A Choir of Crows

10 Visitors and Intruders

Uncertain what woke him, Owen rubbed his scarred eye and sat up, belatedly noticing the shower of needle pricks. He rose, alarmed. Not by the sensation, but the portent – trouble was near. Moving to the window overlooking Davygate, he peered out at what he could see in the pale light of a winter dawn. More color in the sky, promising sunlight. A draught chilled him, but gentler than a few days earlier. Not much cooler than yesterday midday. More thawing, which meant the roads, though muddy, would be passable. The Nevilles might arrive at any time.

A sharp reminder of the portent set him in motion. He was dressed by the time Lucie woke to ask what was wrong.

‘Sleep, my love. I woke restless.’ He bent to kiss her forehead.

With a contented sigh she rolled over and snuggled beneath the covers.

Retrieving his leather patch from the shelf near the door, he positioned it over his ruined eye, ran his fingers through his hair, and stepped out onto the landing. Habit sent him to the next room. Empty. As he began to worry his mind caught up. The children had slept in the kitchen. He listened at the last door, heard voices, soft, two of them, Alisoun and Marian. Uncertain whether to interrupt, he decided as all appeared peaceful he would first go below, check the garden, the shop.

A fire already burned in the hall hearth, though the room was deserted. He crossed to the long garden window. A cacophony of drips masked all other sound, but he saw nothing obvious. He would make a slow circuit on his way to the apothecary.

A peal of laughter rang out from the kitchen. Hugh was awake and laughing. Loudly. God be thanked. Pushing open the door, he was greeted by a cheery scene, Gwen and Hugh in a tickling match, his youngest watching in wonder from Magda’s lap. Emma squealed to see Owen, lifting up her arms to be picked up. He was happy to oblige, spinning her round and hugging her close as her giggle turned to hiccups.

‘Didst thou sleep?’ Magda asked, rising to stretch her back.

‘I did.’ Kissing Emma, he handed her back to Magda, crouched down to tickle Gwen and Hugh, raising the noise to a startling level, and, laughing, crossed over to the boot bench.

‘Ale?’ Kate asked from the hearth.

‘In a moment. I need the garden.’ Best she thought he was focused solely on emptying his bladder.

Gently rocking Emma, Magda perched beside him as he pulled on his boots.

‘Thou’rt worried, Bird-eye?’ she asked in a quiet voice, not easily overheard.

He met her gaze. ‘Trouble is nigh.’ His whisper became laughter as Emma grabbed at his hair.

‘Da!’

Magda tickled Emma’s chin as she said, ‘Thou hast a shower in thine eye?’

‘I do.’

A nod, and she rose to rejoin the children, Emma squealing her farewell.

Owen’s love for all he held so dear propelled him forward into the day. Booted, he threw on a cloak and stepped out into the muddy aftermath of the first snow and thaw. His boots squelched on the pathway that wound beneath the bare-limbed linden and through the tall rosemary shrubs shimmering with a film of ice. A startled bird darted up and away, another flew to the top of the wall, watching him with one eye. The needle pricks were fading out here. Perhaps whatever had threatened moved on. Not necessarily a good sign. A watcher was unwelcome. He should have thought to have one of his men walking a circuit round the house and shop. One of the bailiffs’ men. He supposed they, too, were his now. At the midden he relieved himself, then turned back, pausing to search for movement, his ears pricked. Nothing. But as he moved down the path leading to the shop, the shower of needle pricks intensified. Crossing with as little noise as possible by stepping on rotten vegetation at the side of the path rather than the bare mud that sucked at his boots he approached the back door opening onto the workshop. Stepping inside, he felt the prickling intensify and rushed through to the shop just as the door closed. Slamming it open he almost knocked Jasper over.

‘Da?’ Jasper had lifted his broom as if to use it as a pike. Now he lowered it with a sheepish grin. ‘You saw him, too?’

‘Who?’

‘A man standing among the graves, watching the shop and the house. Cloaked. Must have sensed me coming out. He’s gone now.’

Owen crossed over and climbed up the short wall into the graveyard, checking with Jasper until his son motioned he was on the spot. Muddy indentation. Poor prints, difficult to follow out. Across the way he hailed a lad pushing a cart toward the river. But the boy had seen nothing. Slogging back across the cemetery, Owen shook his head at Jasper’s questioning frown.

‘I lost him.’ Seeing how his son’s shoulders sagged with defeat, Owen put an arm round him. ‘You did well. I will arrange a watch, not just in the garden but out on the street.’ Noticing the lad had come out without a cloak, he turned him round. ‘Come and break your fast with me.’

Alisoun’s body ached from sleeping all night slumped on a hard bench against the cold wall of Marian’s bedchamber, made worse by her reluctance to stretch while Marian knelt at the bedside, hands folded in prayer. When at last the woman rose, Alisoun escorted her out to the midden. As they’d passed through the kitchen, Lucie and Magda were herding the children into the hall with bowls of bread and cheese and something steaming in a jug. Alisoun shook her head at Lucie’s curious glance – no, she had learned no more. A futile vigil.

‘We will be taking the children up to the nursery after they eat,’ said Lucie. ‘Kate will be grateful for some space.’

Kate made a face as she held the door open for the procession. ‘They are no trouble.’

Lucie kissed Kate’s cheek as she passed and called back to Alisoun and Marian to take their ease in the warm kitchen.

‘Dame Lucie treats the kitchen maid as if she were family,’ Marian noted with puzzlement once out in the garden.

‘It is their way. Kate’s elder sister worked here for a long while and is now wed to the steward at Dame Lucie’s manor – I should say young Hugh’s manor, when he comes of age,’ said Alisoun as they stepped out into the mild but damp winter morning.

‘Manor?’

