De Wetherset’s expression was cold. ‘That was coincidence, and I resent your implication that it was anything else. I told you – it was a shock to be confronted by men I had acquitted.’
Bartholomew was unconvinced. ‘Miller tried to intimidate me when he thought I might remember the trial. Ergo, I seriously doubt you escaped with nothing said – unless he knew he could trust you to reveal nothing harmful. Now why would he think that?’
‘Matt,’ warned Michael uncomfortably. ‘De Wetherset is above suspicion.’
Bartholomew pressed on. ‘Several pieces of information have just clicked together in my mind, and I now know something you would rather keep concealed. So does Miller, which is why he does not mind you being here.’
De Wetherset glared at him. ‘And what might that be?’
‘It concerns the goods that went missing after Shirlok’s execution. We have just discussed the possibility that Shirlok may have been instrumental in their disappearance, but that is not the case.’
De Wetherset continued to glower. ‘What does lost property have to do with me?’
‘Matt,’ said Michael uneasily. ‘You are a long way from the mark with this.’
Bartholomew ignored him. ‘After Shirlok was hanged, I remember the valuables being loaded on a cart. There were a lot of people milling around in the bailey, because Nicholas Herl and several others had just been released from gaol, and Miller had hired wagons to move their possessions, too.’
‘Then you will also remember the line the sheriff drew in the mud with his boot,’ said de Wetherset. ‘No felon was permitted to cross it, on pain of death. None of them did.’
‘But “felons” did not pile the recovered goods on the cart,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You did – the only juror without an excuse good enough to let him evade the sheriff’s demand for help. You were in a hurry, determined to finish and be about your own business as soon as possible. You put at least some of the items on the wrong wagon.’
‘That is outrageous!’ De Wetherset turned to Michael. ‘If you are his friend, you will make him stop. Do not forget that I intend to be Chancellor again one day.’
‘I do not think you did it deliberately,’ Bartholomew went on, ‘but you realised what must have happened when the news started to circulate about the goods’ disappearance. You said nothing, and Miller must have had a lovely surprise when he reached Lincoln and unpacked.’
De Wetherset regarded him furiously. ‘How dare you accuse me of being party to a theft!’
Michael’s expression was troubled. ‘He is not. He is just saying that haste made you inattentive.’
De Wetherset regarded Bartholomew with dislike. ‘You cannot prove any of this.’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘I do not want to. It is irrelevant now, and all it does is help us understand another step in the curious travels of the Hugh Chalice.’
‘Perhaps St Hugh guided your hand, forcing you to put his cup on a cart bound for Lincoln,’ said Michael, trying to pacify the furious ex-Chancellor. They had enough enemies, without making another. ‘Perhaps he did not want it to sit in quiet obscurity at Geddynge. Bishop Gynewell himself told me that holy objects make their own way to the places they want to be.’
De Wetherset regarded him doubtfully, some of his rage lifting. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Why not?’ asked Michael. ‘It makes you an instrument of God.’
De Wetherset’s temper cooled a little more. ‘You have a point.’
‘I hope you will remember who brought this to light,’ said Michael, somewhat sternly. ‘You cannot bear a grudge against Matt for pointing out that St Hugh selected you to do his will.’
‘I do not mind him saying that,’ said de Wetherset. ‘I mind his accusatory tone.’
‘It is not accusatory,’ said Michael. ‘He is just awed by the divine favour you have been shown.’
De Wetherset did not look convinced, but at least he was not scowling when they left the priory.
‘Do you really believe all that?’ asked Bartholomew, when the gate had closed behind them.
‘Of course not,’ replied Michael scornfully, ‘but it may prevent him from doing something nasty to you at some point in the future. And you do not want him after your blood, believe me.’
The city felt uneasy as Bartholomew and Michael walked through it. Men were beginning to gather in huddles, and the alehouses were fuller than usual. Merchants scurried here and there with their heads down, as if they were afraid that eye contact might result in a confrontation that would see them deprived of their purses – or worse. Many of the better houses on the main road had kept their windows shuttered, and even one or two of the churches had firmly closed doors.
When the scholars reached the cathedral, and reported Simon’s disappearance to Gynewell, the bishop responded by ordering his officials to search the Close, roping in Ravenser, John, Claypole, Choirmaster Bautre and even the boy singers. Dancing up and down on the balls of his feet with restless energy, Gynewell directed them to specific areas, although Bartholomew doubted the clerics could be trusted to be thorough. Ravenser looked as though he had imbibed too much of his own ale the previous night; John complained that the hunt would interfere with his library duties; and Claypole and Bautre carped about the inclement weather. Young Hugh was the only one who seized on the adventure with any enthusiasm, and Bartholomew was impressed by the systematic way the boy and his fellow choristers combed the land near the Vicars’ Court.
‘I am sorry, My Lord,’ said Hugh a while later. He was soaking wet, covered in mud and close to frustrated tears. ‘I was hoping we would be the ones to find him. Give us another area. I do not think Claypole scoured the Close churches, like you asked. We could look there for you.’
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.