The Tarnished Chalice (42 page)

‘You are moving far too fast, Matt. We were told it was the suspicious demise of the wicked Canon Hodelston that escalated the rivalry between the factions. His was the first death, and I suspect there have been others, too. However, the next incident pertinent to us occurred in the summer, when Flaxfleete burned Spayne’s storerooms, causing such an inferno that Spayne’s roof is set to collapse.’

‘And around the same time, Thoresby threatened to behead Dalderby. Yesterday, Dalderby gave Sheriff Lungspee a bribe, and it is obvious that he stabbed Chapman – and that he expected his crime to be exposed. But Dalderby is now dead, killed by a blow to the head, but he was able to stagger to Kelby’s house before breathing his last. Under the circumstances, we should not forget the rumour that Kelby killed his own friend Flaxfleete as a sacrificial lamb, to prevent Miller from avenging Herl and Aylmer. Perhaps Kelby killed Dalderby for the same reason.’

‘You are still going too fast, Matt. Herl’s death came before any of this.’

‘Herl ingested poison after drinking ale in the Swan tavern, and either fell or was pushed into the Braytheford Pool. A few days later, Aylmer, having renounced his life of sin, was stabbed while holding Simon’s goblet – which may or may not be the Hugh Chalice.’

‘Now you have left something else out,’ said Michael. ‘The chalice was stolen by Aylmer once before, when it was in Kelby’s possession. Remember?’

‘I remember Gynewell saying an accusation had been levelled, but that Flaxfleete had agreed to drop the charges. Gynewell had found it in the cathedral’s crypt.’

‘And Aylmer – in holy orders – had access to the vault.’

‘That thing certainly circulates,’ said Bartholomew in
distaste. ‘Then we have another odd connection: Aylmer, Flaxfleete, Herl and Chapman have drawings of cups on their shoulders, and all – except Herl – have been in possession of the chalice.’

‘Herl did have it. We think he may have been the silversmith who made the fakes. Next, Tetford was shot. Like Aylmer, he had decided to turn over a new leaf, but was killed before he could do it. The consensus is that he was sincere, but that he probably would not have succeeded.’

‘He died while giving you poisoned wine. That does not sound like a new leaf to me. It was the same kind of poison that killed Herl and Flaxfleete, and we have just found a large pot of it in a place where Tetford spent most of his last day. Perhaps he is our culprit, and your case is solved.’

‘Or perhaps he was killed because someone objected to the fact that he shut the Tavern in the Close. His ladies were none too pleased, for a start. Perhaps the poison belongs to one of them. Or to Ravenser, because he wanted to run the alehouse.’

Bartholomew sighed. ‘We have worked out a logical sequence of events, and we have unearthed new connections between victims and suspects, but none of it tells us the identity of the killer. Anyone could have poisoned Flaxfleete’s wine keg while it was waiting to be delivered; Herl drank his ale in a tavern full of people; and the Gilbertine Priory is so lax in its security that anyone could have wandered in and stabbed Aylmer. Our suspects still include virtually everyone we know.’

Michael grimaced. ‘You are right: we are no further forward, but at least my thoughts are clear now. So, let us see what we can learn from Master Miller.’

* * *

Miller was waiting for Bartholomew, staring out of the window at the palisade of pointed stakes that protected his house. Langar was with him, and together they escorted physician and monk to the sickbed. Chapman smiled warily when he saw them, and said he was feeling better. Bartholomew removed the bandage and was pleased to find no signs of mortification. As he worked, Miller, Langar and Michael formed a looming wall behind him, and Miller spat on the floor.

‘I promise not to hurt him,’ said Bartholomew, not liking the way they hemmed him in. He sat back, bumping into Langar as he did so. ‘There is no need for you all to stay.’

Miller’s eyes narrowed, and he removed his dagger to pick one of his four yellow teeth. ‘Are you trying to get him alone? To ask him about matters that are none of your concern?’

‘Of course not,’ said Michael scornfully. ‘Very well. We shall all watch, if that is what you want, although we should step back and give him room to work. We can talk about Aylmer while we wait.’

‘Do you know who killed him?’ asked Miller eagerly.

‘Not yet,’ replied Michael, ‘although I know a good deal more now than when I was first asked to investigate. However, you can help me advance even further by clarifying a few points.’

‘That depends,’ said Miller. ‘I am not talking about Cambridge, if that is what you have in mind.’

