The Tarnished Chalice

‘Because I had no proof before. I have it now, though. Matthew was the key, although he does not know it.’ The physician was startled, but then recalled the discussion he had had with Dame Eleanor. They had talked about wake-robin, and how it was used to expel afterbirth. Wake-robin was another name for cuckoo-pint. ‘He told Eleanor that all good midwives know to give cuckoo-pint in small amounts over a number of hours. However, you gave my mother her potion in one large dose. You knew exactly what you were doing.’

‘Prove it,’ challenged Ursula, but Bartholomew could see she was worried.

There was another knock, harder this time. Someone was becoming impatient.

Christiana ignored it. ‘Once I knew what to ask, I was able to go to midwives and apothecaries, and discuss with them the correct way to administer it. They all said the same: bit by bit. My mother was the only one who received hers all at once. Matilde was right after all.’

‘So what if she was?’ demanded Ursula, suddenly defensive. ‘No one cares about this now. And no jury will ever convict me.’

‘I was not thinking of going to a jury,’ said Christiana in a soft voice that made Bartholomew’s blood run cold. ‘I was thinking of dispensing my own justice. I tried with the milk, but that did not work, because I could not use a strong enough dose – you would have noticed.’

The hammering came a third time. ‘Spayne?’ came Michael’s voice. ‘I know you are in there, because I can see your lamps. We are looking for Matt. He is missing and I am worried.’

‘Lady Christiana might know where he is,’ shouted Ursula, before Christiana or Hugh could stop her. ‘Come in and ask her yourself-’

She fell silent when Hugh leapt towards her and placed a dagger under her chin. ‘That was stupid, lady,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘We asked you to keep quiet.’

‘It was not stupid at all,’ said Ursula defiantly. ‘It was extremely clever. Now the monk knows she is here, and if I come to any harm, she will be his prime suspect.’

‘Christiana is with you?’ With relief, Bartholomew recognised Dame Eleanor’s voice – the one person who could talk sense into her misguided friend.

‘Let them in,’ said Christiana to Hugh. ‘Ursula is right. We cannot let Michael go, having heard that. He is tenacious, and I do not want him investigating my affairs.’

‘We could kill him later,’ suggested Hugh. ‘After we have finished here.’

‘We will do it now,’ said Christiana. ‘We have already made two unsuccessful attempts to dispatch the fellow, and learned to our cost that he is not an easy target. Claypole’s arm is still bruised, and I was almost brained twice – once with the branch of a tree and once with a shoe-scraper.’

‘What about Dame Eleanor?’ asked Hugh nervously. ‘She might not like it.’

‘She will be no trouble,’ replied Christiana.

When Christiana moved towards the door, Bartholomew pushed away from his window and tried to run to the front of the building, to warn the monk. The snow had drifted, so it was knee deep and like wading through mud. He tried shouting, but there was too much racket on the main road, and he knew Michael would not hear him. He took only a few steps before realising it was futile, and struggled back to his vantage point, defeated.

It gave him no pleasure to know Michael would soon see he had made a dreadful mistake with the woman he had admired, and he was disgusted with himself for dismissing Hugh’s role with the letter so readily. He was a child, it was true, but one with an eye for mischief, and also one who was a talented archer, as Bartholomew himself had witnessed at the butts. And, like many other males at the cathedral, Hugh was captivated by Christiana.

By the time he reached the hole in the window again, Michael and Eleanor were inside the hall. The monk beamed at Christiana, and Bartholomew saw Hugh had hidden his weapon. He considered bursting through the shutter, but a bar had been placed across the inside that would seriously hamper any attempt to enter quickly. He had also lost his bag with its arsenal of surgical blades, and there was a limit to what an unarmed man could do against a bow.

‘I am glad you are here, Michael,’ said Christiana, indicating he should sit on the bench opposite Spayne and Ursula. ‘We have been discussing murder.’

‘Have you?’ asked Michael. Something in the tone of her voice had alerted him to the fact that all was not well. He was an astute man, and immediately became wary. ‘Well, in that case I shall leave you, and resume my hunt for Matt-’

Hugh moved quickly to block the door. ‘You must stay here.’

‘Why?’ asked Michael. He had noticed that the Spaynes were trussed up like chickens.

‘Because Hugh will shoot you if you try to leave,’ said Christiana, as the boy snatched up his bow. ‘And he is very good, as Simon and Tetford can attest. Now, sit down.’

‘Christiana?’ asked Eleanor, startled. ‘What are you doing?’