Bartholomew 12 - The Tarnished Chalice

by Susanna GREGORY

  The bishop dismissed him to the kitchens to dry out, and ordered Claypole to return to the two Close churches – St Mary Magdalene and St Margaret – and search them properly. The priest slouched away resentfully, and Bartholomew suspected he had no intention of doing as he was told. Then Michael pointed out that the vain, self-important Simon was more likely to be in the cathedral than in a humble chapel, and proposed they look for him there themselves.

  Bartholomew took the northern half of the building, Michael took the south, and they explored every nook and cranny. Bartholomew was near the Great Transept when he met Hamo and Roger.

  ‘You seem to be in pain,’ said Bartholomew, noting the way Hamo held his arm. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘I told you: I fell and bruised it,’ said Hamo, moving behind his prior, as if for protection. ‘I do not need poultices and purges, thank you.’

  Bartholomew was not sure whether to believe him. ‘On the night Brother Michael and I were attacked, you said you were both in the chapel. Did you notice any of your brethren miss—’

  ‘No,’ interrupted Roger sharply. ‘No one was absent. We are delighted to have Master Suttone … I mean all of you in our convent, and would do nothing to make you want to leave. I assure you the ambush had nothing to do with us.’

  ‘You will not be so delighted if Michael discovers Aylmer was stabbed by a Gilbertine,’ said Bartholomew, knowing he was taking a risk by making such bald statements, but persisting anyway.

  Roger licked dry lips. ‘No Gilbertine killed Aylmer. Come, Hamo. We should visit the Head Shrine and pray for Father Simon’s safe return.’

  He left, but Hamo lingered, his expression as icy as the weather outside. ‘I do not like your tone, physician, and nor do I like the way Michael leers at Lady Christiana. I do not like it at all.’

  He stamped away, leaving Bartholomew staring after him unhappily. Could jealousy have been the motive for the attack in the orchard? Hamo fawned over Christiana, and it was possible that he was as smitten by her charms as was Michael. Had he gathered like-minded colleagues for the bungled ambush, hoping to prevent the monk from luring her away from the convent that had been her home for so long? And was Roger compliant, because he did not want to lose the valuable source of income Christiana had become? Miller thought the culprit was in holy orders; perhaps he was right.

  Eventually, Bartholomew and Michael met by the shrine of Little Hugh. The cold weather had depleted the number of pilgrims, and it was deserted, except for Bautre, who was fortifying himself with Eleanor’s holy ‘water’. He blushed when he realised he had been seen, and scuttled away before they could talk to him.

  ‘Cynric told me he found Simon’s prayer for his brother Adam Molendinarius here,’ said Michael. ‘Did you see it? I am not sure I trust Cynric’s Latin.’

  ‘He read some of it aloud, but I did not look myself, obviously. I certainly did not believe his translation of the part that “proves” Simon was the lover of Christiana’s mother.’

  ‘Is it here now?’ asked Michael, taking a dead twig from a wreath and trying to rake the petitions towards him. ‘Do not look disapproving. I am a monk. It is all right for me to do this sort of thing.’

  Bartholomew glanced through the railings. ‘You are out of luck, Brother. Simon used some very white parchment, and I cannot see it now. Perhaps he noticed it in the wrong place, and retrieved it.’

  ‘Or someone else got it, and decided Miller’s brother is fair game in the city’s feud. Here comes Archdeacon Ravenser. We shall ask him whether he has noticed anything untoward happening here.’

  ‘All the time,’ replied Ravenser, sounding surprised Michael should need to enquire. ‘Visitors are always using the stems of flowers in an attempt to snag jewels and coins. However, Tetford was scheduled to tend Little Hugh this week, and he did fulfil his obligations – unusually for him. I saw him collect the prayers and read them all. He forgot to burn them on the altar, though, as we are supposed to do.’

  Michael exchanged a glance with Bartholomew. ‘What else did you see?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ravenser. ‘No, wait! There was something. I saw Tetford talking to Miller later, and whatever he was saying made the fellow very angry.’

  ‘He could have been telling Miller he was going to close the tavern,’ warned Bartholomew, seeing Michael start to draw conclusions. ‘And so would no longer buy Lora Boyner’s ale.’

