him alive. He had the window
    shutters flung open, and was trying to crawl out. It had taken Bartholomew hours to calm him, and then he had
    had to promise to stay in Augustus’s room for the rest of the night to ensure the devils did not return. In the morning, Bartholomew had been prodded awake by an
    irate Augustus demanding to know what he was doing
    uninvited in his quarters.
    Augustus stopped swaying and looked at Bartholomew,
    a crafty smile on his face. ‘Just remember,
    John Babington, hide it well.’
    Swynford tutted in annoyance. ‘Take him to his bed,
    Alexander, and see that one of the servants stays with him. The poor man has totally lost the few remaining
    wits he had.’

Alexander solicitously escorted Augustus towards
    the north wing of the College where the commoners
    lived. As they went, Bartholomew could hear Augustus
    telling Alexander that he would not need any supper as he had just eaten a large rat he had seen coming out of the hall.
    Swynford put his hand on Bartholomew’s shoulder
    and turned him towards St Michael’s. ‘Tend to him later, Matt. We should take our places in the church.’
    Bartholomew assented, and together they walked
    up St Michael’s Lane to the High Street. Throngs of
    people milled around outside the church, attracted no
    doubt by hopes of more scattered pennies.
    They elbowed their way through the crowd, earning
    hostile glances from some people. The last fight between the scholars and the townspeople had been less than
    a month before, and two young apprentices had been
    hanged for stabbing a student to death. Feelings still ran high, and Bartholomew was glad when he reached the
    church doors.
    Father William had already begun to celebrate
    the mass, gabbling through the words at a speed
    that never failed to impress Bartholomew. The friar
    glanced across at the late-comers as they took their
    places at the altar rail, but his face betrayed no sign of annoyance. Brother Michael, for all his mumblings
    during the College ceremony, had rehearsed his choir
    well, and even the clamour of the people waiting outside lessened as angelic voices soared through the church.
    Bartholomew smiled. Sir John had loved the choir,
    and often gave the children extra pennies to sing while he dined in College. Bartholomew wondered whether
    Master Wilson would spare a few pennies for music to
    brighten the long winter evenings. He stole a glance at Wilson to see if there was any indication that he was
    appreciating the singing. Wilson’s head was bowed as
    he knelt, but his eyes were open and fixed on his
    hands. Bartholomew looked closer, and almost laughed
    aloud. Wilson was calculating something, counting on
    his