Death of a Scholar

The fare was dismal as usual, comprising a watery stew laced with gristle and undercooked onion — fuel was expensive, and one economy was not lighting the kitchen fire until later in the day, which meant that food was often served semi-raw. There was nothing else except a few late nuts from the orchard, so it had to be eaten, but Fellows and students alike grimaced their distaste. Langelee was about to say a final grace when Cynric, Bartholomew’s book-bearer, appeared. Bartholomew started to stand, assuming he had come with a summons from a patient, but Cynric went to the Master instead.

‘I cannot find the Stanton Hutch,’ he said, perturbed. ‘You asked me to collect it from the cellar and put it in the conclave, ready for your meeting. But it is not there.’

Langelee turned to William and Thelnetham. ‘Have either of you taken it?’

Both Fellows shook their heads. ‘However, I can tell you that it contains fifty marks and five pence,’ said William.

‘Fifty marks and nine pence,’ corrected Thelnetham crisply.

‘More,’ gulped Langelee, speaking in a low voice so that the students would not hear. ‘A lot more. A couple of weeks ago, I discovered that rats had attacked the box where we keep the College’s valuables. I put them in the Stanton Hutch instead, as it is thicker and I thought they would be safer. If the chest has gone, then it means the College is penniless. Literally!’

CHAPTER 2

It did not take Michaelhouse’s agitated Master and Fellows long to determine that the heavy box containing the money, books and jewels of the Stanton Hutch, along with virtually every other item of value the College owned, was not on the premises. After a brief and very panicky search they met in the cellar beneath the kitchen, where the hutches were stored.

‘But it cannot have gone!’ breathed Langelee, white-faced with horror. ‘Everything is in it, including all the fees I have collected for the coming term.’

‘I hope you did not put the deeds for our various properties in it,’ said Michael worriedly. ‘Without them, we cannot prove ownership.’

‘Of course I did! Documents are far more vulnerable to rats than coins, and I aimed to protect them. I repeat: everything is in there, even the Stanton Cup.’

There was renewed consternation. The Stanton Cup had been bequeathed by their founder, and was by far their most cherished possession. Silver gilt and studded with precious stones, it was priceless, but although the College was constantly struggling for funds, it would never be sold.

‘Someone will give it back,’ said Hemmysby soothingly. ‘Do not worry.’

‘Give it back?’ spluttered Langelee. ‘What kind of thief returns his spoils? We shall never see it again, and this disaster means we face the biggest crisis in our existence.’

‘It is certainly the biggest crisis in mine,’ gulped Thelnetham. ‘I left a pledge in the Stanton Hutch — a bestiary with a gold-leaf cover. My Prior General lent it to me, and I was going to redeem it this week, because he wants it back. What shall I say to him? He will skin me alive!’

‘You borrowed the money to buy yourself a pair of red shoes,’ said William with gleeful spite. ‘So it serves you right.’

‘What shall we do?’ asked Suttone, his shocked voice cutting through Thelnetham’s waspish retort. ‘How will we buy food, fuel and teaching supplies? Or pay the servants?’

‘Easily,’ replied Hemmysby. ‘We shall forfeit our stipends.’

Bartholomew was appalled. He had no other income, given that most of his patients could not afford to pay him, and while he was not concerned for himself, it would mean an end to free medicine for a sizeable proportion of the town’s poor. He had thought his troubles on this front were over when he had been left some money by his brother-in-law, but it had been needed to repair the wall roof after a violent storm, leaving him as impecunious as over.

‘That is very kind,’ said Langelee wretchedly. ‘But our stipends have gone, too. We have five marks due in tithes from our church in Cheadle, along with fees from those students who have not yet arrived. And that is all. We shall have nothing more until Christmas. Nothing!’

There was a dismayed silence.

‘Then I had better see about catching the thief,’ said Michael eventually.

‘How?’ asked Langelee in despair. ‘Nearly every College and decent home in Cambridge has been burgled over the last two weeks, and you have told me countless times that the thief leaves no clues. This is just one in a long chain of crimes.’

‘Potmoor,’ said Thelnetham, shooting Bartholomew a disagreeable glance. ‘We all know he is the culprit. You must arrest him at once, Michael.’

‘I have arrested him,’ said the monk crossly. ‘But with no actual proof that he is guilty, I was forced to let him go again.’

‘But Potmoor is a wealthy man,’ said Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘I do not see him demeaning himself by clambering through windows in the dead of night.’