  ‘You should look to the Commonalty for Tetford’s death, Brother,’ said Ravenser. ‘You certainly should not search the cathedral for clues, and especially not around me. I know Bartholomew thinks I killed Tetford to get his alehouse, but he is wrong.’

  ‘I shall bear it in mind,’ said Michael. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’

  ‘Not really. Tetford spent a lot of time with Little Hugh the day he died. Thinking, probably. He kept reading the letter Bishop de Lisle sent him, and he drank a lot of the wine Christiana sneaks into Dame Eleanor’s flask. Still, at least he had the decency to provide a replacement pot.’

  He pointed to a flask, cunningly concealed at the back of the tomb. It was identical to the one in which Eleanor kept her holy water, and Bartholomew had seen others just like them for sale at the market the previous day. The physician retrieved it with difficulty, and Ravenser sauntered away. The dust Bartholomew had disturbed in laying hold of the container made him sneeze. He raised his hand to his face to stifle the noise, then recoiled in horror when his fingers reeked of fish. Thoughts tumbling in confusion, he inspected the jug’s contents. Sure enough, it held poison.

  ‘So, Tetford was trying to kill me,’ said Michael indignantly. ‘And here is his secret supply to prove it. He wanted me dispatched, in the hope that he would proceed straight to my stall.’

  ‘He did say he wanted to advance quickly in the Church,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Can we be surethis belonged to him? A lot of people have access to this shrine. Anyone could have put it there.’

  ‘Ravenser said Tetford was on duty here this week, and you have to admit it is a clever hiding place. He hatched his plot to kill me, but tried to blackmail Miller over the identity of his brother first. Fortunately for me, someone shot him before he could share his celebratory wine.’

  Bartholomew shook the flask. ‘We need to dispose of this before someone else dies – dispose of it properly, I mean, by pouring it down a drain.’

  ‘They are all frozen solid, so it will have to go in the river. No, do not put it in your medical bag, man! We are about to visit Miller, and if he finds out you are carrying enough poison to murder his entire household, we will end up with our throats cut for certain.’

  ‘Well, we cannot leave it here. We shall have to go to the river first.’

  ‘There is no time. Did you not sense the city’s restlessness this morning? I have the feeling that unless we resolve some of these crimes fast, the place is going to explode into violence. Push the flask as far behind the tomb as you can, and we will retrieve it as soon as we have finished with Miller.’

  ‘Leaving poison lying around is not a good idea—’

  ‘And neither is carting it around a city that is on the verge of a riot. Besides, it was Tetford’s poison, and he is dead. Who else is going to use it? Do as I say, Matt. You know I am right.’

  Bartholomew did know, but he was not happy about the decision, even so.

  ‘I know I said time was short, but we cannot see Miller yet,’ said Michael, as they left the cathedral. ‘I am too confused. I need to sit quietly for a few moments and think. With a man like Miller, asking the wrong questions might see us in very deep water, and I do not want to make unnecessary mistakes.’

  ‘Can you do it while we walk to the river?’ asked Bartholomew, turning to go back inside and collect the poison.

  ‘That will take too long, and I cannot think clearly when my heart pounds from scaling that hill anyway. We shall visit the minster refectory, and you can analyse what we have learned so far while I listen.’

&nbs
p; ‘I cannot – I do not understand it myself. I do not even know where to start.’

  ‘In Cambridge, twenty years ago. I have a feeling that is where this business originates.’

  Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘No, it begins in London, before the Cambridge trial. The two friars were given the Hugh Chalice to transport to Lincoln, but Shirlok relieved them of it when they broke their journey at Cambridge. Shirlok then sold it to the priest at Geddynge, and within a few days had taken it back to sell again, with the help of Lora Boyner.’

  ‘Shirlok was caught and decided to name ten accomplices in an attempt to mitigate his sentence. Meanwhile, Chapman told us the two friars were killed on their way back to London – he said by robbers, but I suspect by Miller’s gang. Come with me, Matt. It is too cold to think out here.’

