‘Do not be so fastidious, Brother,’ said Suttone impatiently. ‘Michaelhouse is desperate for funds, what with the hall in need of painting and the conclave roof leaking like fury. You should not allow a dubious moral stance to prevent you from taking what is freely offered.’
‘What do you think, Matt?’ asked Michael. ‘Should I put my College before my personal integrity and accept this post? Or should I risk offending my bishop by handing it back?’
‘De Lisle will not appreciate his efforts being for nothing,’ warned Bartholomew, thinking the monk should have considered such issues before accepting the appointment in the first place.
‘True,’ said Michael. ‘But Whatton made me feel … less than honourable about the situation.’
‘Ignore Whatton,’ advised Suttone. ‘Everyone knows the nomination of canons is a political matter, and that greed and favouritism are an integral part of the system. I fully accept that I owe mine to the fact that the cathedral is eager to have a Suttone in its ranks. Besides, we have just spent two weeks getting here, and it seems a pity to return home empty-handed.’
‘Make reparation, Brother,’ suggested Bartholomew facetiously. ‘Take some of this new income and offer a gift to the cathedral, or to one of the city charities.’
Michael regarded him coolly. ‘So, your advice is for me to buy myself a clean conscience? Very well. I shall see what the silversmiths have to offer tomorrow – assuming it is safe to go out.’
‘Do you have a kinsman called John?’ asked Bartholomew of Suttone, thinking of the dark-haired priest they had met at Kelby’s house and his resemblance to the burly Carmelite.
Suttone nodded. ‘A first cousin, once removed. His father was a tanner, but he perished in the Death, God rest his soul. John Suttone is a Poor Clerk.’
‘Why poor clerk?’ asked Cynric curiously. ‘Does it mean he earns even less than I get from Michaelhouse?’
‘It is a rank in the cathedral hierarchy,’ explained Suttone impatiently. ‘At the top, there is the dean. He has a Chapter, which comprises the canons, like Michael and me-’
‘Not until Sunday,’ interrupted Bartholomew.
Suttone ignored him. ‘Under us, there are the Vicars Choral, some of whom are in priest’s orders and include men like my deputy, Aylmer-’
‘But he is dead,’ said Cynric gloomily, crossing himself. ‘Stabbed in this very room. Right there, in fact, and you can still see his blood to prove it.’
Bartholomew looked to where the book-bearer was pointing and saw a sinister stain beneath one of the beds. He went to inspect it, noting that although an attempt had been made to scrub it away, not much effort had been put into the task. He wondered whether it had been left for a reason – perhaps as a warning to others, or because whoever had been detailed to clean the mess had had an aversion to the blood of a murdered man. People could be superstitious that way.
Suttone continued his lecture on cathedral government. ‘And under Vicars Choral are Poor Clerks, who serve the altars, act as recorders for Chapter meetings, bring the dove and so on.’
‘Bring the dove?’ echoed Bartholomew, bemused.
Suttone shrugged. ‘I am not sure what it means, either, but it is an official post, just like my cousin John’s proper title is Clerk to Rouse the People.’
‘I suppose that means stopping folk from falling asleep during services,’ surmised Cynric. His expression was one of sympathy. ‘It sounds an onerous duty.’
‘Why did you appoint Aylmer as your Vicar Choral, and not your cousin?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘I imagine a kinsman would expect to be promoted under such circumstances.’
‘I did not want to be accused of nepotism,’ explained Suttone. ‘However, Aylmer is just a family friend, which is slightly different.’
‘He seemed a decent fellow,’ said Michael, not pointing out that it was only very slightly different. ‘Your cousin John.’
Suttone raised his shoulders in a shrug. ‘I barely know him. However, he belongs to a city guild, and I do not approve of those. They tend to condone debauchery.’
‘The Guild of Corpus Christi certainly does,’ said Michael. ‘When we were looking at Flaxfleete’s body, I saw at least three men slumped unconscious across the table.’
‘Dead?’ asked Suttone uneasily.
‘Drunk. I could hear them snoring – and Flaxfleete was the only one who imbibed from the toxic barrel, anyway. They were lucky he was a selfish fellow who declined to serve his friends before drinking himself. And they are fortunate that John took his time filling the jug. Had he been quicker, there would have been more casualties than just Flaxfleete.’
‘You said they accused Ursula de Spayne of tampering with the keg,’ said Suttone. ‘Do you think they were right?’
Michael finished the tonic with a grimace. ‘It is possible, but it would have been a very stupid thing to have done on her part. The dispute between the Spaynes and the Guild seems very bitter, and Flaxfleete’s acquittal has done nothing to soothe the antagonism. Ursula and her brother will be the first suspects any sheriff will explore.’
