Michael sighed wearily. ‘Yes, I heard about it.’
Gynewell grinned again. ‘De Wetherset says you and Bartholomew were very good at solving murders when he was Chancellor, and thinks you must be even better at it by now.’
‘He is exaggerating, My Lord,’ said Michael unhappily.
‘Perhaps, but Bishop de Lisle also extolled your virtues, and he seldom has a good word to say about anyone. You are exactly the kind of man I would like in my cathedral Chapter, and I hope you will stay with us for a very long time before you leave young Tetford in charge.’
Michael’s smile was pained. ‘Unfortunately, I have pressing duties in Cambridge, and I am obliged to leave the day after the installation.’
Gynewell’s face fell in dismay. ‘So soon? There is so much I want to show you!’
‘I will return,’ said Michael, more kindly. ‘In the summer, when the students are no longer in residence, and my own town is quiet. Then I shall spend two or three months here.’
Gynewell’s expression was wistful. ‘That would be delightful, although it seems a long time to wait. Will you help me with Aylmer’s murder? Prior Roger seems content to let the matter lie, but an unlawful killing on sacred ground is a serious matter, and I would like the culprit under lock and key as soon as possible. I shall grant whatever authority you need to investigate.’
Michael frowned. ‘Surely you have your own agents for this kind of thing? De Lisle does.’
‘Of course, but they are busy policing the felons gathering for Miller’s Market, and have no time to look into the death of a man no one liked very much.’
‘He was unpopular?’ asked Bartholomew, his heart sinking on Michael’s behalf. If Aylmer had a lot of enemies, it might be very difficult to locate the real killer.
‘It grieves me to speak ill of the dead,’ said Gynewell. ‘But there is no point in my telling you he was an angel, because he was not. I would not be so concerned, if it were not for this chalice.’
‘What chalice?’ asked Michael.
‘The Hugh Chalice,’ explained Gynewell. ‘It belonged to St Hugh of Lincoln, so is a very valuable relic. Father Simon has offered to donate it to the cathedral when he is installed, but I am not sure we should accept it.’
‘Why not?’ asked Michael. ‘If it really did belong to St Hugh, it will attract pilgrims. And pilgrims bring trade to the city and will leave donations at his shrine. And the shrine is in your cathedral.’
‘I know,’ said Gynewell. ‘But this particular relic has an odd history. The story goes that Hugh was holding it when he died in London’s Old Temple. It stayed there for a hundred and thirty years, until my predecessor, Bishop Burghersh, arranged for it to be brought here.’
‘Burghersh died years ago,’ said Michael. ‘Did his arrangements fail, then? And why is it Simon’s to donate?’
‘It never arrived,’ explained Gynewell. ‘It was stolen on its journey north twenty years ago, and its whereabouts were a mystery until it reappeared in the hands of a relic-seller recently. It was fortunate Simon happened to hear about it, or one of Lincoln’s convents might have snapped it up. However, I cannot help but wonder at the coincidence.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Michael.
Gynewell shrugged. ‘Let us say I am suspicious. It was missing for two decades, and then suddenly it is about to be presented to the cathedral for no charge. It is too good to be true. In essence, I would like to know where it has been in the interim.’
‘Perhaps it is not the real cup,’ suggested Michael. ‘That is the most rational explanation. You must have come across forgeries in the past.’
‘It is no forgery,’ declared Gynewell with startling conviction. ‘I am absolutely convinced of its authenticity. My dean disagrees, though. He held it in his hands, and said it did not instil in him a proper sense of reverence. I asked him to explain further, but he is not very good with words.’
‘I understand him,’ said Michael. ‘We had some bones in Cambridge a few years ago, which were said to belong to a saint. Only the more perceptive of us saw they were not holy.’
‘The more “perceptive” of us also knew they had been hacked from a pauper,’ added Bartholomew.
‘So, Dean Bresley thinks our Hugh Chalice is not the real one,’ said Gynewell, off in a world of his own. ‘However, I feel with every fibre of my being that he is wrong.’
‘Why mention your dean’s scepticism if you disagree with him?’ asked Michael.
‘You cannot investigate the matter properly unless you are fully informed,’ replied Gynewell. ‘And you should be aware that the chalice has provoked conflict among your future colleagues – the dean doubts its sanctity, but most of the Vicars Choral do not.’
‘Thank you for being candid, My Lord,’ said Michael. ‘But I thought you wanted me to find Aylmer’s killer. What has the Hugh Chalice to do with him?’
‘It is very simple,’ said Gynewell. ‘Aylmer was holding it when he was stabbed.’
