A Choir of Crows

12 Complications

In a grim mood, Owen led Gabriel and Ned down Stonegate, away from the route to the priory on Micklegate.

‘You said you would take me to the priory,’ said Gabriel.

Lucie had suggested St Mary’s – it was closer, and the abbot and infirmarian more likely to cooperate with Owen’s request to alert him at once if anyone came seeking Gabriel or he tried to leave. ‘I prefer St Mary’s Abbey. I trust their infirmarian.’

‘My things–’ Gabriel tried to turn back.

Owen gripped his upper arm, yanking him around. ‘You will not need them today.’

At the corner of Stonegate and Petergate, Owen’s old friend Robert Dale stood in the doorway of his goldsmith’s shop as if welcoming a breath of fresh air. When Owen raised his hand in greeting Robert bowed his head and withdrew, shutting the door. Something was very wrong.

The incident troubling him, Owen made use of Ned’s and Gabriel’s silences to think. Today’s revelations brought him no closer to solving Ronan’s murder. Crispin Poole was questioning folk about Ronan. Perhaps Robert Dale felt the bite of that and wanted to avoid any further questions. How many of the merchants had Crispin antagonized? It might have been Crispin’s men who attacked Beck when he discovered them searching the vicar’s room. He did not like to think that. Had Crispin not worked for Alexander Neville, Owen might have been his friend. Crispin understood what it meant to try to start again after a debilitating injury ended a life of soldiering – Owen with the loss of his left eye, Crispin with his loss of half his arm. They had shared stories in the York Tavern, a comfortable camaraderie. But since learning that Crispin served the new archbishop, Owen had avoided him. Even before he had learned that his retainers were actually Neville’s men. How had Crispin injured his leg? Slipped on a snowy morning while attacking Ronan? Owen was so absorbed in thought that he barely noticed passing through Bootham Bar and turning toward St Mary’s gates.

As they entered the abbey grounds Owen felt Gabriel’s tension subside.

‘Much finer than Holy Trinity,’ he said.

‘Wealthier,’ said Ned.

Brother Henry welcomed Owen to his infirmary, calling for his assistant Peter to escort Gabriel to a bed in an area screened off from those of the infirm monks and make him comfortable. Ned took his leave, promising to return as soon as he had completed his mission. Owen explained to the infirmarian who Gabriel was, what had happened, why he must be watched.

A raised brow. ‘You would have him relaxed, sleepy?’ asked Brother Henry.

‘Brother Wulfstan taught you well.’

They both crossed themselves in memory of Henry’s predecessor as infirmarian, a wise, gentle monk who had been both Lucie’s and Jasper’s good friend.

‘My thoughts were filled with him as the pestilence struck this summer,’ said Henry. Wulfstan had died assisting victims of the pestilence. ‘We lost two members of the community this time.’

‘You have a new assistant.’

‘Yes. I blamed myself – my tales of Wulfstan’s self-sacrifice inspired him. Yet how could I forbid him? He was doing God’s work.’ A shuddering sigh. ‘You might wish to speak with Abbot William. One of Sir John Neville’s retainers called on him, wanting to know who had arranged to lodge at the abbey for the enthronement.’ He nodded at Owen’s thanks. ‘And now to work.’ Henry poured a cup of wine from a pitcher and emptied a small vial into it. ‘I will administer this after I tend to his injuries. I need him awake to tell me what he feels. Once he drinks this, he will soon find it difficult to rise from his bed.’

‘A little something first, to make him drowsy?’

Henry agreed. ‘A drop.’

‘If he should speak of a guest in my home, a woman, I ask you and Peter to say nothing of it to anyone. Can Peter be trusted?’

‘He believes God calls him to work by my side, and he is keen, quick to help. If I order him to silence, he will obey. He would not risk my ire. This young man, Ned. He said he would be returning. Do you trust him to watch over Gabriel?’

‘I need him elsewhere. Is there anyone at the abbey you might trust to guard your infirmary for the nonce? Until I make another arrangement?’

Henry walked over to a window opening onto the apothecary garden. A lay brother knelt on the path, moving with studied patience as he clipped wilting plants, plucked up weeds. ‘Malkin!’ the infirmarian called out. The gardener turned, raising a large, meaty hand in greeting. His face was scarred, his nose flattened by repeated breaks. ‘I need you in the infirmary for a while.’

With a wistful glance back at his work the man rose, unfurling a muscle-bound body, and lumbered slowly up the path.

‘Former soldier,’ Owen said. ‘Good choice.’ Even if the man now shunned his old life as a soldier his presence should be an effective deterrent to violence.

