‘Aylmer’s mark looked like a cup,’ said Bartholomew quickly, before the brethren could revisit one of their fervent rites in the yard and expect him to join in. ‘Perhaps a chalice.’
Hamo frowned as he lowered his hands to his sides. ‘Really? How odd. I never noticed it, but then I never saw him without clothes. Perhaps you should ask Simon. He is considered an expert on sacred vessels, because he is going to donate the Hugh Chalice to the cathedral. It is a pity, because it looks nice on St Katherine’s altar, and we shall be sorry to see it go.’
‘We have already spoken to Simon, and he was not very helpful,’ said Michael, dropping his prayerful posture the moment the ladies were out of sight. ‘He told us about the Hugh Chalice’s curious travels, but revealed nothing about the man who sold it to him.’
Hamo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Prior Roger might be able to help. He and Simon discussed the Hugh Chalice at length yesterday. You see, Simon had kept it in a box under his bed in the guest-hall, but after what happened to Aylmer, it was decided the chapel would be safer. You are honoured guests, so he will be pleased to oblige you with anything Simon may have neglected to mention.’
He began to lead the way to the Prior’s House, but Bartholomew glanced at the sky to judge the time. ‘I wonder if Spayne will be home yet.’
‘His maidservant and Sheriff Lungspee told you he plans to be away until this evening at the earliest,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘And even if he did return sooner than expected, you cannot leave me to investigate alone. If Cynric is to be believed, I have been given a commission by the Devil – and you will not want me on the wrong side of Satan for failing to provide answers.’
‘Take no notice of Cynric. He has been listening to too many soldiers around too many campfires. He has always been superstitious, but his reaction to Gynewell is excessive, even for him. We-’
He stopped abruptly when they neared the Prior’s House and someone wearing crimson hose scurried past. His head was down and his hood pulled over his face, but the distinctive leg-wear made Bartholomew sure it was the same man he had seen with Simon the previous day. He watched him go, wondering why the fellow should be skulking in so furtive a manner.
‘I am about to say a mass for one of our benefactors,’ said the prior, when the visitors were shown into his solar. ‘A few kyries with the organ should rattle his soul free from Purgatory.’
‘Did you know Aylmer had carved a chalice into his arm?’ asked Michael, declining to comment on the Gilbertines’ rumbustious approach to prayers for the dead. ‘Matt detected-’
‘No, I never saw him naked,’ said Roger. ‘But I have seen others with marks that sound similar.’
‘Where?’ demanded Michael eagerly. ‘And on whom?’
‘On a member of the Commonalty named Thoresby. You may have heard of him – he was recently acquitted of threatening to behead a rival merchant. I saw a cup carved into his shoulder when he came to our hospital suffering from Summer Madness. Then there was Fat William, Hamo’s predecessor. He had one, and so do a number of canons.’ He listed several names that were unfamiliar.
‘Does Father Simon have a-’
Roger raised his hands. ‘I have no idea.’
‘He says not,’ said Bartholomew, recalling how the priest had come close to showing them before Michael had become squeamish and stopped him.
‘I have never known him lie,’ said Roger, ‘so there is no reason to disbelieve him. Last summer, when we swam in the river together, I asked Canon Stretle what the carving meant, and he said it was the mark of a foolish young man who should have known better. I suspect it had something to do with the Hugh Chalice. When it was due to arrive in Lincoln twenty years ago, people did some very wild things in anticipation. The fervour died away when it disappeared en route, although I suspect it will be resurrected now it has risen from the dead. Just like Christ the Saviour, praise His holy name!’
‘Amen,’ said Michael, seeing some pious response was expected. ‘Simon bought his chalice from a relic-seller. Did you ever meet this man, and assess whether he was an honest-’
‘No. He always wore a hood, but I had the sense that I might have known him, had I been permitted to see his face. Simon said he was from Rome, though, so I am doubtless mistaken.’
‘Is he still in Lincoln?’ asked Michael.
‘Simon told me he left as soon as the sale was made, although I do not think that can be right, because I have seen him several times since.’
‘He wore a hood?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He does not own red hose, too, does he?’
‘Yes,’ said Roger, startled. ‘How extraordinary you should know that! God does move in mysterious ways! Alleluia!’
‘Alleluia, indeed,’ said Michael dryly.
* * *
