Death of a Scholar: The Twentieth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew)

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘Your new students came with testimonials from their parish priests and licences to matriculate,’ said the Master, immediately guessing the reason for the physician’s irritation. ‘But more importantly, they can pay a term’s fees up front, and one donated a book to our library.’

  ‘What book?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘A medical one?’

  ‘Law. Do not ask me the title – it was something in Latin.’ Langelee began to walk away. ‘And you cannot grumble about the extra work either. We must all put our shoulder to the wheel if we are to survive.’

  ‘Unfortunately, he is right,’ said Michael, who had been listening. ‘You are not the only one who has been burdened with unsuitable pupils. He gave me three Cistercians!’

  ‘Gracious,’ said Bartholomew, although he failed to understand why Cistercians should be deemed so undesirable. ‘But we had better make a start with your enquiries, or we shall still be investigating when we are supposed to be teaching. Our new recruits will not be impressed by tutors who fail to arrive for class.’

  They left the College and walked up St Michael’s Lane. When they reached the High Street, Bartholomew was again astonished by the huge number of would-be students who had descended on the town – at least twice as many as usual.

  ‘They are certainly keeping my beadles busy,’ said Michael, when the physician remarked on it. ‘Unfortunately, we have no jurisdiction over them – they are not yet members of the University, as they are always quick to remind us.’

  ‘Some will be,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The ones who have been offered places.’

  ‘If only that were true! But don’t forget that they’re not bound by University rules until they have signed our register and that’s not until next week. It is not usually a problem, as most new lads are eager to make a good impression.’

  ‘So why are this year’s applicants different?’

  ‘I wish I knew. The current intake is abnormally objectionable, the worst of them all being your loathsome Goodwyn. He is still my prime suspect for stealing the Stanton Hutch, you know.’

  ‘But he has just paid a huge sum of money to study here. Do you really think he would promptly turn around and steal from us?’

  ‘You are too willing to see the good in people, Matt, and it is not a virtue. Goodwyn is a worm, and you would be wise to recognise it.’

  ‘The townsfolk do not like these undisciplined louts either,’ said Bartholomew, watching one particularly arrogant throng strut past. ‘Cynric told me that they are making it easy for the burglar to operate – there is so much brawling that any suspicious sounds are masked.’

  Michael sniffed. ‘Potmoor – if he is the culprit – is such an experienced criminal that he will not need help from noisy matriculands. Incidentally, I have lost count of the number of times that I have been told you should have kept your necromantic skills to yourself and left Potmoor dead.’

  Bartholomew groaned. ‘I used smelling salts, not witchery. And if Meryfeld, Rougham, Lawrence, Eyer the apothecary and Surgeon Holm had been halfway competent, they would have done the same.’

  ‘Perhaps they thought it was time that his reign of terror was ended. You, on the other hand, gave him the opportunity to continue.’

  ‘He would have woken anyway – patients with catalepsia usually do. Where are we going?’

  ‘To Winwick Hall. Hemmysby said they might have stolen our hutch.’

  ‘He also said he had no particular reason for thinking so.’ Bartholomew was alarmed that they were about to visit the new College on so frail a pretext.

  ‘I know. But I also have my reservations about the place – reservations that make me want to keep an eye on it. On the one hand, I am delighted that Winwick Hall is here, not in Oxford, because another endowed foundation will make our University stronger and more attractive to benefactors and students.’

  ‘But on the other?’

  ‘On the other, it arrived too quickly, and we were not ready for it. We are an old, staid organisation, and we require time to adjust to new situations.’

  ‘Oxford never needs time to adjust. They are far more forward thinking than us.’

  Michael scowled. ‘No, they are not, and you would do well to remember that if you value your position here. Anyway, I wish we had been given more time to consider. Better arrangements could have been made, especially regarding its location.’

  ‘What could be more suitable than a site next to St Mary the Great?’

  ‘Precisely! It is the best position in the entire town, and shades even King’s Hall. Moreover, it will use St Mary the Great as a chapel, and the fact that its head is called a Provost implies a degree of ownership over the place. It is the University Church – it belongs to all of us, not just one College.’