The abbot’s house was near the infirmary, nestled in well-tended gardens. A novice answered Owen’s knock, bowing him in and motioning him to a seat in the anteroom screened off from the modest hall, all without making eye contact. Cowed by Abbot William, Owen guessed. The abbot was not well loved. Not as high born as his predecessor Campian and anxious to appease his superiors, he took out his frustrations on his subordinates. The novice quickly returned to escort Owen to the abbot’s study.

‘My dear Captain Archer.’ The abbot bowed to Owen and motioned him to a comfortable chair by a window opening onto the garden. ‘Wine?’ Owen’s connection to Prince Edward made him a favored visitor.

‘I would welcome a cup,’ said Owen, taking his seat. ‘I have installed a member of Sir Thomas Percy’s household in your infirmary. A hunting accident.’

‘Sir Thomas Percy. Ah.’ An obsequious smile.

‘It is important that I hear at once of anyone seeking to speak with him or of any attempt on his part to leave the abbey grounds.’

‘He is not free to move about?’

‘A young man with an unfortunate penchant for trouble. With His Grace the archbishop’s enthronement about to commence, I would have peace in the city.’

‘He is not involved in the vicar’s death? Or the man fallen from the chapter-house roof?’

‘I cannot say that I am satisfied with his explanations of where he was that morning, however, as he is Percy’s man …’

A worried frown, quickly smoothed away. ‘I see.’

‘Brother Henry has arranged for a lay brother to guard him until I can send one of the city’s men to take his place.’

‘Good. Good. I understand the chapter house was graced by an angelic voice that night.’ Unlike his predecessor, William relished gossip.

‘So they say.’

‘The singer is not lodging with you?’

‘The youth is ill. I cannot attest to an angelic voice,’ said Owen. ‘I understand Sir John Neville has asked for a list of those who will lodge here for his brother’s enthronement.’

‘You heard?’ An indignant shiver. ‘The gall. The arrogance. But I could hardly deny his request.’

‘Might you share the list with me? For His Grace the prince? He will be sending representatives …’

‘Yes, the pair will lodge here, I am pleased to say, with their servants.’

‘Did you hear whether Dom Antony is in the party? He had been uncertain …’

‘He is indeed. I am honored to welcome him back. His companion is a knight, though the message did not stipulate which knight.’

Sir Lewis Clifford, Owen prayed, a reasonable man. ‘You will understand, then, that His Grace will want to know who else will be here.’

‘Of course. Several knights in the service of the Percy family, all those not lodging in townhouses outside the minster liberty.’ Most of the prominent families of the North owned property in the city, leased to townsfolk or visiting clergy, but with insufficient room for all their attendants and retainers. ‘The remaining space here will be filled by clerics displaced by the influx of nobles and their own superiors. We will be quite full. One prays that few linger beyond the festivities.’

Percys at the Abbey was good news. They could take charge of Gabriel once they arrived. ‘No Nevilles here?’

‘No. They will of course bide in the archbishop’s palace here and at Bishopthorpe.’

‘Does Brother Henry know the Percys will be here?’

‘It is no secret. I have met with all the obedientiaries to discuss how we shall cope with so many guests. It will strain discipline, draw our attention from prayer.’

Owen had learned what he needed. Taking his leave of the abbot, he found Ned awaiting him near the door. He had found Hempe, delivered the messages, and reported that the bailiff was off to speak with Judith, Tucker’s wife.

Once Lucie and Alisoun had removed all trace of the injured man from the kitchen, they relieved Bess Merchet of the children.

‘Where is Marian? I thought she was to sit with you,’ said Alisoun.

‘She returned for a while, then retired to her chamber to rest,’ said Bess. Tickling Emma, hugging Gwen and Hugh, she bustled out onto the landing. ‘And now I must see how the tavern has fared without me.’

Lucie walked her out, apologizing for keeping her so long from her work.

Bess squeezed her shoulder. ‘It is good to see the bloom of health on the three of them – even Hugh. I feared for him. He took so long to recover. Forgive me for mentioning it.’

‘As if it were far from my mind? Not yet. You love them as if they were yours, I know, Bess.’

‘In truth I miss having little ones underfoot. My petty complaints fade away listening to their prattle. You should know that Gwen is much troubled about Marian’s presence in the house.’

‘Is she?’ Lucie had worried. Emma was of course too young to make anything of the addition to the household. But Gwen listened with keen ears to all that was said in the household, and Hugh followed her lead in everything. ‘Is Hugh also worried?’