‘Come along. My teeth will start chattering if we are not quick,’ Alisoun urged, picking up the pace to the end of the garden. She hugged herself and moved about as she waited for Marian. Just as she turned away to start back she caught a movement behind the wall. Holding up her hand to silence Marian, she listened. Nothing now. But it reminded her to be vigilant.

In the kitchen, Magda placed a jug of honeyed water and a bowl of bread and cheese on the edge of the bench Alisoun shared with Marian. ‘Thy fast is over,’ she said, gazing into the young woman’s eyes. Marian promised to eat.

‘Will you go to Muriel Swann today?’ Alisoun asked her teacher.

‘When Magda shepherds the little ones up to their chamber, she hands them into thy care.’ She bade them eat hearty and withdrew to the hall.

‘Dame Magda has a strong presence, a power,’ said Marian.

Long ago Alisoun tried hard to resist that power. She smiled to think of it. Stubborn child.

‘You disagree?’

‘No. I am glad for you. That you have felt it.’ Breaking off a chunk of bread, Alisoun was just reaching for a piece of cheese when the door from the hall opened.

‘The precentor from the minster is here,’ said Lucie. She kept her voice low, but the tone was urgent. ‘He must not see Marian.’ She reached for a basket on the boot bench. Kate helped her place the food in the basket. ‘Go to Jasper’s rooms above the shop.’

Remembering her fleeting impression, Alisoun handed Marian one of Lucie’s cloaks. ‘Cover your hair,’ she told her.

Within moments they were outside, almost colliding with the captain and Jasper.

‘Where are you going?’ Owen demanded.

‘The precentor is in the hall,’ said Alisoun. ‘Dame Lucie thinks it safer that we come to the shop. Up above. To break our fast.’

‘Escort them,’ the captain told Jasper. ‘I will see to Master Adam.’

Alisoun touched the captain’s arm. ‘I sensed a watcher when we were at the midden. Hiding behind the wall.’

He glanced toward the end of the garden. Nodded. ‘Jasper saw one standing in the cemetery. Keep Dame Marian away from the windows.’

In the workshop, Marian stopped at one of the work tables, bending to smell the roots being cleaned, picking up a jar and sniffing the contents. ‘It is like Dame Justina’s corner in the infirmary.’

Jasper, who seemed unable to stop staring at Marian once she had pushed back her hood, stepped up to explain each item, going into detail about the ingredients, and which were from the garden. Embarrassed for him, Alisoun pushed past them and carried the basket of food and the jug of Magda’s honey water up to the guest room toward the front of the house, setting it all up on a small table. She had just stepped back into the workshop when a man’s voice called out from the shop, ‘Are you open?’

‘I must have forgotten to latch it,’ Jasper said softly. ‘Leave your boots down here and be as quiet as you can as you go up the steps.’

Alisoun drew Marian out of sight as Jasper stepped through the beaded curtain. ‘How might I help you?’

‘I need a salve for my horse. A new bit is chafing him.’

‘I have just the thing.’

The sound of Jasper moving the stool to climb to one of the higher shelves. Alisoun realized she was holding her breath. She reached for Marian as the woman began to wander and put a finger to her lips. Marian stood still.

‘Heard Captain Archer took in the minstrel’s lad,’ said a second voice. ‘Tossed a man off the minster roof, they say, then sang like an angel. A queer tale. True?’

‘I am an apprentice here in the apothecary. I know nothing of such things.’

‘Oh, but you’re Jasper de Melton, I think. The minstrel’s lover saved your life when you were just a slip of a boy, so they say.’

‘Be careful what you believe,’ said Jasper. ‘Here we are.’ A thud as he set the heavy jar down on the counter with more force than was his wont. He was angry. ‘A penny’s worth should be plenty.’

‘You’re a tight-lipped lad,’ said the first.

‘You will find that so for most of us in the city when strangers stick their noses where they don’t belong. You do have a penny?’

A muttered curse, the sound of a coin bouncing off the jar. And the door slammed shut.

Alisoun peered through the curtain. Jasper locked the door and hurried toward them. She stepped away just in time.

‘I heard.’ She touched his arm. ‘Who were they?’

‘Don’t know. I’ve not seen them before.’ He frowned. ‘You smile?’

‘You amazed me, Jasper de Melton.’ She kissed his cheek.

He grinned, pulled her close for a moment, kissing her back.

‘They are away,’ Marian called down.

‘Keep her from the window,’ said Jasper. ‘I need to tell the captain, describe their dress. Break your fasts up above – but do it in my bedchamber. It’s over this room not the shop. I must open the shop when I return.’ He kissed Alisoun’s hand. ‘Be safe,’ he whispered.

‘You, too.’ This odd life suited Jasper. And her.

After moving the table across the landing to the larger room, placing it near but not too near the window overlooking the garden, Alisoun and Marian eased down onto a bench, side by side, and stared out at the dreary winter drizzle for a moment.

‘You must be bursting with questions,’ said Alisoun.

It won her an unexpected smile as Marian turned toward her, straddling the bench.

‘That must have been easier in men’s clothing,’ Alisoun said.

A laugh. ‘I confess there were times I enjoyed it.’ Her smile transformed her face, her eyes dipping up at the corners, pale eyes twinkling, not unlike Magda’s. ‘But yes, I do have questions.’

‘While we break bread, I will tell you what I can.’

Marian nodded and bowed her head, whispering a prayer of thanks for the food. She glanced up at Alisoun’s Amen. ‘You are not a pagan, like your teacher.’

‘No.’ Alisoun helped herself to bread and cheese.

Marian poured some of Magda’s preparation into two bowls. Knowing what Magda had added, Alisoun set hers aside, wanting no unexpected bleeding while the captain and Dame Lucie needed her.

