Robert regarded them unhappily. ‘The town resents the way they flaunt their wealth with these ostentatious clothes. If our University were out in the Fens, Zachary would not feel the need to bother, as there would be no women to impress.’
‘Lust,’ growled Hamo, the master of the one-word sentence.
‘Hamo is right,’ said Robert. ‘Lust would not be a problem in the marshes, and Zachary would be more inclined to concentrate on their studies.’
The Zachary scholars were an imposing sight in their finery, and anyone might have been forgiven for thinking that they were burgesses. They were led by Morys, who wore a different set of clothes that day, but ones that were still reminiscent of an angry insect. Purple-lipped Segeforde was on one side of him, while the fanatical Kellawe was on the other. Their students strutted behind, defiant and gleeful – an attitude that suggested they were out without their Principal’s permission. Michael had been right to warn Irby that Morys aimed to usurp his power.
‘It is a holiday,’ declared Morys insolently, as Michael draw breath for a reprimand. ‘And Chancellor Tynkell says we can suspend our membership of the University for Hallow-tide, so do not think of fining us again. We are no longer under your jurisdiction.’
‘You cannot opt in and out as the whim takes you,’ snapped Michael. ‘And if Tynkell told you otherwise, then he is sadly mistaken.’
‘Well, he issued a writ that entitles us to do as we please anyway,’ said Kellawe smugly. He spoke with a thick northern accent that was difficult to penetrate, and had a habit of jutting out his lower jaw belligerently when he spoke. ‘You may contest it if you like, but by the time lawyers have debated the matter, Hallow-tide will be over, so you may as well not bother.’
‘I threatened to write to Tynkell’s mother if he refused my request,’ smirked Morys, ‘so he is unlikely to retract what he has granted. Besides, wearing secular clothes is nothing compared to the harm his sister is doing.’ He stabbed a finger at Bartholomew.
‘She has hired whores,’ elaborated Kellawe, his eyes blazing rather wildly. ‘Those dyeworks are nothing but a brothel.’
He turned and stalked away before Bartholomew could defend her. The others followed, clearly of the belief that they had won the confrontation. Bartholomew started after them – no one abused his beloved Edith – but Michael stopped him.
‘Ignore them: they are not worth a quarrel. Unlike Tynkell. What was he thinking to issue such a document? He cannot be permitted to make these decisions without consulting me. Does he want the town to attack us?’
He released Bartholomew and stamped towards St Mary the Great, Shirwynk temporarily forgotten. Bartholomew stared at the retreating figure of Kellawe for a moment, tempted to go after him anyway, but Michael was right – the Franciscan was not worth the trouble. He followed Michael instead, catching up just as the monk marched into Tynkell’s office.
Tynkell was a meek, timid man who had never wanted high office, and who had been as astonished as anyone when a technicality had seen him elected Chancellor. He was thin, wan, and had an unfortunate aversion to hygiene, which meant his chamber was rarely a pleasant place to be. He was sitting at a table that was piled high with documents representing the more tedious aspects of running a studium generale, work that had been delegated to him by Michael.
‘You have some explaining to do,’ the monk began without preamble. ‘Regarding Zachary Hostel’s– Oh, you have company.’
The ‘company’ was Stephen the lawyer, a fox-faced man with sly eyes. It was Stephen who had told Edith how to circumvent the laws regarding noisome industries, and who had disappointed Michaelhouse by electing to give his much-coveted collection of books to Gonville.
‘We were discussing architecture,’ said Stephen pleasantly, unperturbed by the monk’s whirlwind entry. ‘I should have liked to have been an architect, but my tutors thought my mind was better suited to law. However, I retain a deep interest in the subject.’
‘So do Michaelhouse’s students,’ retorted Michael pointedly. ‘And they had hoped to read some books about it.’
‘Then I am sorry, but Gonville is more likely to be here in ten years’ time than your College,’ explained Stephen. ‘It is nothing personal, and I must consider my own needs first.’
Michael blinked. ‘What are you talking about? We are by far the most secure College in the University. We own lands in Suffolk, Staffordshire and Norfolk, and we were granted a huge benefaction earlier this year from no less a person than the Archbishop of York.’
He was grossly exaggerating the value of the College’s holdings, but Stephen remained unconvinced even so. ‘I have made my decision and I will not change my mind. The matter is closed.’
‘Why are you here?’ asked Michael, the curt tone of his voice suggesting that if Stephen had come to beg a favour, it would be refused.
‘To give you some friendly and well-intentioned advice – that King’s Hall should drop their case against Frenge’s estate.’
Tynkell frowned. ‘But it was you who told them that death is no excuse in the eyes of the law, and that Frenge’s brewery will still be liable to pay their claims for damages.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Stephen silkily. ‘But that was before Shirwynk hired me. Now I am recommending that King’s Hall settles the case out of court, before they lose a lot of money.’
‘Money is not the issue here,’ said Michael, making no attempt to hide his distaste for the lawyer’s duplicity. ‘Our relationship with the town is – so I shall speak to Wayt and ask him to withdraw in the interests of peace. None of us want a war. Well, some of us do not: I am not sure that is true of the man who allowed Edith to build her filthy dyeworks.’
Stephen shrugged. ‘It was all perfectly legal, I assure you. But to return to the matter in question, Shirwynk wants compensation for the distress he has endured. I am sure we can reach a mutually acceptable arrangement.’
Michael gaped at him. ‘You want King’s Hall to pay Shirwynk? Have you lost your reason? He is lucky not to lose half his brewery – assuming I can convince King’s Hall to do as I suggest, of course. They may decline.’
‘Then on their head be it,’ said Stephen, standing and making a small bow before aiming for the door. ‘And yours.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Tynkell, when he had gone. ‘He changes sides like the wind. I never know whether he is for us or against us.’
‘Whichever will make him richer,’ said Michael sourly. Then he glared at the Chancellor. ‘But I did not come here to talk about him. I came to discuss Zachary.’
Tynkell grabbed a handful of parchments from the table, and clutched them to his thin chest, as if he imagined they might protect him. ‘My mother has recently married into Morys’s family, and she told me to accommodate him in any way I could, so I had to accede to his requests.’
‘How can you be frightened of your mother?’ asked Michael contemptuously. ‘She must be well into her seventh decade. Or even her eighth.’
Tynkell nodded miserably. ‘But age has rendered her fiercer than ever, and only a fool would cross her, believe me. Worse, she is a close friend of the Queen, so any infractions on my part will be reported to royal ears.’
‘Then send Morys to me when he comes with his bullying demands,’ said Michael irritably. ‘I do not care what your dam whispers at Court, and his behaviour is unacceptable.’
‘I will try,’ mumbled Tynkell. ‘But he is like you, Brother – he just bursts in and starts giving orders. I cannot say I am pleased to call him kin, and dealing with him plays havoc with my nerves. I do not suppose you have any of that soothing remedy to hand, do you, Bartholomew?’
It was mid-morning by the time Bartholomew and Michael emerged from St Mary the Great, but their journey to the brewery was interrupted yet again, this time by Acting Warden Wayt from King’s Hall who shoved his hairy face into the physician’s and spoke in a snarl.