‘There is no harm in Aynton,’ he argued. ‘Besides, he has no real power – it is Heltisle who will rule if de Wetherset is ill or absent. All the Commissary does is sign documents.’
‘Quite!’ said Michael between gritted teeth. ‘Sign documents. And what do these documents entail? Agreements pertaining to money, benefactions or property; the appointment of officials; the giving of degrees; and the granting of licences to travel, preach or establish new hostels. All were matters handled by me until he came along.’
Bartholomew was astonished. ‘You let de Wetherset take those privileges away from you and give them to someone else?’
Michael’s scowl deepened. ‘I did not “let” him do anything – I returned from Suffolk to find it had already happened. I shall take it back, of course, but not yet. I will wait until Aynton makes some catastrophic blunder, then step in and save the day.’
‘If he makes a catastrophic blunder. He is not a fool.’
‘No, which is why I say he is dangerous. I call the three of them – de Wetherset, Heltisle and Aynton – the triumvirate. I am sure their ultimate goal is to oust me completely. Fortunately, I have a secret weapon: Theophilis is an excellent spy and wholly loyal to me. The triumvirate have no idea that he tells me everything they do or say.’
‘I hope you are right about him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Because he makes me uneasy.’
Michael dismissed the physician’s concerns with an impatient wave of a hand. ‘He owes all he has to me – his Fellowship, his appointment as Junior Proctor, and a nice little benefice in York that pays him a handsome stipend for doing nothing.’
‘We have met colleagues who bite the hand that feeds them before,’ warned Bartholomew, thinking there had been rather too many of them over the years.
‘Theophilis is not a viper,’ declared Michael confidently. ‘Besides, I have promised to make him Chancellor in time – which will not be in the too-distant future if de Wetherset continues to heed the dubious advice of Heltisle and Aynton over sensible suggestions from me. But enough of this. Tell me about Bonet. Dick says he was killed by the same culprit as Paris.’
‘Probably, although we cannot say for certain without more evidence. Why? Will you explore his death as well as Paris’s?’
Michael nodded. ‘The town will not approve, of course, just as scholars will resent Dick looking into Paris. All I hope is that one of us finds the killer before there is trouble over it.’
A short while later, Bartholomew returned to his room, which he shared with four medical students. They were rolling up their mattresses and stowing them under the bed when he arrived, and he reflected that this was something else that had changed since Michael had become Master. Before, a dozen lads had been crammed in with him, which meant no one had slept very well. One of the monk’s first undertakings had been to convert the stables into a spacious dormitory, so conditions were far less crowded for everyone. Matters would improve further still when the new wing was built. This would be funded by the new benefactors he had secured – three wealthy burgesses, the Earl of Suffolk, four knights and a host of alumni who remembered their College days with great fondness.
‘Do we really have to listen to Father William this morning?’ asked Islaye, one of Bartholomew’s senior students. He was a gentle lad, too easily upset by patients’ suffering to make a good physician. ‘I would rather study.’
‘We can do that while he is ranting,’ said his crony Mallett, who was not sympathetic to suffering at all, and saw medicine purely as a way to earn lots of money. ‘He will not notice.’
‘Sit at the back then,’ advised Michael, overhearing as he walked in. He sat so heavily on a chair that there was a crack and Bartholomew was sure the legs bowed. ‘If he suspects you are not listening, he will fine you.’
The students gulped their alarm at this notion, and hurried away to discuss tactics that would avoid such a calamity. Through the window, Bartholomew saw William walking towards the hall, carrying an enormous sheaf of notes that suggested he might still be holding forth at midnight.
At that moment, Cynric, Bartholomew’s book-bearer, arrived. The Welshman had been with him for years, and although he rarely did much in the way of carrying tomes, he was a useful man to have around. He acted not only as a servant, but as bodyguard, warrior, burglar and spy, as the occasion demanded. He had saved Bartholomew’s life more times than the physician cared to remember, and was a loyal friend. He was also deeply superstitious, and his hat and cloak were loaded down with talismans, charms and amulets.
‘Does a patient need me?’ asked Bartholomew, hopeful for an excuse to go out.
Cynric nodded. ‘Chancellor de Wetherset – the fat pork he ate for breakfast has given him a griping in the guts. I know a couple of spells that will sort him out. Shall I–’
‘No,’ gulped Bartholomew, suspecting Cynric meant the Chancellor harm. The book-bearer had been affronted when de Wetherset had replaced Suttone with what he considered to be indecent haste, and had offered several times to help Michael oust him. ‘I am coming. Where is he? At his home in Tyled Hostel?’
The University had eight Colleges and dozens of hostels. The difference between them was that Colleges had endowments to provide their occupants with a regular and reliable income, so were financially stable, whereas hostels tended to be poor, shabby and short-lived. Tyled Hostel was an exception to the rule, and was both old and relatively affluent. It stood on the corner of St Michael’s Lane and the High Street, and had, as its name suggested, a roof with tiles rather than the more usual thatch. It had six masters and two dozen students, and was currently enjoying the distinction of being home not only to the Chancellor, but to the Commissary as well – de Wetherset and Aynton both lived there.
‘He is in St Mary the Great.’ Cynric turned to Michael. ‘He wants you as well, Brother. The cheek of it, summoning you like a lackey! Shall I tell him to–’
‘Now, now, Cynric,’ tutted Michael. ‘I am sure he meant no offence.’
‘Are you?’ muttered Cynric sourly. ‘Because I am not.’
‘Besides, it will allow me to miss William’s lecture,’ Michael went on. ‘There is nothing worse than listening to a man who has no idea what he is talking about. I do enough of that when Heltisle and Aynton regale me with their opinions about University affairs.’
He and Bartholomew began to walk across the yard, where a dozen chickens – including Clippesby’s two philosophers – pecked. They met Theophilis on the way. The Junior Proctor handed Michael the Chancellor’s morning correspondence with a flourish.
‘I took the liberty of briefing the beadles, too,’ he said gushingly. ‘To save you the trouble. Your time is too precious for such menial tasks.’
Beadles were the small army of men who kept order among the scholars.
‘Thank you,’ said Michael, scanning the letters quickly and deciding that none held anything important. ‘You had better go to the hall now. William will start in a moment.’
The Junior Proctor regarded him in dismay. ‘You expect me to be there? I assumed you would spare me such horrors.’
‘I wish I could,’ said Michael apologetically. ‘But someone needs to supervise. Matt and I are summoned to St Mary the Great, Clippesby has a prior appointment with a pig, and Aungel is too junior. You are the only Fellow left.’
‘But I was going to St Radegund’s Priory,’ objected Theophilis. ‘One of the nuns is going to preach about sainthood, and I invited Aynton to accompany me. He will be disappointed if I tell him that we cannot go.’