Fellows filed into the
hall to begin the process of electing a new Master.
The College statutes ordered that a new Master should
be chosen by the Chancellor from two candidates
selected by the Fellows. Bartholomew sat at the long
table, picking idly at a splinter of wood while his
colleagues argued. Wilson had support from Alcote,
Swynford and Father William. Bartholomew, Brother
Michael and Abigny wanted Father Aelfrith to be the
other candidate, but Bartholomew knew which of the
two the Chancellor would select, and was reluctant to
become too embroiled in a debate he could not win.
Eventually, seeing that it would divide the College in a way that neither Wilson nor Aelfrith could heal, Aelfrith declined to allow his name to go forward. Alcote offered to take his place, a solution that met with little enthusiasm from either side.
The Chancellor selected Wilson, who immediately
began in the way he intended to continue, by having three students’ sent down’ for playing dice on a Sunday, sacking the brewer for drinking, and declaring that everyone
Fellows, commoners and students - should wear only
black on Sundays. Bartholomew had to lend several of his poorer students the money to purchase black leggings or tunics, since they only possessed garments made of cheap brown homespun wool, which were harder-wearing and
more practical than the more elegant black.
The day of Wilson’s installation dawned clear and
blue, although judging from the clatter and raised voices from the kitchen, most of the servants had been up
with their duties all night. Bartholomew rose as the
sky began to lighten, and donned the ceremonial red
gown that marked him as a Doctor of the University.
He sat on the bed again and looked morosely through
the window across the yard. Term had not yet begun, so there were only fifteen students in residence, but they made up for the deficit with excited shouting and a good deal of running. Through the delicate arched windows
opposite, he could see Fathers William and Aelfrith trying to quieten them down. Reluctantly, Bartholomew walked
across the dry packed earth of the yard for breakfast in the hall, a rushed affair that was clearly an inconvenience for the harried servants.
The installation itself was grand and sumptuous.
Dressed in a splendid gown of deep purple velvet with
fur trimmings, and wearing his black tabard over the
top, Wilson processed triumphantly through Cambridge,
scattering pennies to the townsfolk. A few grubby urchins followed the procession, jeering insults, and several of the citizens spat in disdain. Wilson ignored them all, and throughout the long Latin ceremony at Michaelhouse in
which he made his vows to uphold the College statutes
and rules, he could scarcely keep the smug satisfaction from his face.
Many influential people were present from the
University and the town. The Bishop of Ely watched the proceedings with abored detachment, while the Chancellor and the Sheriff exchanged occasional whispers. Some
of the town’ s officials and merchants had been invited too.
They stood together, displaying a magnificent collection of brilliant colours and expensive cloth. Bartholomew
saw Thomas Exton, the town’s leading physician, dressed in a gown of heavy blue silk, surrounded by his enormous brood of children. Near him was Bartholomew’s
brother-in-law, Sir Oswald Stanmore, who owned estates to the south of Cambridge, and had made a fortune in
the wool trade. He was flanked by his younger brother, Stephen, and Bartholomew’s sister Edith.
Giles Abigny had refused to attend, announcing that
he had a disputation to organise with Hugh Stapleton,
the Principal of Bene’t Hostel. Brother Michael made
his disapproval of Wilson known by muttering loudly
throughout the proceedings, and by coughing, apparently uncontrollably, in those parts that should have
been silent. Bartholomew did what was expected of
him, but without enthusiasm, his
hall to begin the process of electing a new Master.
The College statutes ordered that a new Master should
be chosen by the Chancellor from two candidates
selected by the Fellows. Bartholomew sat at the long
table, picking idly at a splinter of wood while his
colleagues argued. Wilson had support from Alcote,
Swynford and Father William. Bartholomew, Brother
Michael and Abigny wanted Father Aelfrith to be the
other candidate, but Bartholomew knew which of the
two the Chancellor would select, and was reluctant to
become too embroiled in a debate he could not win.
Eventually, seeing that it would divide the College in a way that neither Wilson nor Aelfrith could heal, Aelfrith declined to allow his name to go forward. Alcote offered to take his place, a solution that met with little enthusiasm from either side.
The Chancellor selected Wilson, who immediately
began in the way he intended to continue, by having three students’ sent down’ for playing dice on a Sunday, sacking the brewer for drinking, and declaring that everyone
Fellows, commoners and students - should wear only
black on Sundays. Bartholomew had to lend several of his poorer students the money to purchase black leggings or tunics, since they only possessed garments made of cheap brown homespun wool, which were harder-wearing and
more practical than the more elegant black.
The day of Wilson’s installation dawned clear and
blue, although judging from the clatter and raised voices from the kitchen, most of the servants had been up
with their duties all night. Bartholomew rose as the
sky began to lighten, and donned the ceremonial red
gown that marked him as a Doctor of the University.
He sat on the bed again and looked morosely through
the window across the yard. Term had not yet begun, so there were only fifteen students in residence, but they made up for the deficit with excited shouting and a good deal of running. Through the delicate arched windows
opposite, he could see Fathers William and Aelfrith trying to quieten them down. Reluctantly, Bartholomew walked
across the dry packed earth of the yard for breakfast in the hall, a rushed affair that was clearly an inconvenience for the harried servants.
The installation itself was grand and sumptuous.
Dressed in a splendid gown of deep purple velvet with
fur trimmings, and wearing his black tabard over the
top, Wilson processed triumphantly through Cambridge,
scattering pennies to the townsfolk. A few grubby urchins followed the procession, jeering insults, and several of the citizens spat in disdain. Wilson ignored them all, and throughout the long Latin ceremony at Michaelhouse in
which he made his vows to uphold the College statutes
and rules, he could scarcely keep the smug satisfaction from his face.
Many influential people were present from the
University and the town. The Bishop of Ely watched the proceedings with abored detachment, while the Chancellor and the Sheriff exchanged occasional whispers. Some
of the town’ s officials and merchants had been invited too.
They stood together, displaying a magnificent collection of brilliant colours and expensive cloth. Bartholomew
saw Thomas Exton, the town’s leading physician, dressed in a gown of heavy blue silk, surrounded by his enormous brood of children. Near him was Bartholomew’s
brother-in-law, Sir Oswald Stanmore, who owned estates to the south of Cambridge, and had made a fortune in
the wool trade. He was flanked by his younger brother, Stephen, and Bartholomew’s sister Edith.
Giles Abigny had refused to attend, announcing that
he had a disputation to organise with Hugh Stapleton,
the Principal of Bene’t Hostel. Brother Michael made
his disapproval of Wilson known by muttering loudly
throughout the proceedings, and by coughing, apparently uncontrollably, in those parts that should have
been silent. Bartholomew did what was expected of
him, but without enthusiasm, his
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