A Masterly Murder by Susanna Gregory

breathed Langelee.
    Paul smiled at William. ‘I doubt that will happen, Father. But I, like
     Master Kenyngham, am old, and I long to spend my days in contemplation and prayer – not teaching bored youngsters about grammar
     and rhetoric when they would rather be doing something else. So, at the end of term, I shall vacate my room and leave you.’
    ‘Eight Fellows plus a Master was too many anyway,’ said Langelee breezily. ‘Seven is better.’
    ‘That man has all the charm of a pile of cow dung,’ muttered Michael to Bartholomew, eyeing Langelee with intense dislike.
     ‘Paul is the best of us. The College will be a poorer place without him, and the students will miss his kindly patience.’
    ‘I expect Matthew’s duties as a physician will preclude
him
from standing for the Mastership,’ said William hopefully.
    Bartholomew was about to agree, when Michael spoke.
    ‘Nonsense. Matt has students who are now sufficiently trained to relieve
     him of some of his work, and he has been at Michaelhouse for ten years. He knows the College and is all a Master should be.
     We will have him, if I cannot stand.’
    Bartholomew was too astonished to object.
    ‘I agree,’ said Kenyngham, smiling at the physician. ‘Matthew would make an excellent
     Master – firm, but not inflexible, and his dedication to his teaching and his writing will ensure that Michaelhouse continues
     itstradition of academic excellence. He would be my choice, certainly.’
    ‘It is true he would be a fair and thoughtful Master,’ said William reluctantly. ‘And I would rather have him than someone
     from a rival Order. Matthew is my choice, too.’
    ‘I am not from a rival Order,’ Langelee pointed out, a little angrily. He was red-faced, and Bartholomew wondered whether
     he had been drinking, preparing with false courage for the meeting that might make him a powerful man. ‘What about me?’
    ‘But I do not like you,’ said William baldly. Michael’s snort of spiteful laughter was loud in the otherwise quiet room. ‘I
     do like Matthew, however – well, most of the time. I do not approve of his dealings with harlots, but he seems to have forsaken
     them these days.’
    ‘But I do not want to be Master,’ said Bartholomew, as soon as he could find a gap in the conversation that seemed to be taking
     place as though he were not present. ‘William was right – my duties as physician claim too much of my time. And if anyone
     thinks I can leave my patients to the ministrations of students like Rob Deynman, he only need look at Agatha the laundress’s
     teeth to see that I cannot.’
    ‘True,’ agreed Kenyngham, shaking his head in compassion. ‘Poor woman.’
    Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘You have three votes out of a necessary five to make you Master, Matt. Consider very carefully
     before you decline.’
    Bartholomew shook his head. ‘Thank you, but no. I was given additional students this year, and, since Father Philius’s death
     last winter, I have had more patients than ever to see. And there is my treatise on fevers – I will never finish it if I take
     on extra College duties.’
    ‘I knew you would not agree, but it was worth a try,’said Michael softly. ‘You would not have been as good as me, but I could have guided you along the right paths.’
    ‘You mean you could have ruled Michaelhouse by telling Bartholomew what to do,’ said Runham, overhearing. ‘Bartholomew’s election
     would have made you Master in all but name.’
    Michael gave him a contemptuous glare.
    ‘So,’ said Langelee with satisfaction. ‘To summarise: Michael, Paul and Bartholomew have declined to stand, which leaves William,
     Runham and me. It is clear which one of us is the outstanding candidate.’
    ‘Is it?’ murmured Michael in Bartholomew’s ear. ‘Who will you choose, Matt? The bigoted friar who would have us all burned
     for heresy for holding beliefs that do not directly reflect his own; the cunning lawyer whose most