Langelee was unapologetic. ‘I take vows seriously, Brother – I am no Honynge, to break trust at the first hurdle. However, I knew you would find out about the Dispensary anyway, and I was right. It has taken you less than a week.’
‘How long has Lynton been running these games?’ asked Bartholomew, when Michael shook his head speechlessly.
‘Long before I came to Cambridge,’ replied Wynewyk. ‘He was good at keeping them quiet, and we shall all miss the Dispensary now he has gone. He maintained discretion by inviting just nine or ten people at any one time, so the events were always quiet and comradely. Never debauched.’
‘He held a session on Good Friday,’ said Michael acidly.
Wynewyk nodded. ‘But not for scholars or priests – only townsfolk. The likes of Candelby and Arderne attended on Good Friday; we were at our vigils.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked William, looking from one to the other with a pained expression. He disliked being in the dark, and the discussion had piqued his interest. ‘Dispensary?’
‘Do not ask,’ said Michael, regarding Wynewyk and Langelee coolly. ‘You would be shocked.’
‘It was a gaming house,’ explained Tyrington. ‘Lynton invited me once, saying it was a place where mathematical probabilities were discussed. I took him at his word, and was appalled when I discovered what really went on. I considered reporting him, but my students pointed out that such a course of action would make me unpopular, and damage my chances of being elected a Fellow.’
‘An ethical decision, then,’ muttered Michael, moving his stool away from Tyrington and wiping spit from his sleeve. ‘Not one based on self-interest.’
‘I only went twice,’ said Langelee. ‘I was bored rigid and lost three shillings, so I decided not to go again. But let us turn to the business at hand. We have waited long enough for Honynge, so you can record his absence for posterity, Wynewyk.’
Wynewyk was already scribbling. ‘The motion proposed by the absent Junior Fellow is that Kenyngham should be left where he is.’
‘Right,’ said Langelee. ‘Hands up if you agree with Honynge.’
Bartholomew shrugged an apology at Michael as he voted.
So did Tyrington. ‘I am sorry, Brother, but I think Honynge is right. A man’s grave should not be disturbed once he is in it. It is not decent.’
‘And those who want to know the truth about Kenyngham’s death?’ asked Langelee, raising his own hand. Michael’s shot up, too, and so did William’s. Everyone looked at Wynewyk.
‘Damn!’ he muttered. ‘Can I abstain?’
‘You can,’ said Tyrington, ‘but then Michael will win, which means you are essentially voting with him. If you stand with Bartholomew and me, there will be a draw, and we will have to discuss the issue again when Honynge is here.’
‘But you know what Honynge thinks,’ said Michael. ‘So you will make me lose the fight for justice if you do not abstain. Besides, remember that Honynge has just betrayed your gambling to the Senior Proctor, and here is your chance to exact revenge – by thwarting his motion.’
Tyrington turned to Langelee. ‘Brother Michael’s commentary is manipulative. Do you usually allow such brazen coercion?’
Langelee nodded. ‘My Fellows are free to say what they like in meetings, although I fine them if they say it more than once. Come on, Wynewyk, make up your mind. I have a filly waiting.’
‘Very well,’ said Wynewyk. ‘I vote with Michael, then. I dislike the notion of exhumation, but I dislike the notion of Kenyngham’s killer evading justice even more.’
Bartholomew groaned, but Michael’s smile was victorious.
Tyrington offered to supervise the disputation in the hall, which left Langelee free for equine pursuits, and Michael and Bartholomew able to continue their enquiries into Lynton’s murder. Bartholomew was disappointed in the outcome of the vote, not just because he hated what was going to happen to Kenyngham, but because the Fellows tended to agree on most issues, and the College was happier for it. He supposed the time for concord was over.
Honynge was strolling across the yard as the Fellows emerged from the conclave, and Michael, chortling maliciously, hastened to make himself scarce. He slipped into the kitchens, to see whether Agatha had left any more Lombard slices lying around. Bartholomew followed him, not wanting to bear the brunt of Honynge’s ire when he realised he had been deceived.
‘So,’ said Michael, stealing a pastry when Agatha’s back was turned. ‘Honynge desperately wants Kenyngham left alone.’
‘So does Tyrington.’ Bartholomew started to reach for a cake himself, but Agatha whipped around suddenly, and he thought better of it. ‘And so do I.’
‘But you two are not murder suspects,’ said Michael. ‘Honynge is. He could have shot Lynton and Ocleye, perhaps over a dispute arising from all this gambling, and he could have poisoned Kenyngham. And because he knows I was fond of Kenyngham, he then sent me these horrible notes. One was to taunt me with the offer of a reward, and the other was to gloat.’
Bartholomew took the letters and examined them. ‘They have different styles of writing. One is neat and careful, and the other is a scrawl. I do not think they were penned by the same person.’
‘He wrote them under different circumstances,’ said Michael, grabbing another cake when Agatha was distracted by the cat leaping on to her shoulder. She screeched and tried to dislodge it, but it merely applied claws to the situation, and clung on gamely. ‘He penned one when he had plenty of time, and he scribbled the other when he was in a hurry.’
‘Why would Honynge kill Kenyngham?’ asked Bartholomew reasonably, going to remove the cat while it and Agatha were still relatively unscathed. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘We have already been through this: because he wanted to be a Fellow. And he has succeeded. Lord, I detest that man! I know it is not something a monk should admit, but I am only human, and he has pushed me too far. I will see him ousted from my College.’
‘Good,’ said Agatha, overhearing. ‘I do not like him, either, and I am glad he ate all that dog this morning. I heard he was a pig for eggs, and it is true.’
‘Heard where?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘The Angel,’ replied Agatha. ‘When I went in for a drink, Candelby was telling my cousin Blankpayn that the best way to hurt the University is to prevent its scholars from buying food. He was itemising what various individuals would least like to lose – Chancellor Tynkell would miss honey, Honynge would die without eggs, William would mourn fish-giblet soup. And so on.’
‘These are odd details for a taverner to know,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘How does he come to be in possession of such personal information?’
Agatha shrugged. ‘Inn-keepers listen to gossip. Incidentally, you might want to stay away from the mutton stew tomorrow. It could come with a dog sauce.’
‘Will Candelby do it?’ asked Michael uneasily. ‘Deprive us of victuals, I mean? That would certainly bring about an abrupt end to the rent crisis.’
‘It would,’ agreed Agatha. ‘You would sign any solution Candelby proposed if you thought the alternative might be a tightening of the belts. The food merchants are waiting to see what happens to the rents before committing themselves, though. If Candelby wins and the rents rise, then they will form a guild to force up the price of food. If Candelby loses, they will do nothing.’
‘Lord!’ groaned Michael. ‘If the Convocation of Regents passes my amendment, we will have peace with the landlords, but another war with the food merchants. If the Convocation rejects the clause, we will remain at an impasse over rents for ever. I cannot win no matter what happens!’