‘He has met that woman – Sabina.’ Langar spoke the name with utter contempt. ‘She has been gossiping, telling him how you were once accused of heinous crimes. She should not have been released with the rest of you, she should have shared the fate of her first husband. She turned very odd after Aylmer retook his vows a month ago, and I do not trust her. So, we will answer the monk’s questions, Miller, to make sure he has the truth.’

‘Sabina did mention a misunderstanding in Cambridge,’ said Michael cautiously. ‘She also said you were not guilty. Shirlok was hanged, though.’

‘I deplore hangings,’ said Langar with a shudder. ‘I could not bring myself to watch.’

‘I could,’ said Miller, ‘but I missed that one, because it took place sooner than I expected.’

There was a tap on the door and Sabina entered, bringing food on a tray. She was surprised to see the scholars, and Bartholomew was startled to see her: he had been under the impression that she had broken away from the Commonalty. She saw what he was thinking and explained.

‘I came when I heard Chapman was unwell. The others do not know how to care for a sick man, and I do not want the poor fellow to die for want of gentle hands.’

Langar sneered. ‘She told you her decision to leave us and lead a blameless life, did she, physician? I doubt she will endure it long.’

She glowered at him. ‘I am doing very well, thank you.’

Langar regarded her with contempt. ‘You are not here for Chapman, but because you detect unease in the town and you want our protection. Your past association with us means you are still considered fair game by the Guild. You own allegiance to one person only: yourself.’

‘She can stay until Lincoln is calm again,’ said Miller, cutting across her response, and silencing Langar’s objections with a glare. ‘I would rather have her where I can see what she is doing, anyway.’

Sabina shot the lawyer a triumphant look, then addressed Michael. ‘Have you come to tell us who killed my Nicholas?’ She smiled spitefully when Langar winced at the use of the possessive.

‘The monk has been looking into Aylmer’s murder,’ snapped Langar. ‘Nicholas’s was mine to explore.’

‘And have you learned anything useful?’ Sabina asked him mockingly.

He ignored her and addressed Michael. ‘I visited all the apothecaries, and asked whether they have sold any fishy poison recently. None have. Ergo, the toxin came from another source.’

‘Why would an apothecary own such a thing?’ asked Miller, puzzled.

‘It can be used as a medicine,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘I suspect the killer collected black rye grains in the summer, though. These can be crushed and added to wine or ale. With alcohol, they combine to deadly effect, which is why both Herl and Flaxfleete died so quickly.’

‘Then anyone might have done it?’ asked Miller. ‘Anyone who knew which grains to use?’ When Bartholomew nodded, he grimaced his disappointment. Then he blew his nose in a piece of linen, and shoved it up his sleeve to use again later. The physician looked away, revolted.

‘Tetford had some in his possession when he died,’ said Michael casually. ‘But he is dead, so we have no way of knowing whether he was aware of the fact.’

‘Tetford,’ mused Miller softly. ‘He was an unpredictable devil. He told me he planned to close his tavern and buy no more of Lora’s ale, but would not say why. Then Ravenser renewed the Close’s order for ale, so all is well again.’

Langar walked to the window, flung open the shutter and stared out, gazing thoughtfully into the yard below. Michael started to ask something else, but Miller raised an authoritative hand, and the monk faltered into silence. Sabina watched Bartholomew bathe Chapman’s arm without a word, and it seemed the Commonalty was used to being quiet when Langar was deliberating. The tension was stifling, and just when Bartholomew felt he could stand it no longer, the lawyer spoke.

‘You seem to think Tetford killed Flaxfleete and Nicholas, because you found poison among his belongings, but you are wrong. First, he was not brave enough. Secondly, he liked Flaxfleete, because Flaxfleete donated wine to his brothel. Thirdly, Nicholas once gave him a shilling when he was destitute, and he never forgot the kindness. Fourthly, he seldom read, so I doubt he knew what the physician has just told us about the poison. And fifthly, he was in holy orders, which moderated his behaviour to a degree: he would never have committed murder and damned his immortal soul.’

‘The cathedral,’ said Miller bitterly. ‘That is the cause of this trouble. Aylmer was perfectly normal until he began frequenting the minster. Then he started to repent his sins, and other such nonsense.’

‘You probably think we killed Flaxfleete to avenge Aylmer,’ said Langar, ‘but we did not. We have allowed his murder and Nicholas’s to go unpunished, because we do not want a bloodbath.’