After a few bites of bread and cheese and more than a few sips of the honeyed water, Marian said, ‘I can tell that Jasper is worried I have brought trouble to your doorstep.’

‘Not you alone. Ambrose as well. But he knows that Captain Archer and Dame Lucie accepted the charge to hold you here.’

‘Jasper knows Master Ambrose.’

‘He knew his friend, who saved his life. I am not sure he knew Ambrose well.’

‘How did the monk know to bring me here? Master Ambrose meant to introduce me to the captain and Dame Lucie. Had he told the monk? Did he know I was in the chapter house?’

‘Ambrose had nothing to do with that. Brother Michaelo brought you here on the order of the precentor at the minster.’ She saw the woman’s doubt and could not blame her. ‘I can understand why you might wonder. But once you know more about this family you will see why both men had the same thought for your safety.’

‘And it is the precentor who is now at the house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he guess my sex?’

‘No. But Brother Michaelo did, and judged it best to follow the order though he knew we had been nursing the children. Your secret is safe with all in this household, and the monk.’

‘Bless you.’ Again, that radiant smile. She had a delicate beauty, the fair hair and ivory skin, the slender wrists. But her voice had a strong resonance, throaty, much like Gwen’s, a reminder that a delicate appearance did not mean a weak mind.

‘You seem a devout woman,’ said Alisoun. ‘Companies of minstrels and players are not known for their piety. Did you travel with them for long?’

‘No. Not long.’ Marian drank down the honeyed water, took another bite of bread and cheese, swinging one leg as she chewed. She seemed at ease. Magda’s miracle potions. ‘And you? Have you always been Dame Magda’s apprentice?’

The thought made Alisoun smile. ‘No. And I count it one of God’s mysterious gifts that he convinced her to take me on – though Dame Magda would reject His part in it. And she did test me for a long while before fully trusting me. To see whether my desire to heal was sincere.’

‘How did she test you?’

Alisoun poured more of the drink for Marian while she considered what might encourage an equal sharing, as Magda had instructed her. Thou art close to her age. She might confide in thee as a friend. She had thought it would feel false, but Alisoun did feel a bond of some sort. Perhaps enumerating the tasks she had endured – companion to wealthy, much-spoiled young widows; runner of errands for a number of demanding elderly people; guard of Magda’s donkey when visiting patients outside the city; nursemaid to Gwenllian and Hugh, and later Emma as well from time to time. ‘But I admit I do love the three of them. And Dame Lucie and the captain have been good to me. Far kinder than I deserved.’

‘None of these seem unreasonable tasks for an apprentice. Why did you resent them? Because Dame Magda is a heathen?’

‘What she believes is of no concern to me. She encourages me to honor my beliefs. But I wanted to be a healer. I wanted her to teach me what she knows. I wanted to stay with her, follow her and learn by watching, and she pushed me away. Or so it seemed.’

‘You had a fierce knowing that this was your calling.’

‘I like how you phrased that. I did. I do. And you? Is your calling the convent or music?’

‘The convent? What did Dame Magda tell you?’

‘She said you liked Dom Jehannes’s suggestion that you would be most at ease at St Clement’s Priory. And you might have slept until I woke. Instead you knelt by your bed to pray before dawn. I thought perhaps you would choose a life of prayer if you could, closed off from the world.’ There was also the slip about Dame Justina’s infirmary.

Marian dropped her gaze to her bowl. ‘I am called to both music and a life dedicated to God,’ she said in a choked whisper.

Alisoun almost dare not breathe. Magda would say, Continue with them as thou hast begun. Do not stop at the fact that thou didst hope to hear. A deeper truth may follow. Listen as long as thou canst.

‘I have been inside only one nunnery, to help Dame Lucie deliver some of her physicks to the infirmarian at St Clement’s,’ said Alisoun, ‘so I have little experience with nuns. But traveling in a company of players does not seem a way to win their welcome.’

Marian met her gaze, her face a mask of grief. No sign of the smile now. ‘I did not choose to go wayfaring. I had chosen–’ She abruptly set the bowl aside. ‘I was ripped from a life that was my heart’s desire and left without hope.’

‘I see why you would like to go to St Clement’s.’

‘They will not accept me as one of them. I will be a guest, no more.’

‘But you are not with child. If you are called to the veil, how can they refuse you? On what grounds? If you did not choose …’ A misstep. Marian looked ready to take flight. ‘Forgive me. What else would you know?’

In a voice now brisk with a need to change the topic, Marian said that Ambrose held the captain and the apothecary in high esteem, yet he’d seemed uncertain the captain would trust him. ‘Was it Dame Lucie who was his friend?’

‘I have never met this minstrel. He left before I came to the city.’

‘He is no ordinary minstrel. He was long at the court of the French king, and I could see why he was so honored – the song he composed for the pleasure of the Neville gathering – it was clever, yet he could not help but make sure it was also beautiful. I have not heard him play anything but his crwth and Tucker’s fiddle, but I can tell he has more talent than any of the sisters at–’ She stopped and picked up her empty bowl, set it down. ‘And his voice, such range – he shaped it to mine with such ease. A most accomplished musician and performer.’

Alisoun was far more interested in how Marian’s dream was taken from her, but she must have a care. ‘I should like to hear him perform. Jasper took him several more instruments last night. They had been stored in the apothecary workroom. I’ve been curious about them.’ A little laugh. ‘Mostly because I was warned not to touch them.’

‘Perhaps we might ask?’ A smile, and then Marian fell to her food, finishing it.

‘I am glad to see you eating. Dame Magda says you have long been denying yourself, and your spirit is weakened.’

‘She heals souls as well as bodies?’

‘She would not call it that.’

‘Dame Lucie. You mentioned her father’s manor. Is she of noble birth?’

