Bartholomew 12 - The Tarnished Chalice

by Susanna GREGORY

  Michael was unconvinced. ‘I have met Miller, and I would not like him holding sway in any town I was obliged to live in.’

  ‘He may be vulgar, but he spends a lot of money on his Market, all of it to benefit unemployed weavers. And he built six houses in Newport, which he rents at low cost to those without work. The Guild’s only “charity” is buying wine for debauched Vicars Choral to guzzle.’

  ‘Kelby knows we occupy the moral high ground,’ elaborated Ursula, ‘which makes him hate us even more. Did we tell you how he gloated when Matilde left? He is shallow and mean, and no gentleman would have said the things he did. Personally, I cannot imagine why Matilde rejected Will: he is the richest man in Lincoln, he is handsome, and he has been elected mayor on several occasions – legally elected, not like when Kelby tried to falsify votes and have himself declared the winner.’

  ‘Ursula, please!’ cried her brother, embarrassed. ‘You make it sound as though Matilde made a mistake, and we both know she did not. She did not love me, so she was wise to decline my offer.’

  ‘I understand you stayed with the Black Monks on the night when the Guild celebrated Flaxfleete’s acquittal,’ said Michael, changing the subject.

  Spayne smiled. ‘I do not mind keeping company with the Benedictines on occasion. It is good to sleep on a hard bed and listen to the bells calling God’s servants to their nocturnal prayers. Do you not agree, Brother?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Michael, who never encumbered himself with uncomfortable mattresses if there was a way to avoid them, and did not often keep the night offices, either. ‘Did you know Flaxfleete was poisoned?’

  ‘Was he?’ asked Spayne, while Ursula pursed her lips and glared, as if daring Michael to accuse her again. ‘Poor man. He was always in Kelby’s shadow, but he was not a bad fellow.’

  Ursula was contemptuous. ‘His fire cost you a fortune in burned wool.’

  ‘Enough, Ursula,’ said Spayne tiredly. ‘He is dead, and we should let him rest in peace – and perhaps some of this feud will die with him. God knows I am weary of it. I wish you luck in uncovering his killer, Brother.’

  ‘Actually, I am not looking into Flaxfleete’s death, but Aylmer’s,’ said Michael. ‘He was to have been the Vicar Choral of our friend, Thomas Suttone.’

  ‘I heard Aylmer had secured the favour of the Suttone clan,’ said Spayne, stroking his beard. ‘We were all very impressed to learn he had inveigled such noble patronage, but we were astonished, too. He was a member of my Commonalty, but I cannot say he was someone I trusted.’

  ‘We have been told he was a thief,’ said Michael baldly.

  Spayne nodded agreement. ‘Miller was obliged to pay Sheriff Lungspee twice to acquit him of charges of burglary, while he was one of ten men and women named for dishonest dealings at a court in Cambridge. You will know about that, I imagine, since you live there.’

  ‘It happened long before we became scholars,’ said Michael smoothly, immediately assuming Spayne was fishing for information to pass to Miller, his ally against the Guild. ‘So, we know nothing about it – and nor do we want to. Ancient history does not interest us.’

  ‘You are very wise,’ said Ursula. ‘Miller does not like anyone discussing it, and he successfully sued Kelby for slander when he once made reference to it in a speech at a Guild dinner.’

  Spayne shot her a look that warned her to watch her tongue. ‘De Wetherset told me Aylmer died holding a silver chalice – the one Father Simon intends to donate to the cathedral. Did you know Simon was sold that chalice by a local man?’

  Michael nodded. ‘A fellow called Chapman, whom Simon claimed was a Roman relic-seller, but who actually transpires to be one of Miller’s colleagues. One of your colleagues, too.’

  ‘Chapman is not my colleague,’ stated Spayne firmly. ‘He is a member of the Commonalty, but only because is he is a friend of Miller. I would object to his association with us, but he travels a lot, so seldom attends meetings anyway. I decided to let his “election” pass, in the interests of harmony.’

