‘What I find interesting is for me to decide,’ said Cynric, after Spayne had gone. ‘Not him. And I certainly would be intrigued to know why he was passing the Angel last night. You have to go by there if you are walking between the Gilbertine orchard and his house.’
‘And if you are walking between his house and a good many other places,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘Both are on the main street. Besides, it sounds as though Chapman has suffered a wound that may have been caused by a sword. We should speak to him before accusing Spayne of foul play.’
Cynric turned around and strode up the hill again, obviously disgusted that the strenuous detour had provided no clear evidence of the mayor’s guilt. ‘You were attacked by four assailants, and Chapman is only one man. And Spayne is furtive – not telling us where he was last night. I know folk say he is decent, but he has thrown in his lot with some very dubious characters.’
‘You dislike him because you think he should help me, but it is unfair to hold a grudge against a man who is acting as his conscience dictates.’
‘I do not think so,’ declared Cynric. ‘Look! Here come Suttone, de Wetherset and Simon, fresh from being mea sured for new vestments. It is a good opportunity to ask Simon about his lovers and brothers.’
‘Hardly,’ said Bartholomew, ‘because then he will know we have read his private prayer.’
‘He should not have left it in a public place, then.’
‘He did not leave it in a public place, Cynric.’
Cynric waved an airy hand, and the physician knew he would ask his questions if the occasion arose. ‘Chapman’s wound is an excellent excuse to visit Adam Molendinarius, frater,’ he said with a predatory smile. ‘And Simon, de Wetherset and Suttone will be our protection.’
Dean Bresley was with the three canons-elect. All four were in earnest conversation, and Bartholomew heard the dean clank as he walked, as if metal objects had been shoved down the lining of his cloak. The others seemed too intent on their discussion to notice.
‘Think of an excuse to take the dean, too,’ murmured Cynric in Bartholomew’s ear. ‘I heard he favours the Commonalty. You will be safer when you visit Miller if Bresley is with you.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew, losing his nerve. ‘I cannot do it. We do not know who attacked us last night, and de Wetherset is a complex man, well skilled in intrigue. He might have tried to rid himself of us, for reasons we do not yet understand.’
‘De Wetherset?’ asked Cynric doubtfully. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘He lies,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We caught him out over Simon’s alibi, and I do not like his old association with Miller and his cronies. It is odd that he was a juror when they were acquitted, and all just happen to be in Lincoln now. And speaking of that trial, it is stupid to go to Miller’s house. I am sure Langar did not believe me when I said I did not remember it.’
‘They will not harm you in broad daylight,’ argued Cynric. ‘And I will be close. So will de Wetherset, Suttone, and Dean Bresley, if you tell them to accompany you.’
‘I have decided to follow Simon’s example, and present the cathedral with a gift at my installation,’ announced Suttone to Bartholomew, as their paths converged. ‘But what should it be? Simon and the dean suggest an altar frontal.’
‘A relic is better,’ declared de Wetherset in his dogmatic manner. ‘An altar frontal will require a chest for storage and women to repair it when moths attack. These cost money. On the other hand, a relic will bring funds to the cathedral, because they attract pilgrims. Perhaps Simon will introduce you to the relic-seller who sold him the Hugh Chalice.’
‘Yes,’ said Suttone eagerly. ‘An item as significant as the Hugh Chalice would be a perfect gift.’
‘I cannot,’ said Simon shortly. ‘He has left Lincoln, and will never return.’
‘You seem very certain of his plans,’ said Bartholomew, astonished by the brazen lie.
‘I am,’ said Simon curtly. ‘He has gone to … to Jerusalem, where he will retire. But the local relic-seller is Walter Chapman. He may have items to offer, although I have been informed that his wares are not always genuine, so you will have to be careful.’
‘I can tell the difference between something sacred and something fraudulent,’ boasted de Wetherset. ‘Take us to him, Simon, and I shall give Suttone the benefit of my unique skills.’
‘That may be difficult,’ said Dean Bresley. ‘The poor man was stabbed in a brawl outside the Swan tavern last night, and he is very ill.’
‘The Swan?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘I thought it happened outside the Angel.’
‘The Swan,’ repeated Bresley firmly. ‘I was a witness to some of the violence myself.’
‘Spayne said it was the Angel,’ breathed Cynric in Bartholomew’s ear. ‘He lied to you.’
‘It may have been a slip of the tongue,’ Bartholomew whispered back. ‘It happens sometimes.’
‘Taverns are turbulent places,’ the dean was saying, while Cynric looked manifestly unconvinced by the physician’s explanation. ‘Surgeon Bunoun thinks Chapman might die.’
