‘I have tried on several occasions to shut that den of iniquity,’ said the bishop, ‘but each time I issue an order of suppression, Tetford finds a way to circumvent it. Still, I shall prevail in the end. I have better resources and infinite patience. Try one of my cakes, Brother.’
He passed a smoking morsel that the monk accepted without thinking, more concerned with the slur on his character than with food. ‘My Lord, I harbour no impure thoughts about Christiana de Hauville. I hope you do not believe these wicked aspersions.’
‘She is an alluring woman,’ replied Gynewell, ‘and lesser men than you have been smitten with her charms. But I shall trust you, if you say you are made of sterner stuff. Do you like the cake?’
Michael took a bite mechanically. ‘You will find me as pure as the driven-’ His protestations of innocence stopped abruptly, and his face turned dark. He reached for his wine, took a gulp, then started to choke. Bartholomew leapt to his feet, but Michael flapped him away.
‘The red cakes are full of pepper,’ explained Bresley dolefully, watching the monk’s sufferings with unhappy eyes. ‘And the bishop is the only man in Lincoln who can stand them. I should have warned you, but my mind was on other matters. I am sorry.’
‘I suppose they are an acquired taste,’ admitted Gynewell, regarding the puce monk anxiously. ‘Are you all right, Brother? Shall I summon Hugh to bring you something else to drink? Water?’
Michael shook his head, tears streaming down his face, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. ‘Your water is probably full of brimstone. Do you consume nothing normal men deem edible?’
Gynewell regarded him in a way that suggested he thought the question was an odd one. ‘I dislike bland flavours. If you are going to eat something, you may as well taste it, I always say. You should try my devil’s eggs. Now those are highly spiced.’
‘You refer to him as your Devil?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily.
Gynewell stoked up the fire. ‘Shall we talk about Aylmer’s death? I am a busy man, and do not usually spend my valuable time chattering about victuals.’
Michael recovered once Hugh had brought a jug of ale from the kitchens. When it arrived, it was so cold there was ice in it, and Gynewell shuddered in distaste as the monk sipped. He dismissed Hugh for the day, waving away the lad’s gratitude, while Bresley regaled the company with a gloomy litany of the various vices enjoyed by the residents of the Cathedral Close. When his lips had regained some feeling, Michael brought the discussion back to his enquiry.
‘My Lord,’ he said huskily. ‘You were about to explain why you had neglected to mention Aylmer’s association with criminals when you asked me to investigate his murder.’
‘Aylmer was a member of the Commonality,’ acknowledged Gynewell, while Bartholomew held his breath, expecting the bishop to take umbrage at the admonitory tone. ‘Then Suttone wrote to offer him the post of Vicar Choral. He was moved to tears. He came to me and said he intended to renounce his evil ways, and was determined to live the life of an honest man.’
‘And you believed him?’ asked Michael doubtfully.
‘Actually, I did,’ replied Gynewell, choosing to ignore the dean’s derisive snort. ‘He immediately left Miller and took a berth in the Gilbertine Priory – the convent farthest from Miller’s domain.’
Michael was exasperated. ‘But this is relevant! It means Miller may have killed Aylmer, because he was angry at being rejected by a man he had known for years.’
‘That assumes Miller knew about Aylmer’s change of heart,’ said Gynewell. ‘And Aylmer confided in no one here but Bresley and me.’
‘He told Sabina Herl,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘So, what is to say he did not mention it to other members of the Commonalty, too?’
‘Sabina is different,’ argued Gynewell. ‘She has also moved away from Miller, and is trying to forge an honest life. Aylmer probably asked her how to go about it.’
‘I seriously doubt Aylmer shared his plans with the Commonalty,’ said Bresley. ‘They were delighted when they heard one of their own was to become a cathedral official, and would not have been pleased had he then told them he planned to end their association. I imagine he intended to live quietly in the Close until they forgot about him.’
Michael was thoughtful. ‘Miller is keen to know the identity of Aylmer’s killer, so perhaps you are right – he did not know he was in the process of being abandoned. If he had, he would not care about vengeance.’
‘Bresley did not believe Aylmer was sincere,’ said Gynewell, glancing to where the dean was inspecting the wooden cup with more than a casual interest. ‘And he argued against the appointment.’
‘Were there similar objections to me choosing Tetford?’ asked Michael uneasily.
Bresley nodded. ‘Plenty. And now you have met him, you will understand why.’
‘Tetford was Bishop de Lisle’s choice,’ said Michael. ‘Not mine.’