  ‘Why did you ask whether we knew it was Chapman who sold Simon the cup?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Because, like Aylmer, Chapman is not always honest,’ replied Spayne. ‘If he did hawk this goblet to Simon, then it is unlikely to be the real Hugh Chalice. I wanted you to know, because it may be relevant to your investigation. I am trying to assist you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bartholomew, when Michael regarded the merchant rather suspiciously.

  ‘It is the truth, Brother,’ insisted Spayne, noting the monk’s wary response. ‘I have no reason to lie to you. However, you may not find others as helpful. People here are apt to stretch the truth.’

  ‘Not only here,’ said Michael. ‘I seem to encounter lies wherever I am.’

  By the time Bartholomew and Michael left Spayne – and he only relinquished them when they promised to visit him again – the sun had set, and Michael gave up any notion of pursuing his investigation that day. It was late enough that even those merchants who traded by lamplight were beginning to close their premises, and Bartholomew felt the city was oddly deserted as they walked down the hill towards the Gilbertine Priory. The only people out were men he assumed were workless weavers, who did not look as though they had anywhere else to go. Nervously, he wondered whether they were massing to cause mischief – to attack the homes of guildsmen for not supporting them in their time of need.

  ‘It is Saturday night,’ explained Michael, seeing him glance around. ‘It is always quiet then, because no trading is permitted on Sundays, and shopkeepers tend to shut early. However, it is unnerving to see the city quite so empty, when we have only seen it teeming with folk.’

  Bartholomew rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘We should be safe enough.’

  Michael regarded him uneasily. ‘Are you thinking of challenging a few night-felons, then? Do you imagine it will ease the frustration you feel over Spayne’s refusal to help you? As I have pointed out before, you have grown rather too eager to don a weapon these days, Matt, and it is unlike you.’

  ‘I always wear a sword when I travel,’ said Bartholomew, surprised by the admonition. ‘And so do most men who value their lives. But I was actually thinking that your habit might afford us some protection, along with the fact that people here are oddly in awe of the Suttone clan, and seem to respect us because we arrived in company with one. I was not thinking of fighting anyone.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it. Violence has always been abhorrent to me. It used to be to you, too, before you went to war.’

  ‘I did not “go to war”. I just had the misfortune to be in a place where two armies met. And I assure you it is not an experience I am keen to repeat.’

  ‘I do not think Gynewell will be very impressed with my investigation so far,’ said Michael, after they had walked in silence for a while. ‘I spent most of the day listening to a merchant lust after a woman who is far too good for him.’

  Bartholomew stared at the monk in astonishment. ‘He did no such thing! The memories he shared with us showed them both in a good light.’

  ‘That is what he wanted us to think, but I could see what was really in his head. He is a mean, bitter fellow, who has decided that Matilde will not find happiness with her friends, because he did not.’

  ‘I beg to differ. He is still obviously hurt by her rejection, but he is an honourable man.’

  ‘He is a rascal, and if you were not so determined to believe that Matilde’s taste in men is impeccable, you would see it, too. He is cunning, with a mind like a trap, and the likes of you and I will never catch him out. Did you hear him denigrating Aylmer and Chapman? And they are his friends – fellow members of his Commonalty! If he is so vociferous against men who are on his side, I dread to think what his enemies must be obliged to endure from him!’

  Bartholomew was bemused by the force of his convictions. ‘If you found him so objectionable, why did you spend so long in his company?’

  Michael sn
iffed. ‘I wanted to get his measure, and I hoped he might let something slip about Matilde. He is too wily, though, and I was able to deduce nothing. Perhaps we will do better next time.’

  ‘Next time? You are prepared to see him again?’

  ‘I would give a good deal to see you content, even spending hours of my valuable time with a rat. Did you hear his excuse for throwing in his lot with that felon Miller?’ Michael’s voice became mincingly mocking. ‘“I wanted to maintain the balance between factions.” Who does he think he is dealing with, to imagine we would be fooled by such rubbish? He is a detestable, odious villain.’

  ‘He cannot be all bad, or Matilde would not have been his friend.’

