A Masterly Murder (62 page)

‘I agree,’ said William. ‘Although most of the stolen treasure has surfaced relatively recently. I saw a set of silver spoons
that Alcote lost during the plague for sale some months ago. Runham must have found them on one of his foraging missions and
passed them to Caumpes to sell.’

‘He evicted you from your room with indecent haste,’ said Langelee to Kenyngham. ‘He could not wait to give the chamber a
really thorough search. And he was well rewarded, it seems. I think that once he had satisfied himself that he had recovered
every scrap of Wilson’s inheritance and the buildings were completed, he would have left us, taking with him the coins he
had hidden in the effigy. They were never intended for Michaelhouse or for Caumpes to sell. They were set aside for his personal
use.’

‘The effigy was a cunning place to hide them,’ said Michael. ‘When I examined the smashed pieces, I saw
a small slit in the top of Wilson’s head, so that the coins could be dropped through it as and when they became available.
They would have been safe for years. None of us could bear to be near the thing, let alone inspect it closely.’

‘That was why Runham was so keen for the building work to be finished quickly,’ said William. ‘All he really wanted to do
was complete his new court and then leave Michaelhouse to live a life of luxury.’ He folded his arms and pursed his lips to
show his disapproval of such worldly temptations.

‘But why bother with the building at all?’ asked Clippesby. ‘Why did Runham not search out the gold and run away with it immediately?’

‘Immortality,’ said Michael. ‘Every man wants to be remembered. Runham desired to be revered as the Master who built the north
court. He did everything on the cheap, but the new court – even if we had been obliged to rebuild the whole thing – would
have been called “Runham’s Court”. He would have been remembered by generations of Michaelhouse scholars, and doubtless, before
he left, he would have arranged to have masses said for him, too, like our founder.’

‘Ingenious hiding place, though,’ said William reluctantly, his mind still fixed on Wilson’s gold, despite his alleged dislike
of material possessions. ‘Who would have thought of looking there?’

‘It did take a certain amount of cunning on my part,’ said Michael, not looking at Cynric.

‘It is a good thing you were there when the effigy broke,’ said Clippesby shyly to Michael. ‘The money you recovered was just
enough to save Michaelhouse from disaster.’

‘But only just,’ said William gloomily. ‘We may have paid the workmen, reimbursed our would-be benefactors
and returned the loans from the guilds, but our hutches remain empty.’

A shriek from outside brought them all to their feet, and Bartholomew felt his stomach turn upside-down, anticipating some
dreadful accident involving the students. But it was only Gray, howling with laughter as Deynman gasped and shook water from
his hair from the bucket that had ‘accidentally’ fallen on him.

‘Kenyngham is a saint, putting up with students like that year after year,’ said William, returning to his place near the
fire. ‘Disgraceful behaviour! Well, I want none of it.’

‘Is this your way of saying that you will not stand as Runham’s replacement?’ demanded Langelee with keen interest.

‘It is,’ said William firmly. ‘I do not want to become embroiled in plans to raise buildings we do not need, nor do I want
to be smothered with cushions by discontented colleagues.’

‘That does not trouble me,’ said Langelee eagerly. ‘I will do it.’

‘Then you have my vote,’ said William in disgust.

‘Wait,’ began Michael in alarm.

‘And mine,’ said Kenyngham tiredly. ‘I am
just grateful to pass the responsibility to someone else. I have no stomach for this kind of thing, either.’

‘No!’ cried Michael, struggling to heave his bulk out of his chair so that he could protest more vigorously.

‘I will vote for you, Langelee,’ said Clippesby shyly. ‘I do not like Franciscans, such as Father William, but I will vote
for you.’

‘But …’ spluttered Michael, horror making him uncharacteristically inarticulate.

‘Good,’ said Langelee, rubbing his hands. ‘I am elected, then. We do not need the real Master Suttone, because
technically he is not a Fellow yet, given that it was his impersonator who was admitted. Paul has resigned, so we cannot ask
him. That only leaves Michael and Bartholomew – and since I have three votes already, what they think is irrelevant.’

‘Oh, my God!’ breathed Michael in horror. ‘He has done it! Langelee is our next Master.’

M
ICHAELHOUSE WAS FOUNDED BY A WEALTHY
lawyer called Hervey de Stanton in 1324. After his death, Stanton’s will provided funds for his College to purchase a house that became known as Ovyng Hostel, among other properties, and he left the scholars
a collection of church silver, including a thurible. He also drafted a set of statutes, which were read aloud to any prospective
Fellow, who was then obliged to swear to abide by them and exchange a kiss of peace with his new colleagues. Some of these
statutes, translated from the original Latin, are the ones Kenyngham read to Suttone and Clippesby.

By 1353 Thomas Kenyngham had stopped being Master of Michaelhouse, although the records do not say why. However, he is mentioned
in documents dating to the foundation, so he was no longer a young man: it is likely that he either died or resigned. The
next Master in the records is John Runham, who was succeeded in 1353 by a man called Ralph de Langelee. Again, the records
do not say why Runham ceased to be Master.

In 1353 Michaelhouse was engaged in buying some land, and the eventual purchase was made in the names of Ralph de Langelee,
Thomas Suttone and John Clippesby, all of whom were Michaelhouse Fellows.

Nothing remains of Bartholomew’s Michaelhouse today. The foundations of a later hall are buried under the handsome eighteenth-century
block called the Essex Building in Trinity College’s Great Court. St Michael’s Church,
rebuilt by Stanton when he founded Michaelhouse, still stands on what was once called the High Street, but is now Trinity
Street. A scheme was launched in March 1999 to restore it as a community centre for the University and the people of Cambridge,
and to call it Michaelhouse.

Michaelhouse, like many of the other Colleges, operated a system of ‘hutches’, whereby students were loaned cash in return
for a pledge of equivalent value. Some of these were solely for the use of students, others for the use of Fellows. Their
contents were sacrosanct, and for any master to borrow from them illegally would have been considered a dreadful breach of
trust.

Bene’t College – or the College of St Mary and Corpus Christi, to give it its full official title – was founded in 1350 with
generous donations from two town guilds: St Mary and Corpus Christi. For many years the institution was known as Bene’t College,
because it was close to the Saxon church of St Benedict (usually abbreviated to Bene’t), although it is called Corpus Christi
today. The first Master was a man named Thomas Heltisle (or Eltisley) and the first two Fellows to be admitted were Thomas
Caumpes and John Raysoun. John Wymundham was appointed as the College chaplain.

Bene’t College had some powerful and wealthy patrons. Among those who appear in the benefactors’ list in the 1350s was the
Duke of Lancaster. His squire, a man with the odd name of Simekyn Simeon, was also mentioned as helping the College in 1350,
along with one Henry de Walton. College records tell that two of the carpenters employed to build Bene’t College were called
Robert de Blaston and Adam de Newenham.

In the town, Henry de Tangmer was a wealthy merchant and a burgess, who was also in the Guild of Corpus Christi, while William
Horwoode was a member of the Guild of St Mary, and town Mayor. The Tulyet (or Tuillet) family
were a powerful force in the town and were burgesses and mayors throughout the fourteenth century.

Meanwhile, one of Oxford’s most famous thinkers in the fourteenth century was a nominalist called William Heytesbury, who
was a member of Merton College. His texts on philosophy were well known in contemporary universities, and were still in use
in the fifteenth century. Heytesbury’s best-known work was
Regulae Solvendi Sophismata
, in which he lent vague support to the controversial scholar William of Occam (of razor fame).