‘Which does not include eating slugs, presumably,’ muttered Bartholomew. He shook his head when Thelnetham regarded him questioningly. ‘You were seen. Find somewhere else.’
‘Yes, do,’ agreed Michael with a shudder. ‘It cannot be pleasant to lurk down here, especially for a man of refined tastes like yourself.’
‘No,’ sighed Thelnetham ruefully. ‘Unfortunately, the nicer refuges are always occupied by others. You have no idea how hard it is to find somewhere private in this hectic little town.’
‘Did you come here yesterday?’ asked Bartholomew, hoping to narrow down the time that Lyng had been dead.
‘No – we have been too busy. The last time we met was on Wednesday, but that was near the Great Bridge, not here.’
‘Did you move Lyng? Or tidy his robes?’
‘I probably jostled him when I stumbled over his corpse. But the moment we realised that he was … well, we both backed away as fast as we could. I hurried to Michaelhouse, while Nicholas went to tell Lyng’s colleagues at Maud’s. He told them to bring a bier, students to carry it, and the necessary equipment for anointing a body, but they should be here soon.’
Michael gestured to his beadles, telling them to let Nicholas through.
‘It is not what you think, Brother,’ the secretary began in a frightened gabble. ‘We were looking for lost coins, to donate to the University Chest and–’
‘It is all right, Nicholas,’ said Thelnetham softly. ‘They know my habits from living with me at Michaelhouse. They do not judge us.’
‘Then I hope they will be discreet,’ gulped Nicholas, not much comforted. ‘Our friendship is private.’
‘It will not stay so,’ warned Michael. ‘People will wonder what you were doing down here together – and the tale will out if Thelnetham persists in standing for election, because he will be in the public eye. It will be better for you both if he withdraws.’
The Gilbertine smiled thinly. ‘I shall say the wind caught my hat, so I came to get it. No one need know that Nicholas was with me.’
‘But it would be a lie,’ said Michael. ‘From a man who aims to lead our University.’
‘I told you it was a mistake to trust him, Thelnetham,’ said Nicholas bitterly. ‘We should have sent him an anonymous message, as I suggested. Then no one would be trying to blackmail you.’
Thelnetham’s face was pale in the flickering torchlight. ‘I will not step down – it would be feeble to bow to pressure, and I am no weakling. Very well, then, Brother. Bray my secrets to the world if you must. I shall take the resulting censure in my stride.’
‘I am neither a gossip nor an extortionist,’ objected Michael huffily, although Bartholomew was not so sure about the second, given that he was so determined to see Suttone in power. ‘I will keep your trust. However, Weasenham is among the spectators, so do not be surprised if the truth – or some approximation of it – seeps out.’
Thelnetham inclined his head. ‘Thank you for the warning.’
‘Yet it is convenient for you that Lyng is dead,’ Michael went on. ‘He was by far the most popular candidate.’
‘Perhaps,’ acknowledged Thelnetham. ‘But I am quite capable of fighting with my tongue, and have no need to resort to physical violence. However, the same cannot be said of Godrich and Hopeman, so I suggest you look to them first.’
‘And Thelnetham has not been alone since Lyng disappeared anyway,’ added Nicholas. ‘He has either been out campaigning with me, or in his priory with his brethren. Between them and me, every moment of his time can be accounted for.’
‘You should speak to Suttone, too,’ said Thelnetham. ‘Just because he is your favourite does not mean that he is innocent. After all, why is he not here? All the other hopefuls are keen to learn what is happening in the University they aim to govern, so why does he keep his distance?’
When the Maud’s men arrived with the bier, Bartholomew helped them lift Lyng on it, after which they carried him to their church. The onlookers followed in silence, all cloaked and hooded against the bite of an icy winter morning. When they reached Holy Trinity, Father Aidan opened the door for the body and its bearers, then closed it firmly behind them, leaving the spectators to mill aimlessly in the graveyard, unwilling to disperse lest they missed something interesting. Hopeman was quick to take advantage, and began to speak in a self-important bellow, much to the annoyance of Godrich.
‘It is inappropriate to electioneer on an occasion such as this,’ he informed Michael imperiously. ‘So do your duty, and shut him up.’
Michael had actually drawn breath to silence Hopeman, but no one told the Senior Proctor how to do his job, and he resented the presumption extremely. He closed his mouth with a snap.
‘When will our University accept that it needs a righteous priest at its helm?’ Hopeman was bawling. ‘Satan has claimed Lyng’s life, showing us that he was not pious enough, but Godrich, Thelnetham and Suttone are worse.’
‘You zealot!’ sneered Godrich, abandoning the moral high ground when he saw that staying quiet would put him at a disadvantage. ‘God will not want a low-bred fellow like you as Chancellor. You would set the religious Orders at each other’s throats within a week.’
‘Yes – there will be factions,’ ranted Hopeman, eyes blazing. ‘Two: those who stand with me to fight evil, and those who delight in it. I do not need to ask which one you will be on.’
Godrich responded with a stream of insults that had the Dominican bristling his fury. Their followers responded in kind, and soon there were forty men haranguing each other. Thelnetham urged them to moderate their language, but no one listened, and he retreated sharply when Godrich began berating him as well.
‘You should have listened to Godrich, and ordered that lunatic priest home,’ said Whittlesey, coming to murmur in Michael’s ear. ‘It would have averted an unedifying scene.’
‘There would have been no “unedifying scene” if Godrich had maintained a dignified silence,’ Michael shot back.
‘But a good leader would have quelled this spat before it started,’ argued Whittlesey. ‘Your decision to let Hopeman rail was a poor one.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Michael stiffly, ‘it is allowing our scholars to see both men in their true light, thus enabling them to make a more informed choice. In other words, it has reinforced Hopeman’s reputation as a truculent radical, and exposed Godrich as a man who does not know when to hold his tongue.’
‘And I suppose that makes Suttone more appealing?’ asked Whittlesey drily.
Michael smiled serenely. ‘I would say it does. However, you are right: this unseemly behaviour has gone on quite long enough.’
He waded into the mêlée just as words were turning to shoves, although it transpired to be much more difficult to restore peace than it had been to break it. Moreover, the raised voices had attracted additional spectators, including the kind of townsfolk who always appeared when the University was at loggerheads with itself, ready to join in any brawl.
‘Enough!’ roared Michael eventually, a stentorian bellow of which any member of his choir would have been proud. He scowled first at Godrich, then at Hopeman, and both had the sense to stay quiet. ‘Now tell me where have you been since eight o’clock on Thursday evening?’
A hush fell over the whole churchyard as people craned forward to listen to the replies.
‘I cannot possibly list all the places I have visited,’ declared Hopeman haughtily. ‘That was …’ He did some calculations on thick, grubby fingers; Godrich smirked his disdain that the Dominican should be unable to work it out in his head. ‘More than thirty-four hours ago. However, I was never alone. My followers were with me every moment.’