‘She is. But when her mother died … It is a long story.’

Lucie cut short her greeting when she noticed the mud on Owen’s boots. ‘Is the garden such a mire?’

‘I will explain,’ he said under his breath. ‘Master Adam?’

‘In the hall.’

Owen asked Kate to bring them refreshments. ‘Where are the children?’

‘We took them up before Magda left,’ said Lucie.

Owen kissed her cheek. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Go!’

Adam had been gazing out of the garden window. ‘Most comfortable, this home of yours. Your wife’s father’s, was it not? Sir Robert D’Arby?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you were a soldier. Captain of Archers. Served Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster. Then Thoresby, now the prince.’

It seemed an odd way to begin. Owen offered him a cup of ale, which he accepted with thanks.

‘You must wonder why I am recounting your history.’ A mirthless smile. ‘I am reminding myself that great men have trusted you. Why should I not trust you, trust that you are searching for Ronan’s murderer? Yet so far …’

‘I’ve had but a day, a day riddled with three corpses before noon. I might ask you why no one from the chapter has come forward with helpful information.’

‘Was I to ask them?’ Adam lifted the cup to his lips. Drank a little.

‘You are in the best position to do so.’ The precentor scowled. ‘If no one steps forward, I intend to speak to all in the chapter,’ said Owen. ‘I welcome your advice in choosing the order.’

‘You think it is one of us.’

‘I did not say that. Chapter members might know something of use to me – perhaps without realizing it. A passing remark, a memory of someone missing prayers or neglecting their responsibilities, angry words overheard, a certain cooling between Ronan and another.’

‘I see. We were his companions. We would notice a changed pattern. I do see.’ The precentor drank down his ale and set the bowl aside.

‘Did he have particular friends?’

Adam wrinkled his brow as he stroked his chin with swollen fingers. Gout? ‘No one comes to mind.’

‘Were you friends with him?’

‘I preferred to keep my distance. His air of disdain, you see. Most vexing. I found him most vexing. As did many in the chapter. Not to the extent that they would wish him harm. We all prayed that he would learn humility. Unfortunately, with Alexander Neville’s elevation, and his previous preference for Ronan’s services over others, his arrogance only grew. I wondered what drew them together.’ A shrug. ‘But our feelings for the man are of no importance in this matter. What was done was wrong. Criminal. And with the archbishop expected at any time, Ronan’s murderer must be found and brought to justice.’

‘As Ronan was struck down in the minster liberty it will fall to the archbishop himself to mete out punishment,’ said Owen. ‘If his murderer proves to be a member of the chapter that is doubly true.’

‘Then you must find irrefutable proof, Captain.’

‘You do not trust a Neville investigation?’

Adam cleared his throat. ‘I meant exactly what I said, Captain.’

‘How do you propose I proceed?’

‘I might mention it at the chapter meeting this morning, that they should come to me if they know anything, if they have noticed anything that might help you find his murderer. In private, if they prefer.’

‘A good beginning.’

Adam rose. ‘And I shall prepare an ordered list of those with whom I am aware Ronan had cause to speak.’ Bristly. He had come to task Owen, not be tasked.

‘That would be most helpful. Would you like Brother Michaelo’s assistance?’

A sniff. ‘My clerks write a good hand. And know the names. Though I dare say Brother Michaelo has made a point of learning them. He seems keen to be of use in the city.’

Archdeacon Jehannes had put out the word that Brother Michaelo was available after the death of his patron, the late archbishop. The plan had been for Michaelo to return to Normandy, live out his days in a monastery near his home. But he had balked at the prospect, a man who had tasted the life of an archbishop’s aide, traveling, mixing with an array of worthies both religious and secular. For the most part the religious communities in the city shunned his services, though a few pastors and a sprinkling of Dominicans and, oddly, the prioress of St Clement’s requested his services from time to time. The communities knew the rumors about why the abbot of St Mary’s refused to take him back upon Thoresby’s death, a failed attempt on the life of the late infirmarian Brother Wulfstan, a beloved figure. Though the incident was years in the past, and, for the most part, Brother Michaelo’s behavior since had been above reproach, his reputation as both a poisoner and sodomite condemned him. An unfortunate incident the previous year had sealed Michaelo’s fate with many. It had done the opposite with Owen. Michaelo’s remorse had convinced Owen he was a changed man.

‘I have come to value Brother Michaelo’s talents,’ said Owen. ‘His Grace the archbishop trained him well, tested his skills, and expanded his assignments to his advantage. And now mine.’ He watched the precentor consider this revelation.

‘Perhaps I should reconsider. Dean John is challenged by the duties he is forced to shoulder as acting dean. With Brother Michaelo’s knowledge acquired in the archbishop’s service …’ He stroked his chin again, an odd gesture for a beardless man. ‘I will suggest he engage the monk, see whether he is of use to us. For now, God go with you, Captain. I will send word when the list is ready.’

Owen showed him out the front door.

As soon as the precentor left, Lucie ushered Jasper into the hall, watching Owen’s face as he listened to his son’s report. She was proud of Jasper’s calm, his detailed description of the men and their clothing. So was Owen.

‘You have a keen eye,’ he said. ‘Neither looked like the one you saw earlier?’

‘No. Different clothing, thicker limbs.’

‘From the garb I would guess them to be more of Neville’s men,’ said Owen. ‘Did Alisoun and Marian hear them?’

‘They did. I cautioned them to stay in my room, over the workroom, not the shop, and away from the windows.’

‘Good,’ said Owen. ‘I will see to that watch on the house and shop I spoke of. And we need to move both of them tonight, Marian to the priory and Ambrose – I need to–’

Someone pounded on the hall door. Owen thanked Jasper. ‘Best to open the shop before folk wonder.’

