Read Online A Vein of Deceit by Susanna Gregory - Free Book Online

hammered home.
    He rang the bell for the daily procession to church, not caring that it was rather earlier than usual. Yet even though he
     tried to be his usual gruff and boisterous self as his colleagues emerged from their rooms and hurried to fuss over him and
     ask him questions, there was a reserve in his replies that was out of character. Michael noticed it, too.
    ‘What is wrong with him?’ he asked of Bartholomew. ‘He pretends nothing is amiss, but I am the Senior Proctor and I know the
     difference between lies and truth.’
    ‘Perhaps he is embarrassed,’ suggested the physician.‘A camp-ball hero, knocked to the ground and almost stabbed by a fellow everyone agrees was petite. It must be humiliating.’
    ‘Wine,’ said Thelnetham, shaking his head disparagingly as he and the other Fellows came to join them. ‘It turns grown men
     into weaklings. Of course, that is just the way I like them—’
    ‘Hush!’ urged Wynewyk reprovingly. He also looked better that morning, finally recovered from his malady. ‘That is not the
     sort of remark that should be bawled at volume.’
    ‘Is it not?’ drawled Thelnetham. There was a merry twinkle in his eyes that said he was teasing. ‘I do not see why. It lets
     us all know where we stand. Or lie.’
    ‘Yes, but we are about to go to mass,’ objected Wynewyk prudishly. ‘We should not be thinking about venal matters – at least,
     not until after breakfast.’
    Thelnetham laughed, and flung a comradely arm around the lawyer’s shoulders. ‘Very well. Then we shall resume our discussion
     immediately after we have devoured our coddled eggs.’
    Wynewyk recoiled at his touch, and struggled free. ‘Please! Not here!’
    ‘Where then?’ asked Thelnetham mischievously. ‘The hall? Or do you have a particular tavern you frequent? I know they are
     forbidden to scholars, but I am sure
you
do not always obey the rules.’
    ‘Leave him, Thelnetham,’ warned Bartholomew, taking pity on his friend. ‘He has not been well.’
    ‘I apologise,’ said Thelnetham, effecting a gracious bow, although amusement still lingered in his eyes. ‘I shall leave my
     friendly jousting until he is ready for it, then.’
    ‘Thank you, Matt,’ said Wynewyk weakly, when Thelnetham had gone. ‘I am not in the mood for his bantertoday. Almost losing Langelee was distressing, and I had bad dreams all night.’
    ‘So did Tesdale,’ said Michael ruefully. ‘He howled like a Fury, and it took Valence ages to settle him down. I thought he
     was going to wake the Pope in Avignon, he yelled so loud.’
    ‘Poor Tesdale,’ said Wynewyk worriedly. ‘Something is bothering him, and I wish you would find out what, Matthew. It is probably
     money, because he owes Michaelhouse rather a lot of it.’
    ‘I will ask him again,’ promised Bartholomew. ‘But he always denies there is anything amiss, and I cannot force him to confide.’
    ‘Well, please try,’ said Wynewyk. ‘Kelyng suffered from night-terrors, too, and now he has disappeared. I would not like to
     think we have failed a second unhappy student.’
    ‘Kelyng has
not
disappeared,’ said Michael firmly. ‘He has decided to abscond. It is not the first time a lad has elected to run away rather
     than pay what he owes, and I doubt it will be the last. If I had incurred Kelyng’s level of expenditure, I might flee, too.’
    They processed to the church, where Suttone officiated at the morning mass, and Bartholomew assisted. It was over in record
     time, because Suttone was eager to hear details of the Master’s brush with death. Flattered by the Carmelite’s demands for
     the full story, Langelee declared that talking was permitted at breakfast that day – meals were normally eaten to the sole
     sound of the Bible Scholar’s droning voice, although Kelyng’s absence made this difficult – then treated the entire College
     to a lively and improbably colourful account of his adventures. It was rather different to the