The Tarnished Chalice (46 page)

‘Flaxfleete always was an ardent devotee of St Hugh,’ said Gynewell. ‘He was distraught when the chalice failed to arrive from London two decades ago, and wanted to serve the Head Shrine when he became a canon. This did not occur to me when we discussed the mark on his skin a few days ago, but on reflection it is obvious that he would have belonged to such a fraternity. He founded the Guild of Corpus Christi to emulate the saint’s good deeds.’

‘And Herl would have enrolled because aligning himself with powerful men might have brought him wealth,’ said Roger. ‘I am afraid he was a greedy, selfish man.’

‘But Shirlok has since died,’ continued Michael. ‘And Chapman saw it was finally safe to bring the stolen goods – including the Hugh Chalice – out of his cellar. Flaxfleete offered to “donate” it to the cathedral, but the dean visited him … ’

Gynewell grimaced. ‘Poor Bresley. He has an uncontrollable urge to lay hold of items that do not belong to him, but he puts them in the crypt, so I can return them to their owners. He thinks he will be unable to steal the real chalice, which is why he is so certain Simon’s is a fake.’

‘He believes it will cure him?’ asked Bartholomew, suddenly understanding some of the dean’s curious remarks about the relic.

Gynewell nodded. ‘He removed the cup from Flaxfleete when he went to inspect it on the cathedral’s behalf, and I was obliged to take it back the following day. Aylmer was blamed, although he was innocent. The next I heard was that Flaxfleete had given it back to his relic-seller for reasons he declined to share, but that the relic-seller had approached Simon instead.’

‘It was during this time that Herl confused matters,’ said
Michael. ‘He made copies of the cup and sold some to Tetford, who gave them to his … ’

‘Seamstresses,’ interjected Bartholomew.

‘Simon and Chapman knew nothing about these duplicates, though, and nor did Aylmer.’

‘How are you able to conclude that?’ asked Gynewell curiously.

‘Because both Simon and Chapman were appalled by the prospect of replicas, and Simon died trying to learn the truth. Meanwhile, Aylmer was trying to protect the chalice when he was stabbed: you do not lay down your life for something of no value.’

‘Who is this vile killer?’ asked Gynewell tiredly. ‘I would like an end to this before Sunday.’

Michael smiled. ‘You will be the first to know, My Lord. We will talk to young Hugh, and—’

‘Hugh?’ asked Eleanor, appalled. ‘He can know nothing about this! He is a child!’

‘Do not worry,’ said Michael reassuringly. ‘He is not on our list of suspects. All we need from him is the identity of the person who might have read a letter he was supposed to deliver to Chapman. And when he tells us, we shall be a step closer to catching this fiend.’

Gynewell approached the altar. ‘Well, de Wetherset? Which is the real Hugh Chalice? It is time it was in the cathedral, not lurking in dungeons and at the scenes of murders.’

‘I have not received divine inspiration yet,’ said de Wetherset with a pained expression. ‘Give me time. I shall give you an answer.’

‘I am sure he will,’ said Bartholomew to Michael, ‘but how will we know if it is the right one?’

While Bishop Gynewell questioned de Wetherset about his preliminary conclusions on the six chalices – the
ex-Chancellor had managed to eliminate two – Bartholomew and Michael left the priory. They had taken no more than a few steps towards the city when Bartholomew saw Sabina Herl kneeling by the Eleanor Cross, opposite the Gilbertines’ main gate. It was a cold place to pray, and he supposed it was some sort of penance. Michael went to find out.

‘Your prayerfulness does you credit, madam,’ he said softly, ‘but beware of telling lies to God. He is no bumbling monk, to be deceived by claims of false repentance.’

She gazed at him. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

‘Then let me enlighten you. You said you had broken away from Miller, but you leapt at the opportunity to tend Chapman. You are no more a good Christian woman than I am.’

Her expression was rueful. ‘What Langar said was right, although I would never admit it to him: I have been associated with the Commonalty too long, so I am considered a viable target by the Guild. Thus I do need Miller’s protection, and I intend to have it until the current crisis is over. And then I shall continue with my fresh start.’

Michael frowned. ‘And you have elected to atone for past sins because … ?’

‘Because of Shirlok, Brother,’ said Bartholomew. He watched the surprise on her face that he should know. ‘I suspect she was uncomfortable with what happened in Cambridge twenty years ago, but she put it behind her, as did everyone else. Then, a month ago, Shirlok appeared in Lincoln – alive.’