With a nod, Jasper left.

Lucie reluctantly climbed the steps to the nursery.

Muttering a curse, Owen went to answer. He was relieved to see Rose and Rob, interested by their report: trouble in Ronan’s chamber.

‘His neighbor heard unholy bumping and sliding above, and feared it was poor Master Ronan’s confused spirit,’ said Rose. ‘Something about how the murdered do not know they are dead until their murderer is found.’

‘Fool,’ Rob muttered.

‘How did you hear of it?’ Owen asked.

‘From our landlord,’ said Rose. ‘Ma provides his meals for part of the rent. He’s Ronan’s landlord as well. While he broke his fast he spoke of the trouble. He found the furniture all flung about. A gaping hole in one wall. And Beck, Master Ronan’s clerk, lying on the floor face down, the back of his head bloody.’

Beck. The weasel haunting Ronan’s lodging the previous day.

‘He said he righted the bed and laid him on it, then went to Master Adam, the precentor. It is to him they go if the residents of the Bedern cause trouble. But they told him Master Adam had called on you, so he sent us to fetch you.’

‘Did Beck wake? Did he know him?’

‘He opened his eyes. Said nothing. Will you come, Captain?’

‘I will be there as soon as possible.’

Their mission accomplished, the two were off before Owen closed the door.

Lucie stepped out onto the landing when Owen knocked, closing the door so the children would not hear, listening to the news with growing concern. ‘What of Marian and Alisoun?’

‘I will escort them back here. Neville’s men are less likely to walk into our home. If you are able to learn any more about Marian, I would be grateful.’

‘Of course.’

Once Owen escorted Alisoun and Marian back to the house, Lucie stood for a moment staring out of her bedroom window saying a silent prayer for the injured clerk. Owen had seemed relieved that something had happened, as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for it. But how he might cut through the maze of incidents …

Lucie crossed herself. God protect her family.

Three men dead – a cleric who had been Archbishop Alexander Neville’s vicar, murdered; one of Sir John Neville’s men, drowned; a man whose clothes suggested he, too, was a lord’s retainer fallen from a roof. The Nevilles had become one of the most powerful Northern families, whom Owen was to watch for the prince. Ambrose Coates had spied on the Nevilles while on a mission to alert Prince Edward that his French physician meant him harm, that he and his cohort had already weakened the prince with illness. He had come from the Neville gathering with Marian, who had been hiding as a boy in a traveling company of musicians and players. One of the dead men had watched Marian at Cawood. The man who had fallen from the roof. For whose death she claimed guilt. What had she done before? Why was she running? Why had she hidden her name even here? Surely if she were hiding from the Nevilles she would not have risked performing at Cawood. Yet someone knew her. So many questions.

Even so, there was no question in Lucie’s heart – she would do her best to help the young woman.

A voice drifted down from above, soft, conversational. Alisoun had seemed hopeful, whispering as she passed Lucie on the landing that Marian had eaten, and was more at ease, talking more. Lucie had suggested that with Magda gone to the Swann home Marian might help with some darning while in the company of Alisoun and the children. She would fetch the sewing basket from the kitchen, and then speak with Marian before she joined Alisoun and the children. It was time she did that.

When Lucie entered the guest chamber she found Marian standing at the window, her hair aglow in the morning light.

‘With Dame Magda gone, Alisoun must attend her duties with the children,’ said Lucie. ‘I thought you might like to join them while you work.’

She smiled to see what Lucie carried. ‘I would like to be of use. You will trust me?’

‘Mark me, the vicar’s murderer is still abroad,’ said Lucie. She recounted what had happened at Ronan’s lodging. ‘And you heard the men in the shop. You must keep yourself hidden.’

Marian hugged the sewing basket and nodded. Lucie opened the door and motioned to her to join Alisoun in the nursery.

‘May God bless you for your kindness, Dame Lucie.’

‘May He watch over us and keep us safe,’ said Lucie.

At the minster gate Owen was hailed by Brother Michaelo.

‘Well met! I am on my way to Ronan’s lodgings. There has been trouble. I would welcome your company.’

‘I will attend you, of course,’ said Michaelo.

While they walked, Owen told him all he had missed.

‘Dame Marian,’ he whispered to himself. ‘It sounds as if she has suffered much.’

Owen did not reply, his attention drawn to the men lounging in front of Ronan’s lodgings, men dressed much like Pit. Yet familiar. One of them turned to grin crookedly, a scar puckering one side of his mouth. Crispin Poole’s men, the retainers he had brought with him to York, now dressed as part of the Neville pack. Not the pair who visited the shop earlier, but bad news all the same.

‘What is your business here?’ Owen asked.

‘You will need to ask Master Crispin,’ said crooked grin. ‘He is up above, in the dead man’s chamber.’

Owen was already halfway up the steps, Michaelo following. He reached the landing as Crispin stepped out of Ronan’s room.

‘And so we meet here again, Owen.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘A rumor of trouble here. It’s Beck, the clerk. Wounded.’

‘You brought your men to guard you? Is Beck so dangerous even when wounded?’

Crispin looked pained. ‘One of His Grace the archbishop’s men arrived this morning with livery for my men and orders that they now serve His Grace. They seem to have interpreted that as being promoted, now my peers. Insisted on accompanying me, though they could not be bothered to climb the steps.’

‘I trust you will correct them.’

‘I am tempted to refuse them food and board. Let His Grace see to their needs. Though I believe they are in truth Sir John Neville’s creatures.’

Owen had never understood why Crispin had felt the need to keep armed retainers when he put aside his military past to become a merchant in York. It had not occurred to him that someone else had assigned the men to him. ‘Is Beck alive?’

