The Tarnished Chalice (16 page)

‘We shall stay,’ said Michael, although not very graciously. ‘You were right when you said everywhere else is full. Of
course, Bishop Gynewell offered us a bed in his fine house, but Matt’s book-bearer has encouraged us to decline the invitation.’

This was an understatement. In a startling display of mutiny, Cynric had virtually ordered the scholars to keep their distance from the Bishop’s Palace, even threatening to resign if they did not accede to his ‘request’. Michael had been inclined to ignore him, but Cynric had been with Bartholomew for many years, and the physician was loath to upset a man who was more friend than servant. Thus Michael had been obliged to do as the Welshman demanded, although he was far from happy about it. Suttone, however, was livid at the loss of a luxurious sojourn, and declared that the book-bearer’s new-found confidence after his travels had rendered him impudent and rebellious. It was not really true: Cynric had always had strong feelings on matters of religion, and it was not the first time Bartholomew had been obliged to pander to his superstitions.

‘I shall have to give the man a jug of our best ale,’ murmured Hamo, pleased.

‘When I was inspecting Aylmer’s corpse, I noticed a drawing on his shoulder,’ said Bartholomew, deciding to see what he could learn for Michael. ‘Is that a common habit in Lincoln?’

‘I have seen some men mark themselves so,’ said Hamo, determined to be amenable, no matter how odd the topic of conversation chosen by his guests. ‘There was a sect that scratched crosses all over themselves during the Death, to prevent them from becoming infected. It made no difference, though: they were taken regardless.’

‘It is the marks on their souls that count,’ said Michael. He clasped his hands in front of him, and gazed skywards in a gesture of monastic piety that was wholly out of c haracter.

Bartholomew was puzzled until Christiana and Dame Eleanor passed by, on their way to the chapel.

‘Amen,’ said Hamo, adopting a similar pose, but with considerably more sincerity. ‘Alleluia!’

‘Alleluia!’ chorused three Gilbertines who happened to be within hearing distance.

‘Aylmer’s mark looked like a cup,’ said Bartholomew quickly, before the brethren could revisit one of their fervent rites in the yard and expect him to join in. ‘Perhaps a chalice.’

Hamo frowned as he lowered his hands to his sides. ‘Really? How odd. I never noticed it, but then I never saw him without clothes. Perhaps you should ask Simon. He is considered an expert on sacred vessels, because he is going to donate the Hugh Chalice to the cathedral. It is a pity, because it looks nice on St Katherine’s altar, and we shall be sorry to see it go.’

‘We have already spoken to Simon, and he was not very helpful,’ said Michael, dropping his prayerful posture the moment the ladies were out of sight. ‘He told us about the Hugh Chalice’s curious travels, but revealed nothing about the man who sold it to him.’

Hamo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Prior Roger might be able to help. He and Simon discussed the Hugh Chalice at length yesterday. You see, Simon had kept it in a box under his bed in the guest-hall, but after what happened to Aylmer, it was decided the chapel would be safer. You are honoured guests, so he will be pleased to oblige you with anything Simon may have neglected to mention.’

He began to lead the way to the Prior’s House, but Bartholomew glanced at the sky to judge the time. ‘I wonder if Spayne will be home yet.’

‘His maidservant and Sheriff Lungspee told you he plans to be away until this evening at the earliest,’ said Michael
impatiently. ‘And even if he did return sooner than expected, you cannot leave me to investigate alone. If Cynric is to be believed, I have been given a commission by the Devil – and you will not want me on the wrong side of Satan for failing to provide answers.’

‘Take no notice of Cynric. He has been listening to too many soldiers around too many campfires. He has always been superstitious, but his reaction to Gynewell is excessive, even for him. We—’

He stopped abruptly when they neared the Prior’s House and someone wearing crimson hose scurried past. His head was down and his hood pulled over his face, but the distinctive leg-wear made Bartholomew sure it was the same man he had seen with Simon the previous day. He watched him go, wondering why the fellow should be skulking in so furtive a manner.

‘I am about to say a mass for one of our benefactors,’ said the prior, when the visitors were shown into his solar. ‘A few kyries with the organ should rattle his soul free from Purgatory.’