She lowered her head. ‘It was a terrible shock. Unlike Langar, Chapman and Miller, I did not hear the rumours about his miraculous resurrection. I thought he was a ghost, come to haunt me, but he was flesh and blood, and he was demanding reparation. We had let him take sole
blame for the crimes we all committed, and he wanted us to make it right.’

‘How did he know you were here?’ asked Michael.

‘He fled to Essex after his trial, where he eventually settled. Then his family died in the plague and he took to wandering; by chance, his travels brought him here. He wanted to be paid for not telling his side of the story to the city where his co-accused are now fine, upstanding citizens.’

‘Did Miller kill him?’ asked Bartholomew, not pointing out that no one would be overly shocked to learn the Commonalty had criminal pasts.

‘I learned yesterday that it was Bunoun. He was one of the ten people Shirlok named, and he had more to lose from Shirlok’s blabbering than the rest of us. Who will hire a surgeon with a dubious ethical history? Anyway, suffice to say that Shirlok died with a noose around his neck.’

‘Bunoun?’ asked Bartholomew in astonishment. ‘But de Wetherset said that, of the ten accused, two had died in prison, and two were taken by fever … ’

‘That is what Miller tells everyone. I suppose de Wetherset believed him, although Father Simon did not die in prison, and Bunoun did not die of a falling pox.’

‘And Shirlok is why you broke with the Commonalty?’ asked Michael.

She gave him a pained smile. ‘I was always uncomfortable with Miller’s activities, but when I met Shirlok a month ago, and I heard what he intended to do, I decided to distance myself from them. Then Lora told me – just yesterday, when I was tending Chapman – that Shirlok was no longer a problem.’

‘That is partly true,’ said Bartholomew, ‘but your good intentions coincide with the reappearance of the Hugh Chalice, which was irrelevant to you, but very important to someone else: Aylmer. The cup’s return, along with Suttone’s
unexpected invitation to be his Vicar Choral, made him rethink his life. He decided to revert to the cleric he once was, and you saw he would never be with you.’

‘I was married to Nicholas. I could not have been with him anyway.’

‘Your marriage to Nicholas was a sham, because his real love was Langar,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps you married Nicholas to shock Aylmer into taking you more seriously, but found yourself trapped when it did not work. Then, when the chalice reappeared and Aylmer began to collaborate with his fraternity to see it in the cathedral, you saw it was finally time to give up on him.’

‘All right,’ she agreed cautiously. ‘That is true. So what?’

‘Were you really caught kissing him behind the stables?’ Michael answered his own question. ‘No. Your “penance” was an excuse to be inside the Gilbertine Priory, near Aylmer. You were eager to know what had happened to the man you loved – and I do not mean your husband.’

She gazed at the ground. ‘Yes, I wanted answers. Aylmer’s rebirth was genuine, and I never believed he was trying to steal the Hugh Chalice when some vile killer stabbed him in the back. And although Nicholas and I were not man and wife in the proper sense, we were friends; I do not want him buried in unconsecrated ground without good reason.’

‘Again, that is partly true,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is also the fact that anything you learn about Nicholas’s death will annoy Langar.’

She shrugged. ‘It is the only way I shall ever hurt him, and I really do loathe the man. When we first arrived in Lincoln, I wanted to live quietly, but he insisted on taking over the Commonalty and ruling the city. He ruined all our lives with his filthy ambition, and he has brought us to the brink of civil war. The feud between these two
factions would have faded years ago, if he had not come along.’

The bishop and Lady Christiana emerged from the priory as Bartholomew and Michael finished talking to Sabina, and joined them as they walked to the cathedral. Unwilling to leave his friends in the company of Satan, Cynric followed at a distance. Michael was delighted to escort Christiana – she was going to light candles at the Head Shrine for her mother, as she always did on a Tuesday – although the pace she set left him with scant puff for talking, and he soon fell silent, concentrating on not appearing too winded in front of her. He was relieved when Spayne hurried from his house, indicating that he wanted to speak, because it gave him an opportunity to catch his breath.

‘Have you reconsidered your decision yet?’ he gasped. He watched Gynewell go to assist Canon Stretle, who had lost his footing on ice and lay sprawled on his back. ‘About Matilde?’

Spayne was startled. ‘I never intended to rethink it, Brother. I made up my mind, and it was final.’

‘It is not a very charitable stance,’ said the monk accusingly.

