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scholars.’
    Bartholomew blinked. ‘That seems harsh!’
    ‘Pope and King have decreed that other foundations will suffer the same fate if they follow Linton’s example. I do not want
my
University sullied by that sort of thing, so the subject will be off limits once term starts, and anyone who does not like it can go and study somewhere else.’
    ‘You had better tell William, then,’ said Langelee. ‘Because his beliefs will be just as radical as those of Linton Hall. Personally, I fail to understand why a subject so tedious can excite such fervour. I am sick of hearing about it.’
    ‘You will not be at St Mary the Great to hear us discuss it, then?’ asked Michael wryly. ‘I shall speak myself, of course. I cannot wait to put those uppity friars in their place.’
    ‘If you do, William will never forgive you,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘While Thelnetham will be intolerable if he thinks he has your support.’
    ‘He is right, Brother. Please watch what you say.’ Langelee sighed wearily. ‘Incidentally, the trustees of the Stanton Hutch – namely me, William and Thelnetham – are due to meet after dinner.’
    Hutches were chests containing money that could be borrowed by College members. In return for coins, they could leave something of equal or greater value, such as a book or jewellery, and if the loan was not repaid by a specified date, the hutch kept whatever had been deposited. Michaelhouse had several, although the Stanton was by far the richest.
    ‘They will quarrel,’ the Master went on. ‘And I need some excuse to keep them apart, or I shall be hard-pressed not to run them through. Can you think of anything?’
    ‘How about attending the meeting unarmed?’ joked Bartholomew.
    ‘Perhaps I had better,’ sighed Langelee without the flicker of a smile, causing Bartholomew and Michael to regard him in alarm. Weapons were forbidden to scholars, and although Langelee had always ignored this particular stricture, he was at least usually discreet about it. ‘I do not want to be arrested for murder, although they would try the patience of a saint.’
    ‘Is the Stanton Hutch doing well?’ asked Michael, after a short silence during which he decided that he was not equal to disarming the head of his College that day. ‘Matt and I manage the Illeigh Chest, but that is virtually dead. We have dozens of useless baubles, but no coins at all.’
    ‘The Stanton is loaded with money,’ said Langelee gloomily. ‘Because if William supports an application, Thelnetham vetoes it, and vice versa. We have not made a loan in months. They will not even let me have one, and a few marks would help enormously with the expenses we always incur at the beginning of the academic year.’
    ‘The statutes forbid its use for that sort of thing,’ preached Michael. ‘And rightly so. If we did not have the facility to lend our students money, some would never pay their tuition fees.’
    Langelee waved the remark away and turned to Bartholomew. ‘I understand you make remedies for Thelnetham’s biliousness. How well do you know your toxins?’
    ‘I sincerely hope you are jesting,’ said Bartholomew, although looking at Langelee’s disagreeable expression, he suspected not.
    Langelee scowled when he saw he was not going to be rid of the problem so easily. ‘I do not want William
or
Thelnetham in my College. Now I know how Henry the Second felt when
he
had to manage turbulent clerics.’
    ‘So Langelee views himself as a beleaguered monarch,’ mused Michael when the Master had gone. ‘No wonder he walks around armed to the teeth and wants you to poison his enemies.’
    Bartholomew had always liked Michaelhouse’s hall, although it was more pleasant in summer than in winter. The windows had once contained glass, but that had been broken over the years, and the scholars were now faced with the choice of a warm but dark environment with the shutters closed, or a bright but chilly one with them ajar. As the weather was