‘No!’ hissed the senior student fiercely. ‘You will not risk our reputation by misbehaving in front of guests from other foundations.’ Bartholomew was pleasantly pleased by his responsible stance, until Aungel added, ‘I am supposed to be in charge of you, and any loutish antics might hurt my chances of a Fellowship.’
Bartholomew studied the four men while they waited for Langelee to call the audience to order. Hopeman stood with his hands on his hips, his dark gaze sweeping disdainfully across the assembly. Godrich leaned nonchalantly against the wall, inspecting his fingernails in an attitude of calculated boredom. Thelnetham looked smug, clearly of the opinion that this was an encounter he would win. And Suttone was visibly daunted by the ordeal that was about to commence, an unease that intensified when Thelnetham whispered something in his ear. Bartholomew grimaced: undermining the confidence of a nervous rival was cruel, and should have been beneath a man of Thelnetham’s stature.
‘This “entertainment” will not hold the students’ interest for long,’ murmured Langelee to Kolvyle. ‘So I hope you are ready to step in with an alternative when they grow restless.’
‘You would doubtless prefer to see them racing about on a camp-ball field, punching the stuffing out of each other,’ scoffed Kolvyle. ‘I cannot imagine why you were ever installed as Master. You are a lout, with the intellectual agility of a gnat.’
Langelee was so astonished by the insult that he could do no more than gape as Kolvyle strutted to the front of the hall. By rights, it should have been the Master himself who opened the proceedings, but Kolvyle had hopped on to the dais while Langelee was still standing in mute disbelief. An immediate hush descended on the gathering.
‘The impudent bastard!’ breathed Langelee, finding his voice at last. ‘I will trounce–’
‘Not in front of visitors,’ whispered Michael sharply. ‘Wait until they have left.’
‘He has gone too far this time,’ hissed Langelee furiously. ‘He will apologise or pack his bags.’
‘Which is exactly how he wants you to react,’ warned Michael. ‘And when he has needled you into a confrontation, during which you will say or do something rash, he will use it to make a bid for the mastership. We prevented him from standing as Chancellor, so he has decided to go for the next best thing.’
‘Well it will not work,’ determined Langelee, fists clenched. ‘He is the last man I want as my successor. Not that I have any plans to resign just yet.’
‘Good,’ said Michael. ‘Then do not let him manipulate you.’
Kolvyle did not speak immediately, but let the anticipation mount. When he did start, his voice oozed arrogance and conceit, and resentment rose from the students in waves.
‘As commensurate with a foundation that aims to promote education, learning and research,’ he began pompously, ‘I have organised a superior form of diversion today – something more significant than silly debates or boisterous games. Namely the choice of our next Chancellor.’
‘That is very good of you,’ called Deynman the librarian, never one to be daunted by a sense of occasion. ‘But we are not eligible to vote. Only the Fellows are, so it does not matter if we are impressed or not, because we cannot elect them anyway.’
Kolvyle smiled stiffly. ‘Yes, but the outcome affects you all, and it is my contention that you have the right to make your opinions known. You can do this by lobbying your masters – to make them choose the candidate you want.’
‘We want Suttone,’ called Aungel dutifully. ‘Because he is a Michaelhouse man.’
‘Yes, he is,’ agreed Kolvyle, turning to look the nervous Carmelite up and down. ‘But will he best serve your interests? You are not yet in a position to know, because you have not heard what the other candidates have to say. That will be rectified today, and once the other foundations have seen what we have done, they will follow our example.’
Hopeman looked uneasy, Thelnetham was impassive, while Godrich fingered the heavy purse at his side with a meaningful smile. Suttone was ashen-faced though, desperately racking his brains for policies that would encourage his supporters to stay loyal.
‘Students are entitled to a voice,’ Kolvyle went on. ‘And I aim to ensure that it is heard. You have been at the mercy of the Fellows for far too long, but a new age is dawning, when younger men, like myself, will lead the University to a more enlightened future.’
‘You make our Regent masters sound like old men,’ called Deynman. ‘They are not. Well, Suttone has grey hair, I suppose, but you should see Master Langelee racing around the camp-ball field, while Doctor Bartholomew could not tend so many patients if he was ancient.’
‘Grey hair signifies experience and wisdom,’ said Suttone sharply, offended. ‘The chancellorship is not a post that should be occupied by some selfishly ambitious greenhorn.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Thelnetham. ‘He should have been a member of the University for at least three years, so he knows its strengths and weaknesses.’
‘Rubbish,’ countered Godrich, who was also a relative newcomer and so did not fulfil this particular condition. ‘The only thing that is important is an ability to secure large donations.’
‘The only thing that is important is combatting evil,’ countered Hopeman hotly. ‘Money will be irrelevant if our University is suppressed because Satan is in charge.’
Thelnetham opened his mouth to join the debate, but Kolvyle took command again.
‘Suttone will speak first,’ he said, ‘because this is his College. I shall decide on the order for the others when he has finished. Right. Off you go.’
The order came so abruptly that the hapless Carmelite was left gaping stupidly while he rallied his thoughts. Then he began a wretched, rambling discourse that had his rivals grinning superiorly. Except Thelnetham, who had the grace to wince on his behalf.
‘Well, there you have it,’ drawled Kolvyle, when Suttone eventually stuttered to a halt. ‘You next, Hopeman.’
‘I speak at God’s command, not yours,’ declared Hopeman. ‘I will not play your games.’
Kolvyle addressed his audience. ‘It is generally claimed that Hopeman is a zealot with untenable views on theology. If he is happy with that summary of his abilities, we shall move to our next speaker.’
‘Lord, he is sly!’ murmured Michael grudgingly. ‘How can Hopeman remain silent now?’
The Dominican could not, and launched into a diatribe that was unnerving both in its intensity and the distasteful prejudice of its opinions. It was accompanied by a lot of finger wagging, and it was not long before William could bear it no longer.
‘You are a fool, Hopeman,’ he boomed, using the voice he reserved for his own feisty orations. ‘And the Devil must be delighted to have gained such a faithful servant.’
‘No interruptions!’ snapped Kolvyle, before the Dominican could respond. ‘I shall invite comments from the audience afterwards, but they cannot be abusive, and they must contain at least a modicum of intelligent analysis. However, I think we have heard enough from Hopeman. Godrich? Would you care to respond to the issues our Dominican has raised?’
‘I would not debase myself by acknowledging them,’ declared Godrich loftily. ‘But I have plenty to say about how the statutes might be adapted to suit our current needs. They were drafted more than a century ago, and it is time they were modernised.’
‘That man is a damned fool!’ hissed Michael angrily. ‘The statutes are what keep our University together – sensible rules devised by rational men.’
‘Women,’ began Godrich, immediately snagging the students’ attention. ‘They are forbidden to us, but I shall change that stricture when I am in power. Being scholars does not make us priests, and it is ridiculous to force us to live celibate lives.’