‘Aristotle’s Topica,’ said Langelee, taking it with an appreciative smile. ‘How kind. And there is a lovely serpent embossed in gold on the cover, too.’
‘A sea serpent,’ whispered Deynman to Carton. ‘Because it is swimming in spit.’
‘So much for the inaugural dinner,’ said Michael, disappointed that more had not been made of the occasion. ‘We do not have new Fellows very often, and a feast is a good way to welcome them.’
‘Feasts are an unnecessary expense,’ countered Honynge. ‘I shall be urging moderation in the future. Besides,’ he added in an undertone, ‘they may try to serve you dog, so you should veto repasts whenever you can.’
‘We do not eat dog,’ objected William indignantly. ‘We leave that sort of thing to Dominicans.’
‘And we shall have feasts whenever we feel like them,’ declared Michael, objecting to the notion that his stomach might be about to fall victim to some needless abstention. ‘Besides, we have just been debating diet, and the general consensus is that Galen was right when he recommended the consumption of a large variety of foods. Matt will support me in this.’
‘A “large variety” is not the same as a “large amount”,’ began Bartholomew. ‘And–’
‘I do not like my new room,’ said Honynge, moving to another issue. ‘It smells of mice, so I think I shall take Bartholomew’s instead. He can share with Wynewyk, and Tyrington can have what was the medical storeroom. That will leave Kenyngham’s chamber for my students.’
‘Bartholomew is not moving,’ said Langelee, after a short, startled silence. ‘And he needs that storeroom for his potions. They sometimes stink, and we do not want them near the kitchens.’
‘Potions are the domain of apothecaries,’ said Honynge icily. ‘So, it would be better if he mixed no more medicines in Michaelhouse. And it would also be wise if he severed ties with his town patients, too. There is a war brewing, and we do not want the College targeted by bereaved kin.’
‘I am sorry to say he has a point,’ said Wynewyk to Bartholomew. ‘There have been bitter mutterings against you of late, and Isnard said–’
‘Isnard would have been dead by now, if Doctor Bartholomew had not removed his leg,’ interrupted Deynman angrily. ‘I saw the injury myself, and I know about these things, because I am his senior student.’
‘Are you really?’ asked Honynge, looking him up and down. He lowered his voice again. ‘You made a mistake in coming here. Michaelhouse is full of fools, gluttons and madmen.’
‘You will get used to them,’ said Deynman pleasantly, assuming the muttered confidence was meant for him. ‘I barely notice my colleagues are foolish, gluttonous or mad these days.’
‘Tyrington brought a barrel of wine, for the Fellows to celebrate his arrival,’ said Langelee, keen to avert a row in front of the students, and so cutting off Honynge’s startled response. ‘It is in the conclave, so shall we adjourn?’
The Fellows trooped after their barrel-chested Master, leaving the junior members to chatter excitedly among themselves. Bartholomew hesitated, because Honynge’s seven scholars and Tyrington’s three were loitering, and he did not want a fight if they transpired to be anything like their masters. But Deynman approached them with a friendly smile, and they responded in kind.
‘Honynge is all right, once you get to know him,’ said a lad from Zachary, when Deynman commented on the fact that the new Fellow was rather free with his opinions, and that most of them were not the kind of remarks generally voiced by mannerly men. ‘He is an excellent teacher, and you will learn a lot if you are fortunate enough to be in his classes.’
‘He talks to himself,’ said Carton disparagingly. ‘How will we know whether he is lecturing to us or enjoying a discussion with his favourite person?’
‘It becomes obvious after a while,’ replied the student. ‘You should hear him on Blood Relics! I have never known a theologian make these complex issues more clear.’
‘Tyrington has interesting views on that debate, too,’ said one of the Piron students. ‘I am looking forward to hearing him challenge Brother Michael. Michael has a formidable reputation as a scholar, although I understand Father William is a little less able in that respect.’
No one from Michaelhouse begged to differ, and Bartholomew followed his colleagues into the conclave a little easier in his mind. The newcomers were too relieved to have found a permanent home in a College to risk it by squabbling, while the Michaelhouse students were a hospitable crowd. He suspected they were going to be better friends than the Fellows.
‘This is nice,’ said Tyrington, looking around the conclave appreciatively as Bartholomew closed the door behind him. Now the senior members could argue all they liked, content in the knowledge that the students could not hear them. ‘I am glad I chose Michaelhouse over Clare – they offered me a Fellowship, too, and I was obliged to make a decision faster than I would have liked.’
‘We were delighted when we heard we had pre-empted them,’ said William, rubbing his hands together as Wynewyk broached the cask of wine. ‘It is always a pleasure to learn one’s College has scored a victory over an in ferior foundation.’
Tyrington treated William to one of his leers. ‘I am gratified that you want me here, but please do not gloat over Clare. They will not like it, and I would hate to be a cause of discord.’
‘That is good advice,’ said Michael to William. ‘And if I hear you have been aggravating Master Kardington, Spaldynge or any other Clare man over securing Tyrington, I shall not be pleased.’
‘I am not a fool, Brother,’ said William, hovering close to Wynewyk, to ensure he laid claim to the first available goblet of claret. ‘I know we are poised at the edge of a precipice, and you need all your Regents to be friends with each other. I shall even lay aside my dispute with the Dominicans until the rent war is resolved, although it will not be easy.’
‘I shall take this seat,’ announced Honynge, making a beeline for the chair Kenyngham had usually occupied. ‘It is a little tatty, but it will suffice. Make sure it is always free for me, if you please. I have a bad back, so must be careful where I sit.’
‘In that case, I shall take this stool,’ said Tyrington, attempting to distance himself from his new colleague by claiming the least desirable place in the room. ‘If no one has any objection.’
William strode towards Honynge, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him upright. Bartholomew winced, and Michael held his breath. ‘That belongs to the Master, and anyone who places his rump on it pays a nonnegotiable fine of threepence.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ said Langelee, playing along by sitting and beaming around him. ‘Now, let us have this wine. I am parched. You must serve it, Honynge, because you are the Junior Fellow, and that is a time-honoured tradition at Michaelhouse.’
Honynge gaped at him. ‘I serve no man.’
‘Then you must pay another threepence,’ said Langelee with a benign smile. ‘These fines build up, and we are entitled to dismiss Fellows who cannot pay their debts, so do not incur too many.’
Honynge was seething. ‘I am not junior to Tyrington. I am older than he.’
‘It does not work like that,’ said Wynewyk. ‘Fellows are ranked by the order in which they are admitted, and Tyrington took his oath first, because you were late and we started the ceremony without you. If you had not been delayed by other business, you might have beaten him to the post, but I am afraid he has the edge over you now. You will remain Junior Fellow until someone else is sworn in.’