A Conspiracy of Wolves

16 Diplomacy

In the early morning, Owen called on Hempe at his home, eager to report to the Braithwaites and the Pooles and then move on with his day.

‘It’s been good to partner with you again,’ said Hempe. ‘Will we be working together in future?’

‘You had best say yes, or he will hound you forever,’ his wife Lotta teased.

‘If the prince’s emissary is amenable to my proposal, yes.’

Hempe slapped Owen on the back. ‘You’ve given me hope, my friend.’

‘Bless you, Captain,’ said Lotta.

‘Shall we go?’ said Owen. ‘Get the unpleasantness out of the way?’

As Hempe lived so close to Crispin, they stopped there first to assure him he need no longer worry about a repeat attack.

He was looking haggard. ‘Olyf seems unable to stay away, plying my mother with unwanted remedies. My mother suspects she means to poison her.’

Owen saw an opportunity. ‘Is Dame Olyf here now?’

A curse and a nod.

Excusing himself, Owen went in search of the woman. Finding her seated beside a sleeping Euphemia, he asked her to step out into the garden, where he told her of Paul’s death, and how all the recent violence stemmed from his long-ago crime, the murder of Gerta.

‘Paul – may God be merciful.’ She slumped down onto a bench against the back wall of the house, bowing her head.

‘You were there, I think. You witnessed what he did to her.’

She reared up, such a tall woman she almost looked him in the eye.

He took a step backward.

‘Paul told you, didn’t he? I knew he blamed me. Claimed I’d been the one who insisted he make sure she was dead. That I gave him the stone, helped him drag her to the water. Is that what he said?’

Owen slowly shook his head. ‘No. We never spoke of it.’

A cough. Olyf spun round and beheld George Hempe and Crispin Poole standing in the doorway.

She turned back to Owen. ‘Well, good, then. Because I never did any of that. I begged him to leave her alone.’

‘Get out of my house,’ said Crispin, in a quiet voice. ‘And stay away.’

‘I will oblige you with that,’ said Hempe, stepping forward to take Olyf’s arm. ‘She will come with me to the castle.’

‘I will not,’ Olyf declared.

But Hempe’s grip was strong.

So it was that Owen went alone to report to the Braithwaites, heart heavy. Janet suggested that they not disturb John. She would pass on the news to him when he was stronger. Owen agreed that was best.

She listened with bowed head, occasionally murmuring a prayer, and wept to hear of Olyf’s part in Gerta’s murder. ‘I cannot help but think Hoban was the one made to suffer for her sin. He was such a gentle soul. So unlike Olyf … and my Paul. Muriel always said they were two of a kind. I do not even want to know whether my daughter knew of any of this.’

‘From what she told my wife, I doubt it,’ said Owen.

‘Do you think Cilla witnessed all of it?’

‘Perhaps. It would explain the brutality of their attacks on Hoban and Bartolf.’

‘But why was Olyf spared?’

‘Was she?’

Janet crossed herself. ‘I should send a messenger to Elaine.’

Owen was not home long before Geoffrey appeared with a message from Antony, his fellow emissary. ‘He awaits your pleasure in St Mary’s hospitium. He will expect your decision, you know, whether you will accept the prince’s commission.’

‘That is likely his purpose, I agree,’ said Owen.

‘And? What will you tell him?’

After the activities of the morning Owen prayed he had the presence of mind to argue his case with Antony.

‘I will share my thoughts with you in exchange for a favor.’

Owen caught Lucie’s smile as she slipped past them on her way to the apothecary. ‘No misgivings on my part,’ she whispered.

He had confided his heart’s desire to her as they sat before the fire the night before, and she had given him her support. They had agreed that if they woke without misgivings, his choice was made. Now he must convince Antony of the wisdom of his proposal.

‘Come, walk with me,’ he told Geoffrey. ‘I will collect Brother Michaelo. He will await my invitation to come in after Antony and I have spoken. I would like Dom Leufrid to arrive while Michaelo is waiting. Such a summons would be best coming from you. Would you escort him to the abbey?’

‘What if we are delayed?’

‘Antony and I are old friends. We have much to talk about. Knock thrice on the door when all are assembled. I count on your powers of diplomacy to keep both Leufrid and Michaelo in the same room.’ He told him of the relationship.

‘You have set me quite the challenge, Owen.’

‘Do I ask too much of you?’

Geoffrey laughed. ‘On the contrary. I welcome the opportunity to prove myself up to the task.’

Owen counted on that.

