A Masterly Murder (10 page)

‘I expect Matthew’s duties as a physician will preclude
him
from standing for the Mastership,’ said William hopefully.

Bartholomew was about to agree, when Michael spoke.

‘Nonsense. Matt has students who are now sufficiently trained to relieve
him of some of his work, and he has been at Michaelhouse for ten years. He knows the College and is all a Master should be.
We will have him, if I cannot stand.’

Bartholomew was too astonished to object.

‘I agree,’ said Kenyngham, smiling at the physician. ‘Matthew would make an excellent
Master – firm, but not inflexible, and his dedication to his teaching and his writing will ensure that Michaelhouse continues
its
tradition of academic excellence. He would be my choice, certainly.’

‘It is true he would be a fair and thoughtful Master,’ said William reluctantly. ‘And I would rather have him than someone
from a rival Order. Matthew is my choice, too.’

‘I am not from a rival Order,’ Langelee pointed out, a little angrily. He was red-faced, and Bartholomew wondered whether
he had been drinking, preparing with false courage for the meeting that might make him a powerful man. ‘What about me?’

‘But I do not like you,’ said William baldly. Michael’s snort of spiteful laughter was loud in the otherwise quiet room. ‘I
do like Matthew, however – well, most of the time. I do not approve of his dealings with harlots, but he seems to have forsaken
them these days.’

‘But I do not want to be Master,’ said Bartholomew, as soon as he could find a gap in the conversation that seemed to be taking
place as though he were not present. ‘William was right – my duties as physician claim too much of my time. And if anyone
thinks I can leave my patients to the ministrations of students like Rob Deynman, he only need look at Agatha the laundress’s
teeth to see that I cannot.’

‘True,’ agreed Kenyngham, shaking his head in compassion. ‘Poor woman.’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘You have three votes out of a necessary five to make you Master, Matt. Consider very carefully
before you decline.’

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘Thank you, but no. I was given additional students this year, and, since Father Philius’s death
last winter, I have had more patients than ever to see. And there is my treatise on fevers – I will never finish it if I take
on extra College duties.’

‘I knew you would not agree, but it was worth a try,’
said Michael softly. ‘You would not have been as good as me, but I could have guided you along the right paths.’

‘You mean you could have ruled Michaelhouse by telling Bartholomew what to do,’ said Runham, overhearing. ‘Bartholomew’s election
would have made you Master in all but name.’

Michael gave him a contemptuous glare.

‘So,’ said Langelee with satisfaction. ‘To summarise: Michael, Paul and Bartholomew have declined to stand, which leaves William,
Runham and me. It is clear which one of us is the outstanding candidate.’

‘Is it?’ murmured Michael in Bartholomew’s ear. ‘Who will you choose, Matt? The bigoted friar who would have us all burned
for heresy for holding beliefs that do not directly reflect his own; the cunning lawyer whose most memorable characteristic
is his smug pomposity; or the Archbishop of York’s spy-turned-academic, who is more lout than scholar, and who stoops to using
cheap tricks to eliminate the best man for the task?’

‘Michaelhouse will not thrive under the Mastership of any of them,’ Bartholomew whispered back. ‘It is a case of selecting
the least of three evils.’

‘I suggest we make our decision now, and then announce it after the admissions ceremony,’ said Kenyngham. ‘We are all present,
and I am sure we all know which candidate we want to elect.’

‘It is not my place to speak when I am not yet a Fellow,’ said Suttone, his red, cheery face serious. ‘But I feel I am not
in a position to make a decision of such importance to the College. If you will excuse me, I must abstain.’

‘Well,
I
will not abstain,’ said Clippesby, glaring at Suttone as though the Carmelite had tried to cheat him of something rightfully
his. ‘And it is obvious to me whom we should choose.’

‘Oh, Lord, Matt,’ groaned Michael under his breath.
‘Another opinionated bigot! Why do they all have to come to Michaelhouse?’

‘Suttone seems a decent man,’ said Bartholomew.

‘He does,’ agreed Michael in a whisper. ‘But I do not like Clippesby!’

Clippesby glared around at the assembled Fellows, his oddly intense gaze lingering on the muttering Michael. ‘I do not want
a disgusting Franciscan as Master and I do not approve of men who smell of strong drink at breakfast – as Langelee did this
morning. So, I choose the lawyer.’