  ‘If you had been Chancellor, none of this would have happened. Winwick’s charter would have needed your signature before it was sent to the King, and you could have procrastinated. Perhaps you should consider standing for election when Tynkell resigns.’

  ‘But I do not want to be Chancellor! I like things the way they are, with me making all the important decisions, and him taking the blame if things go wrong.’

  ‘When he retires, he may be replaced by a less malleable man,’ warned Bartholomew.

  ‘True – which would be a nuisance. Perhaps I should arrange to have myself elected, then. It will look good for when I am promoted to a bishopric or an abbacy.’

  It was not the first time Michael had voiced the expectation that he would achieve high rank, and Bartholomew had always been amused that he expected to rise in a single bound, without the tedious steps in between. It had also not escaped his notice that Michael clearly intended to rig the vote, rather than risk the democratic process.

  Meanwhile, Michael was eyeing a gaggle of youths on the other side of the road, some of whom bore obvious signs of brawling – torn clothes, bruised fists and bloody faces.

  ‘Yet another spat with the town, I warrant,’ he grumbled. ‘And no Dick Tulyet to help me keep these louts in order.’ He referred to the Sheriff who, besides being very good at his job, was also a friend. ‘It is unfortunate that his deputy is next to worthless. But here we are at Winwick Hall. Let us see what its Fellows have to say for themselves.’

  The new College’s gates still leaned against the wall waiting for their hinges, and Jekelyn the porter stood in the gap ready to repel any visitors he did not like the look of. He regarded Bartholomew and Michael suspiciously when they asked to see the Provost, but stood aside for them to enter. As they walked across the yard, Bartholomew saw that scaffolding had been erected around part of the hall since his visit the previous day.

  ‘Subsidence,’ explained Illesy, as he came to greet them. ‘Our land is boggy, so it is to be expected. Have you seen our lovely library, by the way? Do come and look. The workmen finished laying the floor last night.’

  He opened a door to reveal a room that was as handsome as any in Cambridge. Its walls were covered in bright white plaster to improve the light for reading, and its shelves had been fashioned from pale wood. They were poorly planed in places, though, and Illesy yelped as he ran a heavily beringed hand along one, only to be rewarded with a splinter. The windows were glazed, an almost unimaginable luxury, but not all the panes had been properly fitted, and several had dropped out – yet another indication of the speed with which the building had been thrown up.

  Bartholomew began to browse the books, but was quickly disappointed. Winwick had been founded for clerks, so there was not a medical tome in sight. He scanned the titles. Most were standard texts that all lawyers would need to learn, and none were very good copies. In short, he thought the fine room was wasted on them.

  ‘The Guild of Saints has promised to buy us some carrels,’ Illesy was telling Michael with proprietary pride. ‘We aim to have them installed by the beginning of term.’

  ‘I hear you have a problem with your endowment,’ said Michael. ‘That the deeds to the churches and manors tha
t will provide you with your steady income have not yet been delivered.’

  Illesy waved a dismissive hand. ‘A minor delay, no more. They will be here soon.’

  Just then, the door opened and the Fellows trooped in. Bartholomew studied them carefully, wondering whether there was any justification in Hemmysby’s belief that one might have stolen the Stanton Hutch. It took no more than a moment for him to decide there was not. All five were obviously wealthy, and their liveried tabards were made from the best cloth money could buy. Nerli’s and Bon’s were edged with fur, while Lawrence and Ratclyf had elegantly embroidered hems. Illesy was even more extravagantly attired, with a silk undershirt poking from one sleeve, and a beautiful lambswool cape around his shoulders.

  None seemed particularly pleased to see the visitors, except Lawrence who smiled with his customary sunny charm. Ratclyf was irritable, clearly resenting the intrusion, while Nerli the Florentine had a sombre, brooding face that was not made for cheery greetings anyway. Meanwhile, Bon’s attention was on negotiating the still-unfamiliar terrain, and he clung hard to the arm of the student at his side.

