Suttone blinked. ‘You are leaving Cambridge? But why?’
‘Because Godrich is buying votes, Hopeman is bullying everyone with threats of divine vengeance, and you have the Senior Proctor behind you,’ replied Thelnetham shortly. ‘I cannot compete against such odds, and I was a fool to think the University might consider brains to be an important quality in a Chancellor.’
‘They are overrated,’ said William. ‘Most officials manage perfectly well without them.’
‘So I am withdrawing from the race,’ Thelnetham went on. ‘Nicholas will draft a suitable notice and post it on the Great West Door today. With your permission, Brother.’
Michael inclined his head. ‘However, before you do anything rash, it is only fair to tell you that Godrich has disappeared. It may only be a three-way competition.’
Thelnetham smiled thinly. ‘I appreciate your honesty, Brother – you could have mentioned it after you had accepted my decision to stand down. But it makes no difference. I have learned more than is pleasant about University politics these last few days, and I want no further part in it. I shall journey to Lincoln as soon as there is a break in the weather.’
‘Besides, Godrich has spent a lot of money on his campaign,’ added Nicholas, ‘so I doubt he will stay away long. Indeed, his “disappearance” is probably a ploy to gain support.’
‘Perhaps it is,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But I shall be sorry to see you go, Thelnetham. You would have been my second choice.’
‘That is what most people have told me,’ said Thelnetham sourly. ‘Although I do not consider it much of a compliment. However, until the weather breaks and I can safely ride north, I shall make myself useful by helping Suttone.’
‘You will?’ asked Suttone suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘Because as long as you have Michael behind you, you are the best man for the post. I may be leaving the University, but that does not mean I want it in the hands of a fanatic or an opinionated ass like Godrich.’
‘That is very decent of you,’ said Michael approvingly. ‘If you encourage your supporters to vote for Suttone, we shall win handily.’
‘Not necessarily,’ warned Thelnetham. ‘Godrich has purchased a lot of “loyalty” over the last few days, while a great many priests have been persuaded to follow Hopeman. But we shall work together to see what might be done to thwart them.’
‘You will not regret it,’ promised Michael. ‘I am thinking of establishing the post of Vice-Chancellor. I will offer it to you, should you change your mind and decide to stay.’
‘What would such a position entail?’ asked Nicholas curiously.
‘Stepping in when the Chancellor is indisposed or travelling – and Suttone will be required to spend a certain amount of time in Rochester. He will need a reliable deputy.’
But Thelnetham shook his head. ‘This deputy would make decisions, only to have them overturned when Suttone comes back. It would be a mere sinecure.’
‘I disagree,’ argued Michael. ‘And Suttone would be delighted to have someone like you at his side – a strong man, who understands the University.’
‘It is kind of you, Brother, but my mind is made up. Perhaps I shall return one day – or even chance my hand in Oxford – but for now, I hanker for the serenity of Lincolnshire. It has been too long since I was there.’ Then Thelnetham grinned impishly. ‘But there is a bright side to my withdrawaclass="underline" I can dress as I please once more. Black and white are dull colours, and do not suit my complexion at all.’
He bowed and took his leave, Nicholas limping at his heels.
‘I have never understood him,’ said Michael. ‘He is arrogant, cruel and vain, yet also capable of great generosity. He slipped me a lot of money for the choir when he was a Fellow, although always anonymously. He thinks to this day that I never knew it was him.’
‘He is a swine,’ countered William. ‘And I shall not be sorry when he goes.’
‘Was his sneezing genuine?’ asked Langelee. ‘Because if so, he can be eliminated as a suspect – he could never have snagged the dog and held it until he was ready to lob a bone.’
‘It was genuine,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘It is partly why he objected to Clippesby bringing animals in here when he was a member of Michaelhouse. And he was never a suspect as far as I was concerned.’
The first task that day was to find out what had happened to Godrich, so Bartholomew and Michael walked quickly to King’s Hall, in the hope that there had been some news. The tale of his disappearance was already all over the town, and several scholars approached to say that they were now shifting their allegiance to Suttone.
‘Even if Godrich is alive, we do not want a man who slopes off without explanation,’ said Master Braunch of Trinity Hall. ‘And there are nasty rumours about him anyway – that he acquitted Moleyns of murder, dabbled in witchery, and poisoned a man in Nottingham.’
‘Let us hope you find the killer soon, Brother,’ added the haughty Master Heltisle of Bene’t College. ‘Or people might start to wonder if you are responsible for all this slaughter. After all, the deaths of Tynkell, Lyng and possibly Godrich – and perhaps even Moleyns, too – have certainly benefited Suttone.’
‘They have benefited Hopeman, too, Heltisle,’ Braunch pointed out. ‘And he is far more likely to kill than our Senior Proctor. He is a zealot, who thinks his nasty opinions reflect the will of God. There is no reasoning with that sort of person, and we must all pray that he does not win, or our University will become a very unpleasant place to live.’
‘Braunch is right, Matt,’ said Michael, when the pair had gone. ‘So we shall have words with Hopeman later.’
They knocked at King’s Hall’s handsome gate, and were conducted to the conclave, where Warden Shropham and thirty or so of his Fellows had gathered. They were sitting around a long table, and in the middle of it was a piece of parchment: Godrich’s will.
‘You have found his body?’ cried Michael in dismay. ‘Why did you not send word?’
‘There has been no news either way,’ replied Shropham. He gestured sheepishly at the document. ‘Assessing his estate is merely a precaution.’
‘Godrich is dead,’ stated Dodenho, an opinion that was evidently shared by the others, because a murmur of agreement went around the room. ‘We have visited all his favourite haunts, and there is no sign of him. He would never have left the town willingly – not when he was poised to win the election – so there is only one explanation: he has gone the same way as Tynkell and Lyng.’
‘Not necessarily,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘He might just be sitting quietly somewhere, waiting for certain rumours to die down.’
‘The ones about his chequered past?’ asked Shropham with a grimace. ‘That claim he bought charms from Marjory Starre, and did the King’s bidding in Moleyns’ trial for murder? You think he is lying low to avoid a scandal?’
‘Well, it is certainly possible,’ said Michael.
‘No, it is not,’ declared Dodenho, ‘because he was a warrior, a man trained to stand and fight. His vanishing means one thing and one thing only: that he is murdered.’
‘It is a pity he never saw his tomb started,’ sighed Shropham. ‘It will be such a glorious structure. All I hope is that we shall have a corpse to put in it.’
‘Glorious indeed,’ muttered Dodenho acidly, ‘given that every penny he owned will be squandered on the thing. And King’s Hall will get nothing. It is disgraceful!’
His remark – and his colleagues’ angry agreement – explained why no one was overly distressed by the notion that Godrich might be dead. There was an unwritten but inviolate rule that anyone who accepted a University Fellowship would repay the honour with a legacy, and if Godrich had indeed stipulated that everything was to be spent on his monument, then he had committed a serious breach of trust.