‘He seems yet too sleepy to care about aught but snuggling, stories, and comforting food and drink. And your Gwen took care to appear sunny and full of song until her brother began to snore and Marian withdrew. Then she whispered a tale of a boy turned woman appearing in the minster as two men died without, in the snow. Her eyes grew huge in the telling, how Brother Michaelo brought the shape-shifter here and she transformed once more, this time into an angel, and now this morning the Angel Gabriel had come for her, but Alisoun did not understand and shot him so that he could not fly.’

Such an elaborate tale. How had her daughter heard so much? When Rose burst into the street door to warn them of a man standing in the garden, Lucie had drawn her out of the kitchen so that the children would not hear. Had Gwen listened at the door? Crestfallen, Lucie hesitated at the door to the apothecary workroom. ‘Should I go back to her?’

‘You should, but with this.’ Bess bustled past her through the door, then halted, looking around with dismay. ‘Where– I set her in here when I heard Alisoun challenging the intruder. Did I shut the door? Dear heaven.’ She hurried through the workroom into the shop, where she stopped and sighed, hand to heart. ‘There she is.’

‘The butcher’s daughter?’ Lucie asked, confused.

Jasper was crouched down to little Mair, who giggled as a kitten she cradled in her arms twisted her head to see who had entered the room, stretching out a paw to Lucie as if in greeting.

‘I turned around and she was in the workroom doorway, batting at the beads,’ said Jasper. Instead of a door, the rooms were separated by strings of beads.

‘I set her back there and forgot.’ Bess bent to scoop her up. ‘Tut now, Mair,’ she said as the little girl screwed up her face and began to cry. ‘She is a gift for the apothecary’s children.’

‘You brought us a kitten?’ Lucie asked. ‘Why?’ In faith, her heart was already melting at the way the kitten touched Jasper’s face and purred. She reminded her of Melisende, the cat who had comforted her during her first husband’s long illness. Gray, brown, white, she was a little beauty.

‘She rushed into the kitchen this morning when I opened the door and would not be shooed away. I cannot have animals underfoot in our busy kitchen, and certainly not in the bedchambers. Men in their cups are not to be trusted with anything. I thought your little ones would like her. She seems a gentle thing, talkative and silly. She will make Gwen laugh.’ Bess searched Lucie’s face.

‘She will. Bless you, Bess.’ Lucie hugged her friend. ‘Come with me to present her to the children?’

‘I have been out too long as it is.’ Bess hugged her back and whispered, ‘Find a new situation for Marian, I pray you.’

‘We mean to take her to St Clement’s. I will explain another time.’

‘Good.’ Bess hurried out through the workshop.

‘You will keep her, Ma?’ Jasper asked.

‘Do you approve?’

‘We’ve needed a cat ever since Crowder died.’ Ambrose and Martin had entrusted the ginger cat to Jasper when they fled York years earlier. Jasper had been devastated to wake one morning to find the cat lifeless beside him, old age having claimed him after a long, pampered life. He stood with shoulders slumped, remembering.

‘Shall I see to the shop and you can take her to them?’ Lucie asked.

‘Could I?’

‘Be off with you. Eat something as well. You might ask Alisoun to invite Marian to see the kitten. She has had a difficult day.’

‘I heard a ruckus in the garden.’

Telling him briefly what had happened, Lucie smiled to see the admiration in Jasper’s eyes. ‘There is much more to tell. About Marian. We know her story. She can be trusted.’

‘I am glad of that.’

‘Now go!’ Lucie turned to greet a customer.

Four customers served, and she was helping the last in line, Cass, a young midwife, explaining the differences between two powders for soothing toothaches, when the woman glanced up and said, ‘Your apprentice needs to speak with you. See to him. I am in no hurry.’ The woman’s eyes were on Jasper, not Lucie, as she smiled.

He was a handsome young man. ‘I will be but a moment,’ said Lucie, slipping through the beaded curtain, her amusement turning to alarm as she saw Jasper’s distress. ‘What is it? One of the children?’

‘Marian is gone.’

‘What?’

He explained that while he was introducing the children to the kitten, whom Gwen immediately named Ariel, Alisoun had gone to invite Marian, as Lucie had suggested. She was not there. Nor were her cloak and boots.

Lucie closed her eyes, trying to think where to search. Her tale told, why would Marian flee? What did she fear now? ‘I must talk to Bess. She might have noticed something.’

‘I will see to Mistress Cass.’

‘I am sorry you had so little time. Did you eat?’

‘Go!’

