The Tarnished Chalice

Bartholomew grabbed the front of his habit. ‘Who?’ he repeated angrily.

‘I cannot…I did not…I see the answer! Someone must have deceived Christiana, and she in turn deceived me, although she did it unknowingly. We are both innocent of wrongdoing.’

Bartholomew released him. ‘You had better find Hugh. A child should not be out in this weather.’

‘He will be all right,’ said John, backing away before he was grabbed again. ‘He has an uncanny instinct for his best interests, and he is almost fourteen years old, anyway, a child no longer.’

‘Speaking of his best interests, he thinks you will make a better brothel-keeper than Ravenser.’

John’s expression was spiteful. ‘The same could be said about anyone in the city, regardless of talent, because Ravenser is dead. Someone shot him.’

Bartholomew gazed at him. ‘Another death?’ ‘

The first of many today, I imagine. Miller and Kelby are mustering forces, so there will be a fight. I intend to be in the cathedral before it starts, and I recommend you do the same.’

‘Do you think Miller’s men killed Ravenser?’

‘Probably, since Ravenser announced today that his so-called House of Pleasure will not be buying any more ale from Lora Boyner. Kelby threatened to withhold donations to the cathedral if Ravenser continued to purchase ale from a Commonalty brewer, so he really had no choice. And now, if you have finished manhandling me, I shall be on my way.’

Bartholomew watched him stagger up the hill, skidding on the slick surface. The snow was coming down harder, and it was not many moments before he was out of sight.

‘There he is!’ came a sudden yell. ‘There is Chapman’s murderer!’

Bartholomew glanced behind him to see Lora, with Langar at her side. She wore a leather jerkin, military style, and held her sword as if she knew exactly how to handle it. She surged forward, and Bartholomew was fortunate snow had rendered the ground slick underfoot, or she would have been on him before he had had time to turn and face her. He scrabbled in his bag for a surgical knife, although he doubted it would do him much good against a sword.

‘Chapman is dead,’ she shouted, feinting at him and forcing him to take several steps back. ‘He died in the throes of a fit. Miller said we were to kill you.’

‘Hurry up,’ ordered Langar. ‘This is a major thoroughfare, and although it seems deserted, you never know who might come along. The longer you take, the greater our chances of being seen.’

‘So, you want no witnesses to your crime,’ said Bartholomew, backing away and holding his bag in front of him like a shield. ‘That should tell you your reasons for murdering me are flawed. If it was a justifiable killing, you would not care who saw it.’

‘A scholar’s logic,’ sneered Langar. ‘Hurry up, Lora. At this rate, we will be pursuing him all the way to Cambridge.’

‘I am doing my best,’ muttered Lora, struggling to keep her balance. ‘I am unused to men who jump away from me. Most stand and fight, because they assume they cannot lose against a woman. Few survive to warn others never to underestimate the fairer sex.’

Bartholomew had no intention of underestimating the fairer sex, and he knew better than to engage an experienced sword-wielder with a dagger. His only option was to stay out of blade range for as long as possible, in the hope that someone would see his plight and come to his rescue – or distract Lora for the split second that would allow him to turn and run for his life.

‘Which of you killed Shirlok?’ he demanded, hoping the certainty in his voice would throw her off her stride. ‘He arrived in Lincoln recently, and you were afraid he might destroy all you have built. You hanged him, making sure it was done properly this time.’

Langar gazed at him in surprise. ‘Shirlok? I thought I saw him in the Angel, but everyone told me I was mistaken. I knew he had survived his execution, but he would be a fool to come here and-’

‘Bunoun did the honours,’ said Lora. She shrugged when Langar gaped at her. ‘He said no one would hire a surgeon with a criminal past, and Miller did not like being blackmailed, either. There was no need for you to know, Langar, although I am surprised you have not smelled him. He reeks, and Miller said it was only a question of time before you investigated the basement.’

Langar continued to stare, and Bartholomew took the opportunity to spread dissent. ‘There are other things they have kept from you, Langar – such as the Hugh Chalice being in Lincoln for the last twenty years. Where was it, Lora? In the cellar?’

Lora grinned. ‘Yes – and you have no idea how surprised we were when we arrived here, and found a chest containing the lion’s share of Shirlok’s treasure among our crates. We did not steal it, though, so we have done nothing wrong.’

Bartholomew had continued to slither away, but he had reached the hill and moving down it backwards on the slippery snow was not easy. ‘Then I imagine you were delighted when Bunoun eliminated Shirlok. It meant you could sell the Hugh Chalice at last.’