‘As far as I can tell.’ Crispin stepped aside, gesturing that Owen was welcome to enter. ‘It is anyone’s guess what he was doing here before he scuffled with someone, whether he was searching or they were. Have a care where you step.’ He leaned heavily on his cane, his face drawn as if he’d had little sleep.

‘Who was here first? Him? Or the attackers?’

‘I do not know. As I said, watch where you walk.’

The furnishings had indeed been tossed about, bits and pieces of the bedding, the legs of a broken stool, all ready to trip one up. The searcher had found the hiding place behind the wall boards, though of course it was empty. Beck lay on a bare mattress on the bed, a bloody cloth wrapped round his head. Owen sat down beside him.

‘Beck, can you hear me?’

The yes was more of an outbreath.

‘It’s Captain Archer. We met yesterday. Who did this to you?’

‘Did not see.’ He reached up to clutch Owen’s arm, opening his eyes wide, closing them, opening them and forcing them wider with his fingers. ‘I cannot see, Captain.’ A pitiful keen.

Owen understood the terror of that realization, the frantic testing, the disbelief. Lifting the man’s hands from his eyes, Owen held them firmly. ‘I will send for the Riverwoman, Beck. Were you here when they came, or did you walk in on them?’

‘Walked in. Swearing and tossing stuff about, they were. Why can’t I see?’ He tugged at his captive hands.

‘You suffered a blow to the head. That can cause such a loss. Dame Magda will be able to tell you more. I mean to find who did this to you. Did you see anything at all? Smell? Hear?’

‘Both wore hoods. Scarves over faces. Something about salt. Salt!’ A moan.

‘Salt or psalter?’ Brother Michaelo asked in a soft voice.

‘Psalter.’ Beck licked his lips as if tasting the word. ‘Mayhap. I had not thought–’ He moaned and closed his eyes.

‘You will soon have something to ease the pain,’ Owen assured him. A psalter? There were no books in the bag he had taken to the archdeacon for safekeeping.

‘Bless you,’ the injured man whimpered.

‘How many men?’

‘Two? All I saw before I saw no more.’

‘Shall we remove him to a safe place?’ Michaelo whispered. ‘The archdeacon’s?’

Owen agreed. Finding Rose and Rob hovering on the landing, he sent them to fetch Magda Digby from the Swann residence. ‘If she can be spared, ask her to come to Archdeacon Jehannes’s house. If not, fetch Mistress Alisoun from my house.’

They nodded and skipped down the steps.

‘Might I be of help?’ asked Crispin.

It was tempting to use his men to carry Beck, but Owen did not trust them. Or Crispin, at present. Finding him in Ronan’s lodgings once might be accident, but not twice.

‘How did you hear of Beck’s beating?’

‘Folk talking of it in the street.’

‘Have your men been with you all morning?’

Crispin checked Owen’s expression. ‘No. They were off on a task for His Grace.’

Searching for a psalter? ‘Do not follow me,’ said Owen.

‘Owen–’

‘Good day to you and your men.’

Back in the room, he fashioned a bandage out of a piece of clothing in the pile of things flung about, then hoisted Beck up and slung him over his shoulder.

‘Lead the way, Michaelo.’

Jehannes’s cook stood with hands on hips, shaking her head as Owen laid Beck down on the pallet the archdeacon’s clerk had dragged near the hearth.

‘What now? I thought we were safe in the shadow of the great minster. The folk have lost their way. They are wandering in the wilderness, led by the devil himself.’

‘Be so good as to set aside the sermon and bring the captain a basin of warm water and some cloths, goodwife,’ said Michaelo. He crouched down beside Owen. ‘What might I do to assist?’

‘I am trying to settle him on his stomach, with his head to one side so that he is not pressing on the injury. But our patient wishes to lie on his back.’ Beck wriggled about, clearly trying to flip himself.

‘Perhaps something warm on his back,’ said the cook, standing over them with a bowl of water. ‘If this is placed right, he will find it soothing to his back and lie still. My ma taught me the trick. My da would come in from a day of plowing swearing he’d broken his back.’

‘Preacher and nurse. You are a marvel, Goodwife Anna,’ Michaelo murmured as he moved away to allow her access.

Once the bowl was balanced Owen wet a cloth and began to clean the blood from the parts of Beck’s face and neck that he could see. As he worked he felt Beck relax beneath him. While holding the bowl so that Beck could turn his head to expose the other cheek Owen sensed Magda standing over him. He resettled the bowl and rose to allow her to take over.

‘Jehannes wishes to speak with thee, Bird-eye. Magda can manage from here.’

Quietly Owen told her how Beck had been found, and that what most frightened him was that he could not see.

‘Thou knowest the dread,’ she said. ‘Magda will do what she can. Now go. Put an end to these troubles so that Muriel Swann can birth her babe in peace.’

Out in the hall, Owen sat for a moment to speak with Jehannes.

‘My summoner advises you to talk to Franz of Antwerp, one of Ronan’s fellow vicars,’ said Jehannes. ‘According to Colin, though Master Adam will tell you that all in the liberty sought Ronan’s advice regarding the new archbishop, in truth few trusted the man. Franz was the one in whose company he saw him most often of late.’

Jehannes’s summoner, Colin, was a trustworthy man. ‘Were they friends?’

‘I’ve noticed Franz cowering from Ronan, but Colin says he did his bidding. It would be in Ronan’s character to threaten to bring him before the chapter to be chastised for living with the mother of his five children.’

‘Is that not your summoner’s duty?’

‘His duty is to obey my bidding. I prefer to make examples of those who take no responsibility for their weaknesses. The children and their mother depend on Franz’s income. And he is in all other ways a pious man who goes about his duties with nary a complaint.’

Time and again Jehannes restored Owen’s faith that there were amongst the clergy dedicated shepherds of men’s souls.

