‘Lord!’ murmured Bartholomew. Tulyet was a friend – to the University, as well as personally – and he did not want a valued
relationship soured because of William. ‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing – he just walked away,’ replied William. ‘But he was clenching his fists at his side, so I know my words had hit
home.’
‘They were clenched because they were itching to punch you,’ said Langelee, as he entered the conclave. ‘I have just come
from the castle, where I was summoned to tell him why you should not be locked up. He thinks you are a danger to the King’s
peace.’
‘I have rattled Satan’s familiars,’ crowed William. ‘Tulyet would not complain about me if he were innocent, would he? I shall
have our town free of heretics yet. Of course, I would rather see the Dominicans leave than Tulyet. I have always liked Tulyet,
to be honest.’
‘Which of Carton’s books do you plan to incinerate?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Not the Avicenna?’
‘No – I plan to destroy the ones
you
removed from his chest and took to Deynman,’ replied William coolly. ‘When I heard you had been given the task of deciding
what was profane, I knew I would have to do it myself, given your lax attitude towards blasphemy. It was not easy to prise
them from Deynman, but I managed in the end.’
‘Those were theological and philosophical texts,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘Including some you use on a regular basis, so they
cannot be blasphemous. And if you have harmed Deynman—’
‘I waited until he was out, then broke his locks with a stone,’ interrupted William. ‘I have not inspected the tones properly
yet, but I am sure there will be some that will make for a merry blaze.’
Bartholomew regarded him in distaste. ‘Book-burning says you are frightened of new ideas.’
‘I
am
frightened of new ideas,’ said William fervently. ‘If they were any good, they would be in the Bible – and the fact that
they are not means they should never be entertained by right-thinking men.’
‘But we are scholars,’ protested Bartholomew, knowing he was wasting his time but unable to stop himself. ‘We have a moral
responsibility to assess novel theories, and push back the barriers of our collective knowledge.’
‘Exactly,’ said William. ‘Men like you will be pushing these barriers back to the point where any heretical notion can be
aired in the debating chamber. Well, it will not happen as long as
I
am here.’
‘I usually fail to see the problem with most condemned texts,’ said Langelee, rummaging in the wall-cupboard for his sceptre
– the ceremonial symbol of his authority,
which he used to signal the beginning and end of meetings. ‘They invariably make perfect sense, but just happen to go against
some doctrine cooked up by men with narrow minds. So leave Carton’s collections alone, Father. We will have no book-burning
at Michaelhouse.’
William’s face fell, while Bartholomew and Michael exchanged pleased glances. Neither would have expected Langelee to take
a positive stand on books, which he tended to hold in low regard unless they were valuable, in which case he agitated for
them to be sold. There were always bills to be paid or some costly repair to be made to the College fabric, and the Master
was a practical man.
‘But—’ began the friar.
‘That is my last word,’ said Langelee firmly.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, the conclave became hotter. Michael complained bitterly that the last of the Fellows –
Wynewyk and Suttone – were late, while Bartholomew felt himself grow more drowsy. Langelee and William bickered over the ethics
of selling, rather than incinerating, heretical texts, and the Master won the debate when he pointed out that the proceeds
could be used to buy wine. Bartholomew suspected Mildenale would not be so easily swayed from his convictions, and neither
would Carton or Father Thomas have been.
It was not long before Suttone waddled into the conclave to take his customary seat. He was a Carmelite friar, and when he,
Langelee and Michael were in a row, Bartholomew was reminded that his College possessed some very large men. The physician
was hardly diminutive himself, because he was tall and his medical practice kept him fit, but he always felt like a
waif when he was with his colleagues. The bench groaned its objection, and he looked in his medical bag to ensure he had salves
for the kind of injuries that might occur if it collapsed and deposited them all on the floor.
‘Shall we discuss the weather while we wait for Wynewyk?’ suggested Langelee. ‘It is less contentious than text-burning, and
we should at least start the meeting as friends.’
‘I would rather talk about the plague,’ said Suttone, one of those who was convinced that it was on its way back. ‘Sinful
men have not mended their ways, and—’
Langelee cut him off with a groan. ‘I do not want to hear it. We had more than enough of that in William’s Saturday Sermon.