‘Well!’ drawled Michael, as an embarrassed silence greeted Clippesby’s statement. ‘You are a man who does not mince his words.’

‘Are all Fellows’ meetings this acrimonious?’ asked Suttone nervously. ‘Only I was led to believe that the hallowed halls
of the University of Cambridge were places of learned debate and enlightenment.’

‘Where on God’s Earth did you hear that?’ asked Langelee. His eyes narrowed. ‘I know! Oxford! Our rival scholars are trying
to make us sound tedious and dull! “Learned debate and enlightenment” indeed!’

The Michaelhouse Fellows processed into the hall in order of seniority. Master Kenyngham led the way, followed by Michael
and William, and then Bartholomew with Father Paul clinging to his arm. Langelee and Runham walked together, while Clippesby
and Suttone brought up the rear. The students were already standing at their places, waiting in tense anticipation to learn
which of the Fellows would be their new Master.

The inauguration of new Fellows was a special event, and an extravagant number of candles had been lit, so the hall was filled
with a golden glow. The fire blazed and crackled, sending flickering shadows across the painted ceiling. The usually bare
wooden tables were covered in
cloths – old, yellowed and stained ones, but cloths nevertheless – and the College silver was displayed on the high table.
To mark the occasion, some of the students had even washed and donned clean gowns. The atmosphere of tense expectation and
muted excitement reminded Bartholomew of Christmas. He wondered whether the students would look quite so cheerful when they
learned who had been elected Master. He suspected they would not.

‘We have gathered this evening to witness the swearing in of two new Fellows,’ intoned Kenyngham mechanically, gesturing for
everyone to sit. ‘I will read the founder’s statutes and the newcomers will be asked to obey these rules, and to defend zealously
the honour and usefulness of the house.’

Michael gave a huge, bored yawn, and reached out to take a handful of nuts from the silver cup that had been placed in front
of him. Langelee had somehow contrived to have his goblet filled with wine before anyone else, and was gulping it noisily.
Bartholomew saw his students, Gray and Bulbeck, exchange a look of amusement at Langelee’s tavern-style manners, while Deynman
had to look away to prevent himself from laughing out loud.

‘The new Fellows must listen carefully to the statutes and ordinances made over time by the Masters and scholars,’ said Kenyngham,
reciting the familiar words without much interest.

‘I am sorry Langelee did what he did,’ said Bartholomew softly to Michael.

‘So am I,’ said Michael. ‘I was looking forward to being Master of Michaelhouse. Unfortunately, Kenyngham’s announcement was
sudden, and I did not have the opportunity to prepare myself properly. Langelee acted before I could put my own plan into
action.’

‘And what plan was that?’ asked Bartholomew warily.

Michael puffed out his cheeks, noting the uneasiness in his friend’s face. ‘Nothing as underhand as the trick Langelee played
on me. I was merely going to suggest the election be postponed for a month, to allow Clippesby and Suttone to make their decisions
with the benefit of knowing each of the candidates.’

‘And during the interim, you would have ensured that only one candidate was able to stand?’ asked Bartholomew.

Michael nodded, unabashed. ‘It would have been done with discretion and cunning – not like Langelee, who has all the subtlety
of a mallet in the groin – and no one would have known that it was I who started the rumours that besmirched the reputations
of the others.’

‘Then you made a grave error of judgement, Brother. You assumed that your rivals would be equally subtle in their strategies,
but you should have known Langelee and William better than that. Runham did: he is a clever man, but he saw such tactics would
not work, and he engaged in the same kind of brazenness employed by Langelee and William.’

‘All right, all right. You do not have to rub it in,’ said Michael irritably. ‘I admit I was ill-prepared. This is all Kenyngham’s
fault. He could not have resigned at a worse time, when I have the Bene’t death and Brother Patrick’s murder to investigate.
My Junior Proctor is in Ely, and I am overwhelmed with work.’

‘What is this business with Master Heytesbury of Merton?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘Offering Oxford something at Cambridge’s
expense does not sound like something you would do, but that letter was definitely in your handwriting.’

Michael gave a grim smile. ‘Of course I am doing nothing that would damage Cambridge – quite the contrary, in fact. Say nothing
to anyone else, but my Bishop and I devised a scheme whereby we would sacrifice a few
small properties in exchange for some information that will gain us a good deal more.’

‘Now that
does
sound like you.’

