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.’
‘Was he alone when he was attacked?’ asked Michael. ‘Were there any witnesses to his death?’
‘The bells here are very loud,’ replied de Wetherset. ‘I think the Gilbertines installed some especially large ones with intention of out-clanging the Carmelites up the road. The upshot is that once the damned things get going for the dawn offices, it is impossible to sleep. Everyone quit the guest-hall this morning, and either left the priory to begin business in the city or went to attend prime.’
‘Aylmer did not, if he was admiring other people’s property,’ Michael pointed out.
Simon inclined his head. ‘That is true. However, he definitely accompanied us to the chapel, because he walked across the yard at my side. Then I went to stand near the front, so everyone could hear me singing, and I suppose he must have slipped out later.’
‘The killer must have slipped out, too,’ said Michael.
De Wetherset nodded. ‘Of course. But the chapel is dark in the mornings, because the Gilbertines cannot afford many candles. It is impossible to make out the man next to you, let alone identify which of the brethren, nuns and guests were or were not present. Any of them could have stabbed Aylmer.’
‘Except me,’ said Simon firmly. ‘I was singing and had I left, my absence would have been noted.’
‘Is that true?’ asked Michael of de Wetherset.
De Wetherset raised laconic eyebrows. ‘He certainly has a penetrating voice,’ he said, giving the impression he was not as impressed with it as was its owner.
‘How many people are in this community?’ asked Michael, becoming intrigued with the case, despite his resent ment at the way in which it was being foisted on him.
‘There are twelve brothers and fifteen nuns,’ replied Simon. ‘The sisters’ duties revolve around the six or so inmates of St Sepulchre’s Hospital, which is part of the Gilbertines’ foundation. And there are a score of lay-brothers who manage the gardens and the sheep.’
‘One of the brethren – Hamo, this week – conducts a separate ceremony for layfolk in the hospital,’ said de Wetherset. ‘I asked whether he had noticed anyone creeping out to murder Aylmer, but he said he had not. He is not overly observant, despite the fact that he loves to gossip.’
‘I shall repair to the Carmelite Friary at first light tomorrow,’ announced Suttone, horrified by the discussion. ‘It will be safer. And Brother Michael intends to foist himself on the Black Monks.’
‘You will find both convents are full,’ said de Wetherset. ‘Do you think we would stay in a place tainted by murder, had there been an alternative available? Simon and I will be safe with you, though – you cannot be the killers, because you have only just arrived.’
‘True,’ said Suttone nervously. ‘But the same cannot be said for you.’
‘De Wetherset is no killer,’ said Michael with more confidence than Bartholomew felt was warranted. ‘Yet surely, you have homes in Lincoln, if you live here? Why not go there?’
‘De Wetherset was lodging with me,’ explained Simon, ‘but my house burned down last month – we should have been more careful when we banked the fire. Unfortunately, every bed in the city is now taken by folk who are here for Miller’s Market, the General Pardon or – as a very poor third – the installation of canons. We have no choice but to stay with the Gilbertines.’
‘This poor town,’ said de Wetherset softly. ‘A century ago, it was one of the greatest cities in the world, but now it is wracked by poverty. The plague did not help, carrying off two in every three of the clergy, and now the Fossedike – the old canal that gives access to the sea – is silting up, and trade suffers sorely. It deserves better than to be befouled by murder.’
‘Two murders,’ corrected Michael. ‘Aylmer and Flaxfleete.’
‘Not to mention the others,’ Bartholomew thought he heard Simon mutter.
Bartholomew slept badly that night for several reasons. He was over-tired from the journey; the bed was hard enough to hurt a back made sore by days in the saddle; he was eager to question Spayne about Matilde; he was disturbed to learn that a murder had taken place in the chamber below where he was tossing and turning; and he was uncomfortable sharing a room with de Wetherset and Simon. He had never liked the ex-Chancellor, and had been relieved when the man had left Cambridge. Like Michael, de Wetherset had relished the University’s intrigues and politics, and loved nothing more than to scheme and pit his wits against the clever minds of rival scholars. Bartholomew often felt Michael had learned rather too many bad practices from the cunning de Wetherset.
