An Order for Death by Susanna Gregory Page A
Authors: Susanna Gregory
I can protect you almost as well as Cynric.’
‘But you have a murder to investigate,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘And anyway, I imagine you are also expected to take part
in a vigil tonight. You are a monk after all, and Easter Week is an important time for clerics.’
‘The Benedictines at Ely Hall plan to keep vigil in St Botolph’s Church,’ replied Michael, slightly disapproving. ‘But so
do the Carmelites, and I do not want to spend an entire night yelling at the top of my lungs in a futile attempt to make the
prayers of a few Benedictines heard over four dozen bawling White Friars.’
‘If the Orders confined their rivalries to who can shout the loudest prayers, Cambridge would be a nicer place in which to
live,’ said Bartholomew fervently. ‘Then I would have been treating Faricius for a sore throat, rather than a fatal stab wound.’
‘And I would not be thinking about how to solve the mystery surrounding his death: a man whose Prior swears he did not leave
the friary and whose apparent killers claim he was already stabbed when they found him.’
‘I suppose the Dominicans could be telling the truth,’ said Bartholomew uncertainly. ‘I did not actually
see
them stab him. But they certainly intended mischief when I caught them: they were advancing on him with undisguised menace
as he lay helpless, and I am sure they planned to make a quick end of him.’
Michael agreed. ‘Those student-friars we met yesterday – Horneby, Lynne and Bulmer – are the kind of men who turn small disputes
between the Orders into violence. They are the younger sons of minor noblemen, who have been dispatched to the religious Orders
to make their own fortunes in the world because they cannot expect an inheritance.’
‘Like you?’ asked Bartholomew, aware of Michael’s own noble connections.
Michael regarded him coolly. ‘In a sense, although I would hardly describe my family as minor. They are a powerfulforce in Norfolk. But lads like Horneby, Lynne and Bulmer are sent to Cambridge to form alliances with other men destined
for high posts in the Church—’
‘Not to study and receive an education?’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘This is a University, Brother. It is a place of learning,
not somewhere to develop business connections.’
‘Do not be ridiculous, Matt,’ said Michael dismissively. ‘Many of these friars only stay for a term or two. How much learning
do you imagine they absorb in that time?’
Bartholomew sighed heavily. ‘Not all scholars are ambitious power-mongers, here only to further their careers.’
‘No,’ admitted Michael, after a moment of thought. ‘There are exceptions, and you are one of them. The Benedictines at Ely
Hall are also a sober group of men.’
‘And there are others,’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘In our own College, Master Kenyngham is devoted to his teaching, and even
Father William never misses a lecture.’
‘But things are different in the friaries, Matt. The Orders are legally obliged to send one in ten of their number to Oxford
or Cambridge, and the men who come are not necessarily endowed with a desire to learn. They see their time here as an opportunity
to escape the rigours of living as priests, and to engage in the kind of fighting that most young men love. And that is what
they are – young men – for all their habits and their cowls.’
‘They certainly behaved like undisciplined louts two days ago,’ said Bartholomew, thinking of the six Dominicans clustered
around the injured Faricius, and of their sneering threats when he had driven them off.
Michael seemed to read his thoughts. ‘I mean no disrespect, Matt, but had Bulmer and his cronies genuinely intended to kill
Faricius, you would not have been able to stop them. If Cynric had been there, it would have been a different matter, but
you were alone. And there is another thing that worries me, too.’
‘What?’
‘They all readily identified
‘But you have a murder to investigate,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘And anyway, I imagine you are also expected to take part
in a vigil tonight. You are a monk after all, and Easter Week is an important time for clerics.’
‘The Benedictines at Ely Hall plan to keep vigil in St Botolph’s Church,’ replied Michael, slightly disapproving. ‘But so
do the Carmelites, and I do not want to spend an entire night yelling at the top of my lungs in a futile attempt to make the
prayers of a few Benedictines heard over four dozen bawling White Friars.’
‘If the Orders confined their rivalries to who can shout the loudest prayers, Cambridge would be a nicer place in which to
live,’ said Bartholomew fervently. ‘Then I would have been treating Faricius for a sore throat, rather than a fatal stab wound.’
‘And I would not be thinking about how to solve the mystery surrounding his death: a man whose Prior swears he did not leave
the friary and whose apparent killers claim he was already stabbed when they found him.’
‘I suppose the Dominicans could be telling the truth,’ said Bartholomew uncertainly. ‘I did not actually
see
them stab him. But they certainly intended mischief when I caught them: they were advancing on him with undisguised menace
as he lay helpless, and I am sure they planned to make a quick end of him.’
Michael agreed. ‘Those student-friars we met yesterday – Horneby, Lynne and Bulmer – are the kind of men who turn small disputes
between the Orders into violence. They are the younger sons of minor noblemen, who have been dispatched to the religious Orders
to make their own fortunes in the world because they cannot expect an inheritance.’
‘Like you?’ asked Bartholomew, aware of Michael’s own noble connections.
Michael regarded him coolly. ‘In a sense, although I would hardly describe my family as minor. They are a powerfulforce in Norfolk. But lads like Horneby, Lynne and Bulmer are sent to Cambridge to form alliances with other men destined
for high posts in the Church—’
‘Not to study and receive an education?’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘This is a University, Brother. It is a place of learning,
not somewhere to develop business connections.’
‘Do not be ridiculous, Matt,’ said Michael dismissively. ‘Many of these friars only stay for a term or two. How much learning
do you imagine they absorb in that time?’
Bartholomew sighed heavily. ‘Not all scholars are ambitious power-mongers, here only to further their careers.’
‘No,’ admitted Michael, after a moment of thought. ‘There are exceptions, and you are one of them. The Benedictines at Ely
Hall are also a sober group of men.’
‘And there are others,’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘In our own College, Master Kenyngham is devoted to his teaching, and even
Father William never misses a lecture.’
‘But things are different in the friaries, Matt. The Orders are legally obliged to send one in ten of their number to Oxford
or Cambridge, and the men who come are not necessarily endowed with a desire to learn. They see their time here as an opportunity
to escape the rigours of living as priests, and to engage in the kind of fighting that most young men love. And that is what
they are – young men – for all their habits and their cowls.’
‘They certainly behaved like undisciplined louts two days ago,’ said Bartholomew, thinking of the six Dominicans clustered
around the injured Faricius, and of their sneering threats when he had driven them off.
Michael seemed to read his thoughts. ‘I mean no disrespect, Matt, but had Bulmer and his cronies genuinely intended to kill
Faricius, you would not have been able to stop them. If Cynric had been there, it would have been a different matter, but
you were alone. And there is another thing that worries me, too.’
‘What?’
‘They all readily identified