‘We were her friends,’ blurted Bartholomew. ‘But she left before … she left suddenly.’
Spayne raised his eyebrows. ‘She abandoned you, too? I understand how that feels! And now you are looking for her? Well, I wish you luck, but do not hold too much hope. When she disappears, she does so very completely. I hired men to search the length and breadth of England – not to drag her back and force her to take me, but to invite her home, to live among the friends she had made here. I was even ready to leave Lincoln myself, if she did not want me in the city. But none of my hunters were ever able to deliver the message, so I am here and she is not.’
‘Will you tell us where her kin live?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘You may know some that we do not, and she may be with them now.’
‘Why are you looking for her?’ asked Spayne warily. ‘Are you agents for some other jilted man?’
‘No,’ said Michael soothingly, while Bartholomew gripped the cushion and let the monk do the talking. ‘As Matt just said, she was our friend, and we were concerned when she disappeared so suddenly. All we want is to make sure she is safe. We had hoped to find her here, in Lincoln, and we were deeply disappointed when we learned she has not been seen for six years.’
Spayne stroked his beard for a while, regarding his visitors with troubled eyes. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I am sorry, but if she left you, it means she does not want to be found.’
‘We are concerned for her welfare,’ insisted Michael, while Bartholomew gazed at the mayor in dismay. ‘You do her a disservice by not telling us what you know. And besides, she was so happy in Cambridge that every fibre of my being tells me that she wants to be found and encouraged to return.’
‘That may well be true, but I do not know that, and I will not meddle in her life again.’
‘It would not be meddling,’ snapped Michael, becoming annoyed. ‘And she will certainly thank you if you assist us. She left over a misunderstanding of intentions – one that can be rectified just by talking to her for a few moments.’
‘No,’ said Spayne firmly. ‘I will not do it. But tell me about her, and how you came to be close. It warms my heart to learn she found happiness, even if it was not with me. Come and share a cup of wine. Anyone who earned Matilde’s good favour can consider himself a friend of mine.’
Bartholomew did not want to reminisce with one of Matilde’s former beaux, but it would have been churlish to leave, and he harboured the hope that Spayne might let something slip while he talked. Michael was a skilled interrogator, and had an uncanny knack for making people reveal secrets they later wished they had kept. He saw determination in the monk’s face, and knew he would do his best. Michael set to with a vengeance, and encouraged Spayne to talk all he liked. The merchant obliged with an eagerness that showed he still felt his loss very keenly.
As Spayne described his courtship, Bartholomew became aware that he was a man of culture and intelligence. He was also a skilled lutanist and an accomplished dancer, which suggested Matilde had probably had a good deal of fun in his company, too. Bartholomew tried to dislike him, but there was nothing in the man’s manners to offend, and he thought that under other circumstances, he and Spayne might have developed a friendship.
Ursula listened to the fond ramblings with pursed lips, obviously disapproving of the woman who had broken her brother’s heart, but too wise to say anything bad. Michael recounted some memories of his own, which made Spayne laugh. He had a rich, deep chortle that was infectious. Then he asked Bartholomew about his work, and expressed an interest in his treatise on fevers – a vast tome that had taken most of the physician’s spare time before he had abandoned it to search for Matilde. It was still at Michaelhouse, packed in a chest and jealously guarded by his students. Bartholomew was impressed to learn that Spayne was familiar with the work of several Arab scholars, and they began a lively debate about Ibn al-Nafis’s controversial theory regarding the pulmonary circulation of the blood, which sent Michael to sleep and Ursula out to do some shopping.
When she returned, she offered her guests dinner, although not with very good grace. Spayne talked all through the meal, outlining his observations about the furious debate that was currently raging among scholars regarding the nature of Blood Relics – if Christ’s blood was holy, it would have risen with Him at His Resurrection, and it was therefore impossible for cathedrals and churches to possess drops of it in phials. Not all theologians agreed, and the Dominicans and Franciscans had ranged themselves on opposing sides of a schism that threatened to rip the universities apart. Michael had strong opinions about it, but found himself hard-pressed to refute Spayne’s arguments for the other side. Then the monk saw Ursula closing the window shutters, and realised it was nearly dusk.
