Susanna GREGORY - A Killer in Winter

Bartholomew felt guilty about joining a room full of celebrating scholars while the woman he had loved was so fresh in her grief, but there was nothing he could do to help her, and it seemed a pity to curb his enjoyment because of the death of a man he had barely known. Resolutely, he pushed the fishmonger from his mind, and tried to give his full attention to the events unfolding in the hall. With some trepidation the Fellows took their places. The students were already there, and there was an atmosphere of tense anticipation among them. Rather unwisely, considering his unpopularity with the undergraduates, Father William had ordered two of his students to help him up the stairs, keen not to miss anything.

‘I do not approve of this ceremony,’ he boomed, sitting on a bench with his damaged leg propped in front of him as he ate stewed turnips and cold meat left over from the feast. ‘Why can we not elect a Boy Bishop, instead? That would be much more in line with the teachings of the Church, and is what the scholars at Valence Marie do.’

‘There is no difference, as far as I can see,’ said Kenyngham. ‘A Boy Bishop is just as likely to cause mischief as is a Lord of Misrule. It is only the name that is different, not the activity.’

‘But a Boy Bishop is obliged to give a sermon in the church,’ argued William. ‘And a church is the best place for these lads at this time of year.’

‘You would not say that if you heard some of the sermons,’ said Suttone, picking up the remains of an eel and gnawing along its backbone with his large teeth. ‘Believe me, William, it is best to keep this sort of thing well away from the sacred confines of God’s houses.’

‘Let us proceed,’ said Langelee, addressing the waiting students. ‘Who are your candidates?’

‘Gray and Quenhyth,’ called the Franciscan Ulfrid, a mischievous grin creasing his face.

Quenhyth was immediately on his feet, his face flushed with outrage. ‘I will not be party to such a disgraceful spectacle! I have no time for stupid pranks and only want to study. You can leave me out of this!’

‘Silly boy,’ muttered Michael, shaking his head in reproof. ‘He should have accepted the nomination, and taken the opportunity to avenge himself on those who have plagued him since September.’

‘Quenhyth is a dull boy,’ said Suttone, spitting eel bones on to the table, where they landed with a light pattering sound. ‘He talks about his lectures and his reading, but nothing else.’

‘He is unwise,’ said Bartholomew. ‘By standing down, he has effectively ensured that Gray is elected. And Gray will make his life a misery over the next twelve days.’

‘Gray had better not try to make my life a misery,’ said William threateningly. ‘I will not be harassed by a group of boys.’

‘You have no choice,’ said Langelee sternly. ‘You must bide by any decisions the Lord makes, while at the same time promising no retribution in the future. You know this; we have been through it before.’

William growled something incomprehensible, and snapped his fingers for Cynric to fetch him some wine. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Gray, and neither did Cynric’s long-suffering grimace. Bartholomew was certain William would soon pay for his abrupt treatment of the servants.

‘I nominate me,’ said Deynman, loudly and rather unexpectedly. For a moment, no one spoke, and everyone in the hall stared at the lad whose limited intelligence would never see him pass his disputations.

‘You cannot nominate yourself,’ said Gray eventually. ‘It is not done.’

‘Who says?’ demanded Deynman, uncharacteristically pugilistic. ‘Just because it has not been done before does not mean that it cannot be done now. And anyway, you were Lord of Misrule last year, and I do not want you again. This year it should be me.’

Several of the students began to cheer his audacity, while Gray looked as black as thunder. ‘But I have made arrangements,’ he said in a low, angry voice. ‘I will ensure that no one will ever forget my last Christmas at Michaelhouse: my reign will be remembered for decades to come.’

‘Lord!’ breathed Michael in alarm. ‘I do not like the sound of that. It does not bode well for us Fellows, of that you can be sure.’

‘I do not care about the Fellows, only that we still have a College at the end of it,’ said Langelee worriedly. ‘Gray’s idea of a memorable time might be to set the place alight and dance in the flames.’

‘It is not,’ said Bartholomew, defensive of the student who had been with him since the plague. ‘He knows there are limits. I cannot say the same for Deynman, however, so you had better hope Gray wins the election.’

But Gray did not win the election. The students were amused by the fact that Deynman had issued a direct challenge to Gray, who was a bully, and the vote for Deynman was almost unanimous. Gray was furious, and slouched on his bench with a face that could curdle milk.

‘Good,’ said Deynman, rubbing his hands together. ‘Give me your tabard, Master Langelee. I shall wear it until Twelfth Night, so that everyone will know that I am in charge.’

‘Very well, but you had better not spill anything on it,’ said Langelee, reluctantly handing over the garment. ‘I want it back clean.’

‘Do not worry,’ said Deynman carelessly, indicating that Langelee would be unlikely to be able to wear the item again. He turned to address his new ‘subjects’. ‘There are some things I should make clear. First, you have to do anything I say … ’

‘Within reason,’ cautioned Ulfrid warily. ‘You cannot ask us to do anything dangerous or too nasty. For example, I refuse to be the one to remove Father William’s habit and wash it.’ The chorus of cat-calls and laughter made William gape in astonishment. Ulfrid hastened to explain to the bemused Fellows. ‘That was on Gray’s list of things to do during the Twelve Days. It is something that should happen, but none of us wants the task.’

‘Brother Michael can do it,’ said Deynman. ‘He is big, strong and used to unpleasant sights.’

‘I am sure we can come to some arrangement,’ said Bartholomew hastily, anticipating that Michael would refuse to undertake such a gruesome task, which might result in all manner of chaos. ‘If William will relinquish it willingly, then Michael can take it to Agatha–’

‘I will not have that filthy thing in my laundry,’ came Agatha’s voice from behind the servants’ screen, where she had been listening and probably enjoying herself – at least, until she had been mentioned in connection with William’s infamous robe. ‘The bonfire is the best place for that.’

‘I will buy a new one,’ said Deynman generously. ‘And then no one need touch it. That is my second command: William’s vile habit shall never again make an appearance in Michaelhouse.’

‘Now just a moment,’ began William indignantly. ‘This is a perfectly serviceable garment. I admit it is marred by one or two stains–’

Whatever he had planned to say was drowned by laughter. The students hefted their new leader on to their shoulders and carried him to the conclave, which they evidently intended to wrest from the Fellows for the next few days. Gray followed them, a thoughtful expression on his face. His train of thought was obvious to anyone who knew him: Deynman was fond of Gray, and would listen to anything he suggested. So, while Gray might not be Lord of Misrule himself, being the friend of one was the next best thing. Gray would have his power after all.

‘You cannot take the conclave!’ exclaimed Kenyngham, his usually benign face filled with dismay. ‘It is where the Fellows go in the evenings.’

Bartholomew regarded him uncertainly. The Gilbertine was not a man who usually cared much about personal comforts. Indeed, Bartholomew would not have been surprised if Kenyngham had failed to notice that the conclave was unavailable, so immersed was he in spiritual matters.