  Bartholomew followed him into the refectory that served the cathedral’s officials, where they found a table near a fire. The windows were shuttered against the bitter weather, and the room was lit and warmed by the braziers around the walls. A servant brought bread, cheese and ale, then left them alone. The physician was silent for a moment, then began again.

  ‘The accomplices Shirlok named were Nicholas Herl and Sabina – not married at that point – Miller, Chapman, Aylmer, Lora Boyner and four others, including Miller’s brother. Langar was the clerk who recorded the case.’

  Michael took up the tale. ‘The appellees were acquitted, despite the fact that some were known felons: Herl had been accused of robbery the year before, but was released for lack of evidence; Sabina’s first husband was hanged for theft and she was implicated in his activities; and Chapman could not leave Cambridge with Miller, because he was in gaol on another charge.’

  ‘Shirlok was hanged, but miraculously escaped. Then the recovered property went missing, thanks to de Wetherset. Perhaps it was then that Herl, Chapman and Aylmer marked themselves with cups. Miller did not, because he said he had always wondered what the symbol meant. Later, Flaxfleete joined their ranks, although by the time we met him, he was their enemy.’

  ‘When they arrived in Lincoln, Miller and the others took over the Commonalty. A feud was already bubbling, and the intervention of ambitious upstarts from another county will have done nothing to calm troubled waters. How did they come to amass so much power?’

  Bartholomew watched Michael eat. ‘They have had two decades to do it, and I imagine it is easy when you have lots of money. When people died and the two sides became uneven, Spayne elected to support Miller, not from any sense that Miller is good or right, but to maintain the equilibrium. Then we come to the first death. Nicholas Herl was poisoned three days before we arrived.’

  ‘You are moving far too fast, Matt. We were told it was the suspicious demise of the wicked Canon Hodelston that escalated the rivalry between the factions. His was the first death, and I suspect there have been others, too. However, the next incident pertinent to us occurred in the summer, when Flaxfleete burned Spayne’s storerooms, causing such an inferno that Spayne’s roof is set to collapse.’

  ‘And around the same time, Thoresby threatened to behead Dalderby. Yesterday, Dalderby gave Sheriff Lungspee a bribe, and it is obvious that he stabbed Chapman – and that he expected his crime to be exposed. But Dalderby is now dead, killed by a blow to the head, but he was able to stagger to Kelby’s house before breathing his last. Under the circumstances, we should not forget the rumour that Kelby killed his own friend Flaxfleete as a sacrificial lamb, to prevent Miller from avenging Herl and Aylmer. Perhaps Kelby killed Dalderby for the same reason.’

  ‘You are still going too fast, Matt. Herl’s death came before any of this.’

  ‘Herl ingested poison after drinking ale in the Swan tavern, and either fell or was pushed into the Braytheford Pool. A few days later, Aylmer, having renounced his life of sin, was stabbed while holding Simon’s goblet – which may or may not be the Hugh Chalice.’

  ‘Now you have left something else out,’ said Michael. ‘The chalice was stolen by Aylmer once before, when it was in Kelby’s possession. Remember?’

  ‘I remember Gynewell saying an accusation had been levelled, but that Flaxfleete had agreed to drop the charges. Gynewell had found it in the cathedral’s crypt.’

  ‘And Aylmer – in holy orders – had access to the vault.’

  ‘That thing certainly circulates,’ said Bartholomew in distaste. ‘Then we have another odd connection: Aylmer, Flaxfleete, Herl and Chapman have drawings of cups on their shoulders, and all – except Herl – have been in possession of the chalice.’

  ‘Herl did have it. We think he may have been the silversmith who made the fakes. Next, Tetford was shot. Like Aylmer, he had decided to turn over a new leaf, but was killed before he could do it. The consensus is that he was sincere, but that he probably would not have succeeded.’

  ‘He died while giving you poisoned wine. That does not sound like a new leaf to me. It was the same kind of poison that killed Herl and Flaxfleete, and we have just found a large pot of it in a place where Tetford spent most of his last day. Perhaps he is our culprit, and your case is solved.’

  ‘Or perhaps he was killed because someone objected to the fact that he shut the Tavern in the Close. His ladies were none too pleased, for a start. Perhaps the poison belongs to one of them. Or to Ravenser, because he wanted to run the alehouse.’

