A Poisonous Plot

‘That “drunken brewer” did a lot of damage. He let the pigs out, chased the geese, and terrified John Cew out of his wits by leaping out at him from behind a buttress. Indeed, Cew has still not recovered, and his colleagues want you to visit later, to see what can be done.’

Bartholomew nodded, but thought the antics of one silly townsman should not have been given so much attention. In his opinion, John Wayt, who was in charge of King’s Hall while its regular Warden hobnobbed with royalty in Winchester, should have ignored the matter in the interests of good relations.

‘Cambridge has never wanted us here,’ Michael went on bitterly. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether our ancestors should have chosen another town. Peterborough, for example. I liked what I saw when we were there last summer.’

‘It is a pretty place,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But I imagine its people would have objected just as vigorously to a lot of noisy and opinionated academics descending on them.’

‘I suppose so.’ Michael frowned worriedly. ‘I have had to order all my beadles to work tonight, because there is a rumour that Frenge — the marauding brewer — plans a repeat performance, and there are plenty of hotheads in the town who are eager to join him.’

Bartholomew regarded him in alarm. Of all the Colleges, King’s Hall was best able to protect itself, not only because it boasted sturdy walls and a powerful gatehouse, but also because many of its scholars were the sons of noblemen, well-versed in the art of combat. Frenge and his supporters were likely to get themselves killed if they staged an invasion.

‘A massacre will do nothing to calm troubled waters,’ he said worriedly. ‘Let us hope your beadles can talk some sense into them.’

They reached Michaelhouse to hear a lot of noisy activity emanating from the kitchens. Agatha — technically the laundress but in reality head of the domestic staff — was in the midst of the maelstrom, screeching orders as she oversaw preparations for the festivities to come. Bartholomew smiled at the cacophony, and surveyed the College that was his home.

Its core was a fine hall with an oriel window, where the scholars took their lessons and meals. Adjacent to it was the conclave, while beneath were the kitchens and a range of pantries, butteries and storerooms. At right angles to them were the two accommodation wings, the older, smaller north wing more dilapidated than the newer southern one. A wall completed the square, against which had been built stables and a porters’ lodge. There were more outbuildings behind the hall, as well as a long garden that ran down to the river.

The Hallow-tide celebrations were to begin with a special Mass in church, and most scholars had already donned their finery, ready to go. Those in holy orders were bedecked in their best habits, while the seculars wore their College uniform of black, but with ceremonial fur trimmings to mark the special occasion. Langelee saw Bartholomew and Michael, and came to talk to them, William trailing at his heels.

‘Have you heard the rumours?’ the Master asked. ‘That Frenge the brewer will lead another assault on King’s Hall tonight?’

Michael nodded. ‘My beadles will stop him.’

‘They had better,’ said Langelee. ‘I do not like the mood that bubbles here at the moment, and another raid by Frenge will certainly ignite a spat.’

They all jumped when there was a sudden roar of delight from the High Street. Then smoke wafted into the sky above the rooftops, a few wisps at first, followed by bigger billows.

‘Will Lenne must have lit the bonfire that he and his apprentices built at the back of our church,’ said Langelee angrily. ‘I asked him to move it to a safe distance, but he refused, on the grounds that that particular plot is common land. I hope it does not do us any damage. We cannot afford repairs — at least, not until we have secured some wealthy benefactors.’

‘We should have dismantled it, as I suggested,’ growled William. ‘Because the town will not pay if anything goes wrong. And if you want an example, look at how Frenge is refusing to make good on the destruction he wreaked on King’s Hall.’

‘If we had destroyed Lenne’s handiwork, he would just have rebuilt it, and then there definitely would have been harm to our church,’ said Langelee. ‘He has been very crafty: the fire is as close to St Michael’s as it can be, without one twig over the boundary and-’

He broke off when there was an urgent hammering on the gate. Walter the surly porter emerged grumbling from his lodge with his pet peacock under his arm, a bird that possessed a temper every bit as irascible as his own. He listened to the message that was delivered, then hurried towards the little knot of Fellows.

‘Trouble,’ he reported grimly. ‘Frenge has been murdered in the Austin Priory, and the town is saying that King’s Hall did it.’