  ‘We came to warn you about the recent spate of burglaries,’ lied Michael. ‘Michaelhouse was targeted last night, and we lost a valuable loan chest.’

  ‘How terrible,’ said Nerli in his oddly accented Latin, and Bartholomew was struck again by the man’s darkly sinister appearance. It was even more apparent when he stood next to the white-bearded Lawrence, who radiated jollity and charm. ‘Still, I imagine you have plenty more. We have been told several times that you older Colleges have pots of money, and are thus more likely to survive than us youthful upstarts.’

  ‘No one phrased his remarks quite like that,’ objected Lawrence. ‘They—’

  ‘The deed for the manor of Uyten – our founder’s home village – will be here within a week,’ interrupted Bon. ‘I oversaw the arrangements myself. Well, perhaps oversaw is the wrong word, given my affliction, but I certainly ensured that all was in order.’ He smiled, obviously proud to have been of service. ‘It is the first of many, because our founder wants us to have the biggest endowment in the country.’

  The reference to his ailment caused Bartholomew to study him with professional detachment, and note that he suffered from hypochyma – a clouding of the lens behind the eye. He also observed that Bon’s student guide had the same thickened ears that Langelee was acquiring from camp-ball, where they were so frequently battered that they changed shape.

  ‘That is why the other Colleges are jealous of us,’ bragged Ratclyf. ‘Along with our fine buildings, good location and connections with Court. In time, we shall outshine them all.’

  ‘In time, we shall become friends,’ corrected Lawrence, a little sternly.

  ‘Perhaps,’ shrugged Bon. ‘After all, there are more worthy enemies than our colleagues from King’s Hall, Michaelhouse, Bene’t and Gonville.’

  ‘Yes, like the town,’ agreed Nerli unpleasantly. ‘They hate us, too.’

  ‘They do,’ agreed Michael baldly. ‘Which means you might be vulnerable to thieves.’

  ‘I hope you have not been swayed by the common prejudice that Potmoor is responsible for all these crimes,’ said Illesy. ‘There is no evidence to suggest he is guilty. My appointment as Provost means I can no longer be his lawyer, but I will not see him unjustly maligned even so.’

  Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘I malign no one. I merely warn you to be on your guard.’

  Bon smiled in the monk’s approximate direction. ‘We should be safe. Our walls are thick, and we have Jekelyn as a porter.’

  ‘Whatever possessed you to hire such a surly rogue?’ asked Michael disapprovingly. ‘I could have suggested some far more suitable candidates.’

  ‘Our founder picked him,’ explained Ratclyf. ‘Hopefully, his reputation as a brawler will make this vile burglar think twice about paying us a visit.’ He glanced archly at Illesy, making it clear that he did not share the conviction that Potmoor was innocent.

  ‘He might make scholars think twice before paying you a visit, too,’ retorted Michael tartly. ‘No one likes being subjected to impertinent remarks when he comes to see colleagues.’

  ‘We shall not have time for entertaining once term starts,’ said Bon. ‘We will not become the biggest, most prestigious College in the University by fooling around with guests.’

  ‘We shall entertain!’ cried Lawrence, dismayed by the bleak prospect that Bon was painting. ‘It will be a poor existence if we do nothing but work.’

  The others’ doubtful looks suggested he might be alone in that belief.

  ‘Your students will certainly want to relax with friends,’ said Michael. ‘And speaking of students, let me give you some advice. They will do anything to avoid paying their fees, so you might want to establish some hutches. Once there is a facility for borrowing, no one will have an excuse not to give you what is owed.’

  ‘Have you found Elvesmere’s killer?’ asked Illesy, his curt tone making it clear he did not appreciate being told how to run his College. ‘Is that why you came? To tell us his name?’

  ‘I am afraid not,’ replied Michael. ‘Although progress has been made.’

  ‘Has it?’ Lawrence smiled warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘I am so glad. I am not vengeful, but I dislike the notion of a murderer at large.’

  ‘So do I,’ agreed Bon. ‘It might deter students from applying here, and that would be a pity – for them as much as us.’

