‘Anger often drives people to do foolish things,’ said Bartholomew. ‘However, I can tell you that being afflicted with Holy Fire does not make people dash off and burn their enemies’ storerooms – and I am astonished Sheriff Lungspee thinks it did.’
‘So is Spayne, I imagine,’ said Michael. ‘We shall have to be careful when we go to see him tomorrow, and-’ He stopped speaking as someone came to hover near them, as if uncertain of his welcome. ‘God and all His saints preserve us! Is that Richard de Wetherset?’
A heavyset man with iron-grey hair stood in the shadows. He was dressed in a habit that indicated he had taken major orders with the Cistercians, although the robe was of excellent quality and suggested he did not take too seriously his Order’s love-affair with poverty. He was also portly, indicating he did not practise much in the way of abstinence, either. Because it was not a face he had expected to see in Lincoln, it took Bartholomew a moment to place it. De Wetherset had been the University’s Chancellor before he found the duties too onerous and had fled to a quieter life in the Fens. However, he had held sway in Cambridge for several years, and Michael had served as his Junior Proctor before the monk’s meteoric rise to power under de Wetherset’s meeker successor.
Behind de Wetherset was a second man. Like the ex-Chancellor, he was heavily built, and his face was the kind of florid red that suggested too much good living. The skin on his face was puckered, as if marred by some childhood pox, and even in the gloom, Bartholomew detected a pair of unusually pale eyes. He, too, wore a priest’s habit, although his haughty demeanour suggested he regarded himself as something rather more important.
‘
Michael gazed at him in astonishment. ‘Do you? You have never mentioned this particular ambition before.’
Suttone shrugged. ‘It is a notion I have been mulling over for some time. The present incumbent cannot remain in office for ever, and when he resigns, I shall put myself forward. It will make you my Senior Proctor, Brother, but as we are in the same College, I am sure we will rub along nicely.’
Michael was thoughtful. It was common knowledge that Chancellor Tynkell made no decision without the blessing of his Senior Proctor, and that it was Michael who really ran the University. Tynkell was malleable, and seldom argued with the monk; Suttone was more stubborn, and it would require greater skill to manipulate him. Michael’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. He enjoyed a challenge, and the last year – with no suspicious deaths to investigate – had been dull.
‘Are you still examining corpses on the University’s behalf?’ asked de Wetherset of Bartholomew, while the monk’s clever mind assessed the implications of serving under a different master.
‘Not recently,’ replied Bartholomew. He was not sure whether the question was de Wetherset’s way of initiating a fresh topic of conversation, or whether he was trying to be annoying: when Michael had first asked Bartholomew to inspect bodies, the physician had objected strenuously, and had had to be browbeaten, cajoled or bribed into doing what was necessary. Since then, he had grown used to it, and even enjoyed the work, because there was a good deal to be learned from cadavers. Unfortunately, his medical colleagues considered his discoveries anathema, which meant he was in the frustrating position of not being able to discuss them with anyone who might know what he was talking about.
De Wetherset raised his eyebrows. ‘I see. You are not wearing academic garb. Have you resigned your Fellowship at Michaelhouse and become a secular physician? I am surprised: I was always under the impression that you liked teaching.’
‘On our journey here, we found his scholarly tabard kept attracting the attention of men desperate for an argument,’ replied Suttone, before Bartholomew could reply for himself. ‘I suggested he remove it, and we have not been bothered by unwelcome company since.’
De Wetherset gazed at him, not sure whether there was an insult inherent in the Carmelite’s explanation. ‘Is that so?’
‘Matt returned from an extended leave of absence in October,’ said Michael pleasantly, before Suttone could add any more. ‘He was gone for sixteen months, which meant I was without a decent Corpse Examiner all that time. Do you remember Doctor Rougham of Gonville Hall? I had to make do with him instead, and I am sure innumerable killers went free on his account.’
‘They must have done,’ said Suttone. ‘You investigated several suspicious deaths a year when Matthew was with you, but not one from the moment he left. I cannot believe all Cambridge’s killers decided to behave themselves simply because your regular Corpse Examiner was unavailable.’