Michael sighed. ‘Thank you. But Langelee’s interference may have destroyed all hopes of a successful outcome, not to mention
the fact that the delicate nature of the arrangements meant that I could not justify why I was dealing with Heytesbury at
all. But in time my plan will become known, and then he will be revealed as the fool he is. Meanwhile, I must suffer in silence.
But I will have my revenge on Langelee, never you fear.’

Bartholomew knew perfectly well that Michael would not readily forgive Langelee for thwarting him in his ambitions, and that
Langelee would pay dearly. He just hoped he would not have to play a part in it – wittingly or otherwise. Contemplating the
ways in which Langelee would be forced to pay the price for his actions seemed to put Michael in a better mood, and he even
began to enjoy himself.

‘The new Fellows shall also swear not to intrigue or promote litigation contrary to the utility of the house,’ droned Kenyngham,
reading from the dog-eared copy of the statutes and ordinances.

‘That is my favourite one,’ whispered Michael to Bartholomew. ‘It says that intriguing and promoting litigation are perfectly
acceptable, just as long as they are not to the detriment of the College. Our founder was blessed with a stroke of a genius
when he wrote that.’

Bartholomew wondered how the founder had managed to produce such dry and antiquated phrases. Perhaps it was because he had
been a lawyer.

‘They shall swear not to reveal the privy plans of the Fellowship to anyone outside,’ Kenyngham went on, with a casual, but
unmistakable, glance at the hour candle that stood above the hearth.

‘We do not have any privy plans,’ muttered Michael somewhat grumpily. ‘More is the pity. I could have seen to that, had Langelee
not interfered. The only business we have discussed recently is whether we should borrow two marks from the endowment to have
the latrines cleaned. I hardly think the outside world will be falling over itself to hear about that kind of decision – even
though it took us most of the afternoon to reach, thanks to you.’

‘It was important,’ whispered Bartholomew defensively. ‘Clean latrines are essential for the students’ good health – and ours.’

‘You do have some odd ideas, Matt,’ said Michael, taking another handful of nuts with one hand and scratching his arm with
the other. ‘No wonder half the scholars in Cambridge think you are mad. We do not eat in the latrines, you know, or sleep
in them. In fact, most of us spend as little time as possible in them, given their state.’

‘Then my point is proven. And do not scratch, Brother. You will give yourself an infection.’

‘If you think our latrines are bad, you should see the ones at Bene’t!’ said Michael, ignoring the advice. ‘I was obliged
to pay a visit there the day before yesterday, while I was dealing with the Fellow who fell from the scaffolding – Raysoun.’

‘Speaking of Bene’t …’

‘I thought we were speaking of latrines,’ said Michael with a snigger. ‘Or do you consider them
one and the same? That porter who came to fetch you – Osmun – is a nasty piece of work. I remember the student who complained
he had been assaulted. The case against Osmun was dropped, but I am sure he was guilty.’

‘The Bene’t porters are notorious for being rough,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I think they pride themselves on being the surliest,
rudest, most belligerent men in Cambridge.
But did you discover who killed Raysoun? His friend, Wymundham, did not tell me.’

Michael gazed at him in surprise. ‘No one killed Raysoun, Matt. He fell off the scaffolding: his death was an accident.’

‘Was it?’ asked Bartholomew, startled in his turn. ‘But what about his dying words? What about Wymundham’s claim that Bene’t
is an unhappy College with bad feeling among the Fellows?’

‘Where did you hear this?’ demanded Michael. ‘The Master of Bene’t told me that the Fellows are all good friends who rub along
extremely well.’

‘Perhaps Wymundham was confused,’ said Bartholomew, growing confused himself. ‘He was deeply shocked by the death of his friend;
it may have unbalanced him and made him say things that are not true.’

‘Or perhaps Master Heltisle was lying to me,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘I suspected there was something odd going on in
that place – there was an atmosphere of goodwill and cheer that struck me as forced and painful. So, what exactly did Wymundham
tell you?’

William gave a hearty sigh to register his disapproval of the muttered discussion that was taking place during the reading
of the statutes. None of the other Fellows seemed to care. Father Paul and Runham were engaged in a discussion of their own,
while Langelee seemed well on the way to drinking himself into oblivion. Clippesby and Suttone were listening intently, but
after all it was the first time they had heard the statutes read.