‘Why would you? It happened twenty years ago, and in a different city. There is nothing to link Cambridge-past to Lincoln-present, except some names in an ancient memory.’
Michael was mulling over the new information. ‘If Sabina Herl is Sabina Godeknave, then her first husband did not “die” – he was hanged for theft. Sabina was charged with the same crime, but was released for lack of evidence. At the abbey, we were astonished to learn she was later acquitted a second time. You said you remember some names, but not all. Who else do you recall?’
Bartholomew rubbed his chin. ‘Just two more. Shirlok gave them in Latin, in an attempt to lend weight to his claims, although his pronunciation was all but incomprehensible. They were Adam and Simon Molendinarius. As you know, a molendinarius is a miller.’
Michael’s jaw dropped as the myriad implications of that association rattled about in his mind. ‘Adam Miller! God’s blood, Matt! What is happening here?’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Probably nothing relevant to Aylmer’s murder. However, it appears that at least some of the people Shirlok accused decided to leave Cambridge, and make Lincoln their new home. The timing fits: the trial was twenty years ago, which was roughly the time Miller arrived here and began to take over the Commonalty.’
‘I am not sure about this,’ said Michael unhappily. ‘Why did they leave Cambridge at all?’
‘Probably because the sheriff would have been watching them too closely. I recall knowing, with absolute certainty, that the appellees were guilty, despite the verdict. They doubtless moved so they could continue their illegal activities without the eyes of the law on them.’
Michael scratched his tonsure. ‘It is possible, I suppose. So, of these ten villains, we know there were two Miller brothers, Aylmer, Sabina and Nicholas. There were five more.’
‘I have been wrestling with the matter ever since prime, but nothing has come to mind. I remember poor Shirlok, though. He was sentenced to hang, much to his surprise. The executioner had to do it immediately, because he was already well on his way to being drunk, and would have been totally incapable had it had been left any longer. Shirlok was dispatched within an hour of his trial.’
Michael shrugged. ‘He pleaded guilty, and hanging is the only sentence for self-confessed thieves. He cannot have expected any other outcome.’
‘He did, though, Brother. He thought naming the others would earn him a reprieve. He was even more astonished when he was convicted but his accomplices were allowed to walk free.’
Michael regarded him thoughtfully. ‘You seem to think the verdict was unfair, and I remember being shocked to hear about the acquittals myself. But your brother-in-law was one of the jurors. Oswald’s morals are pliant on occasion, but they are not that flexible.’
‘He was only one of the twelve “good men and true”. Another was Stephen Morice.’
Michael grimaced. ‘The man whom every Cambridge resident knows to be the most dishonest fellow in Christendom, and who is so brazenly corrupt that he makes Lungspee look like an angel?’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘And then there was Thomas Deschalers, the grocer whose death we investigated not long ago.’
Michael frowned. ‘He was a sly fellow, too, but the jury was not all bad, because de Wetherset served on it, too. He once confided to me – at a College feast, when he was drunk – that being obliged to pass verdict on Shirlok upset him so much that it was a major factor in him taking holy orders; clerics cannot serve on secular juries. He and Oswald would have seen justice done, though.’
‘I am not so sure about de Wetherset: he has always struck me as a man who would do anything to advance his own interests. In essence, though, the whole thing reeked of corruption, and I have often wondered why the appellees were never investigated. Their homes might have been stuffed to the ceilings with stolen goods, but we would never have known, because no one looked.’
‘When a man is about to be hanged, he will say all manner of things to save himself, including trying to indict innocent people.’ Michael was trying to be fair, by looking at both sides of the story. ‘It happens all the time, and Justices must be used to it. So, just because Shirlok’s accusations were dismissed does not necessarily mean there was a miscarriage of justice. Right?’
Bartholomew said nothing until they were across the High Bridge. ‘When Shirlok was hanged, something odd happened. He was a small man, and kicked for some time before the executioner declared him dead. He was cut down, and his body displayed in the castle bailey, as a deterrent to other would-be thieves. Eventually, the hangman went to a tavern, and I was able to look at Shirlok alone.’
Michael regarded him in distaste. ‘You had a ghoulish fascination for corpses even then?’
Bartholomew hesitated. ‘I once told Cynric this, but never anyone else.’
Michael was concerned. ‘Do not confide in me, if my knowing whatever it is will impede the investigation. Aylmer’s murder will be difficult enough to solve, without having restrictions put on it.’
‘This has nothing to do with Aylmer. As I stared down at Shirlok’s body, he opened his eyes. You see, because he was light, it had taken longer for him to choke than most men, and the hangman was too drunk to notice the signs of life. When I reached out to touch him, he leapt up and ran away.’
The monk could see it was a troubled memory, so tried not to laugh. ‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing. The executioner told everyone he had buried the body, and I decided not to contradict him, mostly because of an enduring sense that there was something rotten about the whole affair.’
‘There is de Wetherset,’ said Michael, nodding to where the portly ex-Chancellor was plodding towards them. ‘Perhaps we should ask him what he recalls about his duties as a juror that day.’
De Wetherset had attended prime in the Franciscan Friary, and smugly informed the scholars that it was considerably more uplifting than what usually transpired in the Priory of St Katherine. He told them he had attended one rowdy office when he had first taken up residence in the Gilbertines’ guest-hall, and had made the decision to subject himself to no more of them.
‘Father Simon enjoys that sort of worship,’ he went on archly. ‘But I do not clap when I sing.’
‘I thought you liked Simon,’ said Bartholomew, surprised to hear the condemnation in the ex-Chancellor’s voice. ‘You shared his house before it burned down.’
‘It was an economic arrangement that suited us both,’ said de Wetherset. ‘I would not say we were friends, although I admire him as a man of singular piety. You can see it in his devotion to St Hugh.’
Michael nodded. ‘He has spent his own money on a very expensive relic for the cathedral. But what do you think of the Hugh Chalice, de Wetherset? Bishop Gynewell believes it is genuine, although his dean is said to be sceptical.’
De Wetherset thought it only natural that he should be asked for an expert opinion. ‘Ever since you exposed those false bones in Cambridge, I have discovered a rare talent in myself: I possess the ability to sense an object’s holiness. In short, I can identify a fake at ten paces.’
‘Can you indeed?’ murmured Michael. ‘And what do you make of Simon’s cup?’
‘I have not looked at it. Relics are ten a penny in Lincoln, and I am too busy to inspect them all.’
‘We were just talking about the Cambridge trial of John Shirlok,’ said Bartholomew, aware that it was something of a non sequitur, but unable to think of another way to broach the subject. ‘Michael remembers it creating a stir across the whole shire.’
De Wetherset lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘One of the accused was Adam Miller, and he is still sensitive about the matter, so keep your voice down. But you are right; the case did cause an uproar, and I had the misfortune to be a juror, along with your kinsman, Bartholomew. I wondered how long it would take you to make the connection. I was going to prompt you if you had not seen it by this evening, but I need not have worried. You always were a sharp pair.’