He had also taken something of a dislike to Simon. The priest possessed an arrogant self-confidence that suggested he was used to having his own way, and Bartholomew felt he was exactly the kind of man to kill the hapless Aylmer while claiming to be singing psalms. He distrusted him, and was grateful Cynric and his ready dagger were to hand.
‘I am uneasy here,’ whispered the book-bearer in the depths of the night, hearing him shift restlessly. ‘The servants are a miserable lot, who are raising toasts to the man who stabbed Aylmer – they all hated him, although none would tell me why. And I do not like de Wetherset wanting to sleep in the same chamber with us. He is a crafty man, and there will be trouble for certain.’
‘We shall find somewhere else tomorrow,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We do not have to stay here.’
‘Unfortunately, we do,’ said Cynric gloomily. ‘The servants say these are the last free beds in the entire city. Father Simon was right: folk have flocked here for Miller’s Market and the General Pardon.’
‘How many people were affected by this Summer Madness, then?’ asked Bartholomew, startled to learn the disease might have reached plague-like proportions. ‘And what sort of things did they do?’
‘Theft, robbery, rape, adultery,’ recited Cynric. ‘Every felon in the county is here, determined to buy absolution for crimes committed during August, when the physicians say no man was responsible for his own actions.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew.
‘And the servants say that while we might get one berth elsewhere – if we offer enough money – there is absolutely no chance of finding four together. I do not want to abandon Brother Michael in a place like this. He may need us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They say the bishop is going to order him to look into Aylmer’s stabbing. Gynewell is appalled by an unlawful death in a convent, and wants the culprit brought to justice. We cannot let him do it alone.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew with a sigh. ‘I suppose we cannot.’
Bartholomew was jolted from an unsettling dream, in which Matilde was happily married to de Wetherset, by a discordant jangle that made him leap from the bed and grab his sword. Michael was already awake, and sat on the edge of his own bed, reading a psalter.
‘Easy, Matt,’ he said softly. ‘It is only the bells for prime.
De Wetherset said they were louder than normal, and he is right.’
‘It sounded like an alarm at the start of a battle,’ said Bartholomew sheepishly, setting down the weapon before Suttone, de Wetherset and Simon could see what he had done. They were kneeling next to the hearth, whispering prayers of their own.
Michael closed his book and regarded his friend with concern. ‘You have been different since you returned from France – wearing a sword all the time, and drawing it at the slightest provocation. I thought you disapproved of fighting and violence.’
Bartholomew sat back on the bed, and rubbed his eyes. ‘I do, Brother, but this city does not feel safe, and you cannot blame me for being wary when a man was stabbed here only yesterday.’
Michael’s expression was troubled. ‘Cynric approves of your newly honed battle instincts – he worries less now he thinks you can look after yourself – but I am not so sure. It is unlike you.’ He saw the physician did not agree, and changed the subject when Cynric approached with a bowl of water. ‘Are you coming to prime? Laymen are not obliged to attend, so you can go back to sleep if you like, although that will not be easy with those bells going. It is enough to wake the dead.’
‘I hope it does not,’ said Cynric with a shudder. ‘Although at least then you could just ask Aylmer who dispatched him, which would save a lot of time. But what will happen to Queen Eleanor’s innards? Would they wake, too, and slither around looking for the rest of her?’
Michael regarded him in distaste. ‘What a lurid imagination you have, Cynric.’
‘It must come from living among the English for so long,’ sighed the book-bearer unhappily. ‘We Welsh do not chop up the corpses of princes, and nor do we have earthquakes or saints crucified by Jews. We were on very good terms with the Jews, so a very great wrong must have been done to provoke them to that sort of behaviour.’
Bartholomew followed him down the stairs and through the hall, where the other guests were either readying themselves for prayers, or lying in their beds with their hands clapped to their ears. The bells were even louder in the yard, and when he tried to tell Suttone that his braes were showing under his habit, he was obliged to shout to make himself heard. And then, as abruptly as it had started, the clamour stopped.
‘All right,’ hissed the Carmelite, adjusting his under-clothing while the physician’s yell still reverberated around the stone buildings. His plump face was scarlet with mortification. ‘There is no need to inform half of Lincoln.’
Bartholomew 12 - The Tarnished Chalice Page 8