Brother Oswald, hospitaller of St Mary’s Abbey, greeted Owen warmly. ‘We are honored that Prince Edward’s emissary chooses to bide within our walls on this visit.’ The monk smiled as if to thank Owen for his patronage and escorted him to a room off the main hall of the guest house, knocking at the door, then withdrawing.

‘Enter.’

Owen grinned at the deep, resonant voice, which had been so effective in a room filled with arguing captains and commanders, and easy to hear at noisy feasts. Opening the door, he found Antony standing with his back to him, gazing out a window that faced the river. It was a small room furnished with several high-backed chairs and a table on which stood a flagon of wine and two mazers.

Antony turned round, his expression wary. ‘Owen?’

‘Have I changed so much?’

‘Forgive me, I think of you as you looked out in the field. I’d forgotten the scar, the patch.’ A grin. ‘Though now I recall how the ladies flocked round you – the scar and patch made you mysterious. Dangerous.’

The men embraced, stepped apart, studied each other.

Antony was a striking man, taller even than Owen, with dark olive skin, tightly curling black hair, deep-set eyes – much like Thoresby’s but tawny, and though he was a scholar of warfare rather than a participant, he had the posture of a soldier. In the past, he’d favored dark robes, undecorated, almost monk-like. But today he wore a tawny velvet houpelande to match his eyes, embroidered with exotic birds, decorated with pearls. His hat was a velvet turban of the sort much favored by merchants on the Continent, the color red.

‘You look the part of an emissary from Prince Edward, heir to the throne, my friend,’ said Owen.

‘His Grace prefers me this way. And look at you, a little gray at the temples yet still broad at the shoulder and narrow at the waist. Still an active man, I see, though the father of three and married to one of the most beautiful women in the city, I am told, and accomplished in her own right.’

‘Lucie is that and more, Antony. And we must count Jasper, my eldest son, for he is as dear to Lucie and me as if he were of our flesh.’

‘For a man who cursed the fate that sent him north, you have made a life here, and a good one. I have heard much about you from Abbot William.’

‘I trust he has not turned you against me?’ Owen did not have the warm relationship with the current abbot that he’d come to enjoy with his predecessor.

‘He much admires you, and worries what my arrival might mean for the city if you were to join Prince Edward’s household. He has told me all about the recent troubles, and how the aldermen and sheriff counted on you to resolve them. Have you done so?’

‘There are yet a few pieces on the board.’

‘Come. Let us sit, drink wine, and talk.’

They settled in the high-backed chairs, moving them so that they faced each other with the small table between. Antony poured, handed Owen a mazer.

‘They are talking about your skill with a bow in all the taverns of the city. So you have regained your prowess.’

‘To an extent, I suppose I have.’ Owen did find it satisfying.

‘Tell me about these outlaws. I understand they committed these crimes as vengeance for their father and a young woman?’

Owen tried to be as brief as possible. ‘They will hang, of course. But Bartolf Swann misused his power as coroner, as did the steward of Galtres.’

‘A common complaint.’

‘We are at the mercy of the king’s whim in his choices for such positions.’

‘A king uses such posts as favors to those who served him well, yes. But it has ever been so. You cannot expect such a man as the king to think long on the talents necessary for such minor posts.’

‘Minor to him, not to the community.’

Antony sat back, his expression quizzical. ‘You have learned much since last we met, my friend, but you have not lost your fire.’

‘No? I wonder.’

‘Trust me, you have not. Nor have I.’ Antony refilled his mazer. ‘I imagine you are wondering how it is I am no longer with the Duke of Lancaster.’ He sat back, giving Owen an account of the years since they had last met, moving among noble commanders until he caught the attention of Prince Edward. ‘He can be a difficult man, but he has a keen mind and is curious about the world. We enjoy each other’s company. And you? Tell me about how you met your wife. I have heard rumors, but I would rather hear the truth.’

Owen found in his friend a rapt audience. But when Antony began questioning him about his duties for Thoresby, which were varied and ever-changing, with increasing responsibility, Owen finally asked why he was so curious. He hoped it was not too long before he reached the moment when it would be appropriate to introduce Antony to Michaelo. And Leufrid? Geoffrey had not yet knocked.

‘His Grace is interested in the extent of your talents. That should not surprise you. My mission is no mystery to you, though Chaucer was not privy to all I have to tell you.’

‘Hence your presence.’

‘That, and there is the matter of your taking so long to decide.’

‘The prince is impatient.’

