The Tarnished Chalice Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘We are at war with the French, so it must have been very dangerous.’
    ‘It was,’ agreed Suttone. ‘He went to study there, and his devotion to acquiring foreign knowledge meant he was at Poitiers in September.’ He pursed his lips meaningfully, glancing at Michael to show that he was wrong to denigrate their colleague’s military skills.
    ‘Poitiers?’ asked Whatton eagerly. ‘There are tales of a great battle there – the Black Prince won a mighty victory. Did you see it? We would love to hear your account, if you were.’
    ‘Such slaughter is hardly a subject for fireside chatter,’ said Bartholomew reproachfully.
    ‘It is, though,’ countered Cynric immediately. ‘Most of the great Welsh ballads are about battles, and you have to admit Poitiers was one of the best. I shall never forget the moment when the Black Prince raised his sword after that third skirmish – when we were certain we were doomed because we were outnumbered and exhausted – and tore into the French like an avenging angel. It was a glorious sight and
I
do not mind telling you the story, Master Whatton.’
    ‘But I do,’ said Bartholomew quietly. He failed to understand how his book-bearer had distilled even the most remote flicker of enjoyment from the bloody carnage.Cynric, meanwhile, was bemused by the physician’s revulsion by what he saw as a bright, shining moment in history. They had discussed it at length, and both knew it was a matter on which they would never agree.
    Whatton winked at Cynric in a way that suggested arrangements would be made later. ‘How did you come to be in Poitiers – or France, for that matter? Surely, the natives are hostile to Englishmen?’
    Bartholomew was not about to admit that he had been visiting members of Matilde’s family, but he did not want to lie, either. He told a partial truth. ‘Cynric and I were forced to travel with the English army for some of the time. It was safer that way – until French forces trapped us and forced a fight. Poitiers might have been considered a great victory here, but it came at a terrible price – for both sides.’
    ‘While we are in Lincoln, we are hoping to meet an old acquaintance,’ said Michael, hastily changing the subject before Bartholomew’s distaste for war led him to say something unpatriotic or treasonous. Too late, he realised he had chosen another subject that was painful for his friend, but it would look odd to change what he was going to say, so he pressed on. ‘A lady called Matilde, who lived here once. I do not suppose you happen to know her?’
    Suttone smiled suddenly and unexpectedly. Everyone at Michaelhouse had liked Matilde, even sour old miseries like the Carmelite. ‘Dear Matilde! We all missed her when she left. Do you think she might be here, Brother? It is possible, I suppose. She once told me – after I gave a sermon in which I mentioned my grandfather the bishop – that she considered Lincoln’s cathedral to be the finest in the world, so perhaps she does hail from this place.’
    ‘My Order compels me to preach among the laity, so I
do
know a large number of townsfolk,’ replied Hamo. ‘ButI am afraid there are several women by that name. What does she look like?’
    Bartholomew refrained from telling him that she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen. ‘I believe she was once betrothed to a merchant called William de Spayne,’ he said instead.
    Hamo beamed. ‘Oh, that Matilde – a lady with the face of an angel, and the sweet heart of one, too. I am not surprised you would like to trace her.
She
is an acquaintance well worth keeping.’
    Bartholomew gazed at Hamo, aware that his heart was pounding. He had not imagined that the first man he asked would remember Matilde – he had not expected
anyone
to know her, having endured more than a year of shaken heads and apologetic smiles – and he wondered whether his luck had finally turned. ‘Is she here now?’ he asked, holding his breath as he waited