To Kill or Cure (29 page)

‘I wonder what he has in mind,’ said Michael, watching the servants dismantle the trestle tables in the hall and stack them
behind the screen at the far end. William might splutter indignation at the new members’ comments, but the monk knew there
was truth in them. He and Bartholomew were well-regarded in academic circles, but Wynewyk was more interested in College administration
than in honing his mind, and Langelee had never made any pretence at scholarship. The two absent Fellows were solid but not
outstanding, and he was perfectly aware that standards had slipped below foundations like Gonville, Clare and Trinity Hall.

‘Of course,’ Honynge muttered under his breath, ‘an inflated view of their worth is to be expected from men who put dog in
their breakfast pottage.’

‘We do no such thing!’ said William angrily. ‘It is a Friday, and we never eat meat on Fridays.’

‘That means they have dog on other days,’ whispered Honynge. ‘You will have to watch them.’ He turned and
walked away, having achieved the impossible: leaving William at a loss for words.

When the servants had rearranged the benches to face the high table, the students began to take their places. The hall was
rather full that morning, especially given that term had not yet started, because of the twenty new students. Honynge’s seven,
Tyrington’s three and Lynton’s two were sitting together at the back, while the eight who had been chosen from the sodden
hopefuls chose the front rows, eager to prove themselves to their new teachers.

‘
I
shall preside,’ announced Honynge, elbowing Langelee unceremoniously from the dais. ‘As I am obliged to be here, I may as
well be in charge.’

Langelee’s eyes narrowed. ‘Watch who you push around, man – unless you want to be pushed back. At Michaelhouse, people shove
the Master at their peril.’

Langelee had a way of sounding pugilistic even when he was trying to be pleasant, and when there was genuine menace in his
voice, folk tended not to argue with him. Honynge nodded a prudent apology, and began to pace back and forth in front of the
high table. When he spoke, his ringing voice silenced the rumble of conversation in the hall.

‘The subject we shall debate is:
frequens legum mutato est periculosa
. Who will translate?’

‘I will,’ said Deynman, leaping to his feet with one of his guileless smiles. ‘It means “frequently asking vegetables to remain
mute makes them very discontented”.’

‘Lord!’ groaned Bartholomew. ‘He knows even less Latin now than when he first arrived.’

Falmeresham and his cronies were sniggering, although the new students were too unsure of themselves to join in. Langelee
nodded, suggesting that he found Deynman’s interpretation perfectly acceptable, while Wynewyk and
Michael were uneasy, anticipating that Honynge’s inevitable scorn would bring about a quarrel. William looked puzzled and
Tyrington was regarding Deynman warily, not sure what to think.

‘No, Deynman,’ said Honynge, surprisingly gently. ‘Although you have correctly identified the verb and the noun, which is
to be commended. However, the proper translation is: a too frequent alteration of the laws is dangerous.’ Here he looked meaningfully
at Michael.

‘By laws, do you mean Statutes?’ asked the monk icily.

Honynge shrugged. ‘Changing the University’s Statutes to suit townsmen’s pockets is not a good idea, and I shall vote against
it.’

‘I agree with your sentiments,’ said William. ‘But loyalty to colleagues comes first, and you should back Michael’s attempts
to placate these landlords.’

‘I shall not,’ declared Honynge. ‘
I
shall vote as my conscience dictates. However, our students will not learn much today if all they do is hear us squabble.
Let us begin this disputation.’

‘He is a sharp-tongued cur,’ whispered Langelee to Bartholomew, as the Fellows retreated to the back of the hall, leaving
Honynge and Tyrington at the front. ‘I cannot say I like him.’

‘It was your decision to elect the man,’ said Bartholomew, feeling the Master had a lot to answer for. ‘If you had taken Carton,
Michaelhouse would still be a haven of peace.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Michael, overhearing. ‘He has odd habits, too – such as going out after the curfew and declining to
say where.’

‘Tyrington is all right, though,’ said Langelee. ‘I am not keen on his leering and slobbering, but at least I do not feel
the urge to plunge a blade in his gizzard every time he opens his mouth. It is a good thing Honynge does not
sit next to me at meals, because I would not like my appetite spoiled by an effusion of blood.’