‘He has ever been so. But at present he has cause. His father the king is ailing, vulnerable, prey to such as Richard Lyons, Alice Perrers – I will not bore you with the list, though should you join his household you will soon be apprised of those he most distrusts. In the North, it is the Neville family, a concern heightened by the appointment of Alexander Neville as Archbishop of York.’

‘A Neville in charge.’

‘As it were.’ Antony tapped his long fingers on the table. ‘For my part, I believe this might benefit us. In war it is preferable to have the enemy out in the open. But Prince Edward dislikes his father’s decision to hand the North to the Nevilles. The Thoresby/Ravenser family were more tractable.’

‘Did the prince support Richard Ravenser for archbishop?’

Antony cleared his throat, glanced toward the ceiling. ‘Tractable, but, unfortunately, weak when it comes to armed might, and therefore …’

‘Richard Ravenser would be good for the Church, but not the realm?’

Antony inclined his head. ‘Forgive me if I insult a friend. But if the Scots cause trouble, or one of the powerful Northern families thinks to take advantage of an aging king, the Thoresby/Ravenser clan would be of little use.’

He had a point. ‘Who would His Grace have chosen for York?’

‘I don’t know. He had made no decision, believing there was more time. He thought – unwisely in hindsight – that his wife’s visit would do Thoresby much good, extend his life.’

Owen bowed his head.

‘Yes. I know it caused you much pain, my friend. The woman … Your man …’

‘You know much.’

‘I thought I should learn as much as I might. You have made an impression, a good one, on many powerful people. And some enemies … I have heard Wykeham is your nemesis, and Thoresby made that puzzling choice to coerce the Bishop of Winchester into deeding you a valuable manor near your wife’s. Now he might consider you beholden to him. However, if you are of Prince Edward’s household, all your enemies will think twice about crossing you. The prince protects his people.’ A pause as Antony studied Owen, who worked hard to keep his expression neutral. ‘My wish is to convince you that this post in the prince’s household is an honorable undertaking, and to your benefit and that of all your family. And I believe with all my heart that is so. But I will not insult you with claims of His Grace’s perfection or ease of manner, for I know you are aware of his prejudices and sharp temper.’

‘And, knowing that, I do not for a moment believe I have any choice in this. I am commanded to serve.’

Antony raised a brow. ‘You know him well. But I can imagine you choosing to defy the prince. Is that how you wish to play this?’

Owen stood, walked to the window. ‘It has a certain appeal. And were I not a family man I might try his patience.’ He turned to face Antony. ‘I have a compromise in mind. I would be both the prince’s man in the North and captain of York’s bailiffs.’

‘Torn between two masters?’

‘I do not see it that way, but as a means to protect my family from within and without the city. Knowledge of the kingdom at large, the conflicts amongst houses, some status, and a seat at the table here in the city would, as you say, be to my benefit and that of my family.’

‘So little?’ A smile. ‘Not a knighthood?’

‘No, not that.’

‘I did not think so. But if ever you should change your mind, His Grace would be well pleased to count you among his fighting men.’ Antony shrugged. ‘He might do so in any case.’

‘I am too old.’

‘Yesterday’s victims might disagree.’

‘Ah. That is so.’

Antony’s laughter was loud in the small room, and Owen could not help but join in.

Brother Michaelo had spent his time exploring the hall of the hospitium, standing by an open window breathing in the cool air. It would rain again, perhaps by evening. He’d just turned, attracted to the sound of the emissary’s laughter. Such a sound bespoke a man at ease in the world, a good sign.

‘He is a man of good humor,’ said Chaucer, stepping into the room. The captain had warned Michaelo that he might appear.

‘So he appears from this side of the door.’ Michaelo watched with interest as Chaucer glanced back toward the entrance to the hall. He sensed in the man an unease. He ignored Chaucer’s attempts at chatter, returning to his contemplation of the garden.

Antony grew serious. ‘The prince is aware that the citizens of York look to you for protection. He encourages you to accept the position. Pleasing the worthies of the city is all to His Grace’s advantage. We are establishing a foothold to watch the Nevilles, and they are certain to put some effort in influencing the mayor and his council. The dean and chapter as well. You are the perfect mediator and spy.’

Owen agreed, but he had not anticipated the prince’s encouragement. ‘How is it that I am so trusted by His Grace?’

‘You have my lady to thank for that. You remind her of her first husband Thomas Holland, a brilliant soldier and a most honorable man.’ Antony laughed. ‘So, you see? We are not sparring. What you propose is much to His Grace’s liking. Now come, sit, my friend. I have much to tell you. It was no accident that I traveled here in the company of Neville’s secretary.’ As Antony replenished their mazers, he expressed his delight that they would be working together.

