The Tarnished Chalice (8 page)

De Wetherset raised his eyebrows. ‘You have met Flaxfleete? I suppose I should not be surprised. The Guild of Corpus Christi is influential in Lincoln, and he is one of its founding members. The decision was made to install him a month ago, but nothing could be made official until this accusation of arson was resolved. So, he does indeed have two things to celebrate this evening.’

‘Sheriff Lungspee probably acquitted him to level the field after that business with Thoresby,’ said Simon. ‘Thoresby was guilty of threatening to behead Dalderby, and should not have been pardoned. So, because Lungspee favoured the Commonalty over the Guild in that case, he
feels obliged to favour the Guild over the Commonalty now.’

‘Miller definitely bribed Lungspee to secure Thoresby’s release,’ said de Wetherset with pursed lips. ‘I heard three white pearls changed hands. So, Lungspee no doubt accepted a similar sum from Kelby to see Flaxfleete freed. Next time, it will be Miller’s turn again. That is one good thing about our sheriff: he is scrupulous about the order in which he allows himself to be corrupted.’

Simon turned to Suttone. ‘Have your informative kin told you about the dissent that is currently tearing our city apart?’ he asked unpleasantly. ‘Or is it something they neglected to mention?’

It was Michael who answered. ‘Of course we know about it. On one side there is the Commonalty, which seems to entail an unlikely liaison between a dozen very rich men and some unemployed weavers. And on the other there is the Guild of Corpus Christi, comprising about fifty merchants.’

Simon bristled at the contemptuous tenor of the summary. ‘I assume you know about the last mayoral election, too?’ he asked, still addressing Suttone. ‘You do not need me to explain what happened – why it made the dispute all the more bitter?’

‘He does not,’ said Michael, earning a pleased smirk from Suttone, who had no idea what Simon was talking about. ‘We know it was won by William de Spayne, since he currently holds the title.’

‘Spayne was delighted,’ said de Wetherset, apparently oblivious to the building tension between Simon and the Cambridge men, ‘because it means he is exempted from certain taxes. Kelby was running against him, and was livid when Spayne was announced the winner. Kelby thought he had won, you see. He had even been to a silversmith and commissioned a seal.’

‘They are all turbulent men,’ said Simon. ‘But I deplore the Guild’s sly campaign of slander against Miller. He may be vulgar, but I admire his generosity to weavers who cannot find work. The Guild does not care that folk starve for want of bread. Flaxfleete is particularly mean in that respect.’

‘Not any more,’ said Michael grimly. ‘He is dead.’

‘What?’ asked de Wetherset, startled, while Simon struggled to mask his own surprise: he was loath to admit that strangers knew something about his city that he did not. ‘Lord! Perhaps God struck him down for lying – it was not Summer Madness that led him to fire Spayne’s storerooms after all. He denied he was even there at first, and only told the truth when he learned he had been seen.’

‘Seen by whom?’ asked Michael. ‘Spayne’s friends? If so, then their testimony probably cannot be trusted.’

‘By travelling Dominicans with no reason to lie for either side,’ replied Simon. ‘They were questioned by both Guild and Commonalty, but it was obvious they were telling the truth. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Flaxfleete did indeed commit a grave crime, and it was a stroke of genius to blame it on Summer Madness.’

‘It certainly was,’ said de Wetherset. ‘It worked.’

‘Yes and no,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It may have seen him murdered.’

When Hamo came to collect the empty dishes and make the beds for the night, Bartholomew, Michael and Suttone, with Cynric trailing disconsolately behind them, retired to the chamber on the upper floor. Uninvited, de Wetherset and Simon accompanied them. There the monk casually mentioned his hope of renewing an acquaintance with Matilde – thinking that if Simon was as well versed in his city’s doings as he claimed, then he might have information to share. But although Simon gave the first genuine
smile of their acquaintance when he heard her name, he knew no more than that she had once lived in Lincoln and that she had been loved by all. Then Michael gave an account of what had happened when the new keg of wine had arrived at Kelby’s home and Flaxfleete had made the mistake of serving himself first.

‘And you think Flaxfleete was killed because he set fire to Spayne’s property?’ asked Simon of the Michaelhouse men. ‘How can you know that?’

‘We do not,’ replied Michael hastily, unwilling to be associated with that sort of claim. ‘All we are saying is that the possibility should be assessed before it is dismissed.’

