Выбрать главу

‘We shall vote for Lyng,’ declared Aidan shortly. ‘Hopeman has his own following.’

‘You mean his fanatics,’ corrected Weasenham, ‘who say he is the only man capable of besting Satan. They tell me that Tynkell tried, but was unequal to the task, so the Devil killed him – before flying off to dine in the Dominican Priory.’

‘Watch what you say,’ warned Morden, before Michael could tell them about the killer’s cloak. ‘You know perfectly well that Lucifer flew over the top of us, and went to sup with the Benedictines at St Edmundsbury.’

‘Now, now,’ chided Michael mildly, although anger flashed in his eyes. ‘No slandering of rival Orders, please. It is ungentlemanly.’

‘Perhaps other contenders will step forward,’ mused Weasenham. ‘I imagine there are plenty who think they can do better than the five currently on offer.’

‘The statutes stipulate a timetable for these events,’ said Nicholas, ‘and the deadline for nominations was noon today. No new names can be accepted now.’

‘Then God help the University,’ declared Weasenham.

‘On the contrary, we have the man we need,’ said Kolvyle, glaring at him. ‘Namely Godrich, who is a skilled administrator, a fine warrior, and knows the King. I agree with your reservations about the others, though – Hopeman is too radical, Lyng too meek, and Suttone and Thelnetham have connections to Michaelhouse.’

Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘You have connections there yourself, lest you had forgotten. You are our Junior Fellow.’

‘Yes – and it has taught me that Suttone would be rubbish,’ flashed Kolvyle.

There was a startled silence, as it was rare to hear anyone publicly disparage fellow members of the foundation that housed him and paid his stipend. However, while Michael was livid at the gross breach of etiquette, he knew better than to challenge Kolvyle in front of an audience. Instead, he confined himself to patting him on the head like an errant child, a gesture that drew chuckles from the onlookers and a furious scowl from the recipient. Then someone else entered the fray: Thelnetham, whose cloak was fastened with a large purple-jewelled brooch of a type rarely seen on a man, let alone a cleric.

‘I am proud to have been a member of Michaelhouse,’ he said quietly. ‘It is a fine place, and I deeply regret the misunderstanding that led me to resign. I would return there in an instant, should I be asked. However, in the meantime, I believe I will make a worthy Chancellor. For a start, I have published more academic treatises than any other candidate.’

‘But you are not a warrior,’ said Kolvyle in disdain. ‘Nor do you have links to royalty.’

Thelnetham smiled. ‘I sincerely doubt I shall be required to defend the University with a sword. And as for royal connections, I shall acquire those once I am in post. There is nothing to say they need be of long duration. Indeed, perhaps it is preferable to have none, as old alliances might be dangerous or inappropriate.’

‘That is a good point,’ nodded Secretary Nicholas. ‘It is common knowledge that Godrich has enemies at Court – and his enemies will become ours, if he is Chancellor.’

‘Thelnetham speaks well,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew, as Nicholas’s remark occasioned a furious denial from Godrich. ‘But no one will elect a man who wears women’s jewellery and minces about like a–’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ came a voice from behind. It was Weasenham, his eyes alight with the prospect of gossip.

‘Murder,’ lied Michael. ‘Do you have any intelligence to impart?’

Weasenham’s eyes gleamed brighter still. ‘Well, I was nearby when Moleyns fell. Unfortunately, I could not get a place at the front of the throng, because his wife and friend were in the way.’

‘They told us it took some time to reach him,’ said Michael. ‘They had to dismount first, then fight their way through people like you – idle gawpers.’

‘Then they are lying,’ said Weasenham, unfazed by the rebuke. ‘However, they did not kill him. That honour goes to Satan, who claimed Tynkell’s life, too. Everyone saw the fight on the roof, while Moleyns rode him down the High Street.’

‘Stephen,’ said Michael coldly. ‘The horse that Moleyns rode is named Stephen.’

‘That is not what the soldiers say,’ countered Weasenham with malicious satisfaction, before turning on his heel and stalking away to regale his customers with his dubious theories.

Chapter 4

The sun was shining the following day, although its light was pale and thin, with no warmth in it. Even so, it lifted Bartholomew’s spirits, and he found himself humming as he strode around the town, visiting patients. The man whose thumb he had amputated was doing better than he expected, while the lad with the reset leg was comfortable and cheerful.

When he had finished his rounds, he delivered a lecture on Galen’s Prognostica in Michaelhouse, then asked Aungel to read the next instalment of Maimonides’ views on breathing disorders to his first years, while he tested the remaining classes on their grasp of humoral theory. He joined his colleagues in the hall for the noonday meal, after which Aungel offered to supervise a writing assignment, so that the physician could help Michael.

The first item on their agenda was to visit Edith Stanmore, given that one murder victim had been buying cloth from her while the other had fought for his life on the tower. Bartholomew knew where she would be at such an hour – at her husband’s tomb. They arrived to discover it a flurry of activity: Petit was there with three of his apprentices.

‘Wonders will never cease,’ breathed Bartholomew. ‘I know Petit said he would work on Oswald today, but he has never kept his promises before.’

‘The Worshipful Company of Masons probably forbids it,’ drawled Michael. ‘Along with staying at one job for more than three hours in any given day.’

‘It probably also insists that all its members have at least four commissions on the go at any one time, and that while work must never be finished on schedule, bills should always be presented early.’

Michael laughed. ‘But one of those apprentices is Lucas. Dick will have interrogated him by now, but I say we also buy whatever intelligence he has to offer. He may be more forthcoming with us than the Sheriff.’

He and Bartholomew walked to the little aisle near the chancel, where Edith was watching the craftsmen build a hoist to lift the heavy granite slab that would eventually seal Oswald’s stone-lined vault. Bartholomew was glad the burial chamber would soon be closed, because every time he saw it, he was reminded that his beloved sister would lie inside it one day.

He and she were unmistakably siblings, although she had aged since the death of her husband. Her once-raven locks were streaked with grey, and there was a sadness in her dark eyes that worried him, although she smiled when she saw him and Michael.

‘There has been a miracle,’ she said serenely. ‘Petit claimed the mortar was too wet to allow work on Oswald’s monument today, but it set spontaneously when I marched into St Mary the Great and made a speech about craftsmen reneging on their vows.’

‘Your tirade had nothing to do with it,’ countered Petit stiffly. ‘I told you I would return here at the earliest opportunity, and I did. I am a man of my word.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Edith, ‘because if you let me down one more time, I shall cancel the effigy, and have a brass instead. Indeed, I went so far as to discuss the matter with Lakenham, who is here to erect a memorial to poor John Cew.’