Kardington was indignant. ‘Lynton died right by our gates, so of course we all rushed out to see what was happening – it is human nature to be curious. Unfortunately, the situation turned violent faster than any one could have predicted. You were there, Brother. You know I am right.’
‘Matters did spiral out of control rather quickly,’ the monk acknowledged cautiously.
‘Poor Motelete! He was by far the quietest of my lads. Ask his friends – they will all tell the same thing. Are you sure Ocleye was his killer?’
‘No,’ admitted Michael. ‘Not completely.’
Kardington sighed and some of the ire went out of him. ‘If you conduct a thorough investigation, and at the end of it you say you are satisfied that Ocleye was the culprit, then that will mark the end of the affair for us. We trust you, Brother. You did track down Wenden’s killer, after all.’
Michael was touched by his faith. ‘Then I promise to do all in my power to find the truth. Do you mind answering a few questions about Motelete?’
‘You may ask me, my Fellows or my students anything you like.’
‘Did Motelete know Ocleye, or did he ever visit the Angel tavern?’
‘No – to both questions. I know our undergraduates defy the ban on alehouses and sneak out to partake of the Angel’s excellent pies, but not Motelete. He was too new and too wary, and had so far resisted his friends’ attempts to include him in their rule-breaking.’
‘How long had he been enrolled?’
‘Two months or so. He hailed from near Ely, and this was his first time away from home. He was lonely and frightened, and was lucky we happened to have a vacancy. I do not think he would have fared well in a hostel – they can be rough places. Colleges tend to be more genteel.’
‘So, the only people he knew were at Clare?’ asked Michael, ignoring the gross generalisation.
‘Yes. However, before you start thinking that one of us might have dispatched him, consider this: the moment punches started to fly, I ordered all my scholars home. The only one missing when we arrived was Motelete.’
‘Will your students confirm this?’ asked Michael.
‘Ask them – they are in the hall with their Latin grammars. We can go there now if you wish.’ Kardington shook his head sadly. ‘Our boys must be fluent in Latin if they are to live in England. I spoke to Tyrington in English the other day, and he did not understand a word I said.’
‘How did you resolve the situation regarding Spaldynge?’ asked Michael conversationally, as they walked towards the hall. ‘He sold a hostel that belonged to your College, which was remiss of him.’
‘Remiss is one word for it,’ replied Kardington. ‘Borden Hostel was Clare property, and Spaldynge should have asked our permission before he hawked it.’
‘He should not have sold it at all – with your permission or without it,’ said Michael coolly. ‘I issued a writ, requesting that all University foundations should hold on to any property until the rent dispute is resolved. But that is not what I asked: my question was what did you do about it? Did you send him down? Order him to repurchase the building?’
‘It was too late for the latter,’ said Kardington ruefully. ‘Candelby declined to give it back to us.’
‘Candelby?’ Michael was aghast. ‘Spaldynge disposed of Borden to Candelby? How could he, when every scholar knows Candelby is intent on destroying us? This is outrageous!’
Kardington looked pained. ‘I know, and we are very sorry. Spaldynge has been reprimanded, and we have rescinded his Fellowship – he only holds the post of commoner now.’
Michael was unappeased. ‘Is that all? He should be excommunicated! I doubt he got a fair price for this hostel if Candelby was the buyer.’
‘Actually, he struck an extremely good bargain. He used some money to feed his students, but the rest is in our coffers. Had we known his lads were starving, we would have helped him out, but we thought he was exaggerating when he made his reports. The disaster was partly our fault.’
‘Perhaps I should fine you, then, because someone should bear the consequences of his actions. That sale put me in a very awkward position, and Candelby–’
‘So, you are minus two teachers now – Spaldynge demoted and Wenden dead,’ interrupted Bartholomew, to prevent Michael from scolding the Master of a powerful foundation like an errant schoolboy. ‘How do you manage with lessons?’
‘Wenden actually did very little tutoring,’ explained Kardington, shooting Michael an unpleasant look. ‘And this is not generally known, but he held a non-stipendiary post anyway – we did not pay him to be here. So, we cannot appoint another Fellow in his place, because we do not have the funds for a salary – not that it really matters, given that his death did not rob us of a master, anyway.’
‘When he was killed,’ began Michael, regarding Kardington disapprovingly, ‘you admitted that he had no students and did not contribute to College life. You also told me that he was tolerated because he had promised to leave Clare all his money when he died. Unfortunately for you, when his will was read, you learned he had reneged on the agreement and left it all to the Bishop of Lincoln instead. Have I recalled the situation accurately?’
Kardington grimaced. ‘That will was a vile shock, I can tell you! Still, it cannot be helped. Spaldynge is a better man, though. He continues to lecture, even though we have rescinded his Fellowship.’
‘How noble,’ said Michael acidly. ‘Most men in his position would have slunk away with their tail between their legs.’
‘There he is,’ said Kardington, pointing to where a man with an unfashionable, shovel-shaped beard was ushering a group of students towards the refectory. ‘You can berate him yourself, Brother, because I dislike being held responsible for what he did.’
Michael did berate the disgraced scholar. Spaldynge stood with his head bowed while the monk railed, but his jaw muscles worked furiously, and Bartholomew suspected he was more angry than chagrined by the reprimand. When Michael asked what he had to say for himself, Spaldynge made the pointed remark that the monk had no idea what it was like to be hungry.
‘I have made my peace with Master Kardington and our Fellows,’ said Spaldynge, rather defiantly. ‘The sale of Borden is our business, and none of yours.’
Michael glared. ‘If we want a University, then we must work together – we will not survive as an ad hoc collection of foundations. Your colleagues here may be willing to overlook your actions, but what about your colleagues in Ovyng Hostel or Peterhouse? What you have done affects them, too.’
Spaldynge grimaced. ‘I have said I am sorry, and the sale cannot be undone. Besides, Lynton sold his properties when he felt like it, and you never subjected him to a torrent of abuse.’
‘Lynton did no such thing,’ said Bartholomew, when Michael seemed too astonished to speak. ‘We know he owned houses, and that he rented them to laymen, but he did not sell them.’
‘Of course he sold them,’ snapped Spaldynge, while Kardington nodded agreement. ‘Who do you think gave me the idea in the first place? I saw what Lynton was doing and followed his example. I should have known better. Physicians are reprehensible creatures, and to copy one was stupid.’
In a sudden flash of memory, Bartholomew recalled that Spaldynge had lost his entire family to the plague, and that he had never forgiven the medici who had taken his money for a cure but had failed to provide one. He reviled physicians at every opportunity, and Bartholomew was glad their paths seldom crossed. It occurred to him that Spaldynge’s antipathy to members of the medical profession might have led him to dispatch one with a crossbow.