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Gilbert?’
    ‘It looks the same to me,’ said his clerk, leaning down and examining it minutely.
    ‘Father Cuthbert?’ asked Bartholomew of the fat
    priest.
    Cuthbert put up his hands defensively. “I am priest only of the church. The tower is beyond my jurisdiction and belongs to the University. I know nothing of poisoned locks.’
    ‘Who else might know?’ said Bartholomew.
    ‘My deputy, Evrard Buckley, is the only person other than me who is permitted access to the chest. Even Gilbert does not touch it,’ said de Wetherset. ‘And the only person other than me to have keys is the Bishop.
    He keeps a spare set in Ely Cathedral, but we have had no cause to use those for years.’
    ‘Are you the only person actually to use the keys?’
    asked Bartholomew. ‘Do you ever give them to a clerk or your deputy to open the locks?’
    De Wetherset pulled on a cord tied around his neck.
    “I keep my keys here and I only remove them when I hand them to Buckley to lock or unlock the chest. The keys are never out of my sight, and, outside the chamber where the chest is kept, I never remove them from round my neck.’
    ‘Not even when you bathe?’ pressed Bartholomew.
    ‘Bathe? You mean swim in the river?’ said the Chancellor with a look of horror.
    ‘No, I mean take a bath,’ said Bartholomew.
    ‘A bath would mean that I had to remove all my
    clothes,’ said the Chancellor distastefully, ‘and I do not consider such an action healthy for a man in his fifties.’ He held up a hand as if to quell any objection Bartholomew might make. “I am aware of your odd beliefs in this area, Doctor,’ he said, referring to
    Bartholomew’s well-known insistence on cleanliness.
    “I cannot think why Master Kenyngham allows you to entertain such peculiar notions, and while I suppose they may have a measure of success on the labourers you physic, I do not believe they will apply equally to me.’
    ‘All men are equal before God, Chancellor,’ said Bartholomew, taken aback by de Wetherset’s statement.
    He ignored Michael’s smirk. ‘And all men are more likely to contract certain sicknesses if they do not keep themselves clean.’
    De Wetherset looked sharply at him. ‘Do not try to lure me into a debate on physic,’ he said. ‘The Bible does not say those who do not bathe will become ill.
    And it also does not recommend against drinking from God’s rivers as I have heard you do. Now, we have more important matters to discuss.’
    Bartholomew was startled into silence, wondering whether his teaching and practice were really as outlandish as many of his colleagues seemed to feel.
     
    Bartholomew had learned medicine at the University in Paris from an Arab doctor who had taught him
    that incidence of disease could be lessened by simple hygiene. Bartholomew fervently believed Ibn Ibrahim was right, a notion that brought him into conflict with many of his patients and colleagues. De Wetherset’s arguments had tripped very lightly off his tongue, suggesting that he had debated this issue before. Michael,
    hiding his amusement, resumed the questioning of de Wetherset.
    ‘So there is no time ever when you might remove
    the keys?’
    ‘Never,’ said de Wetherset. “I even sleep with them.’
    ‘What about Master Buckley?’ said Michael. ‘Where is he? We should really ask him the same questions.’
    ‘He is unwell,’ said de Wetherset. ‘Did you not know that, Doctor? He is your patient.’
    Master Buckley, the Vice-Chancellor, was a Fellow of King’s Hall. He taught grammar, and, many years before, Bartholomew’s older sister Edith had hired Master Buckley to coach him when the school at
    Peterborough Abbey broke for holidays. Bartholomew’s knowledge of grammar had not improved, and Buckley’s dull company had done a great deal to convince him that this subject made a very poor showing after arithmetic, geometry, and natural philosophy. Bartholomew had met Buckley again when he had been made Master
    of Medicine