‘However, there is something peculiar about your dealings with Simon,’ Bartholomew continued. ‘Prior Roger has seen you with him – as have I – but Roger did not recognise you as a man who has lived in Lincoln for the past twenty years, while Simon himself told us you were from Rome. Why is that?’
‘I have been to Rome,’ said Chapman sulkily. ‘And I do sell relics on occasion. I sell lots of things, mostly for Miller, who says I have a talent for it. Since I often carry goods of considerable value, it is sometimes prudent to disguise myself, and that is why the prior did not recognise me.’
‘Then does Simon know you as Walter Chapman or as someone else?’ asked Michael.
‘I have never told him my name. He did not ask for it.’
Bartholomew regarded Chapman thoughtfully, not sure what to believe. Lincoln was a large city, so Simon was unlikely to know everyone who lived in it. However, Chapman was a member of the Commonalty, so enjoyed a modicum of local fame, and Prior Roger had noticed something familiar about him. Had Chapman really managed to deceive Simon, who had seen him at much closer quarters? Or had Simon lied?
‘Does Simon know you are a member of the Commonalty?’ Bartholomew asked.
‘I have no idea, and it is none of your business anyway. Stand aside, or I will tell Miller you manhandled me. And you do not want him to think badly of you, believe me.’
‘Tell me about this cup you sold Simon,’ said Michael, ignoring the threat. He put one hand on a nearby sapling and leaned on it, effecting a casually nonchalant pose. Bartholomew saw the whole thing begin to bend under his weight, and icicles and water began to shower downwards.
Chapman flinched when a clot of snow landed on his head. ‘It is not a “cup”. It is the Hugh Chalice – a relic worthy of great veneration. It belonged to the saint himself.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Michael. The tree leaned at a more acute angle, and the monk was obliged to shift his hand to avoid toppling over. ‘We have been told that the Hugh Chalice disappeared while being carried to Lincoln from London, so how can you be sure it is the same one? Or are you the thief who took it from the couriers twenty years ago?’
Chapman was outraged. ‘I am no fool, going around stealing holy things! However, if you must know, I recognised it when it appeared for sale at a market in Huntingdon. I brought it here and sold it to Simon, because Lincoln is where it belongs.’
‘You recognised it?’ asked Bartholomew suspiciously. ‘How?’
‘Because it is distinctive,’ replied Chapman. ‘Old and tarnished, with a carving of a baby. Look for yourselves. It is in St Katherine’s Chapel, awaiting its translation to the cathedral.’
‘That does not answer my question,’ said Bartholomew. ‘How did you know it was the Hugh Chalice? Had you seen it before?’
‘In London,’ said Chapman, licking his lips nervously. ‘I travel a lot, and I saw it in the Old Temple there. That was before the saint made it known that he wanted it brought to Lincoln.’
‘But the saint allowed it to be lost en route,’ said Michael. ‘And I am under the impression that he has permitted a very large number of thieves to lay hands on it.’
Bartholomew regarded the monk uneasily. He was coming dangerously close to mentioning what they knew of Shirlok’s trial, and it was not a good idea to discuss the case with a man who would almost certainly repeat the conversation to Miller.
Chapman gazed earnestly at Michael. ‘St Hugh was angry when it failed to arrive at his shrine – rumour has it that he caused robbers to kill the two careless couriers on their homeward journey. He has rectified matters now, though, and I am the vessel he chose to help him. Brother, please! You will have that tree over in a moment.’
Michael released the hapless sapling, surprised that he had managed to push it so far out of alignment. He tried to tug it upright, but it continued to list, and Bartholomew suspected it always would. While Chapman picked shards of ice from his clothing, Bartholomew addressed the monk in an undertone.
‘Is he telling the truth? Could part of Shirlok’s hoard have appeared for sale in Huntingdon? Huntingdon is not far from Cambridge, where the goods went missing.’
Michael shook his head. ‘It is too much of a coincidence – the goblet stolen after a trial in which Chapman was acquitted, and then appearing in the same villain’s hands two decades later. Besides, he does not look like a truthful man to me.’ He stepped forward to speak to Chapman again. ‘De Wetherset tells me that shortly after your Cambridge trial, a lot of property went missing. Among the items that disappeared was a cup that he says looks remarkably like the Hugh Chalice.’
‘Poor de Wetherset,’ murmured Bartholomew uneasily. ‘I hope you have not put him in danger.’
