Miller was confused. ‘This note is from you,’ he said, snatching a piece of parchment from Lora and waving it in Bartholomew’s face. ‘See your name signed at the bottom, nice and big?’
‘I never write it like that,’ said Bartholomew, regarding it in disdain. ‘And nor would my prescriptions encourage a sick man to “swallow the lot”, as is so prosaically written there. I did not send Chapman the wine, just as you did not send Ursula the milk.’
‘This is Kelby’s doing,’ said Lora, turning angrily to Miller. ‘It must be. He killed Herl, then Aylmer, and now he is after Chapman. Where will it end? When he has dispatched the lot of us?’
Suddenly, there was a sword in Miller’s hand. ‘I will not wait meekly to be struck down by poison. Round up the men, Langar.’
‘Not yet,’ said Langar. ‘We should wait until Sunday, when we have a better idea of numbers-’
Spittle flew from Miller’s mouth as he spoke. ‘We could all be dead by Sunday.’
Langar scowled, angry in his turn. ‘Very well, we shall have a war, if that is what you want. However, I need an hour or two to take a few steps of my own – to increase the odds in our favour.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Michael nervously.
‘I have trained men to spread rumours that will shake our enemies’ confidence,’ explained Langar. ‘And one or two highly placed guildsmen have been in my pay for years. I shall summon them and learn Kelby’s secret plans.’
‘If he has any,’ said Sabina reasonably. ‘He may be like us, waiting to see what will happen.’
‘You would say that,’ said Langar, turning on her. ‘You abandoned us, and only returned when you became frightened for your life. You are not here for friendship or loyalty.’
‘That is not true,’ lied Sabina. ‘I came because Chapman is ill.’
‘Nicholas should never have married you,’ said Langar, working himself into a temper. ‘We were happy until you came along with your sordid offer of “marriage”. And you did not do it to save him from Kelby’s accusations of lewd behaviour with me. You did it because you wanted to share his house and the money he had from his trade.’
Sabina shot him a look full of loathing. ‘His house was a hovel and he earned a pittance.’
‘He was not a dedicated silversmith,’ admitted Langar. ‘However, he was content until you started criticising his work, demanding to know why he did not make more money. You corrupted his mind, and it led him down a dark path.’
‘A dark path whereby he made copies of sacred relics?’ asked Michael guilelessly.
‘What?’ asked Langar, put off his stride by the question. He opened his mouth to resume his attack on Sabina, but she spoke before he could do so.
‘That is exactly what he did. And it was not right. The saints do not approve of that sort of thing.’
‘Are you saying Nicholas made copies of the Hugh Chalice?’ asked Langar. ‘Is that what he was doing, night after night in his workshop for the last month of his life, when he would not see me?’
‘He made bad replicas,’ said Sabina spitefully. ‘Only a fool would have been deceived by them – they are made of tin, for a start. And there are mistakes in the carving.’
‘He gave Jesus three fingers,’ said Michael.
‘Oh, he took that from the original,’ said Sabina scornfully. ‘He was not that inept.’
‘Where are they?’ asked Langar, looking around as though he expected them to appear. ‘I sincerely hope Chapman has not sold any. We do not want our Commonalty stained with that sort of thing. People have scruples where relics are concerned.’
‘Chapman did not sell them,’ said Lora disdainfully. ‘He believes the Hugh Chalice is sacred, and refuses to have anything to do with Nicholas’s work. Nicholas was so angry that he tried to scrape the mark off his arm.’
Langar frowned. ‘He told me Sabina caused that injury, by throwing a hot pan at him.’
‘How many did he make?’ asked Michael, while Sabina shot Langar a derogatory look.
‘A number,’ replied Lora evasively.
‘He died with four in a bag around his shoulder,’ said Sabina. Her expression was spiteful; she was enjoying Langar’s hurt shock as he learned things his lover had kept from him. ‘Tetford was kind, though: he helped me toss them in the Braytheford Pool, where they belong. As a reward, I gave him a cope, given to me by that horrible Canon Hodelston, as payment for-’
She stopped speaking abruptly. ‘As payment for providing him with information about the Commonalty?’ asked Langar softly. ‘We always did wonder how he and the Guild always seemed to know our plans. It almost saw us destroyed during the plague.’
‘That is the garment in which you will be installed, Brother,’ whispered Cynric, lest the monk had not made the connection. ‘Tetford’s tale about the chest in his tavern’s attic was a lie. And now we know how he came by the four chalices for his women, too.’
‘We do not have time for this,’ said Miller, pacing restlessly. ‘Kelby wants to slaughter us all, and the longer we stand here chatting, the more time he will have to organise it.’
