Susanna GREGORY: A Masterly Murder

‘He is short of a few wits,’ murmured Runham unpleasantly. ‘I swear he barely knows where he is most of the time – unless it is in a church. It is not good for the Master of a College to be so …’ He hesitated, deliberating what word would best describe the eccentric Master of Michaelhouse.

‘Unworldly,’ suggested Bartholomew.

‘Holy,’ countered Paul.

‘Odd,’ stated the loutish Ralph de Langelee flatly, a man who had decided to become a scholar because his duties as spymaster for the Archbishop of York were not sufficiently exciting. He entertained high hopes that the scheming and intrigues in the University might furnish him with the adventure and exhilaration he craved. For the most part, he had not been disappointed.

‘Unsuitable,’ finished Runham firmly.

‘What did you want to tell us, Master Kenyngham?’ prompted Michael, eyeing the food on the platters near the screen at the far end of the hall.

Kenyngham cleared his throat, then beamed paternally at the assembled scholars. Before his mind could wander again, William almost snatched the psalter from him. Closing it, he laid it on the table. Kenyngham patted him on the head, as an adult might do to a child, much to the friar’s consternation and the students’ amusement.

‘You may have noticed that we have two new faces at the high table,’ said Kenyngham, gesturing to the Dominican and the Carmelite who sat on his left.

‘Welcome, welcome,’ said Michael, waving a hand that was more dismissive than friendly. When Cynric placed a basket of bread in front of him, he immediately selected the piece that was significantly larger than the rest. His colleagues, however, were more interested in the newcomers than in the rough bread baked from the cheapest flour the College could buy, or the thin bean stew that was now being distributed in greasy pewter bowls by the servants.

‘Master Thomas Suttone,’ Kenyngham continued, indicating the Carmelite, ‘comes to us from Lincoln, where he has been vicar of one of the parish churches. He will teach the trivium – grammar, rhetoric and logic.’

‘Good,’ said William with feeling. ‘I have been forced to teach the trivium since Alcote met his untimely demise in the summer, and I am heartily sick of it. Now Suttone can take over, and I can concentrate on what I am best at.’

‘And what, pray, is that?’ asked Langelee archly. ‘Unmasking warlocks among the Dominicans?’

‘When I was with the Inquisition …’ began William hotly.

‘We are pleased to have you at Michaelhouse, Master Suttone,’ said Bartholomew quickly, before William could start down that track. The friar’s tales of his ruthless persecution of ‘heretics’ in France were enough to put even Michael off his food, and Bartholomew did not want the new Fellows to wonder what they had let themselves in for on their first day.

‘I am delighted to be here,’ said Suttone, his red face breaking into a happy smile. ‘As parish priest in Lincoln, my duties included teaching the city’s children, who were lively and curious, but I missed the maturity and depth of adult minds, and I am looking forward to many hours of academic debate and disputation at Michaelhouse.’

‘Lord help us!’ whispered Langelee in alarm. ‘He sounds like one of those thinking types.’

‘This is a University,’ replied Michael under his breath. ‘We are supposed to harbour “thinking types” in our Colleges.’

‘Lincoln,’ mused William, regarding Suttone with suspicion. ‘That is a heathen place, I hear.’

‘It cannot be heathen,’ said Bartholomew, smiling. ‘It has a magnificent cathedral.’

‘So does Paris,’ replied William, pursing his lips as if no more needed to be said on that matter. He turned his attention back to Suttone. ‘Runham’s book-bearer comes from Lincoln. You may find you have mutual acquaintances.’

‘Excellent!’ began Suttone. ‘I will …’

‘I hardly think that my wine-loving book-bearer and a Carmelite friar would have enjoyed the same company,’ said Runham dryly.

‘Especially not now,’ muttered Michael, exchanging a glance with Bartholomew as they both thought about the sorry figure found dead on the river bank.

‘Actually, Justus is–’ began Bartholomew.

‘Runham is right. Justus is a man more fond of taverns than churches,’ said Langelee, reaching for his own cup, as if in sympathy. ‘So, unless you like your ale, Suttone, I doubt you will have come across each other.’

‘And John Clippesby, our second new Fellow, hails from Huntingdon,’ said Kenyngham, speaking quickly before the conversation ran away from his introductions completely. ‘He will teach astronomy and music.’

‘ Music? ’ queried William in disapprobation, making it sound like some disgusting vice. ‘We have never had anyone teaching music at Michaelhouse before.’

‘Then it is about time someone started,’ said Father Paul, smiling sightlessly to where he thought the Dominican might be located. ‘Music can be a wonderful thing.’

The other Fellows said nothing, but none of them looked at Michael, whose choir had managed to put most of them off that most noble of arts. The students murmured their own greetings to the two newcomers, to which Suttone responded with a friendly smile and Clippesby’s intense face assumed the kind of expression he might have used had someone accused him of molesting his mother. Bartholomew wondered whether he was entirely sane – it would not be the first time that a madman had been foisted on the University by an Order that did not know what else to do with him. Needless to say, Kenyngham did not notice Clippesby’s strange reaction to the students’ affable greetings, and continued with his announcement.

‘Masters Suttone and Clippesby will be formally admitted to the Society of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the Blessed Virgin Mary and St Michael – to give us our official name – on Saturday evening. That is in two days … no three days …’ He frowned in thought.

‘It is the day after tomorrow, Master,’ said William irritably. ‘Today is Thursday.’

Kenyngham nodded his thanks. ‘And we will celebrate the occasion with a feast.’

Michael almost choked. ‘A feast? You cannot just snap your fingers and have a feast! It takes planning and preparation to arrange a decent feast. All we will have on Saturday will be more of this miserable bread and a double helping of this even more miserable stew. We need at least a week to organise something worthwhile.’

‘And I should like to take this opportunity to give you a little more news,’ Kenyngham went on, oblivious to Michael’s displeasure. ‘I propose to resign as Master of Michaelhouse on Saturday. Our two new members can join our other Fellows – Brother Michael, Fathers William and Paul, Doctor Bartholomew, and Masters Runham and Langelee – in selecting one of their number to become our next Master.’

Predictably, the gentle, unassuming Kenyngham was surprised and dismayed by the chaos that erupted following his announcement, and was bewildered by the raised voices and objections to his proposed retirement. It took some time to restore order, at which point – in a moment of rare common sense – he hastily signalled to the Bible Scholar to begin reading, effectively preventing any further discussion during the meal.

When the last remnants of the food had been consumed by a scowling Michael, Kenyngham rose to say another grace, but was prevented from leaving the hall by the vicelike fingers of Father William, who seemed about to embark on an argument there and then, with all the students watching the dissension between their seniors with open interest.

‘I suggest we Fellows adjourn to the conclave for an emergency meeting,’ said Runham, before the friar could begin a diatribe. He turned to the two bemused newcomers. ‘Perhaps you might care to join us. You will, after all, be expected to vote for the next candidate for the Mastership, so you had better see for yourselves what is on offer.’