  ‘She is not here, though, is she? Perhaps that is why she left: she found out what he is really like. The wretched man has information that may see you two reunited, and he will not share it, out of simple spite. I shall do all in my power to worm it out of him, but I am not overly hopeful. I suspect the only way we shall ever best him is by resorting to blackmail.’

  ‘Michael!’

  ‘Do you want Matilde or not? If she is worth spending months among the French, then she is worth digging around in Spayne’s dubious existence. I see you find it distasteful, so leave it to me. I shall find a way to make him part with his secrets.’

  ‘No,’ said Bartholomew forcefully. ‘You are to be made a canon a week tomorrow. You cannot risk your reputation by engaging in criminal activities. I will not let you. Not even for Matilde.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Michael stiffly. ‘I shall teach you how to do it yourself. But I do not want to discuss that villain any more tonight. Let us talk about what we have learned of Aylmer instead.’

  Bartholomew tugged his mind away from Spayne. ‘He was a member of the Commonalty, and its leaders want his death avenged. And you have discovered that his association with Miller made him unpopular – along with his fondness for other people’s property. Even Spayne could not find a good word to say about him.’

  Michael grimaced at the mention of the man he had taken against. ‘What do you think of Langar the Lawyer as the killer? Perhaps he was jealous, because Aylmer visited his lover Nicholas a lot.’

  ‘Sabina, who detests Langar and who would probably love to see him hang for murder, does not think so. Besides, Aylmer visited Nicholas’s house to see her, not Nicholas.’

  Michael was sceptical. He sniffed. ‘So she says, but does she have any evidence to prove Langar’s innocence? No, she does not. And have you considered the possibility that Langar was jealous of Aylmer’s promotion to Vicar Choral, and decided to make sure he never enjoyed it?’

  ‘That would be self-defeating,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘Aylmer had been appointed to a place where he could watch the doings of the Commonalty’s enemies. Langar would never spoil an opportunity that would see his faction with an advantage over its rivals.’

  ‘Well, you can think what you like, but I am unwilling to eliminate Langar and his cronies just yet. They remain on my list of suspects for the murder, along with Spayne, who—’

  ‘Spayne?’ echoed Bartholomew in disbelief. ‘Now you really are allowing personal dislike to run riot. You would do better looking at the men who live in the place where Aylmer was killed, and who had ready access to him: the Gilbertines.’

  ‘They are certainly worth perusal,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘And Hamo’s alibi is especially dubious, because I spoke to the hospital inmates, and they are unable to say exactly when he arrived to say mass for them. He could well have stabbed Aylmer before attending to his religious duties.’

  ‘Meanwhile, Whatton is a quiet, unassuming fellow, and no one would notice if he escaped from the chapel. The building is always dark, there is a colossal amount of noise, and everyone is so transfixed by his alleluias that you could probably discharge a ribauld with no one any the wiser.’

  Michael nodded. ‘And that conclusion means none of the Gilbertines have a solid alibi. The same can be said for Father Simon, who remains my prime suspect, because it was his cup Aylmer was holding when he died. Why would someone kill Aylmer but leave a valuable chalice with his body? It makes no sense.’

  ‘De Wetherset is on my list,’ said Bartholomew. He raised his hand when Michael started to object. ‘He lies, Brother. He told you he saw Simon in the chapel that morning, but he could not have done, because he later let slip that he never attends prime with the Gilbertines. And if he cannot vouch for Simon, then Simon cannot vouch for him. What is not to say that he did not catch Aylmer stealing his friend’s cup, and stabbed him?’

  Michael was thoughtful. ‘I suppose he may have learned a few secrets by watching us investigate murder in Cambridge, and he is certainly wily enough to know how not to leave clues.’

  ‘How will you eliminate some of these suspects?’ asked Bartholomew. He did not like the notion of Michael meddling with such folk. It was different in Cambridge, when there was an army of beadles under the monk’s command and a friendly, understanding sheriff always ready to help. But in Lincoln, they were alone, with only Cynric to protect them.

  ‘Ask questions, I suppose, although it is difficult to know where to start. I will talk to Simon again, and try to get some proper answers about this chalice. Perhaps that is where the solution lies.’

