To Kill or Cure by Susanna Gregory Page B

enemies.’
    ‘That healer – Arderne – claims
he
can cure anything. He waved his feather at a man Paxtone said would die,and the fellow was up and strolling along the High Street yesterday.’
    Bartholomew frowned, but declined to say what he thought of cures that required the waving of feathers. ‘There is a famous
     physician called John Arderne. He specialises in anal fistula – not a life-threatening condition, but an acutely uncomfortable
     one. Perhaps he and Richard Arderne are kin.’
    ‘My beadles tell me that our Arderne has already provoked public spats with Rougham, and we saw him denigrate Robin ourselves,
     so he is clearly intent on locking horns with the town’s
medici
. We cannot have a quarrel leading to a brawl, just because he wants a forum for advertising his skills, so stay away from
     him – no asking questions about his family, please.’
    ‘Did he quarrel with Lynton, too?’ asked Bartholomew.
    ‘We will have to find out. Did I tell you that two men died during yesterday’s fight? Their names were Motelete and Ocleye
     – a student from Clare and a pot-boy from the Angel tavern.’
    ‘Each side lost a man? Then we are even, so let us hope that marks the end of the matter.’
    Michael was angry. ‘The unease is Candelby’s fault! He has paid a high price, though, because Ocleye was one of his own servants.
     But here are our colleagues, so I suppose we had better turn our minds to choosing a new Fellow. Whoever we elect cannot hope
     to step into Kenyngham’s shoes.’
    ‘No one can,’ said Bartholomew sombrely.
    Statutory Fellows’ meetings had once been acrimonious events, when clever minds had clashed over petty details, and Bartholomew
     had resented the time they had taken. Fortunately, matters had improved since Langelee hadbeen elected Master. Every man was permitted to have his say – although he was forbidden from repeating himself – and then
     a vote was taken. Because this limited opportunities to make derogatory remarks, meetings tended to finish with everyone
     still friends. It was a sober assembly that gathered in the conclave that morning, though, and even the rambunctious William
     was subdued. The Fellows took their seats, and Langelee tapped on the table with the sceptre, his symbol of authority, to
     declare the proceedings were under way.
    ‘Right,’ he said tiredly. ‘We should try to be brief this morning, because we all have a great deal to do, especially Michael
     and Bartholomew. There is only one item on the agenda—’
    ‘You forgot to say a grace, Master,’ said William reproachfully. The grubby Franciscan looked even more unkempt than usual;
     his face was grey with sorrow, he had not shaved, and his hair stood in a greasy ring around his untidy tonsure. ‘Kenyngham
     is scarcely cold, and our religious standards have already slipped.’
    Langelee inclined his head. ‘Very well.
Benedicimus Domino.
’
    ‘
Deo gratias
,’ chorused the others automatically. Wynewyk reached for his pen.
    Langelee looked around at his Fellows. ‘We need to appoint a Fellow who can teach grammar and rhetoric, but I do not think
     it matters if his speciality is law or theology.’
    ‘John Prestone would have been my first choice,’ said William. The others nodded approvingly. ‘But I sounded him out informally
     last night, and he declines to leave Pembroke.’
    ‘What about Robert Hamelyn, then?’ suggested Wynewyk. ‘He is an excellent teacher, and I happen to know he would like a College
     appointment.’
    ‘I wish we could,’ said Langelee. He nodded meaningfully in William’s direction. ‘But Hamelyn is a Dominican, and we cannot
     have one of
those
in Michaelhouse.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Wynewyk sheepishly. William hated Dominicans, and Dominicans were invariably not very keen on William; Michaelhouse
     would never know a moment’s peace if a Black Friar was elected to the Fellowship. ‘How foolish of me.’
    ‘Very foolish,’ agreed