‘Godrich was monitoring Whittlesey on the grounds of a forged letter from Thelnetham and Nicholas,’ objected Michael. ‘It had nothing to do with me.’
‘I told Whittlesey you were innocent, but he refused to listen.’
‘But why did he not ask me about it?’ cried Michael in bitter frustration. ‘It was hardly cause to gallop off and steal my See.’
‘To be honest, I suspect it was something he had been planning for some time,’ said Meadowman. ‘Claiming that you have “nasty secrets” is just a convenient excuse.’
‘Which was why he followed you so slyly, of course,’ said Bartholomew, tempted to point out that he had been wary of the envoy from the first time he had set eyes on him. ‘He was not watching you to see if you were worthy to fill Sheppey’s shoes, but to find a pretext for stealing them from you.’
Meadowman reached in his scrip and produced a piece of parchment. ‘I have a message for you from someone else – a monk who came to Canterbury for the installation. He visited me in prison.’
Michael took the missive with hands that shook and scanned it quickly. ‘It is from Prior Robert, head of the Rochester Benedictines, and an old friend. He informs me that Whittlesey will not rule for long, because the Bishop of Bangor is already contesting the appointment. There have been several unseemly spats, and he advises me to keep my distance.’
Bartholomew took the letter and read it himself. ‘Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, Brother. Robert says that both men are much diminished by this quarrel, and you do not want to be involved in that sort of thing.’
‘You may be right,’ sighed Michael. ‘And I was worried about leaving my University so soon after Thelnetham’s machinations. It will not hurt to oversee matters here a while longer.’
‘It will not hurt at all,’ agreed Langelee. ‘And there will be other dioceses.’
‘Not if the Bishop of Ely falls from grace,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘Because no one else at Avignon will remind the Pope that there is an eager and competent candidate for the next available bishopric.’
‘Whittlesey will,’ said Langelee. ‘Write and congratulate him on his good fortune, and claim that you bear him no grudge. He will be so relieved that he is not to fight you as well as Bangor, that you will turn him into an ally. And if Ely does fall, who will be on hand here to step into the breach?’
Michael brightened. ‘Ely would be much more convenient than Kent.’
‘It would,’ agreed Langelee. ‘And once you are installed there, you can devise a plan to pay him back for this monstrous betrayal. It is–’
He stopped speaking as Clippesby arrived. The Dominican had Ethel the chicken under one arm and the College cat under the other. Neither looked particularly happy with the arrangement.
‘A carriage has just arrived,’ he reported, and smiled at Bartholomew. ‘Matilde is in it.’
‘So,’ sighed Langelee ruefully. ‘We keep Michael but lose Bartholomew. What a pity. Aungel is able, but hardly of the same calibre.’
‘You had better go and meet her, Matt,’ said Michael, when the physician made no effort to move. ‘It is time to make your decision. And just be grateful that you have a choice – unlike me, presented with a fait accompli.’
‘Well, go on, then, boy,’ urged Cynric. ‘See what terms she offers. You can always refuse.’
‘You can,’ agreed Langelee. ‘And if you need help negotiating a better deal, then call on me. I will not let her cheat you.’
‘Follow your heart, Matt,’ said Michael softly. ‘It will not let you down.’
Historical Note
Grand funerary monuments were popular among the medieval rich, and grieving kin had a choice of ways to commemorate their loved ones. The more expensive option was a tomb topped with a sculpted effigy, while the cheaper one was a brass. One of the most famous fourteenth-century latteners was Richard Lakenham, who had a wife named Cristine and an apprentice named James Reames.
A paper in Historical Research by Nigel Saul, Jonathan Mackman and Christopher Whittick relates the curious case of a mason named John Petit (he had an apprentice named Peter Lucas), who was taken to court for producing inferior work in 1421 by the executors of Sir John Dallingridge. One of these executors was Henry Cook the barber. A fragment of Dallingridge’s tomb still survives in Bodiam Castle, but it is an alabaster effigy, not the marble tomb that was specified in the contract. This suggests that Petit’s services were dispensed with, and someone else was hired to provide the finished product. Dallingridge was a Sussex man, and never made arrangements to join the University in Cambridge.
Other characters in A Grave Concern were also real. Michaelhouse scholars included Master Ralph de Langelee, Michael (de Causton), William (de Gotham), John Clippesby, Thomas Suttone, William Thelnetham and William Kolvyle (Colville). John Aungel, Francis Mallet and John Islaye were later members of the College.
Thomas Hopeman was a Dominican friar who got into trouble in 1355 for going overseas (probably to Avignon) without a licence; he wrote several commentaries on the Bible. William Morden was Prior of the Cambridge Black Friars, and Byri (or Bury) was one of his priests. James Nicholas was a University clerk in the 1360s, while John Godrich was a Fellow of King’s Hall. He was the son of the King’s cook, and later became keeper of various royal forests.
Roger Frisby was a Franciscan priest who attended the University but later embroiled himself in politics and was hanged for treason in 1402. Richard Milde was vicar of St Clement’s in the 1350s, and Hugh de Gundrede was a thief who spent time in Cambridge Gaol in the 1330s.
There was indeed an election for the post of Chancellor around 1360. This position had been held by Richard Lyng in 1339, 1345–1346 and 1351–1352. Lyng actually died in 1355. By March 1359, William Tynkell had stopped being Chancellor, and went on to an ecclesiastical career before his death in 1370. Thomas Suttone became Chancellor in March 1359, and was heavily involved in expanding Michaelhouse’s holdings. He died in 1384.
John Sheppey, Bishop of Rochester, died in 1360. He was succeeded by the Benedictine William Whittlesey, who had been Master of Peterhouse. Whittlesey was related to Archbishop Islip, which may explain his meteoric rise. He stayed at Rochester for two years before becoming Bishop of Worcester, and eventually succeeded his uncle as Archbishop of Canterbury in 1368. He died six years later, and left his law books to Peterhouse.
Sir John Moleyns was a flamboyant character, who rose from obscure beginnings to embroil himself in all manner of trouble; his entry in the Oxford New Dictionary of National Biography lists him as ‘administrator and criminal’. He married Egidia in the 1320s, and promptly murdered her uncle Peter Poges, so that she would inherit his estates. The manor of Stoke Poges then became the centre of Moleyns’ power. He was a lawyer, and avoided a murder conviction by picking his own jury. His partner in crime was fellow Justice of the Common Bench, John Inge.
Moleyns was later accused of treason, and was obliged to flee to France. He returned to favour in 1346 by joining the Crécy campaign, but it was not long before he was in trouble again. He had been appointed Queen’s Steward but by 1357 he had blotted his copy book by indulging in robbery, cattle rustling, horse theft, burglary and harbouring felons. He was found guilty and imprisoned in Windsor Castle. He was later taken to Nottingham, and then Cambridge, where he probably died in 1360. Egidia was pardoned shortly afterwards, and the estates that had been confiscated were returned to her. She died seven years later.