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‘Are you sure?’ asked Bartholomew, startled.

De Wetherset nodded. ‘Yes I am. I even know why. You have already ascertained that Aylmer sold the Hugh Chalice to Geddynge for twenty shillings. However, it was not Shirlok who stole it from Geddynge and gave it to Lora to sell again: it was Simon. Miller had commissioned Shirlok to do it, but Simon did not trust him, so he did it himself.’

‘No,’ said Michael, shaking his head. ‘Simon wanted the Hugh Chalice to be in Lincoln so much that he carved one on his body. He would never have passed it to Lora to sell a second time. Besides, he would have told us as he lay on his deathbed.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘He admitted his involvement in various plots, but not once did he acknowledge doing anything felonious. His “confession” only went so far.’

‘He did want the cup in Lincoln,’ agreed de Wetherset.

‘However, do not forget that he hailed from a criminal family, and was more than happy to make a profit along the way. He confessed it all one night, when we were drunk together in his Holy Cross house. I doubt he remembered our tête-à-tête the next morning. In fact, I doubt he remembered his crime when he was sober at all – I think he probably pushed it into the deepest recesses of his mind.’

‘I suppose his suppression of these memories might explain why he was such a convincing liar,’ said Michael doubtfully. ‘Why did you not mention this sooner?’

‘And have Miller come after me?’ asked de Wetherset scornfully. ‘Do not be an ass! But to return to our drunken heart-to-heart, Simon described how he gave the chalice to Lora to sell, and then he bragged about how he had expected to steal it back again.’

Bartholomew understood what had happened. ‘Unfortunately for him, Shirlok was arrested on a different set of charges and named Lora as a regular handler of his stolen goods. Even more unfortunately, Lora happened to have the Hugh Chalice in her possession at the time. Simon’s simple plan to make a few shillings had gone disastrously wrong. So, of course he needed to hire a corrupt jury to acquit him.’

‘Why did he arrange for all ten appellees to be released?’ asked Suttone. ‘Why not just himself?’

‘Now that would have looked suspicious,’ said de Wetherset. ‘And he could not leave his brother to hang, anyway. Langar obliged him by appointing malleable jurors, but added a proviso: they would have to leave the county afterwards. That was self-interest on Langar’s part – he was afraid that if any of the felons bragged about evading justice, then he would hang, too. And besides, he had plans of his own – to leave his clerking post and rise to power on the backs of loutish men.’

Michael sighed irritably. ‘You should have told me this before, regardless of the risk to yourself. I might have solved the case in half the time – and perhaps even saved some of the lives lost.’

‘Well, it is over now,’ said Gynewell, before de Wetherset could object to the reproof. ‘And virtually all these wicked men are dead. I expect the Devil is devouring their souls as we speak.’

He did a curious jigging dance, banging his crosier on the ground. Cynric watched expectantly, and Bartholomew recalled that the book-bearer had predicted the bishop would explode in a puff of red smoke that morning. He edged away, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

‘I am sorry about what happened to Christiana, Michael,’ he said in an undertone, as the others moved away. Since her death, the monk had spent all his time either at the cathedral preparing for the installation, or sitting quietly in St Katherine’s Chapel. There had been no opportunity to talk. ‘I know you were growing fond of her.’

‘I am a monk, Matt, sworn to a life of chastity. How could I be “fond” of a woman?’ Michael smiled, but the expression did not touch his eyes. ‘And I am sorry I did not believe you when you saw the truth. None of this was her fault, you know. She was seduced by that evil old lady’s deranged lies.’

Bartholomew nodded, but made no other reply. He did not want to spoil the day with an argument.

‘Is my cope straight?’ whispered Michael, plucking nervously at his robes. Rosanna had done a fine job, and he looked magnificent in his vestments. ‘Damn this breeze! It is ruffling my hair.’

Bartholomew gave the heavy garment a tug that jerked it from perfectly even to a decided list to the left. Suttone sniggered.

‘You should go,’ advised de Wetherset, before the physician could do any more damage. ‘Or you will not find a good place to stand. Obviously, you will not want to miss anything.’

Bartholomew walked up the winding path to the cathedral and found the building full of people. It was so packed that he considered seeing the procession inside and then slipping away. He did not feel equal to the occasion, and wanted time alone, to absorb the fact that his quest to find for Matilde was at an end. Unfortunately, he was spotted by Prior Roger, who invited him to the South Transept, an area that had been reserved for special guests.

‘What a fine day God has created!’ bawled the prior, making several merchants jump in alarm. ‘I am looking forward to raising my voice in praise today! The choir will appreciate a little help, I am sure, given that so many of their number are either dead or in prison.’

Bartholomew tried to think of an excuse to leave before the music started, but then Hamo approached and pulled him to one side.

‘I cleared out the rooms of Dame Eleanor and Lady Christiana this morning,’ he said. He no longer rubbed his arm, because Roger had ordered him to submit to a medical examination, and Bartholomew had removed the splinter he had acquired while eavesdropping. He was astonished that he could be so painlessly ‘cured’, and had been gratefully obsequious to the physician ever since. ‘I found this.’

He passed Bartholomew a piece of parchment. It contained a long list of names Matilde had mentioned to the two women, and the settlements where they might be found. Bartholomew’s hopes soared when he realised Eleanor’s declaration that there had been no written record had been a desperate ploy to force him to save Christiana. Then they plummeted again.

‘I have already visited all these people.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Hamo sincerely. ‘I was optimistic when I discovered it. Dame Eleanor was not a bad woman, and spent more than half a century serving the cathedral. Do not judge her too harshly.’

‘She murdered Herl, Aylmer, Chapman, Flaxfleete, Simon and Ursula, and she admitted to dispatching many more – including your Fat William. She looked the other way while Hugh rid himself of Tetford and Ravenser, and she tried to hurt Michael. And it was her killing of Canon Hodelston that inflamed the feud that has ravaged the city ever since. It is hard to see her as a saint.’

‘Her motives were pure,’ argued Hamo. ‘She really thought that ridding the city of wicked men would benefit everyone. And she had a point – no one she killed will be bound for Heaven.’

‘I have heard murderers use these justifications before, but who was she to judge?’

Hamo acquiesced. ‘You seem sad and preoccupied. Why?’

‘I cannot stop thinking about Spayne, and how he was about to tell me Matilde’s secret when Cynric shot him. It makes me wonder whether I should abandon my duties in Cambridge and continue my search. There is still more to be learned about her.’

‘Spayne had no answers,’ said Hamo. He shrugged when the physician showed surprise at the confidence of his words. ‘He knew nothing that would help you, and your book-bearer was right to shoot him before he could harm you with his dagger.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I am good at hearing conversations not intended for my ears, as you know.’ Hamo patted his arm ruefully. ‘And I happened to chance upon a discussion between him and Langar once. He was telling the lawyer all the places he had looked for Matilde, but said there was one he would never search, because it was where he had been an oblate and it held too many unhappy memories. I imagine that is where he was going to send you – if indeed he was ready to confide. I am inclined to believe Cynric: he was trying to make sure you died with him.’