‘When they arrived in Lincoln, Miller and the others took over the Commonalty. A feud was already bubbling, and the intervention of ambitious upstarts from another county will have done nothing to calm troubled waters. How did they come to amass so much power?’
Bartholomew watched Michael eat. ‘They have had two decades to do it, and I imagine it is easy when you have lots of money. When people died and the two sides became uneven, Spayne elected to support Miller, not from any sense that Miller is good or right, but to maintain the equilibrium. Then we come to the first death. Nicholas Herl was poisoned three days before we arrived.’
‘You are moving far too fast, Matt. We were told it was the suspicious demise of the wicked Canon Hodelston that escalated the rivalry between the factions. His was the first death, and I suspect there have been others, too. However, the next incident pertinent to us occurred in the summer, when Flaxfleete burned Spayne’s storerooms, causing such an inferno that Spayne’s roof is set to collapse.’
‘And around the same time, Thoresby threatened to behead Dalderby. Yesterday, Dalderby gave Sheriff Lungspee a bribe, and it is obvious that he stabbed Chapman – and that he expected his crime to be exposed. But Dalderby is now dead, killed by a blow to the head, but he was able to stagger to Kelby’s house before breathing his last. Under the circumstances, we should not forget the rumour that Kelby killed his own friend Flaxfleete as a sacrificial lamb, to prevent Miller from avenging Herl and Aylmer. Perhaps Kelby killed Dalderby for the same reason.’
‘You are still going too fast, Matt. Herl’s death came before any of this.’
‘Herl ingested poison after drinking ale in the Swan tavern, and either fell or was pushed into the Braytheford Pool. A few days later, Aylmer, having renounced his life of sin, was stabbed while holding Simon’s goblet – which may or may not be the Hugh Chalice.’
‘Now you have left something else out,’ said Michael. ‘The chalice was stolen by Aylmer once before, when it was in Kelby’s possession. Remember?’
‘I remember Gynewell saying an accusation had been levelled, but that Flaxfleete had agreed to drop the charges. Gynewell had found it in the cathedral’s crypt.’
‘And Aylmer – in holy orders – had access to the vault.’
‘That thing certainly circulates,’ said Bartholomew in distaste. ‘Then we have another odd connection: Aylmer, Flaxfleete, Herl and Chapman have drawings of cups on their shoulders, and all – except Herl – have been in possession of the chalice.’
‘Herl did have it. We think he may have been the silversmith who made the fakes. Next, Tetford was shot. Like Aylmer, he had decided to turn over a new leaf, but was killed before he could do it. The consensus is that he was sincere, but that he probably would not have succeeded.’
‘He died while giving you poisoned wine. That does not sound like a new leaf to me. It was the same kind of poison that killed Herl and Flaxfleete, and we have just found a large pot of it in a place where Tetford spent most of his last day. Perhaps he is our culprit, and your case is solved.’
‘Or perhaps he was killed because someone objected to the fact that he shut the Tavern in the Close. His ladies were none too pleased, for a start. Perhaps the poison belongs to one of them. Or to Ravenser, because he wanted to run the alehouse.’
Bartholomew sighed. ‘We have worked out a logical sequence of events, and we have unearthed new connections between victims and suspects, but none of it tells us the identity of the killer. Anyone could have poisoned Flaxfleete’s wine keg while it was waiting to be delivered; Herl drank his ale in a tavern full of people; and the Gilbertine Priory is so lax in its security that anyone could have wandered in and stabbed Aylmer. Our suspects still include virtually everyone we know.’
Michael grimaced. ‘You are right: we are no further forward, but at least my thoughts are clear now. So, let us see what we can learn from Master Miller.’
Miller was waiting for Bartholomew, staring out of the window at the palisade of pointed stakes that protected his house. Langar was with him, and together they escorted physician and monk to the sickbed. Chapman smiled warily when he saw them, and said he was feeling better. Bartholomew removed the bandage and was pleased to find no signs of mortification. As he worked, Miller, Langar and Michael formed a looming wall behind him, and Miller spat on the floor.
‘I promise not to hurt him,’ said Bartholomew, not liking the way they hemmed him in. He sat back, bumping into Langar as he did so. ‘There is no need for you all to stay.’
Miller’s eyes narrowed, and he removed his dagger to pick one of his four yellow teeth. ‘Are you trying to get him alone? To ask him about matters that are none of your concern?’
‘Of course not,’ said Michael scornfully. ‘Very well. We shall all watch, if that is what you want, although we should step back and give him room to work. We can talk about Aylmer while we wait.’
‘Do you know who killed him?’ asked Miller eagerly.
‘Not yet,’ replied Michael, ‘although I know a good deal more now than when I was first asked to investigate. However, you can help me advance even further by clarifying a few points.’
‘That depends,’ said Miller. ‘I am not talking about Cambridge, if that is what you have in mind.’
‘He has met that woman – Sabina.’ Langar spoke the name with utter contempt. ‘She has been gossiping, telling him how you were once accused of heinous crimes. She should not have been released with the rest of you, she should have shared the fate of her first husband. She turned very odd after Aylmer retook his vows a month ago, and I do not trust her. So, we will answer the monk’s questions, Miller, to make sure he has the truth.’
‘Sabina did mention a misunderstanding in Cambridge,’ said Michael cautiously. ‘She also said you were not guilty. Shirlok was hanged, though.’
‘I deplore hangings,’ said Langar with a shudder. ‘I could not bring myself to watch.’
‘I could,’ said Miller, ‘but I missed that one, because it took place sooner than I expected.’
There was a tap on the door and Sabina entered, bringing food on a tray. She was surprised to see the scholars, and Bartholomew was startled to see her: he had been under the impression that she had broken away from the Commonalty. She saw what he was thinking and explained.
‘I came when I heard Chapman was unwell. The others do not know how to care for a sick man, and I do not want the poor fellow to die for want of gentle hands.’
Langar sneered. ‘She told you her decision to leave us and lead a blameless life, did she, physician? I doubt she will endure it long.’
She glowered at him. ‘I am doing very well, thank you.’
Langar regarded her with contempt. ‘You are not here for Chapman, but because you detect unease in the town and you want our protection. Your past association with us means you are still considered fair game by the Guild. You own allegiance to one person only: yourself.’
‘She can stay until Lincoln is calm again,’ said Miller, cutting across her response, and silencing Langar’s objections with a glare. ‘I would rather have her where I can see what she is doing, anyway.’
Sabina shot the lawyer a triumphant look, then addressed Michael. ‘Have you come to tell us who killed my Nicholas?’ She smiled spitefully when Langar winced at the use of the possessive.
‘The monk has been looking into Aylmer’s murder,’ snapped Langar. ‘Nicholas’s was mine to explore.’
‘And have you learned anything useful?’ Sabina asked him mockingly.
He ignored her and addressed Michael. ‘I visited all the apothecaries, and asked whether they have sold any fishy poison recently. None have. Ergo, the toxin came from another source.’
‘Why would an apothecary own such a thing?’ asked Miller, puzzled.
‘It can be used as a medicine,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘I suspect the killer collected black rye grains in the summer, though. These can be crushed and added to wine or ale. With alcohol, they combine to deadly effect, which is why both Herl and Flaxfleete died so quickly.’