‘So you will be my contact?’ Owen asked.

‘Either me or Sir Lewis Clifford, whom you have met. And respected, am I right?’

He was indeed.

‘Neither John Holland nor his elder brother are involved. Indeed, considering that Crispin Poole was in John Holland’s service, and would yet be there, doing his nasty work, had it not been for the loss of his arm – well, I advised His Grace that we might regret his involvement.’

Holland and Poole. ‘I am glad to know of that connection. Is that why Chaucer was so interested in Poole?’

‘He did not tell you? So he can hold his tongue when ordered. I am glad that is so. Holland let Poole go the moment he ruined his career as an assassin. Nevertheless …’ Antony smiled at Owen. ‘Clifford and I both regard you as an excellent judge of men.’

Owen began to protest. He had made his share of mistakes, tragic ones. But Antony waved away his argument.

‘We are none of us gods, Owen.’

The hall was quiet, so much so that Michaelo heard his cousin Leufrid greeting Brother Oswald on the lawn.

‘I pray you did not invite Dom Leufrid to attend us here,’ he said, moving toward Chaucer with murder on his mind.

The man rose, hands up as if ordering Michaelo to halt where he was. ‘Captain Archer planned this. I merely carried out his orders. I was to escort him, but the man hired a chair to carry him here.’

A chair. God help him. Michaelo stopped close to Chaucer, looking down at him. ‘If you are lying to me, you will regret it.’

‘Then I have nothing to worry about. But why do you so despise your cousin?’

‘He is a thief. He betrayed me in order to line his purse with my family’s silver.’

‘Yet without him you would never have served as secretary to Archbishop Thoresby. Nor would you now serve Captain Archer.’

‘Like the phoenix, I rose from the ashes. But that does not exonerate the one who threw me on the pyre.’

The creak of the heavy oak door heralded the arrival of Brother Oswald, Dom Leufrid close on his heels. Michaelo smirked to see the result of his cousin’s appetites, so corpulent as to prevent his arms from hanging at ease as he entered the hall, the movement something between a waddle and a trundle. How appropriate that Leufrid’s greed would be his ruin. No wonder he’d hired a chair. Never a comely man, his wide, flat nose was now lost in his pillowing cheeks accentuating his overlarge nostrils, and his eyes seemed beady in the midst of so much flesh. The hair round his tonsure was so thin as to seem a mere suggestion. And his habit. Michaelo wrinkled his nose at the soiled hem – of course the man could not see it, he’d likely not seen his feet for years, his belly protruded so far. It was difficult not to laugh as Michaelo stepped forward, bowing to Leufrid in welcome.

‘We meet again, cousin.’

‘Michaelo?’ The frog turned to glare at Chaucer. ‘What is this? I was told I would be meeting with Master Antony.’

‘That is correct,’ said Chaucer. ‘He is presently meeting with Captain Archer, an old friend. Brother Michaelo is the captain’s scribe.’

Scribe. Michaelo was more than a scribe. But this was not the time to argue the point.

‘I will return at another time.’ Leufrid turned round, startling Brother Oswald, who stood close behind, watching with interest.

Chaucer stepped to block Leufrid’s way. ‘Master Antony wished you to meet his friend. He will be most disappointed should you miss this opportunity.’

‘Meet him? To what purpose?’

‘He will explain that. I pray you, sit.’ Chaucer looked up at the hospitaller. ‘Might we have some wine while we wait?’ He stepped over and knocked thrice on the door.

When the signal came, Antony was just telling Owen that John Gisburne had paid a visit to Neville’s secretary, attempting to besmirch Crispin Poole, offering to provide him with a better spy in the city.

‘But Dom Leufrid informed me – he dined at the abbot’s table yesterday – that he is pleased with Poole, particularly his connection with you. Though having heard your tale I wonder at his impression of a bond. It would seem the new archbishop hopes to learn much from Thoresby’s spy.’ A grin. ‘Much we might learn from him.’

‘It could be of use,’ said Owen. ‘And now, if I might introduce you to the man who will be writing to you, and traveling with me as my scribe, Brother Michaelo.’

A raised eyebrow. ‘The late archbishop’s personal secretary?’

‘The same.’

‘An excellent choice.’

‘I also asked Chaucer to send for Dom Leufrid.’

‘To alert him to your new role?’ Antony nodded.

‘Not only that.’ Owen explained the tense relationship between the former archbishop’s secretary and the present one.

‘Pray, spare their lives, call them in at once.’