‘What connection?’ asked Michael, bemused. ‘Do you mean the fact that some of the people accused by Shirlok are now living happily in Lincoln?’
‘No, that is obvious, and I imagine you have known it since you arrived. Miller and his friends came to live here shortly after their acquittal, and never made any secret about the fact that they had been wrongfully accused by a man who was then hanged. The Guild made hay with the information at the time, but not even they dare mention it these days. As I said, Miller is touchy about it.’
Michael’s green eyes were hard. ‘Actually, we have only just made this particular association, and it would have been helpful to know it sooner. You should have told me that the man whose murder I have been charged to solve was once accused of burglary with Adam Miller.’
‘I thought you knew,’ said de Wetherset, unrepentant. ‘You are an experienced Senior Proctor, and I did not think you needed me to teach you your business.’
‘It cannot have been easy for you,’ said Bartholomew, cutting across Michael’s tart response, ‘arriving here to find yourself face to face with people you had judged.’
‘It was a shock,’ admitted de Wetherset. ‘But the trial was years ago, and they bear me no malice – as is right, since we declared them innocent. They invited me to dine with them once, and we had a relatively pleasant evening – if one overlooks Miller’s repulsive table manners.’
‘Was it an honest verdict?’ asked Bartholomew bluntly. ‘No bribes exchanged hands?’
De Wetherset was outraged. ‘How dare you! No wonder you have not risen very high in the University if you go around putting those sorts of questions! However, since you ask, most of the jury believed Shirlok was making unfounded accusations just to save his neck.’
‘Perhaps he was, but even I could see the appellees were no innocents,’ pressed Bartholomew, unmoved by the man’s indignation. ‘Sabina Godeknave had already stood trial for a theft that had seen her husband hanged, and we have been told that Miller’s business in Lincoln is openly shady.’
‘That is irrelevant,’ said de Wetherset coldly. ‘We were not told what the appellees had done in the past, and obviously we could not predict what they would do in the future. We made a good, fair decision based on the evidence available to us at the time. Now, if you will excuse me, my presence is required at the cathedral. I am due to be fitted with my silken cope today.’
‘Adam Miller,’ said Michael, as de Wetherset started to leave. ‘It seems he was the leader of this felonious Cambridge coven. And we know about Nicholas Herl, Aylmer, Sabina and Miller’s brother. Who are the other five?’
‘You have not learned that yet?’ asked de Wetherset contemptuously. Michael glared at him: the ex-Chancellor was beginning to be annoying. ‘They are Lora Boyner and Walter Chapman.’
‘Of course!’ said Bartholomew. ‘I remember Lora – a large woman who shouted a lot. She was a brewer and could lift heavy kegs of ale that were too weighty for even strong men.’
‘And the remaining three?’ asked Michael coolly.
‘All dead. Simon Miller and one other man died in prison, and the last two died of a falling pox. However, bear in mind that Adam Miller has made other friends since the trial, and Lincoln’s Commonalty comprises more than six members. For example, there is Langar, his legal adviser, who left a post as castle clerk to follow him to a new life.’
Michael continued to glare. ‘When we first started to talk, you mentioned another connection you think I should have made. I suspect you are overestimating how helpful people have been to me in this godforsaken place, so you had better tell me what it is.’
‘Stolen property, Brother,’ said de Wetherset with an impatient sigh that indicated he thought the monk a simpleton. ‘One of the crimes for which Shirlok was hanged was the theft of a silver goblet from the church at Geddynge. It was presented at his trial as evidence.’
‘I remember,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It was old, small and tarnished.’
‘Quite,’ said de Wetherset. His tone became even more patronising. ‘And where else have you recently encountered a cup that is “old, small and tarnished”?’
‘The Hugh Chalice?’ asked Bartholomew, his thoughts whirling in confusion.
De Wetherset clapped slowly and sarcastically. ‘At last! I am almost certain that Shirlok’s vessel is the same as the one Simon bought for the cathedral, although there was no talk at the trial about it belonging to St Hugh or being stolen from the friars who were transporting it to Lincoln.’
Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘Simon says he bought it from a relic-seller. Prior Roger thinks there was something familiar about this man and his red hose, but Simon claims he is from Rome.’
De Wetherset smiled in his annoying manner. ‘Good. And now think about a fellow called Walter Chapman, as you remember him from the trial. What was he wearing?’
‘I have not the faintest idea,’ said Bartholomew, regarding him as though he were insane. ‘And I am astonished you think I should. I cannot possibly be expected to remember a man’s clothes after two decades. I cannot even recall what I wore then.’
‘I can,’ said de Wetherset. ‘A black tabard with yellow stockings. You looked like a moorhen. But I see I shall have to help your analysis. Chapman wore scarlet hose at the trial, and he still favours the fashion now. Ergo, this “Roman” relic-seller, whom Roger thinks is vaguely familiar, is Chapman.’
‘There are a lot of questions with that solution,’ said Bartholomew, unconvinced. ‘First, how did Chapman come by the chalice, since it would have been returned to its owners at Geddynge after Shirlok’s trial? Secondly, even if Chapman did manage to acquire it, why wait twenty years before selling it to Simon? And thirdly, why would Chapman peddle it to Simon, knowing Simon intends to put it somewhere where it will be open to public scrutiny? If it is not the original Hugh Chalice – and it does not sound as though it can be – then Chapman is asking to be exposed as a deceiver.’
‘Yes,’ said de Wetherset patronisingly. ‘So, ignore Chapman for now, and concentrate on the man originally charged with its theft: Shirlok. What can you deduce from his involvement?’
Bartholomew scratched his head, too interested in the connections he was beginning to see to be offended by de Wetherset’s condescension. ‘We have been told that the Hugh Chalice was stolen en route from London to Lincoln twenty years ago. Shirlok was definitely operating then.’
‘Right,’ said Michael. ‘And Father Simon told us how it was pilfered from the two friar-couriers when they rested their weary bones at Cambridge. Shirlok must have found them asleep and taken advantage of the situation. At the trial, it was claimed that Shirlok passed the chalice to Lora Boyner, but she denied knowing it was stolen.’
‘You have missed a bit out, Brother,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Shirlok must have sold it to Geddynge before giving it to Lora, because it was Geddynge’s priest who claimed he was the owner.’
De Wetherset smiled. ‘Exactly! The Geddynge priest bought the cup from a “relic-seller” for twenty shillings. At that price, obviously neither he nor Shirlok had any idea of its holiness. It was removed from Geddynge church within a few days of its purchase, because Shirlok knew that what could be sold once could be stolen and hawked again.’
‘Very well,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But then what? You have established that it was stolen from the friars, stolen from Geddynge, and recovered from Lora Boyner to appear at Shirlok’s trial. But how did it get here? After Shirlok had been convicted, it would have been returned to its rightful owner.’
‘And who is that?’ demanded de Wetherset imperiously. ‘Not the Geddynge priest, because he had the misfortune to buy purloined property. And not Lora Boyner, either. So, is the “rightful owner” the cathedral in Lincoln? The Old Temple in London?’