To Kill or Cure (27 page)

‘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.’

‘But that might be years!’ cried Honynge, aghast.

‘Yes, it might,’ agreed Langelee smugly. ‘And you cannot leave us and go to Lucy’s too soon, because you are obliged to give
us a term’s notice if you resign.’

‘However, as Senior Proctor, I have the authority to waive that clause,’ said Michael quickly. ‘I can give you permission
to leave today, if you find pouring wine repellent.’

Honynge thought about it. ‘I shall stay,’ he said stiffly. He lowered his voice. ‘Do not allow yourself to be ousted by the
unpleasantness of colleagues, Honynge – not on your first day.’

‘We shall have to oust him on his second day, then,’ murmured Wynewyk to Bartholomew. ‘Lord, what have I done? Had I known
he was like this, I would have voted
for Tyrington instead. Tyrington leers and drools, but he is preferable to
this
sharp-tongued cockerel!’

‘Perhaps these are nervous manners,’ suggested Bartholomew hopefully. ‘And he will become more amenable when he has settled
in. Have you ever watched hens? They peck and scratch at each other until a mutually acceptable hierarchy is reached. Maybe
people are not so different.’

‘He had better not peck or scratch at me,’ said Wynewyk pettishly. ‘Or I shall peck and scratch back.’

‘How well do you know Master Kardington, Honynge?’ asked Michael conversationally, raising his goblet in a salute to Tyrington
for his generosity. Bartholomew braced himself, seeing from the monk’s predatory expression that an interrogation was about
to take place. He recalled Michael saying he intended to put his questions subtly, and supposed Honynge’s curt manner had
goaded him into staging a frontal assault instead. ‘Do you ever visit Clare? After dark?’

Honynge maintained an admirable calm as he poured the wine. ‘No. Why would I?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Michael sweetly. ‘Why does any man frequent another foundation? Perhaps he wants to pass the time of
day – or night – with friends or lovers. Perhaps he likes the look of that foundation’s silverware. Or perhaps it is documents
that catch his eye.’

Honynge blinked. ‘Are you accusing me of a felony?’

‘Me?’ asked Michael, placing a fat hand on his chest. ‘Why would you think that? Unless your guilty conscience prompted you
to ask such a question, of course?’

‘I do not visit Clare, because I do not approve of fraternising between Colleges. It is safer that way. I have never been
to Clare. Never. Ask Kardington if you do not believe me.’

He was so convincing that Bartholomew wondered if Cynric had been mistaken, but it seemed unlikely – if the book-bearer said
he had seen the intruder’s face, then he had seen it. He glanced at Honynge’s hands as the man thrust a goblet of wine at
him. The knuckles were grazed, and there was a deep gash on one thumb.

‘What happened to you?’ Bartholomew asked, indicating the wounds with a nod of his head.

‘I scraped them during the process of moving,’ replied Honynge. He pointed to the physician’s fingers, which also bore the
marks of an encounter with Clare. ‘And you?’ he demanded.

‘I like Clare,’ said Tyrington pleasantly, cutting across the stammering reply Bartholomew started to make. Honynge was sharp,
and the physician had not expected him to counter-attack. ‘It is a very nice College, although not as pleasant as here, of
course.’

‘Tyrington is a dreadful sycophant,’ murmured Michael to Bartholomew, when the others were engaged in a strained discussion
about the day’s inclement weather. ‘And I do not know whether I find his leers or his spitting more objectionable. However,
he is charm personified when compared to Honynge. Do you think
he
killed Kenyngham?’

‘Honynge?’ asked Bartholomew startled. ‘Of course not! Why would he do such a thing? And, as I have told you several times,
no one killed Kenyngham.’

‘Why is obvious – he wanted a Fellowship here,’ Michael shot back. He stood and sauntered over to where Honynge was pouring
more wine for William. ‘Why did you chose us over Lucy’s? I would have thought that particular hostel would have suited you
very nicely – it overlooks a bog.’

Honynge regarded him warily, not sure if he was being insulted. ‘Books,’ he replied shortly. ‘You have a library, Lucy’s does
not.’

‘You did not choose us because you admire our tradition of academic excellence?’ asked Michael, a little dangerously.

Honynge snorted. ‘Hardly! You have Father William as a Fellow, and Deynman as a student. Those two alone make Michaelhouse
a laughing stock in the world of scholarship. However, I shall help you to oust them, and then our reputation will improve.’

‘What did you think of Kenyngham’s scholarship?’ asked Michael softly.

‘Solid,’ replied Honynge. ‘Not exciting, but perfectly acceptable. Why?’

‘Because I miss him. He was one of few men I respected, and if I find something untoward happened to him, I shall not rest
until the culprit is hanged.’

Honynge regarded him with contempt. ‘Is this what your Order teaches you? Vengeance?’

‘Not vengeance – justice. And I dislike men who send me gloating letters.’

‘I shall have to remember not to write you any, then. Forget Kenyngham, Brother. He was an old man who shortened his life
with his religious excesses – if anyone killed him, it was Kenyngham himself. Besides, some good has come out of his death,
because now you have me. I shall drag Michaelhouse from mediocrity to something other scholars will admire.’

‘Shall we have a debate before dinner?’ asked Langelee brightly, aware of the low-voiced confrontation between the two men
and keen to put an end to it before it escalated. ‘We have time.’

‘Blood Relics?’ suggested Tyrington. He spoke before swallowing the wine in his mouth, and Wynewyk scrambled to blot the resulting
mess from the Book of Hours he had been reading. ‘It is a matter with which we are all
familiar, and is at the heart of many important theological issues.’

‘Go on, then,’ said William, pleased. ‘I am always ready to expound my views on religion.’

‘And to listen to those of others,’ added Langelee pointedly, unwilling for the friar to show them up on the newcomers’ first
day.

‘I have changed my mind,’ whispered Michael to Bartholomew a while later. ‘Candelby is no longer my chief suspect for killing
Lynton and Kenyngham. Honynge is.’

‘Because you dislike him?’

‘Because he is an arrogant pig who would think nothing of committing murder to further his own interests. And he is a liar,
too. Cynric saw him up to no good in Clare, and you can see the evidence on his knuckles. He is hiding something.’

‘Lying is a long way from murder.’

Michael was not interested in the physician’s reservations. ‘Perhaps I will steal some of Agatha’s love potion and feed it
to
him
. He will fall hopelessly in love with her and make advances. Then she will advance back, and he will be lucky to survive
the encounter.’

It was still light when the Fellows left the conclave and went to their rooms, but when they did, there were none of the usual
relaxed pleasantries that normally characterised the end of their day. Langelee was dismayed, because the harmony he had sought
to achieve among his senior members had evaporated like steam, and the conclave had been full of bitterness and sniping. Bartholomew
was subdued and preoccupied, worried about his sister, Falmeresham, and what Arderne might do to his patients. Michael and
Honynge had quickly gone from antipathy to open hostility, and Wynewyk had taken against Tyrington
because the man had salivated all over his favourite book and then denied that the resulting damage was his doing.

‘I will
not
purchase him a new one,’ said Tyrington resentfully, before walking to his room. ‘The ink had already run. I am eager to
make myself agreeable, but I will not be taken advantage of.’

‘If he calls me a liar one more time, I shall …’ Wynewyk ground his teeth in impotent rage. ‘I do not know what I shall do,
but he will regret ever coming to Michaelhouse. That book was in perfect condition before he slobbered all over it, and now
it is ruined. For ever.’