‘We debated it for hours,’ elaborated Miller, ‘but Langar said that if we kill a guildsman, the situation would spin out of control, and he says we cannot be sure of winning an all-out war yet. I think we can, but he does not.’

‘There is no point in risking all on a battle with an uncertain outcome,’ said Langar irritably. ‘Besides, I do not want random guildsmen dispatched. I want the real killer.’

‘What about Dalderby?’ asked Michael. ‘Did someone in the Commonalty kill him?’

Langar pursed his lips. ‘I have just explained why it is unwise to engage in unfocused violence, and you immediately ask that question. Of course we did not kill him, although Kelby thinks we did.’

Miller was becoming restless. He turned to Bartholomew. ‘Chapman is on the road to recovery?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘As long as he is not plied with salves from anonymous donors again.’

‘We do not know who did that, either,’ said Miller. ‘Langar says the “crone” I saw was wearing a disguise, so it could have been anyone. Even a man.’

The comment sparked a three-way debate between Langar, Miller and Sabina as to which guildsman or cathedral official might have delivered henbane to an ailing man, and Michael inflamed the discussion by suggesting several names. He moved away, drawing the others with him and shooting Bartholomew a glance that said he was to question Chapman while his friends were preoccupied. Bartholomew hastened to oblige, leaning close to the relic-seller so his voice would not carry.

‘This chalice you sold Father Simon,’ he said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice. ‘We found another five last night, virtually identical to it.’

Chapman gaped at him. ‘That is impossible! The cup I sold Simon is unique.’

‘You lied when you said you bought it in Huntingdon, though. It was one of the items stolen by Shirlok. So how did it come to be in your possession?’

Chapman was not well enough to prevaricate. His expression was resigned. ‘All right, I admit the Hugh Chalice was part of Shirlok’s hoard – although he did not know it – but it surfaced later, as stolen goods always do. I sold it to Simon, because it is sacred, and I knew he could be trusted to donate it to the cathedral.’

‘I thought you did not like the cathedral.’

Chapman’s voice dropped further still, so Bartholomew had to strain to hear him. ‘I do not like the men who infest the minster, but I revere St Hugh with all my heart. I wanted his chalice where it belongs – at his tomb. I did it for the benefit of future generations.’

Bartholomew was not sure whether to believe him. ‘And the mark of the cup on your shoulder?’

‘That is part of it,’ said Chapman. ‘I—’

‘What are you whispering about?’ demanded Miller, breaking away from Michael when he became aware of what was happening. ‘It had better not be anything about my import–export business. I do not want to go on trial for theft again, just because I happen to give you the occasional—’

‘The occasional drink in the Angel,’ interrupted Langar sharply.

Michael drew his own conclusions from what was not quite said. ‘Because you give him the occasional item to sell for you? Does this largess extend to objects from a hoard that disappeared twenty years ago? One that contained white pearls, like the two you gave Matt?’

‘No,’ said Miller coldly, while Bartholomew came to his feet fast. Michael’s question had been too blunt, and trouble was inevitable. ‘We do not mean those objects.’

Langar was gazing at Michael with eyes that were hard slits. ‘Those pearls came from an old woman who needed ready money to repair her roof. They are most certainly not part of any hoard that went missing twenty years ago.’

‘No,’ agreed Miller, but unconvincingly. He began paring his nails with his dagger, but his hands were unsteady and Bartholomew saw blood. ‘And neither did the Hugh Chalice. It is not the same cup that Shirlok agreed to steal from Geddynge.’

‘Agreed to steal?’ pounced Michael.

‘He means arranged to steal,’ said Langar, stepping in quickly to minimise the damage, while Bartholomew thought that manoeuvring Miller into a position of power in the Commonalty must have been a daunting task. He decided Langar was either a genius or blessed with the patience of a saint.

‘It should be in Lincoln,’ said Chapman softly. ‘Not Geddynge. It belongs with St Hugh.’

‘Does St Hugh really want it?’ asked Michael. ‘It has been handled by some very devious folk.’

Miller led the way down the stairs and opened the door to usher the scholars out, while Sabina remained with Chapman, who said he felt weak and needed a woman’s soothing touch. Trailing at the end of the procession, Bartholomew was about to step into the yard, when he happened to glance along the hallway to his left and notice the cellar door ajar. He wondered whether it was the same one that Cynric had complained about not being able to open. Then his stomach clenched in alarm when he noticed a familiar – and far from pleasant – odour.