‘That is reasonable,’ said de Wetherset. ‘And there are plenty of suspects to choose from. The Commonalty was furious when it learned about Sheriff Lungspee’s decision to acquit Flaxfleete – and Spayne’s sister Ursula was so enraged that she is said to have smashed her favourite chamber-pot.’

‘Ursula does know about toxins,’ mused Simon, ‘but I cannot see her harming a man with one, not even an enemy from the Guild. There was a case six years ago … but I am sure Suttone’s kin will have told him about it, so perhaps he will elaborate for us.’

Suttone glared at him. ‘Their letters dwell on erudite matters pertaining to theology – nothing you would understand. So, I am afraid we shall have to rely on you to provide us with alehouse gossip.’

Simon sneered at him. ‘Canon Hodelston’s wicked life is classified as theology, is it?’ He turned to Michael before the Carmelite could take issue with him. ‘Ursula had a friend with a cough, so she concocted an electuary. Unfortunately, this friend was with child and the potion contained some herb...what was it now?...cuckoo-pint! It was cuckoo-pint. Anyway, the poor woman died, and the midwife said cuckoo-
pint should never be given to expectant mothers. It was clearly an accident, but the Guild makes sure Ursula will never forget it.’

Bartholomew was unimpressed. ‘It is common knowledge that powdered root of cuckoo-pint is used to expel afterbirth, and only a fool would give it to a pregnant woman. Ursula should refrain from dispensing tonics if she does not know what she is doing.’

‘But this woman did not tell Ursula she was with child,’ said Simon. He lowered his voice to a prudish hiss. ‘She was not married, you see. Incidentally, it was your friend Matilde who discovered what had happened, and who insisted that the matter be investigated. She was very angry about it.’

Bartholomew could imagine. Matilde had always championed unlucky women, and the death of a pregnant one from a dose of cuckoo-pint would certainly arouse her condemnation.

‘It caused a serious falling out between Matilde and Ursula,’ elaborated Simon. ‘Some folk said it was Ursula’s error that led Matilde to reject Spayne’s offer of marriage – and perhaps was the reason why she left Lincoln so suddenly.’

‘But this is ancient history,’ said de Wetherset. ‘Suffice to say that Ursula has a working knowledge of medicine, and was angry when Flaxfleete was exonerated today. She might well have tampered with his wine.’

‘I do not see how,’ said Suttone. He addressed Bartholomew and Michael. ‘You said she was in her house with the doors barred.’

‘I see how,’ said de Wetherset. He smiled at the monk. ‘This reminds me of the murders we solved in the University – how we sat and reviewed the evidence with our scholarly logic.’

‘How?’ asked Michael, more interested in de Wetherset’s conclusions than his reminiscences.

De Wetherset’s grin faded. ‘I was in the Swan earlier this evening, dining with Master Quarrel – he is remarkably learned for a taverner. Anyway, Kelby had ordered two kegs of wine earlier in the day, but then word came that the Guild was so delighted with Flaxfleete’s acquittal that another barrel was needed. Quarrel’s pot-boy had other work to do first, though, and Kelby’s wine stood by the door for some time before the lad was free to deliver it. Ursula could have tampered with it then.’

‘Not if she was in her house, trying not to listen to the Guild’s revelries,’ pressed Suttone.

‘Perhaps she was not,’ said de Wetherset. ‘You can see the Swan from her home, and it would not take many moments to sneak out, tap the barrel, and add some poison.’

‘She might have killed the entire Guild,’ said Bartholomew, appalled. ‘They were all celebrating.’

‘I imagine getting rid of all her brother’s enemies in one fell swoop would have been a tremendous boon to her,’ said de Wetherset. ‘Of course, that would have been bad for Lincoln.’

‘Why?’ asked Michael. ‘These men do not sound like particularly good citizens.’

‘Because it would destroy the balance between the two factions,’ explained de Wetherset. ‘And the balance is the only thing stopping us from erupting in a frenzy of blood-letting – and I do not mean your kind of blood-letting, Bartholomew. I am talking about murder and mayhem.’

‘What about you, Father Simon?’ Bartholomew asked. ‘Have you chosen a side in this dispute?’

‘I do not approve of any city pulled apart by discord,’ replied Simon. ‘However, I dislike the way Miller is deni-
grated because he is not from an ancient mercantile family, like Kelby’s. I suppose I tend towards supporting the Commonalty because I dislike the Guild’s smug merchants – it costs little to dispense free bread to needy weavers, but they do not bother. Miller does.’