  ‘You would not fear that if you could see,’ said Ratclyf smugly. ‘Our yard was thronged with hopefuls all day yesterday, and we accepted another twenty lads last night. It will not be long before we have so many pupils that we shall be by far the richest College in Cambridge.’

  Bartholomew and Michael exchanged a wry glance. Increasing the size of their classes had done nothing for Michaelhouse’s coffers. Indeed, the reverse was often true, as the lads then had to be housed and fed, which – due to fluctuating market prices – sometimes cost more than the fees they had paid.

  ‘Did Elvesmere want Winwick Hall to be the biggest College in Cambridge?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Actually, he was of the opinion that we should curb our enthusiasm for growth,’ replied Illesy. ‘It was something about which we disagreed.’

  ‘His caution was misplaced,’ asserted Bon. ‘We have no reason to limit ourselves. We are Winwick Hall, and our founder is a favourite of the King.’

  ‘He also thought we should teach only canon law,’ added Illesy. ‘However, civil law is where the money lies – wills, medico-legal issues, property disputes. That is what the bulk of our students will want to study. Thus he disapproved of everyone except Ratclyf, who is our other canonist.’

  ‘He was particularly opposed to criminal law,’ said Nerli slyly. ‘And he made some very harsh remarks to our Provost about the skills he honed while representing Potmoor.’

  ‘He made some very harsh remarks to you, too, Nerli,’ retorted Illesy spitefully. ‘He denigrated your degrees from Salerno, just because it is a foreign school.’

  Nerli scowled so angrily that Bartholomew and Michael exchanged another glance. The Florentine was powerfully built, and the knife he carried in his belt was too big for sharpening quills and paring fruit. Bartholomew could easily imagine him stabbing a colleague in the dark.

  ‘He did not denigrate Nerli’s qualifications,’ said Lawrence, ever the peacemaker. ‘He merely said that he did not know there was such a thing as a Master of Civil Law—’

  ‘Well, there is,’ snapped Nerli. ‘Salerno does not follow the same style as other universities.’

  This was news to Bartholomew, although in fairness, he had spent time in its medical school, not its Law Faculty, so was not in a position to contradict the Florentine.

  ‘And he thought your post was a sinecure, Lawrence,’ Ratclyf went on. ‘That medico-legal studies are not a serious subject, and that you are being paid for nothing.’

  ‘Then let us not
forget the words you exchanged with him,’ flashed Bon. ‘He despised you for the sly way you deal with tradesmen.’

  ‘I am the College bursar – if I do not deal slyly with tradesmen, they will cheat us,’ snapped Ratclyf. He jabbed an angry finger at his accuser. ‘You were his closest friend, but it did not grant you immunity from his bile.’ He turned to the visitors. ‘Bon is illegitimate, which Elvesmere feared might damage our reputation. He was always harping on it.’

  ‘Enough,’ cried Illesy. ‘Do you want the Senior Proctor to include us on his list of murder suspects? He was unimpressed yesterday to learn that none of us can prove our whereabouts at the time of Elvesmere’s killing, and now you make our harmless tiffs sound like reasons for wanting him dead. I suggest you say no more until you are in control of your tongues.’

  ‘They are on the Senior Proctor’s list of murder suspects,’ said Michael, once he and Bartholomew were out on the street again. ‘Lord only knows what else might have been added had Illesy not silenced them.’

  ‘On the contrary, he let them continue on purpose,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Had he stopped them at the beginning of the spat, we would have gone away thinking he was the only one Elvesmere had offended. Now we know that Elvesmere alienated them all.’

  ‘Illesy is certainly a prime suspect. Not only will he have learned a lot about dispatching opponents from his association with Potmoor, but no Head of House wants a malcontent in his midst. Look at Langelee, who is always after us for ways to get rid of William and Thelnetham.’

  ‘Yes, but not by killing them.’ Then Bartholomew remembered that the Master had asked about poisons, and hurried on. ‘The others’ motives are just as strong. For example, Ratclyf clearly hates criticism, and Elvesmere condemned the way he performs as bursar.’