  Bartholomew sighed. ‘We have worked out a logical sequence of events, and we have unearthed new connections between victims and suspects, but none of it tells us the identity of the killer. Anyone could have poisoned Flaxfleete’s wine keg while it was waiting to be delivered; Herl drank his ale in a tavern full of people; and the Gilbertine Priory is so lax in its security that anyone could have wandered in and stabbed Aylmer. Our suspects still include virtually everyone we know.’

  Michael grimaced. ‘You are right: we are no further forward, but at least my thoughts are clear now. So, let us see what we can learn from Master Miller.’

  * * *

  Miller was waiting for Bartholomew, staring out of the window at the palisade of pointed stakes that protected his house. Langar was with him, and together they escorted physician and monk to the sickbed. Chapman smiled warily when he saw them, and said he was feeling better. Bartholomew removed the bandage and was pleased to find no signs of mortification. As he worked, Miller, Langar and Michael formed a looming wall behind him, and Miller spat on the floor.

  ‘I promise not to hurt him,’ said Bartholomew, not liking the way they hemmed him in. He sat back, bumping into Langar as he did so. ‘There is no need for you all to stay.’

  Miller’s eyes narrowed, and he removed his dagger to pick one of his four yellow teeth. ‘Are you trying to get him alone? To ask him about matters that are none of your concern?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Michael scornfully. ‘Very well. We shall all watch, if that is what you want, although we should step back and give him room to work. We can talk about Aylmer while we wait.’

  ‘Do you know who killed him?’ asked Miller eagerly.

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Michael, ‘although I know a good deal more now than when I was first asked to investigate. However, you can help me advance even further by clarifying a few points.’

  ‘That depends,’ said Miller. ‘I am not talking about Cambridge, if that is what you have in mind.’

  ‘He has met that woman – Sabina.’ Langar spoke the name with utter contempt. ‘She has been gossiping, telling him how you were once accused of heinous crimes. She should not have been released with the rest of you, she should have shared the fate of her first husband. She turned very odd after Aylmer retook his vows a month ago, and I do not trust her. So, we will answer the monk’s questions, Miller, to make sure he has the truth.’

  ‘Sabina did mention a misunderstanding in Cambridge,’ said Michael cautiously. ‘She also said you were not guilty. Shirlok was hanged, though.’

  ‘I deplore hangings,’ said Langar with a shudder. ‘I could not bring myse
lf to watch.’

  ‘I could,’ said Miller, ‘but I missed that one, because it took place sooner than I expected.’

  There was a tap on the door and Sabina entered, bringing food on a tray. She was surprised to see the scholars, and Bartholomew was startled to see her: he had been under the impression that she had broken away from the Commonalty. She saw what he was thinking and explained.

  ‘I came when I heard Chapman was unwell. The others do not know how to care for a sick man, and I do not want the poor fellow to die for want of gentle hands.’

  Langar sneered. ‘She told you her decision to leave us and lead a blameless life, did she, physician? I doubt she will endure it long.’

  She glowered at him. ‘I am doing very well, thank you.’

  Langar regarded her with contempt. ‘You are not here for Chapman, but because you detect unease in the town and you want our protection. Your past association with us means you are still considered fair game by the Guild. You own allegiance to one person only: yourself.’

  ‘She can stay until Lincoln is calm again,’ said Miller, cutting across her response, and silencing Langar’s objections with a glare. ‘I would rather have her where I can see what she is doing, anyway.’

  Sabina shot the lawyer a triumphant look, then addressed Michael. ‘Have you come to tell us who killed my Nicholas?’ She smiled spitefully when Langar winced at the use of the possessive.

  ‘The monk has been looking into Aylmer’s murder,’ snapped Langar. ‘Nicholas’s was mine to explore.’

  ‘And have you learned anything useful?’ Sabina asked him mockingly.

  He ignored her and addressed Michael. ‘I visited all the apothecaries, and asked whether they have sold any fishy poison recently. None have. Ergo, the toxin came from another source.’

  ‘Why would an apothecary own such a thing?’ asked Miller, puzzled.