‘Oh, Lord, Matt!’ groaned Michael, as a sudden roar of furious voices reverberated around the empty streets from the Square. ‘We should not have wasted time listening to Suttone’s confession. Now we are too late to prevent this riot – and it is Michaelhouse’s fault!’
‘It is,’ agreed Cynric uncompromisingly. ‘You should not have dismissed the choir and the servants or tried to cheat the builders.’
‘Will the town really attack us?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Is there no way to prevent it?’
‘Yes,’ replied Cynric. ‘You can give the workmen their due. Nothing less will spare Michaelhouse from being stormed by a good part of the town. They mean business, and I am not sure that even your strong walls will protect you this time.’
They arrived at the College to find that Langelee had not been idle. He had barricaded the back gate and set a guard of servants to watch it, and had soldiers from the Castle lined up along the front wall with bows and arrows at the ready. The students were prepared to defend themselves and their College, too. They were armed with a vicious assortment of sharpened sticks, short swords and even a mace. Deynman and Bulbeck, directed by Clippesby, were dragging parts of the scaffolding to pile against the main gate, while Gray lined up the others like some kind of military parade.
While Michael briefly outlined to the other Fellows what had happened to Suttone and about the treasure Wilson stole and Runham sold, Kenyngham scuttled back and forth in dismay, appalled that once again his College was to be the scene of violence. The new Carmelite – the real Suttone – took one look at the preparations that were underway and promptly fled, claiming he had left something at the friary on Milne Street. William watched him go with considerable disapproval.
‘Typical!’ he spat in disdain. ‘Carmelites are always far more interested in saving their own skins than in doing their duty. If he had not been so feeble over his injured arm, we would have known that the other Suttone was an impostor a good deal earlier. And then Runham might still be alive.’
‘Then thank the good Lord he is a malingerer,’ said Langelee fervently. ‘It was a black day for Michaelhouse when that evil tyrant was elected Master. If everyone had voted for me, then none of this would have happened.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘What we should be thinking about now is how to protect Michaelhouse.’
‘Michaelhouse will come to no harm,’ said Langelee confidently, laying a thick, calloused hand fondly on the creamy yellow stones of the front wall. ‘The rabble of builders and music-makers who plan to attack us will not make much headway against this.’
‘Music-makers?’ asked Kenyngham, startled, looking up from where he knelt among the pile of soap parings and recovered jewellery.
‘Forgive me, Master Kenyngham,’ said Langelee. ‘I had forgotten that the word “music” is not one that is usually associated with that gaggle of caterwaulers who like to be known as the choir.’
‘They are improving,’ said Michael, offended. ‘But I am sure my choir is not part of this mob.’
‘They are, Brother,’ said Cynric. ‘You have not reinstated them as they expected, and they are only too willing to vent their ire against Michaelhouse.’
‘We must find the rest of that treasure hidden by Wilson and Runham,’ said Michael urgently. ‘If we can show the mob that we do indeed possess ninety pounds, then they might disperse before any fighting begins. How much can we lay our hands on now?’
‘Probably about seventy pounds with the soap jewellery,’ said Langelee.
‘It is not enough,’ said Kenyngham. ‘These are not stupid men – they will know we are short.’
‘Ask Agatha to clean these baubles off,’ said Langelee, glancing down at the soapy bracelets and necklaces that lay on the ground. ‘If we pile them in the chest, the workmen may think we have more than we do.’
Kenyngham shook his head. ‘They will want to see irrefutable evidence that we have the entire amount in cash – not a few pounds and a heap of trinkets.’
‘True,’ said William, picking up one of the pieces and inspecting it briefly with an experienced eye. ‘Many of these items are of little value – gilt and coloured glass.’
‘Then we must find where Runham stored the rest of his treasure,’ said Michael. ‘The only problem is, I do not know where to start.’
‘His room, of course,’ said William. ‘That is where Wilson hid a lot of it, you say. I will take a couple of students and start looking there right now.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Langelee, running after him. ‘The Master’s room is the finest chamber in the College, and I would not like to see it destroyed because you are impatient or unable to see that some of the furnishings are delicate. Kenyngham says he will resign again soon. The new Master will have to live in that room – and it might be me.’
‘Over my dead body,’ muttered Michael, as he left.
‘I suspect that Runham has removed anything easily recoverable from his room already,’ said Clippesby hesitantly. His hair, greasy and unkempt, stood in a spiky circle, so that with his staring eyes he had the look of a frightened cat. ‘And then he put them in the church, just as you told us. So, I think it would be better to look elsewhere for the rest.’
‘I agree,’ said Michael, barely looking at him as he desperately tried to think of ways to convince a furious mob that Michaelhouse was not twenty pounds short. ‘Where did you have in mind?’
Clippesby looked blank for a moment, but then brightened. ‘He may have buried it in the orchard. I will go there.’
‘The orchard is a large place,’ said Bartholomew, regarding him uncertainly. ‘How will you know where to look?’
‘Voices,’ said Clippesby mysteriously. ‘I hear voices. They will tell me.’
He strode away towards the small gate that led to the gardens. Bartholomew gazed after him, wondering whether to fetch him back.
‘That man is not sane, Matt,’ said Michael. ‘Voices indeed! Who does he think he is? The Virgin Mary?’
‘Remember what Runham said about him?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘That he was ill before he came to us? I imagine that the stresses and uncertainties of these past few days have unbalanced him, and that we have made the poor man ill again with our accusations and suspicions.’
‘Is it safe to allow him in the orchard, do you think?’ asked Kenyngham, wringing his hands in despair as he saw yet one more problem to contend with. ‘Are you sure he will not ram a spade through the skull of one of the students?’
‘I do not think so,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is best to leave him to his own devices. We will only distress him if we try to prevent him from doing what he wants.’
‘Very well,’ said Kenyngham unhappily. He pushed Clippesby from his mind, and turned his attention to the matter of the hidden gold. ‘I will look in the attics in the south wing.’
‘Take Deynman with you,’ suggested Bartholomew, his immediate thought to put his slow-witted student in a place where he might be safe if the mob attacked. ‘Gray and Bulbeck will stay here and ring the bell if the mob starts to mass outside.’
‘I do not think this treasure is in the College, boy,’ said Cynric in a low voice to Bartholomew.
‘Where is it, then?’ demanded Michael, overhearing and coming towards the Welshman. Cynric seldom ventured an opinion about such matters that was not worth hearing.
‘Do you remember giving me a document to look after when we were in Suffolk this summer? I hid it in a place where I said you would not think to look.’
‘Yes,’ said Michael, peeved. ‘I had to give you a shilling when I lost a bet that I would be able to guess where it was. And you have never told me where you put it.’