Bartholomew regarded him uncomfortably, not sure how much was humour and how much heartfelt desire. ‘Michael will find a non-violent
solution to the problem. Just give him time.’

‘He has too many other things to worry about – finding Lynton’s killer, ending the rent war, averting trouble brought about
by Arderne. He cannot manage Honynge, too.’

‘Oh, yes he can,’ said Michael firmly. ‘Especially if it transpires that Honynge killed Lynton.’

Langelee was alarmed. ‘I sincerely hope that is not the case! If it is, Peterhouse might demand compensation from us – for
the murder of one of their Fellows by one of ours.’

‘The crime was committed while Honynge was still at Zachary,’ said Michael. ‘It had nothing to do with us.’

‘But Zachary no longer exists,’ Langelee pointed out. ‘Candelby reclaimed it yesterday, the moment Honynge and his students
vacated. He grabbed Tyrington’s hostel, too, and a wealthy goldsmith is already installed there. He must be delighted, because
Tyrington was not due to leave Piron until September.’

‘Piron was well maintained,’ said Bartholomew, recalling the sumptuous building. ‘It needed no repairs before it could be
leased again, so I am not surprised Candelby has filled it quickly.’

‘Zachary is the same,’ said Langelee. ‘It is a bit shabby on the outside, but the inside was always clean and neat. I imagine
Honynge and Tyrington were ideal tenants from that standpoint.’

‘Here we go,’ said Michael, breaking into their discussion. ‘The disputation begins.’

‘I like your notion, Deynman,’ said Honynge, smiling pleasantly at the student. ‘The topic of a debate is irrelevant, and
what is important is our ability to present coherent, logical arguments. In fact, I would suggest that debating the absurd
requires greater skill than topics with which we are familiar. So, as president, I have decided that the subject will be the
one Deynman has mooted: Let us enquire whether frequently asking vegetables to remain mute makes them very discontented.’

The students laughed.

‘We cannot debate that,’ cried William, aghast. ‘I do not understand what it means!’

‘That is part of the exercise,’ explained Tyrington, not bothering to hide his exasperation with a man who should have known
better. ‘You must define your terms. And then an opponent will challenge them.’

Falmeresham stepped up to propose that vegetables disliked being asked to remain silent, and although his analysis had the
hall ringing with laughter, his logic was impeccable. When he had finished, Tyrington put the opposite side of the argument.
It was a lively debate, and Honynge was careful to let each student have his say, even Deynman. When someone made a mistake,
it was highlighted patiently and kindly; Bartholomew wished Honynge was as considerate of his senior colleagues.

Tyrington’s enthusiasm was infectious, so there was very little wandering of attention. When Carton – the only one of the
assembled scholars who did not seem to be enjoying himself – began to gaze out of the window, Tyrington balled up a fragment
of parchment and pitched it, hitting the commoner plumb in the centre of the forehead. Carton spun around with a start, and
the other students smiled at his confusion. When Tyrington scored another direct hit a few moments later, Bartholomew suspected
he had honed
the skill to perfection: Carton glared at Tyrington, his normally bland face dark with fury.

‘Damn!’ murmured Michael. ‘They are both skilled teachers. I expected Honynge to be pompous and overbearing, but the students
like him. And Tyrington’s obvious love of learning has even enthused my dispassionate Benedictines – I have never seen them
so animated. What a nuisance! I was hoping to use incompetence as a means to be rid of Honynge, but now I cannot.’

‘Damn indeed,’ said William. ‘We shall have to think of something else, because I do not want him in my College. He is a vile
creature – probably a secret Dominican.’

‘Where are you going?’ Bartholomew asked, as the friar shoved past him, heading for the door.

‘To buy some dog-meat,’ replied William. ‘And lots of it.’

I have grown confused with all we have learned,’ said Michael, when he and Bartholomew had left the hall to continue their
investigation into Lynton’s murder. ‘And I am not sure what to do next. Come to the Brazen George with me, and summarise everything.’

‘We have only just had breakfast,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘And I am not sure it is wise to frequent taverns, given what is
happening in the town. We would do better to stay here.’

‘Nonsense, Matt. Candelby’s antics will not prevent
me
from walking about my own streets – or from enjoying my favourite alehouse.’

