‘I had no idea it was so dangerous,’ said Michael, edging away in alarm.
‘Well, you do now,’ said Ursula unpleasantly. ‘Flaxfleete may be dead, but his legacy lives on.’
Spayne shot her an admonishing glance. ‘There is no need for bitterness. Besides, the carpenter said the roof will be perfectly all right as long as his post is here. Of course, the additional weight of all this snow is not helping, but the rafters cannot be mended until the weather clears, and … I should not burden you with my problems.’
‘And I have a killer to catch,’ said Michael, moving towards the exit.
‘Flaxfleete’s?’ asked Ursula. ‘Good. You can prove I had nothing to do with it.’
‘The feud between Guild and Commonalty is no game of my choosing,’ said Spayne, as he opened the door for them. A blast of cold air whipped in, so he closed it again while he finished what he wanted to say. ‘Kelby has never liked me, but my election as mayor made matters far worse.’
‘He resents Will’s success in the wool business,’ added Ursula. ‘But he does not have the financial vision to make a similar fortune himself.’
‘It is a pity your dispute has drawn the entire city into a maelstrom of conflict,’ said Michael.
‘The rift is years older than me and Kelby,’ said Spayne, startled by the disapprobation in the comment. ‘I only took sides when he started to seduce cathedral officials with free wine. It upset the balance between the two factions, so I threw in my lot with Miller, to make them equal again.’
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 Wilclass="underline" 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 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.’