‘Did you know Aylmer had carved a chalice into his arm?’ asked Michael, declining to comment on the Gilbertines’ rumbustious approach to prayers for the dead. ‘Matt detected—’

‘No, I never saw him naked,’ said Roger. ‘But I have seen others with marks that sound similar.’

‘Where?’ demanded Michael eagerly. ‘And on whom?’

‘On a member of the Commonalty named Thoresby. You may have heard of him – he was recently acquitted of threatening to behead a rival merchant. I saw a cup carved into his shoulder when he came to our hospital suffering from Summer Madness. Then there was Fat William, Hamo’s predecessor. He had one, and so do a number of canons.’ He listed several names that were unfamiliar.

‘Does Father Simon have a—’

Roger raised his hands. ‘I have no idea.’

‘He says not,’ said Bartholomew, recalling how the priest had come close to showing them before Michael had become squeamish and stopped him.

‘I have never known him lie,’ said Roger, ‘so there is no reason to disbelieve him. Last summer, when we swam in the river together, I asked Canon Stretle what the carving meant, and he said it was the mark of a foolish young man who should have known better. I suspect it had something to do with the Hugh Chalice. When it was due to arrive in Lincoln twenty years ago, people did some very wild things in anticipation. The fervour died away when it disappeared en route, although I suspect it will be resurrected now it has risen from the dead. Just like Christ the Saviour, praise His holy name!’

‘Amen,’ said Michael, seeing some pious response was expected. ‘Simon bought his chalice from a relic-seller. Did you ever meet this man, and assess whether he was an honest—’

‘No. He always wore a hood, but I had the sense that I might have known him, had I been permitted to see his face. Simon said he was from Rome, though, so I am doubtless mistaken.’

‘Is he still in Lincoln?’ asked Michael.

‘Simon told me he left as soon as the sale was made, although I do not think that can be right, because I have seen him several times since.’

‘He wore a hood?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He does not own red hose, too, does he?’

‘Yes,’ said Roger, startled. ‘How extraordinary you should know that! God does move in mysterious ways! Alleluia!’

‘Alleluia, indeed,’ said Michael dryly.

* * *

Although Michael was assiduous in scouring the Gilbertine Priory for a man in red leggings, it was clear the fellow was long gone, so he abandoned the search in order to walk to the cathedral and be fitted for his ceremonial vestments. Bartholomew accompanied him, hoping they would meet some canons who might be prepared to talk about Aylmer. Michael complained bitterly about the distance between convent and minster – more than a mile, and some of it up a hill. Then, to take his mind off the exercise, he talked about which Lincoln saints were most likely to answer prayers, confiding that Bishop Hugh was not one of them, because there had been so few miracles at his tomb.

‘There have been more at the Shrine of Little Hugh,’ he said. ‘But I am not sure I believe the story of his crucifixion. Neither does the Pope, because the cult remains unofficial. Of course, the cathedral is unlikely to tell pilgrims that, since Little Hugh is a great source of income.’

‘It is a pity there is not a saint who is kindly disposed to investigators,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You need all the help you can get with this case. You are only supposed to be solving Aylmer’s murder, but he is linked to Flaxfleete and Nicholas by the marks on their shoulders, and he died while holding the Hugh Chalice. I have a feeling this might be more complex than it appears.’

‘And it has been made more so by the fact that this city is uneasy, and everyone has taken sides. I thought at first that someone had killed Aylmer because he was unpopular, but now I suspect his personality might have nothing to do with it.’

They walked along Wigford’s high street, where Michael admired the large houses and dozen or so churches that clustered along it. Many had gardens that ran down to the banks of the River Witham, and, between them, grey-brown
water fringed with reeds could be seen. Small boats bobbed on the wind-ruffled surface, carrying goods to the city wharves. Scattered among them were the white flecks of gulls and swans, while ducks dabbled in the shallows.

‘I wish Gynewell had not asked you to do this,’ said Bartholomew unhappily. ‘Hamo was right: you are in danger from two sources – from a killer desperate to avoid detection, and from the Commonalty, who will want to catch him before you do.’

‘So Hamo says, but perhaps Miller will be content to see the wheels of justice work.’