  ‘Especially when you consider that drawing on Aylmer’s shoulder. I am certain it is significant.’

  ‘Aylmer, Nicholas and Flaxfleete. All murdered. Two with poison and one with a dagger. Perhaps if I find the killer of one, I will know who did away with them all.’

  * * *

  Lincoln was swathed in a thick pall of fog the following day, so dense that Bartholomew could not see the Chapel of St Katherine from the refectory next door. He had intended to accompany Michael to prime in the cathedral, but one of the hospital inmates was suffering from a lethargy, and by the time he had finished the consultation, Michael was nowhere to be found and the physician was obliged to endure the Gilbertines’ high mass instead. With gritted teeth, he listened to them howl and clap their way through several psalms, and was shocked when Prior Roger suggested singing in the vernacular.

  ‘Come on, Doctor!’ he shouted, leaving his place at the altar and coming to mingle with his joyous flock. ‘It is a lovely Sunday, and you are blessed with the ability to raise your voice to the Lord! Sing His praise with all your heart. Alleluia!’

  Bartholomew took several steps away when Roger waved his rattle, making a deafening racket that served to make his brethren shriek all the louder. Hamo was yelling so loudly that his voice was cracking, while even Simon seemed slightly taken aback at the fervour exploding around him.

  ‘I think I would rather—’ began Bartholomew.

  ‘Is there a particular psalm you would like us to trill?’ asked Roger, almost screaming to make himself heard. ‘Hamo has translated some into English, so the lay-brothers can join in.’

  Bartholomew looked longingly at the door. ‘The patient in the hospital will need—’

  ‘Praise the Lord!’ yelled Roger, almost delirious in ecstasy. He raised his hands in the air, and closed his eyes. As soon as Bartholomew was sure it would be a moment before he would open them again, he made his bid for escape, racing up the nave and flinging open the gate to freedom.

  ‘Steady!’ exclaimed Dame Eleanor, who was passing by outside. ‘You almost had me over.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Bartholomew, slamming the door behind him and leaning on it, in the hope that it would prevent Roger from coming after him.

  She cackled her amusement when she understood what was happening. ‘You are not the first man to rush screaming from one of the priory’s Sunday masses. Roger is a very dear man, but his style of worship is not to all tastes.’

  ‘Would you like me to escort you to the cathedral?’ asked Bartholomew, keen to leave the convent.

  She patted his arm. ‘You are kind, but I usually go later on a Sunday, and Christiana has already agreed to walk with me. Do not be afraid t
hat Roger will hunt you out. He will be so engrossed in his ceremony that he will have forgotten about you by now. It is almost time for the organ – yes, I can hear it starting up now – and he always becomes rather animated once that is going.’

  ‘Lord!’ muttered Bartholomew, not liking to imagine what Roger might be like, when ‘rather animated’. ‘If ever I do take the cowl, I will never choose the Gilbertine Order.’

  ‘As far as I am aware, this is the only Gilbertine house that enjoys such passionate worship. There is Michael, about to visit the cathedral for his Sunday devotions. You should go with him, since he is investigating a nasty murder and this can be a dangerous city. He is a good man, so please look after him.’

  ‘I will try,’ said Bartholomew, watching the monk and Christiana emerge from a building he thought was a disused brewery. Michael was laughing at something she had said, and the physician thought it was no wonder they had been impossible to locate earlier – a defunct brew-house was not an obvious place to look. ‘But I do not think he wants my company at the moment.’

  ‘He and Christiana are only flexing their wits in bright conversation,’ said Eleanor indulgently. ‘Do not worry about your friend’s virtue. Christiana would never harm him.’

  ‘It is not him I am worried about.’

  She chuckled again. ‘Christiana can take care of herself. She has been repelling passionate suitors for six years, and has become rather adept at it.’

  She headed for the gate, and Christiana broke away from Michael to join her. Bartholomew could not help but notice how the younger woman moved her hips in a way that was sure to keep the monk’s attention. Bartholomew went to stand next to him, but Michael only turned to face his friend once the two women could no longer be seen through the mist. He seemed surprised to find Bartholomew regarding him with arched eyebrows.