I would prefer to be regaled with your views on the weather.’
‘Crops are dying in the fields because of the heat,’ began Michael obligingly. ‘And it is common knowledge that this harvest
will be a poor one. There will be a shortage of grain for bread, and we shall all starve before the year is out.’
‘Nonsense,’ countered Suttone, thus proving that even the climate was a controversial subject when discussed by scholars.
‘There has been rain galore in the north, and they will have plenty to sell to those whose harvest has failed.’
‘But they will charge a fortune,’ said Wynewyk, as he bustled in with a sheaf of parchments under his arm. ‘And we are desperately
short of cash at the moment, as I have been telling you.’
‘Perhaps so, but we still have to eat,’ said Michael, to make sure Wynewyk knew that victuals were not an optional extra.
‘Do not worry, Brother; Wynewyk will keep our bellies
full,’ said Langelee, shooting the lawyer a look that said there would be trouble if he did not. ‘But winter is months away,
and we should not worry about it now. Who knows what might happen in that time?’
‘True,’ said William. ‘After all, look at Carton. Worrying about food for this coming winter would have been a waste of
his
time, would it not?’
Bartholomew frowned, thinking it a callous remark from a man who professed to be Carton’s friend. But before he could berate
him for it, Langelee banged on the table with his sceptre, and announced that the meeting was underway.
‘There are two matters to consider today,’ he said. ‘First, the status of the houses we are buying and selling. Second, this
awkward business regarding the Bishop of Ely. And finally Carton.’
‘That is three matters,’ said Wynewyk pedantically. ‘Shall we discuss them in that order?’
‘Carton first,’ said Langelee. ‘I know it is a painful subject, but it is also the most important. I have just read his will,
and I am happy to report that he left us everything he owned – we are his sole beneficiary. Does anyone have anything else
to say about him?’
‘I do,’ said Suttone. ‘The reason I was late is because I went to visit his corpse. Margery Sewale was pulled from her grave,
and I was afraid someone might defile him, too. But he was untouched.’
Bartholomew regarded him in astonishment. ‘Why would anyone attack Carton’s remains?’
Suttone shrugged. ‘Hopefully, no one will, but Carton was a member of Michaelhouse, and Margery was
associated
with Michaelhouse. I just wanted to be sure he was safe.’
‘Father Thomas was associated with Michaelhouse, too, because he knew me,’ said William. He shot Bartholomew an unpleasant
look. ‘I miss him.’
‘We know,’ said Langelee with an exaggerated sigh, while Bartholomew stared down at the table, guilt washing over him. ‘But
what is done is done, and we should try to move on.’
‘What shall we do about replacing Carton, then?’ asked William, giving the impression that he had no intention of moving anywhere.
‘I am not taking on more teaching – I have heretics to rout.’
‘None of us can carry Carton’s classes,’ said Suttone. ‘We never have a free moment to prepare future lectures as it is. I
hoped to write an essay on the return of the Death this morning, to read at the meeting of the Guild of Corpus Christi next
week, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.’
‘You intend to wax lyrical about the Death at a Guild meeting?’ asked Langelee in disbelief. ‘I thought those occasions were
supposed to be full of merrymaking, wine and good health.’
Suttone looked crestfallen, but then brightened. ‘But the letter inviting me to give the main address stipulated no such restrictions.
Besides, I would be failing in my sacred duty if I did not describe the bleak, hopeless future that lies ahead of us all.’
‘I see,’ said Michael, while Bartholomew thought the Guild was stupid to have chosen Suttone to orate at one of their functions,
given his obsession with the plague. ‘However, the Master is right – these events
are
supposed to be fun. Perhaps you should consider talking about something a little more … jolly.’
‘Jolly?’ echoed Suttone in distaste. ‘I do not think I
can make the pestilence jolly. Of course, there were amusing incidents, such as when the last Prior of Barnwell was sewn into
his shroud but then transpired to be alive. Do you recall how he managed to free an arm and grab a silver candlestick, as
if he intended to take it with him?’
‘That should have the place rocking with mirth,’ said Michael. ‘However, I was thinking more along the lines of a reading,
which everyone might enjoy. Perhaps a ballad or a tale of chivalry.’