‘And what of Ronan’s relationship with the chancellor? What might connect them?’

‘Ah. Last evening’s meeting. The Nevilles, I should think. They might be generous benefactors for Thomas’s work for the minster. He is keen to raise sufficient funds to complete Thoresby’s Lady Chapel.’

‘Is he?’ That was news to Owen. ‘Did Ronan still have such influence with the new archbishop?’

‘That remained to be seen. It was said that Ronan had expected to become the archbishop’s confessor or personal secretary, his Brother Michaelo. He was said to have been angry about being passed over by two men who had never set foot in York Minster.’

So Ronan might have been the one hoping to gain by a friendship with members of the chapter. Owen tucked that away.

‘What of Beck, Ronan’s clerk?’

‘According to Colin, Beck admired Ronan for all the wrong reasons. He had heard whispers about Beck threatening to reveal secrets – limiting himself to servants, avoiding being squashed by one with some influence.’

‘I thought him a weasel.’

‘You are a good judge of men. But then you need to be in your work.’

‘Any others like him?’

‘He did say Ronan spent a curious amount of time on Stonegate. Offering his services as an intermediary between the archbishop and the merchants?’

‘Did you ever see Ronan with a psalter?’

‘A psalter? No. But then, a vicar owning something of such value might raise eyebrows amongst his betters, and envy amongst his peers. Hence he might reserve such items for private prayer. How long will Beck be here?’ Before Owen could respond, Jehannes held up a hand. ‘As long as you judge him safest here, here he will stay. Now go, see Franz.’ He told Owen how to find the man.

Heading toward the Bedern, Owen moved against a tide of clerks hastening toward the minster. Sext, he thought, midday prayer. Franz might not be at his lodgings. But his mistress might afford Owen some insight into her sense of Ronan. He pushed along toward the address at the edge of the Bedern. The house as described was down an alleyway, narrower than most in this part of the city, not one of the lodgings refurbished for the vicars. Owen almost passed it in the shadow of the jutting stories. Before he could knock the door was opened from within by a man dressed to depart. He started at Owen’s presence, took a step backward. Franz, Owen guessed. How now to proceed? Their proposed conversation was one he did not care to conduct where others might hear. He needed to lure the man back inside.

How better than to trespass? Pushing his way into the room, Owen kept moving, his sight adjusting to the dimness as he reached a second, inner room. Deserted. No further door affording an escape out the back.

Franz had followed, now blocking the doorway to the outer room. ‘Who are you to force your way into my home? I am expected at midday prayers in the minster. State your business.’ The last word was little more than a squeak.

Owen felt a twinge of guilt. And also interest. The man’s speech had a hint of Flemish. So the Antwerp was not a legacy from parents, but based on his own origins.

‘I pray you, forgive me. I am Owen Archer, captain of the city. In my concern for your safety I overstepped.’

‘Concern for my safety?’ The man opened the shutter wider on the lantern near the door. He had thrown back one side of his short cloak to reveal that his right hand, childlike in its dimpled softness, rested on a small dagger.

‘I pray you, allow me to explain myself,’ said Owen. ‘I am searching for the murderer of the vicar Ronan. You were recommended to me as one of his closest friends. Until I understand someone’s motive for murdering him, I cannot be certain that his friends are safe. I did not know whether a vicar would think to protect himself. I see that I was wrong about you.’ He gestured toward the dagger.

‘You were ensuring that no one lurked in my house? That was your purpose in calling on me?’ Franz did not relax his hand.

‘There is more. I hoped you might be able to help me find the man who attacked Ronan. As his friend, you might know who might wish him harm.’

‘Who sent you here?’

‘Forgive me, but people are less willing to help me if I divulge names. I will share nothing of what you share with me. No one you name will hear of our meeting.’

As Owen spoke he caught whiffs of scents peculiar to a home with infants. Milky, soured by the baby’s excretions from mouth and nether regions. Stale now, not fresh. And all sign of such children had been cleared from the room. Indeed, except for a narrow pallet near the door and some men’s clothes hanging from hooks the room was empty. Blind in one eye, Owen was obvious when looking round a room. Noticing, Franz cast furtive glances round his lodgings as well.

‘Someone has led you astray, Captain Archer. I knew Ronan, worked for him on occasion. But a friend? No one who knew either of us would call us friends.’

‘You were seen with him of late. Frequently.’

‘That would be true. But we were not friends.’

‘He abused you?’

A step backward. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Cheated you. Took credit for your work. I pray you, I need to know who he was, why someone would cut him down.’

‘You will be hard pressed to find anyone in the Bedern who called him friend, I can tell you that.’

‘Why? What do they have against him?’

A slight shift of posture, less alert. ‘His behavior toward all of us. He was of the opinion that his university training set him above us, made him our superior. He pretended to do us favors by offering to pay us to do his work, but we received no credit and a pittance of his earnings, while he moved about the city selling himself to prospective patrons, free as a bird, wealthier by the day.’

As Owen had suspected, it was likely that not all the treasure Ronan hoarded was meant for Alexander Neville.

‘I understand these are reasons to shun him. But murder? Did he commit more serious, even less forgivable transgressions? I ask because – you must understand, the anger I sense in you as you speak would seem an inordinate response to what you describe, a greedy partner. Though I suppose with a family to feed …’

‘You know about my family?’

Owen took a gamble. ‘Your mistress is known to my wife, the apothecary.’

‘Ah. I should realize that all the women of the city will be aware of my circumstance. But I am not the only one.’

‘I am well aware of that. I am curious, though.’ Owen gestured round the room. ‘I see no sign of your family. Have you sent them away?’