Cambridge was quieter that day, and the roads held fewer people, although Bartholomew suspected this was because a troupe
of travelling players was performing in the Market Square, not from any lessening of hostility. He could hear cheers, and
was glad the crowd was good-humoured.

Michael pointed along the High Street. ‘Candelby is heading our way. Can we reach the Brazen George before our paths converge?
I am not in the mood for a spat.’

‘Not unless you pick up the pace, Brother.’

‘I am not running from the man. Very well, we shall bandy words, then. Perhaps he will be drunk, and I can persuade him to
sign an agreement that will end our sordid squabble.’

Candelby was impeccably dressed, and the gold rings on his fingers glittered in the sunlight. He looked smug and prosperous,
and Bartholomew wondered why he was making such an issue over rents, when it was clear he already had more money than he could
spend; not being an acquisitive man himself, the physician failed to understand the bent in others. Blankpayn was with Candelby,
although
his
clothes were dishevelled and he looked unkempt and unshaven.

‘Why does Candelby keep company with a disreputable rogue like him?’ asked Bartholomew, as the two taverners drew nearer.
‘Blankpayn is uncouth and stupid.’

‘But loyal. The other burgesses follow Candelby because he is powerful and influential; Blankpayn follows him because he thinks
he can do no wrong.’

‘I hear you plan to hold a Convocation of Regents, Brother,’ said Candelby without preamble, as their paths converged. ‘To
ask whether it is right to go on defrauding honest townsfolk.’

Michael was startled. ‘The Convocation is not public knowledge yet. My clerks have not finished drafting the official proclamation,
so no one outside the University should know about it.’

‘I have my sources. Let us hope your colleagues see sense and rescind this ridiculous Statute once and for all.’

‘They may decide rents should remain as they are,’
warned Michael. ‘And if they do, I will lose the authority to raise them even by a small amount. You may find yourself worse
off than ever.’

Candelby smirked. ‘If that happens, I shall tell my fellow landlords to evict all poor scholars from their houses, and lease
them to wealthy townsmen instead. I will not be worse off, Brother.’

‘There cannot be that many rich citizens wanting to hire houses,’ said Bartholomew, puzzled. ‘If you decline to lease your
buildings to students, you will have such a small pool of customers that competition will drive prices down. You will be poorer
in the long term.’

Candelby’s expression was patronising. ‘I have never said I will not lease my properties to the University; I have only said
I will not lease them for a pittance. There will always be a demand for accommodation in Cambridge, and academics will have
to pay the market price for their lodgings in future, just like anyone else.’

Michael glared at him. ‘Is a heavier purse worth the trouble this dispute is causing? Men have died. Do you want more bloodshed
on your conscience?’

‘Any fighting is the University’s fault, not mine,’ declared Candelby firmly. ‘Incidentally, I heard you visited Maud, Bartholomew.
Do not do it again, because she is worse today. Arderne says it is because you touched her with your Corpse Examiner’s hands.’

‘Maud no longer cares for you,’ said Michael tartly. ‘So her health is none of your concern.’

Candelby eyed him with dislike. ‘She is feverish and does not know what she is saying. She will welcome my courtship when
she is well again, and then I shall marry her.’

‘The accident exposed your real feelings towards her,’ said Michael contemptuously. ‘She sees now that you only
want her for her money. She probably noticed your indifference towards your pot-boy, too – Ocleye is dead, and you do not
seem to care.’

‘Ocleye was a spy,’ snapped Blankpayn, leaping to defend his friend. ‘You cannot blame Candelby for not being grieved about
a man like that. Ocleye was not to be trusted.’

Candelby shot him a pained look. ‘Thank you, Blankpayn; your support is greatly appreciated. Now perhaps you will deliver
this letter to Maud. Arderne wrote it for me, and he has a way with words, so it will not be long before she invites me to
visit.’

The taverner stamped away, clutching the missive in his grubby fingers.

‘You are lucky to have such a fine friend,’ said Michael ambiguously.

Candelby’s expression was blank. ‘Yes, I am. I missed him when he was in the Fens, hiding, because you accused him of murdering
Falmeresham.’

‘According to Falmeresham, Blankpayn was ready to drop him down a well,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘Our accusations were not
as far-fetched as you make out.’