‘And these?’ asked Michael producing a third, a fourth and a fifth.
Dame Eleanor shook her head in appalled disbelief, while the two Gilbertines were more vocal, shouting their dismay and horror. Hamo stood all five cups in a line, and his face was white when he informed the gathering that Jesus only had a total of fifteen left-hand fingers: the ‘unique’ carving had been precisely duplicated. Then Roger covered his eyes while Christiana swapped them around, and the prior was forced to admit that he could not tell one from the other, and that he had no idea which of the five had been in his chapel for the past few days.
‘If any,’ said Christiana. ‘Perhaps the original is with Simon – or with a thief who killed him and made off with it. His may be the real one, and these five are just poor imitations.’
‘They are not poor imitations, My Lady,’ countered Hamo. ‘They are very good ones. However, Simon’s must be the genuine relic one. Why else would it be stolen?’
‘Perhaps none is the original,’ suggested de Wetherset. ‘Perhaps there is no original.’
‘How many of these things are there, Brother?’ asked Eleanor, after the monk had explained that Cynric had ‘found’ one and the others had been confiscated from cathedral ‘seamstresses’. Bartholomew did not think he had ever heard so many euphemisms in a single sentence. ‘Or do you have them all?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Michael. ‘It was only chance that we happened to stumble on these. I would like to know how Tetford came to have four silver–’
‘Metal,’ corrected Roger. ‘I know silver when I see it. These are probably tin.’
‘–four metal goblets to give his sewing ladies,’ finished Michael. ‘And we are not in a position to make enquiries about the one Cynric “recovered”, either. It is difficult to know how to proceed.’
‘I am sure one of these cups was part of the property Shirlok stole in Cambridge,’ said Bartholomew, speaking more to himself than to the gathering. Michael shot him a warning glance, but it was too late: Roger pounced on the slip, pointing out that the physician was morally obliged to share information that might reflect on the chalice’s authenticity. Reluctantly, Bartholomew and de Wetherset gave an account of the trial. Bartholomew omitted what had happened to Shirlok at the end of it, and de Wetherset declined to mention that he had been a juror.
Hamo was gleeful. ‘So, Miller did commit crimes of dishonesty and was brought to task for them!’ he said, rubbing his arm again. ‘The Guild was right all those years ago when–’
‘The Hugh Chalice is worth far more than the twenty shillings paid by that Geddynge priest,’ said Roger. ‘It will make any priory or cathedral wealthy, from the pilgrims who flock to petition it.’
‘Perhaps the Hugh Chalice is,’ said Michael. ‘However, we cannot be sure if any of the cups we have – or even the one from Geddynge – is the original, and–’
‘One will be real,’ said Roger firmly, ‘although I cannot imagine how we shall identify which.’
‘I shall do that,’ announced de Wetherset. ‘I told you: I have a gift for that sort of thing.’
Roger gestured to the five cups. ‘Go on, then.’
‘This is not helping poor Simon,’ said Eleanor, after several moments when de Wetherset picked up each chalice in turn, but was obviously not going to be honoured with immediate divine insight. She stood. ‘I am going to the chapel, to petition to St Hugh on his behalf.’
Bartholomew and Michael left Prior Roger’s solar, and escorted Dame Eleanor to the chapel. They watched her walk to the altar and stand with her hands clasped in front of her. A psalm echoed around the building as she prayed.
‘Her Latin is excellent,’ said Michael. ‘Better than some of our colleagues in Cambridge.’
‘She likes to read,’ said Bartholomew, recalling their discussion about Hildegard of Bingen. ‘There is something I forgot to tell you yesterday, Brother. When I tended Chapman, he insisted on paying me with pearls worn by the Virgin Mary.’
‘The Blessed Virgin did not wear pearls,’ said Michael scornfully. ‘He tricked you, my friend.’
‘White pearls were also among the goods Shirlok was accused of stealing with the chalice.’
‘You think they are the same? Show me.’
Bartholomew handed them over. ‘Do you think it is possible that Shirlok’s hoard has been hidden somewhere, and is suddenly circulating?’
Michael stared at him. ‘It might be! Cynric overheard Langar and Sabina say they think Shirlok is still alive – although Miller, Chapman and Lora disagreed. Do you think Shirlok is in Lincoln, selling the goods he once stole in Cambridgeshire?’
‘It is possible, although I cannot imagine how he laid hands on them again. He ran out of the castle very quickly, and I doubt he came back.’
‘But then the goods mysteriously went missing before they could be returned to their owners. Perhaps he did get them somehow.’
Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘Or Langar did. He was a castle official – in a position to make items disappear – and it seems he left Cambridge very soon after Shirlok’s trial.’
Michael scratched the stubble on his cheeks. ‘No connection was ever made, that I heard, between Langar’s departure and the loss of this property.’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Why would it? Langar was a law-clerk, a respectable man.’
‘He has thrown in his lot with some very dubious characters since, though. It is entirely possible that his deviousness went unnoticed in Cambridge. You have said from the start that there was something odd about the way Miller and the others were acquitted. Now I am beginning to see why.’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘Langar somehow arranged a favourable verdict, seized the goods Shirlok stole, and the entire group – minus Shirlok, presumably – came to Lincoln, where they accrued power through the Commonalty and merrily continued their illegal activities.’
‘So, the cup was stolen three times: once from the friar-couriers, once from Geddynge and once after the trial. Chapman and the others made copies, intending to sell them as relics of St Hugh. They were not even subtle with the ones they hawked to Tetford, giving him four and claiming they were a set used by the saint at parties. How could Tetford have been so gullible?’
‘Tetford loved revelry, and probably thought it great fun to possess something St Hugh had used to celebrate. Whoever sold them to him knew exactly how to persuade him to buy.’ Bartholomew hesitated, as something else occurred to him. ‘Sabina said Nicholas was a silversmith.’
Michael nodded. ‘She thought the mark on his shoulder was a work burn. I see where you are going with this, Matt: Herl could have made the copies, because he had the skill to do so. Sabina did tell us he had been unusually busy over the last month. Perhaps he was in league with Chapman.’
‘I am supposed to visit Chapman again today. I will ask him.’
‘I do not like the thought of you in that house alone, so I shall come with you. I will tell a few lies about my imminent solution to Aylmer’s murder. And then I will have to go to the cathedral and do penance at the Head Shrine for bearing false witness.’
The obvious place to look for Simon was the minster, where he would soon be made a canon, so Michael and Bartholomew decided to search it on their way to see Chapman. De Wetherset escorted them to the Gilbertines’ gate, although he declined to join the hunt himself. He was clearly afraid to leave the convent, and Bartholomew hoped Michael would not pay for his greater courage with his life.
‘Perhaps I will return to the University when this is over,’ said de Wetherset worriedly. ‘Lincoln has grown dangerous, and it was uneasy politics that made me leave Cambridge. If I am to be caught up with intrigue and plots, I might as well be where there is a decent collection of books.’
Bartholomew regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Are you caught up with plots and intrigue? It is odd that you happened to select Lincoln as a haven of peace, when you are tied to it by your appointment as a juror in Miller’s trial all those years ago.’