The Tarnished Chalice

‘Ursula confessed,’ blurted Christiana, suddenly tearful. ‘She is proud of herself for eluding justice, and her brother feels no guilt at all for his role in my mother’s murder.’

‘That is not true,’ cried Spayne. ‘I am wracked with self-reproach. Why do you think I have never married? It is nothing to do with Matilde, but because I have a nagging sense that I will be damned in the sight of God if I find wedded bliss with another woman.’

‘I do not know what is happening, but I am sure it can be resolved peacefully,’ said Michael, edging towards the door. ‘And I cannot stay here. I need to find Matt before-’

Hugh aimed his bow, and Michael flopped hastily on the bench when he saw the determined gleam in the child’s eye. Christiana moved forward, and Bartholomew was impressed by the speed with which she secured the monk’s hands. She left his feet free, though, and Bartholomew was under the impression she did not intend to wait long before making her move. He looked at Dame Eleanor, willing the old lady to bring the confrontation to an end, trusting her quiet saintliness would make Christiana see reason.

‘What is happening here?’ asked Michael with quiet calm. ‘If it involves violence, I beg you to reconsider. Too many men have lost their lives already.’

‘We are working to the glory of God,’ replied Christiana, moving away from him. ‘And it is time to avenge my mother’s murder at last.’

‘Hugh,’ said Dame Eleanor, turning to the boy. ‘You know what to do.’

Bartholomew watched aghast, as the boy raised his bow and shot Ursula in the chest. She made no sound as she slumped to one side. Christiana and Eleanor glanced at each other, and smiled.

* * *

‘I doubt St Hugh will be very impressed by that,’ said Michael in the shocked silence that followed. ‘Your actions will have him weeping in Heaven.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Dame Eleanor. Bartholomew’s heart sank when he saw the old lady’s eyes fill with the light of religious fervour. ‘I have served him for sixty years, and I know what he wants.’

‘He wants this?’ asked Michael, nodding towards Ursula.

‘He wants justice,’ said Eleanor coldly. ‘And he sent Christiana and Hugh to help me in my quest. That is how I know I am doing what he desires.’

‘You have corrupted them,’ said Michael. ‘A child and a vulnerable, grieving woman. You have murmured your deranged ethics into their ears, and turned them evil.’

Eleanor grimaced. ‘Rot! They know I am right, and they are only too happy to help me.’

‘She is a saint,’ said Hugh simply, while Christiana nodded agreement. ‘One day she will have a shrine in the cathedral, and we will be recorded by the chroniclers as her helpmeets. People will revere us for taking a stand against sin.’

Bartholomew moved away from the window, and put his hands over his face. He had been wrong: Christiana was just a foot soldier, and the real power behind the murders that had so mystified them was the saintly Eleanor, with her wise eyes and kindly smile. He was in an agony of indecision. Should he burst into the hall and attempt to disarm Hugh? Should he run to the Gilbertine Priory or the cathedral for help, or would that take too long? He staggered back along the lane into the main street, trying to decide which option would give Michael the best chance, then stopped abruptly when a figure loomed out of the swirling snow, just visible in the faint light from the lamp above Spayne’s door. It was Lora, who greeted him by hurling her dagger. He threw himself to one side, and it landed quivering in one of Spayne’s windowsills.

‘Fetch Miller!’ he called urgently, staggering to his feet with his hands full of snow. ‘Spayne is being held captive in his house by the people who killed Aylmer and Herl.’

‘I do not believe you.’ She moved towards him with her sword.

Bartholomew had not imagined she would. He lobbed snow at her as hard as he could, first with one hand, then the other. Both landed square in her face, making her gasp in shock. While she was reeling, he landed two quick punches that knocked her flat on her back.

‘Summon help,’ he ordered, when she gazed at him in stunned surprise. ‘At once.’

He did not wait to see what she would do. He grabbed her dagger from the sill, knowing that Michael’s rescue – he did not care what happened to Spayne – was down to him alone. He tried peering under the shutters at the front of the house, but they fitted better than the ones at the back, and all he could see was Hugh and his bow. There was no time for rationalisation. He waded to Spayne’s front door and kicked it hard. It flew against the wall with a resounding crack, and he marched inside.

‘Sheriff Lungspee is on his way,’ he declared. ‘He will be here any moment, so put up your weapons and bring an end to this before anyone else is hurt.’

‘Do not treat me like a fool,’ said Eleanor coldly, neither surprised to see him nor unsettled by his announcement. ‘Lungspee is hiding in his castle, waiting for the city to grow peaceful again.’