The Hand of Justice

Bartholomew was unhappy, but the monk dismissed his concerns as he made his way to the tower. In the dead silence of the church Bartholomew could hear the monk’s soft breathing, and the way his leather boots creaked as he walked. With infinite care, Michael opened the tower door and began to ascend the spiral staircase. They passed the document-storage room, and continued to the second floor, where the Chest was kept.

Bartholomew heard voices as they climbed, and his misgivings increased when he realised there was not one intruder in the tower, but two or three. He wondered how he and Michael would be able to contain them, using only a surgical knife and a pewter candlestick Michael had grabbed from the nave. When they reached the door, Michael threw it open with such force that the crash made Bartholomew’s teeth rattle. The monk leapt into the chamber with a challenging shriek, candlestick held ready to brain anyone who tried to pass him.

‘William!’ exclaimed Bartholomew, entering a little less dramatically.

‘Lavenham!’ said Michael, eyeing the terrified apothecary with cold, angry eyes. ‘And Isobel! What are you doing here?’

CHAPTER 12

‘This is not as it looks,’ said William nervously, moving forward with what Bartholomew felt was a good deal of agitated menace.

‘No?’ asked Michael mildly, indicating with a nod that Bartholomew was to remain by the door and prevent a bid for escape — by any of the room’s occupants.

‘It looks as though I am supervising the theft of the Hand of Justice,’ said William unhappily. The Lavenhams sat side by side on the window bench, and said nothing. ‘But I am not. I cannot.’

‘And why is that, pray?’ asked Michael coolly.

‘Because it is not here,’ said William with a strangled cry. He picked up the handsome reliquary and lobbed it across the room. ‘See?’

Michael almost dropped the box, and the candlestick he had been holding clattered to the ground. ‘God’s blood, man, have a care! You do not toss these things around as though they were juggling balls! I know I have been sceptical of the Hand of Justice, but I do not want to risk the wrath of an irked saint by treating the thing with brazen disrespect.’

‘Open it,’ suggested William.

‘Do not,’ advised Bartholomew. ‘Men have been struck down for tampering with holy relics. Remember William’s sermon about the man who touched the Ark of the Covenant?’

‘But you do not believe this particular relic is holy,’ William pointed out with impeccable logic. ‘Neither of you do. So open the box, Brother.’

Reluctantly, Michael complied, while Bartholomew held his breath, half anticipating that the room would fill with a blinding light that would incinerate them all. Michael pulled out the satin parcel and unwrapped it, looking like a man who expected to discover something terrible inside.

‘It is a glove’ said Michael in surprise, shaking the object out on to the table. ‘A glove stuffed with old wool, or some such thing.’

Bartholomew inspected it carefully, noting the rough stitches and the way its creator had used odds and ends to assemble something that might fool a busy friar at a pinch — it was the same shape and size as the original Hand, and would pass for the real thing as long as it was inside the satin. The glove used was old and cheap, and might have been discarded by just about anyone, now that winter was over.

‘My relic has been a glove for the past five days!’ wailed William, flopping on to the University Chest and rubbing his eyes. ‘At least, that was when I first became aware that the original Hand had gone — last Friday. God only knows when it really disappeared.’

‘But you have continued to accept money from folk who want to pray to it,’ said Bartholomew accusingly.

‘Well, why not?’ snapped William. ‘Their prayers are still being answered, even though the Hand is not here. Mistress Lenne appealed to it on Monday — three days after I noticed it was missing — and Thomas Mortimer died, just as she requested.’

‘Never mind the Hand,’ said Michael, looking at Lavenham and his wife. ‘What is going on here? You are right to be defensive, William. This situation does indeed look suspicious. This pair are needed to answer questions, and they appear just when you confess that your relic has been stolen.’

‘It might not have been stolen,’ procrastinated William. ‘It might have gone of its own volition.’

‘Leaving a stuffed glove behind it?’ asked Michael archly. He turned his attention back to the Lavenhams, who looked apprehensive. There was a small box on the bench next to them; its lid was open, and it was so full of gold that it was overflowing. ‘What do you have to say for yourselves?’

‘They went to the Chancellor after the fire, in fear of their lives,’ said William, speaking for them. ‘Tynkell asked for my help, so I brought them here. It is only for a night. They will be away at dawn tomorrow, back to Lavenham.’