‘I have. The new archbishop – I fear him. Archbishop Thoresby could be harsh, but I knew him to be fair. As is Archdeacon Jehannes. But Alexander Neville – I fear what he would do to my family were he to learn of it. Ronan was his source of gossip about his fellow vicars.’

‘I see. So Ronan was a threat to you.’

‘If you are asking whether I would murder him to silence him, no. I have no such courage. I have thought of leaving, but how would I support my family?’

‘I understand.’

‘I realize it might be too late. Ronan might have already reported me to His Grace. If that is so, I will join my family. Until then, I support them by fulfilling my duties in the chapter. Which I must be about …’

Owen bowed to Franz. ‘I will not keep you. Forgive my intrusion.’

Franz stepped aside to let Owen pass, then followed with the lantern. The outer room had a small table, a few benches, and hooks on the wall by the door, empty at present. One of the benches had a solid base, as if used for storage. Owen resisted opening it.

Turning just as he was stepping out, he said, ‘I could not help but notice that your speech carries a memory of Flanders.’ The lantern light wavered. ‘Have you by any chance noticed a fellow Fleming in the city, one who might be mistaken for me – at a distance, though I have both hands, and wear this patch?’

Franz peered more closely at Owen, shook his head. ‘I have seen no such man, Captain.’

‘You are certain?’

‘I have no reason to lie about it. I thank you for your concern. Good day to you.’

Owen believed him. Hempe was right, he risked being blinded by his unproven theory that Martin Wirthir was Ambrose’s protector. But then who was the Frenchman?

Owen followed Franz at a discreet distance until he was confident the man was heading straight to the minster. Along the way Stephen joined Owen, who set him the task of arranging a watch on Franz’s house.

‘He might be our murderer?’

‘No. But add Franz to someone’s circuit.’

‘I will arrange it.’

‘And my home, the shop.’

‘Jasper told me about the watchers and visitors. I went straight to the bailiff. He’s sent someone for the day. Ned.’

Trustworthy. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

‘No need, Captain.’ Stephen turned and headed back toward the castle.

As Owen turned toward Jehannes’s, he glimpsed two figures making haste from the chancellor’s door, slipping round the side of the house, one of them glancing back as if checking that no one followed. A hood kept his face in shadow, but Owen thought he glimpsed the twisted grin of Crispin’s man. He gave chase, but by the time he reached the back garden the men were gone. Already he doubted his impression of the man’s face. Yet at the moment the impression had been strong.

A servant leaned against the kitchen doorway, spitting blood on a mound of melting snow and cradling one arm.

Owen identified himself as he approached. ‘What happened? You look badly injured.’

‘They shoved me aside so hard I fell on my shoulder. God’s blood, I think it is broken.’

Owen guessed it was pulled out of joint. He knew the pain of that. The blood came from a split lip. ‘Who were they?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Come into the house. I will look at the arm while you tell me what happened.’

As Owen felt round the shoulder the man told him how he’d returned from market to discover two men searching the hall, turning things over, looking behind hangings.

‘You came through the front door?’

‘No, round to the kitchen with the baskets.’

‘Was that still locked?’

‘In the minster yard we don’t lock doors unless going away for a long while. We’ve never had trouble.’

Until Ronan was murdered just outside the gate. ‘How did you discover them?’

‘I was unpacking when I heard what sounded like someone shoving the furnishings about. The chancellor is a quiet man, as are his clerks. All wrong, and none of us feeling at ease since the vicar was murdered right outside the gate.’ He crossed himself with his good hand. ‘From the doorway I saw two men doing just that, moving things about, heavy items even, peering under and round and behind. I thought to run to the archdeacon’s house. I looked again to make certain I did not recognize them. I’d seen only their backs. Waited until I saw their faces – but they covered them with cloths from nose to chin. One of them picked up something from a stack of books and document rolls. Not large, stuffed it in a pack. It was then he saw me. Came rushing at me, dragged me in there, shoved me down hard and held me there with his foot on my back. No killing, the other said. Made his voice gruff, like he did not want me to know it. And they ran out.’ He crossed himself again.

‘You have been fortunate. Now I need you to sit up and look away.’

‘Look away?’ The man straightened and glanced away just as Owen pressed the shoulder with one hand and yanked the arm with the other.

The servant screamed.

‘It will begin to feel much better in a while,’ said Owen. ‘I am going to bind it close to you and send someone from my wife’s apothecary with a salve you need to put on it twice a day while it aches. Do you understand? Is there someone who can help you?’

‘Cook should be back soon.’

‘Good.’ Owen examined the man’s lip. ‘I’ll send something for that as well. For now, this will stop the bleeding.’ He plucked a cloth from a shelf and filled it with snow outside the door. ‘What do you drink to ease pain?’

The man glanced toward a small barrel on a shelf as he began to rise. Owen patted his arm, then found a cup and poured some wine.

‘Bless you, Captain.’ The wounded man took a long drink. ‘They are not the first strangers I have seen about since the vicar was murdered, but the first who came in. There are rumors that the dead man handed something over to Master Thomas before he was killed. But we would have known if he had come back that morning. We would have known.’

‘And he did not?’

‘No. I tend the fires early. By the time I heard the shouts I had stoked them and fetched wood for the hall.’

On departing, Owen passed a man he presumed was the cook rounding the corner of the house. A lad followed him, stumbling beneath the weight of a fat goose.

The chancellor expected guests.

Of course, the city would soon be filled with potential patrons for the minster. And Owen much feared that this morning’s rash of intruders meant that whoever was behind Ronan’s murder was becoming desperate. Crispin? Was it him? Or was he hoping to restore calm and order before the archbishop and his family arrived? Owen stopped outside the chancellor’s gate, considering where they might try next. His home? He trusted Ned, but he would check there on his way to the castle to talk to Pit.