De Wetherset smiled wryly. ‘I stand with neither side, although it may be politically expedient to throw in my lot with the Guild in time. It is favoured by the canons – my new colleagues – you see.’

Simon glared at him. ‘That is hardly an ethical reason on which to base your choice.’

‘It is as ethical as yours – that you feel sorry for an upstart who is shunned by the older families.’

‘But Miller is said to be rich,’ said Michael, puzzled. ‘Why should Kelby and Flaxfleete take against such a man?’

‘Wealth does not confer breeding,’ explained de Wetherset. ‘Miller is one of the richest men in the city, but you would not want him dining with you – he wipes his teeth on the tablecloth and he spits. And I am not sure his money has been honestly gained. There are rumours—’

‘There are always rumours,’ said Simon coolly. ‘But gossip is for fools and the gullible.’

De Wetherset turned to Michael. ‘You see? Everyone feels strongly about this dispute. All I know is that it is important to maintain the status quo, so neither party seizes power.’

Simon was thoughtful. ‘We all say the same thing about this so-called balance, but is it really true? When a member of the Commonalty threw himself into the Braytheford Pool in a spat of drunken self-pity last Sunday, I held my breath, anticipating the equilibrium would shift and there would be mayhem – the Guild accused of murder, even though Herl’s death was a clear suicide. And there were
indeed accusations and recriminations, but they amounted to nothing.’

‘You may have preached here for two decades, Simon, but my opinion counts for something – and I am right,’ said de Wetherset with the cool arrogance Bartholomew remembered so well from the man’s Cambridge days. ‘I say the balance is important, and only a fool would disagree with me.’ He changed the subject before the priest could dispute the point. ‘I was beginning to think you might not arrive in time, Brother. Most canons-elect come a month early, so they can be fitted for their ceremonial vestments. Such fine garments cannot be run up in an afternoon, you know.’

‘The weather is atrocious, and the journey took twice as long as we anticipated,’ said Michael, resenting the implication that he was tardy.

‘De Wetherset has been extolling your talent for solving murder,’ said Simon, with the kind of look that suggested he thought the skill a peculiar one. ‘Will you apply your expertise to Aylmer’s death? I imagine Suttone will want to know who killed his Vicar Choral.’

‘I would,’ said Suttone to Michael. ‘But I do not want you to do it, Brother. It might see us in trouble with the sheriff.’

‘I am sure you are right,’ said Michael. ‘And I have no intention of meddling. I am here to enjoy myself and bask in the glory of my appointment. I do not want to be burdened with secular duties.’

‘Good,’ muttered Bartholomew. He knew who would be asked to inspect the corpse if Michael agreed to help, and he had no wish to examine bodies when he could be looking for Matilde.

‘That is a pity,’ said de Wetherset. ‘The death should be investigated, and I have taken the liberty of informing
Bishop Gynewell about your abilities. He is sure to ask for your assistance, Brother.’

Michael glared at him. ‘That was a high-handed thing to have done.’

‘You are about to receive a lucrative prebend,’ said de Wetherset sternly. ‘Surely, you will want to repay that honour by offering Gynewell the benefit of your expertise? If this city has a problem, and it is in your power to eliminate it, then surely you will not deny him?’

Michael continued to glare. ‘That is unfair.’

‘So is life,’ said de Wetherset with an unrepentant shrug. ‘I imagine the bishop will want to see you first thing tomorrow morning, so be grateful I warned you in advance. Meanwhile, Simon and I have elected to share this chamber with you tonight, rather than bed in the hall below. Aylmer was murdered by someone who might still be there, and we have no wish to be stabbed as we sleep.’

‘He was stabbed as he slept?’ asked Suttone in alarm.

Simon shot de Wetherset a withering look. ‘No, he was not. His body was slumped across his bed in a way that made it clear he was inspecting his possessions when he was killed.’

‘It was not his possessions he was inspecting,’ said de Wetherset, sharp in his turn. ‘You cannot leave the truth unspoken, if Michael is to solve this case. He was holding your holy chalice – he may even have been in the process of stealing it – while the rest of us were at our devotions.’

Michael sighed wearily. ‘Aylmer was killed while in the commission of a crime?’

Simon grimaced. ‘We do not know that. He was holding my cup, and perhaps he did have designs on it, but we will never know his intentions, and I am inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was a priest, and so would have been wary of committing evil acts on sacred ground.’