Bartholomew thought about his encounter with Sheriff Lungspee. ‘The wheels of justice here are rather too dependent on how well they are greased. However, it is always possible that the killer is in holy orders, and will claim benefit of clergy. Then your “wheels of justice” will see him sent to some remote convent to live out his life, and I do not think that will satisfy Miller.’

‘What makes you think the killer is a priest?’ Michael was startled.

‘Aylmer died in a convent, which is not a place where anyone can wander as he pleases. And we have been told that the cathedral’s vicars never leave home without arming themselves. Of course, we have also been told Aylmer was a criminal, so perhaps he was killed by an associate – a falling-out among thieves.’

Michael rubbed his chin. ‘I am acutely uncomfortable with the connections that are beginning to emerge. Not only did Aylmer, Nicholas and Flaxfleete share similar scars, but Nicholas and Flaxfleete were both poisoned after swallowing drinks from the Swan tavern. However, Flaxfleete was a guildsman and Aylmer and Nicholas favoured Miller and the Commonality. They were not friends.’

‘Roger said the marks might have been made twenty
years ago, so perhaps they owned different allegiances then. However, these three murders are certainly connected to each other. People have made reference to other odd deaths, too – the wicked Canon Hodelston and Fat William. You must be on your guard, Brother. I shall ask Cynric to stay with you, if I am obliged to leave Lincoln before you are ready.’

Michael glanced at him. ‘Do not be too hopeful about Matilde. Folk here remember her, but no one has the faintest idea where she might have gone. Spayne may be the same.’

Bartholomew rubbed his eyes, unwilling to entertain the possibility that his last chance might fizzle into nothing. ‘She may have shared secrets with him that are not common knowledge.’

‘She confided matters to you that she never shared with others, and you do not know where she went. Personally, I am inclined to think that if you cannot find her, then no one else will, either. Remember what she told Yolande? That once she had made up her mind to disappear, no one would ever locate her. She is not given to idle boasts.’ He sighed when the physician made no reply. ‘Are you listening, or are your thoughts so choked with love that you cannot see the logic in what I am saying?’

Bartholomew squinted up at the bright white sky. ‘I know all this; I have thought of little else for more than a year. However, I was not thinking about Matilde just now, but Sabina.’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘Why? She is too old for you, probably past childbearing age.’

Bartholomew gaped at him. ‘God’s teeth, Brother! I was not considering her in that way! I was actually thinking about something that happened a long time ago. It
has been scratching at the back of my mind ever since we arrived, and I probably should have mentioned it before.’

Michael regarded him uneasily. ‘I do not like the sound of this. When you have failed to mention things in the past, the “oversight” has invariably caused me problems. For example, the time you neglected to reveal the presence of a woman in one of our Colleges. And look where that led us.’

Bartholomew grinned sheepishly. ‘It is nothing of that magnitude. It concerns Aylmer. When I examined his body yesterday, his face was familiar – that odd crease in his nose is distinctive – and I have been trying to recall where I might have seen it before. Then, during prime this morning, the memory surfaced suddenly. Do you remember what Suttone said about him – about his past?’

‘He mentioned a misunderstanding with a sheriff. The comment made Sabina smile. Is that what you meant?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘Many years ago, my brother-in-law was ordered to act as juror for a series of trials at Cambridge castle. It was out of term, and I was home from Oxford with nothing to do, so I went with him. One of the cases involved a man called John Shirlok.’

‘Even I know about him,’ said Michael. ‘He turned “approver” – he named accomplices – but they were acquitted, and it was rumoured that he had simply supplied a list of people he did not like.’

‘Aylmer was one of them. I remember his nose among the ranks of the accused. So was Sabina.’

Michael stared at him. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. She was Sabina Godeknave then, which must have been the name of her first husband – she referred to herself as a widow at the trial. And I have a vague recollection of Nicholas Herl being there, too, gazing out of the window,
bored. I cannot remember the names of everyone Shirlok accused, but I know there were ten in total: eight men and two women.’

Michael continued to stare as his own memory began to work. ‘You are right. The trial was a significant event because of the large number of people who were involved, and news of it even reached the ears of lowly novices at Ely. Nicholas Herl, John Aylmer and Sabina Godeknave were among the appellees. I cannot imagine why I did not make this connection.’