De Wetherset’s grin faded. ‘I was in the Swan earlier this evening, dining with Master Quarrel – he is remarkably learned for a taverner. Anyway, Kelby had ordered two kegs of wine earlier in the day, but then word came that the Guild was so delighted with Flaxfleete’s acquittal that another barrel was needed. Quarrel’s pot-boy had other work to do first, though, and Kelby’s wine stood by the door for some time before the lad was free to deliver it. Ursula could have tampered with it then.’
‘Not if she was in her house, trying not to listen to the Guild’s revelries,’ pressed Suttone.
‘Perhaps she was not,’ said de Wetherset. ‘You can see the Swan from her home, and it would not take many moments to sneak out, tap the barrel, and add some poison.’
‘She might have killed the entire Guild,’ said Bartholomew, appalled. ‘They were all celebrating.’
‘I imagine getting rid of all her brother’s enemies in one fell swoop would have been a tremendous boon to her,’ said de Wetherset. ‘Of course, that would have been bad for Lincoln.’
‘Why?’ asked Michael. ‘These men do not sound like particularly good citizens.’
‘Because it would destroy the balance between the two factions,’ explained de Wetherset. ‘And the balance is the only thing stopping us from erupting in a frenzy of blood-letting – and I do not mean your kind of blood-letting, Bartholomew. I am talking about murder and mayhem.’
‘What about you, Father Simon?’ Bartholomew asked. ‘Have you chosen a side in this dispute?’
‘I do not approve of any city pulled apart by discord,’ replied Simon. ‘However, I dislike the way Miller is deni-grated because he is not from an ancient mercantile family, like Kelby’s. I suppose I tend towards supporting the Commonalty because I dislike the Guild’s smug merchants – it costs little to dispense free bread to needy weavers, but they do not bother. Miller does.’
De Wetherset smiled wryly. ‘I stand with neither side, although it may be politically expedient to throw in my lot with the Guild in time. It is favoured by the canons – my new colleagues – you see.’
Simon glared at him. ‘That is hardly an ethical reason on which to base your choice.’
‘It is as ethical as yours – that you feel sorry for an upstart who is shunned by the older families.’
‘But Miller is said to be rich,’ said Michael, puzzled. ‘Why should Kelby and Flaxfleete take against such a man?’
‘Wealth does not confer breeding,’ explained de Wetherset. ‘Miller is one of the richest men in the city, but you would not want him dining with you – he wipes his teeth on the tablecloth and he spits. And I am not sure his money has been honestly gained. There are rumours-’
‘There are always rumours,’ said Simon coolly. ‘But gossip is for fools and the gullible.’
De Wetherset turned to Michael. ‘You see? Everyone feels strongly about this dispute. All I know is that it is important to maintain the status quo, so neither party seizes power.’
Simon was thoughtful. ‘We all say the same thing about this so-called balance, but is it really true? When a member of the Commonalty threw himself into the Braytheford Pool in a spat of drunken self-pity last Sunday, I held my breath, anticipating the equilibrium would shift and there would be mayhem – the Guild accused of murder, even though Herl’s death was a clear suicide. And there were indeed accusations and recriminations, but they amounted to nothing.’
‘You may have preached here for two decades, Simon, but my opinion counts for something – and I am right,’ said de Wetherset with the cool arrogance Bartholomew remembered so well from the man’s Cambridge days. ‘I say the balance is important, and only a fool would disagree with me.’ He changed the subject before the priest could dispute the point. ‘I was beginning to think you might not arrive in time, Brother. Most canons-elect come a month early, so they can be fitted for their ceremonial vestments. Such fine garments cannot be run up in an afternoon, you know.’
‘The weather is atrocious, and the journey took twice as long as we anticipated,’ said Michael, resenting the implication that he was tardy.
‘De Wetherset has been extolling your talent for solving murder,’ said Simon, with the kind of look that suggested he thought the skill a peculiar one. ‘Will you apply your expertise to Aylmer’s death? I imagine Suttone will want to know who killed his Vicar Choral.’
‘I would,’ said Suttone to Michael. ‘But I do not want you to do it, Brother. It might see us in trouble with the sheriff.’
‘I am sure you are right,’ said Michael. ‘And I have no intention of meddling. I am here to enjoy myself and bask in the glory of my appointment. I do not want to be burdened with secular duties.’
‘Good,’ muttered Bartholomew. He knew who would be asked to inspect the corpse if Michael agreed to help, and he had no wish to examine bodies when he could be looking for Matilde.