‘Chivalry during the plague?’ asked Suttone, frowning.
‘No,
not
during the plague,’ said Michael, becoming exasperated. ‘Forget about the plague.’
‘Forget about the plague?’ Suttone was shocked. ‘I do not think any of us should do that. It—’
‘We seem to be drifting away from the agenda here,’ interrupted Langelee. ‘We are supposed to be talking about Carton. I have
decided that he will be buried tomorrow, by the way.’
‘That is too soon, Master,’ objected William immediately. ‘It does not give us time to arrange an occasion that is suitably
stately. He was one of our own, after all.’
‘I know,’ said Langelee. ‘But the weather is against us. Prior Pechem offered to find him a spot in the Franciscan cemetery,
and I think we should accept. We shall hold a grand requiem later, when it is cooler – St Michael’s can be very stuffy when
it is full. Does that meet with everyone’s approval? Good. Then let us move on to the second item. Wynewyk, tell us about
these houses.’
Wynewyk put down his pen. ‘As you know, we inherited Sewale Cottage from the generous and much-lamented Margery, and at our
last meeting we agreed to sell it.’
William nodded. ‘It is a pleasant place with a large
garden, but it is on Bridge Street. We decided to hawk it, and use the money to acquire the Refham shops instead, which are
next door to us. It is better to expand our core site, rather than to collect houses in distant parts of the town.’
‘I was cornered last week by a man interested in buying Sewale Cottage,’ said Langelee. ‘That is why I called this meeting,
actually. If folk are going to approach individual Fellows, then we need to be sure we do not contradict each other by quoting
different prices.’
‘Who cornered you?’ asked Michael.
‘That wealthy merchant from Norwich – Spynk.’
‘He came to me, too,’ said Wynewyk. ‘He said he plans to develop business interests in Cambridge, and a small house on Bridge
Street would suit him very well.’
‘He offered me a horse today,’ said Bartholomew. ‘In return, he wanted inside information about bids made by other potential
buyers.’
‘Good,’ said Langelee, pleased. ‘We could do with another nag. Next time you meet, you can report that Barnwell Priory is
the most serious contender. Carton was negotiating with them.’
‘He already knows that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He sent his wife to spy there on Saturday, on the pretext of purchasing honey.’
‘That is the day Carton died,’ pounced Michael. ‘In the afternoon.’
Bartholomew had worked that out, too. He nodded. ‘She must have left before the commotion started, or she would have mentioned
it.’
‘Unless she was responsible,’ said Michael pointedly.
‘She will not have stabbed Carton,’ said Langelee, with such conviction that Bartholomew glanced at him sharply,
wondering why the Master felt able to make such a firm statement. ‘Seduce him, very possibly. But kill? Never! I wonder why
Prior Norton wants to buy Sewale Cottage. It is too small to be used as a hostel for his novice-canons, so why is he so keen
to have it?’
‘Barnwell will buy anything,’ explained Wynewyk. ‘They own more property than all the other Orders put together. And the more
they buy, the richer they become, from rents.’
‘It goes against the grain to sell to another Order,’ said William. ‘Still, better Augustinians than Dominicans. I would never
sell
anything
to a Dominican.’
‘Really,’ muttered Langelee under his breath. ‘You do surprise me.’
‘However,’ William boomed, fixing each of his colleagues with a beady glare. As one they braced themselves, knowing from experience
that an announcement was about to be made, and that it was almost certain to be objectionable. ‘I have it on good authority
that the canons of Barnwell want Sewale Cottage for sinister reasons.’
‘And what authority is that, pray?’ asked Michael, when the friar did not elaborate, but merely sat with his lips pursed meaningfully,
as if the declaration was all the explanation that was needed.
‘I have my sources,’ replied William haughtily. ‘And they are secret. But it was Mildenale, if you must know. He says they
plan to build a granary on the site.’
‘That is not sinister,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘Sewale Cottage is close to wharves they already own, and the garden has
plenty of room for such a structure. They will unload their barges, and store—’
‘Actually, their purpose in building the granary is to entice rats to the town,’ declared William. ‘And that
is
sinister. Surely, you have not forgotten how they burned the Hardy house last year?’