‘No,’ agreed Christiana, shooting the merchant a glance that was far from friendly. ‘These men want to trace Matilde because they are concerned about her. Michael is right: you should reconsider.’

‘You can berate me all you like, My Lady,’ said Spayne with the tone of the wounded martyr. ‘I will not go against my conscience.’

‘I suppose it does not really matter,’ said Michael. He smiled at Christiana. ‘Other people have offered to make us a list of the places she might be instead. We do not need you, Spayne.’

Christiana nodded, eyes flashing as she regarded the mayor defiantly. ‘Dame Eleanor and I will tell Michael and Matthew what they need to know. And I hope, with all my heart, that they find her.’

‘Fine,’ said Spayne in an icy voice. His face was hard, and Bartholomew wondered whether Michael had been right after all: there was an element of spite in his refusal to help. He was not the only one who detected the chink in Spayne’s moral armour. Christiana’s expression became flinty, and she looked the hapless mayor up and down like a hawk with a rabbit.

‘You lied to Matthew the other day,’ she said. Bartholomew wondered what she was talking about. ‘Cynric told me. When Chapman was stabbed, you uttered all manner of untruths.’

‘That is right,’ said Cynric, willing to join them as long as Gynewell was occupied with his floundering canon. ‘You spun tales that were pure fabrication.’

‘I assure you I did not,’ said Spayne indignantly. ‘I simply described what I saw.’

‘And what was that, pray?’ demanded Christiana. Michael regarded her in astonishment; he had not known she could be pugnacious.

‘That Chapman was attacked with a knife outside the Angel tavern,’ replied Spayne. ‘I happened to pass by shortly after, and although I did not see him wounded, I saw the fuss of the aftermath. I was returning home from conducting some business.’

‘What business?’ asked Cynric immediately.

‘Wool business,’ replied Spayne shortly. ‘Not that it is any of your affair.’

‘Unfortunately for you, Chapman was not hurt at the Angel,’ said Christiana. ‘We all know it is the Commonalty’s usual drinking place, and you would normally be right in assuming he was there. On this occasion, however, he went
to the Swan, because the weather was too cold for the longer journey to the Angel. You made an assumption, and it showed you to be a liar.’

‘She is right about the tavern,’ said Bartholomew, when the merchant looked as though he did not believe her, ‘but I have been telling them it was a slip of the tongue … ’

‘Yes,’ said Spayne, relieved. ‘It was—’

‘No, it was not,’ said Christiana sharply. ‘You lied, because you did not want Matthew to know what you had really been doing – this “business” you are so keen to keep to yourself.’

‘It really has nothing to do with you, madam,’ said Spayne, shooting the scholars an uncomfortable glance. ‘And I was trying to assist Brother Michael with his enquiries.’

‘Spinning yarns does not help me,’ said Michael, standing with Christiana. ‘It confuses the issue, and makes it even more difficult to distil the truth.’

‘It was the truth,’ snapped Spayne. ‘However, I admit that I was not the eyewitness: it was Ursula. She was coming home from visiting a friend, but declined to tell you what she had seen. I did it in her stead, so you would have the information – albeit scant – she had to offer. I was trying to be useful.’

‘Why would Ursula want to hinder my investigation?’ demanded Michael.

‘Because Chapman was the victim,’ replied Spayne impatiently. ‘A man who has earned her contempt by selling fake relics. I thought that if I could pass off her intelligence as mine, the Spayne household would not be responsible for impeding your work. Obviously, I did not listen carefully enough to her account, and I told you the wrong tavern.’

‘Good,’ said Christiana sarcastically. ‘The truth at last, My Lord Mayor. Now let us have a little more. Tell Brother Michael why you could not have witnessed what happened
to Chapman. Your “business” was in the east of the city, not the south as you claimed, so you passed neither the Angel nor the Swan.’

‘That is none of your—’

‘You were visiting a woman called Belle,’ Christiana went on relentlessly. ‘But you do not want these scholars to know about that, do you? It throws a rather different light on your reputation as a grieving, celibate man who will not look at another woman now Matilde has gone.’

Spayne was white. ‘It is hardly—’

‘I see,’ said Michael with a smug grin. ‘You hired a whore! Well, you should be grateful to Lady Christiana. When we caught you in lies and a refusal to explain your whereabouts, I immediately assumed you were out a-murdering. Now I see you are not a deadly adversary, but a feeble man, who is obliged to pay for his pleasures.’