She found Bess plumping cushions in the single guest room. ‘I see to them myself for lodgers with fat purses. Cannot be– What is it? Did the kitten escape?’

‘No, our houseguest. Can you recall anything about the moment she chose to leave you alone with the children?’

‘She had completed the stitchwork you had given her, and I thought that was why she wished to lie down. I did not think to attend her. And the children …’

‘You could not know, Bess.’

‘What were we about? Ah, it was Hugh. He talked about a drum George Hempe permitted him to beat at his house. How he hoped to go again. Marian asked where the bailiff lived and Hugh was so proud to know. A few houses afore Christchurch, he said. Before that, we were speaking of Brother Michaelo. Gwen said that he wrote a most beautiful script, and Marian said that he would have learned that at the abbey. Your daughter informed her that as long as she has been alive he has not lived in an abbey, that he was secretary to archbishops and archdeacons, and that is where he learned to write.’

‘Bless you, Bess.’ Lucie hugged her friend and hurried off. George Hempe’s home seemed most likely. Marian sought to speak with Ambrose. As with her daughter, Lucie needed to be warier about speaking anywhere near Marian. Returning to the house for her cloak, she told Kate where she was headed, in case Owen returned before she did.

On Stonegate she responded to greetings and called out a few of her own so as not to call attention to herself by seeming preoccupied or in a hurry. On Low Petergate she muttered a curse as the ever-ailing pastor of Christchurch approached. If he delayed her with his usual litany of complaints she feared she might snap at him. But he merely bobbed his head with a short greeting and an apology for being in a rush. God be thanked. And there was the door to the Hempe home. Her knock was quickly answered by a flustered Lotta.

‘Are you here after that woman? Your guest?’

A moment of relief. ‘Yes. Is she here?’

Lotta drew Lucie in, shut the door. ‘No. But I believe I know where she has gone, the foolish child. I passed her at the crossing on Stonegate heading toward the minster gate. I thought her a peddler at first, or beggar, with the torn and stained cloak too short to cover her gown. But there was something about her. I watched her pass through the gate and hurried home to ask Ambrose why she might be about.’

Lucie had not noticed Ambrose sitting by the fire. He joined them now, his face folded in concern.

‘Perhaps the minster? She might have lost something there?’ he said.

‘Owen already searched and confronted her with what she had lost there,’ said Lucie. Archbishops and archdeacons, Gwen had said. ‘I think she might be seeking Dom Jehannes.’

Lotta sighed. ‘You should know, Sir John Neville’s party has arrived in the city. They will be occupying the palace in the minster yard. It is dangerous for her there.’

‘So soon?’ Lucie felt her heart racing.

‘Let me accompany you,’ said Ambrose. Lucie and Lotta both protested the idea, but he argued that he was responsible for bringing Marian to York. ‘If she is causing trouble, I want to help.’

‘You have no need to make amends,’ said Lucie. She told them a little of what they had learned about the evening in the minster, enough to explain why Marian had been there, and that she had betrayed him.

Ambrose shrugged it off. ‘I care not whether she betrayed me. You are the ones I want to help. With my hair shorn and colored, who will recognize me?’

‘And how would you help?’ Lucie asked, though a possibility occurred to her. ‘Is Martin Wirthir in the city?’

Ambrose looked pained. ‘Well you might wonder. I have as well, ever since safely crossing from Calais. My sudden decision to leave the court and return to the country I had seemingly abandoned … Those who had spoken so freely in my presence, would they not be alarmed? I felt almost certain I would be followed, at least for a time. Or worse. That I would not reach Dover. One hears tales. To drown on the crossing is a common way to eliminate the inconvenient.’

‘Yet you left,’ said Lotta.

‘No one deserves to suffer as Prince Edward is suffering. He is at the mercy of treacherous physicians and godless nobles who laugh at his pain, who applaud his humiliation. I want to believe that my empty years in that court will benefit the realm. That God meant me to be there to learn this.’ Ambrose seemed alight, as when he performed. This appeared no artifice, but a passion that arose from deep within him.

‘I pray Owen may convince the prince’s envoys to hear you out and help you carry out your mission,’ she said. ‘But what of Martin Wirthir?’

‘Martin.’ A whisper. ‘I felt his protection throughout my journey. It gave me the courage to continue. But he has not revealed himself to me.’

‘Someone else?’

‘It is possible. Denis, a friend from court. A close friend. A man much like Martin, but until now loyal to King Charles. He divined my reason for leaving and encouraged me.’ Ambrose shrugged at Lucie’s frown. ‘I fail in subtlety, I know. He might have betrayed me. But I think not. And if he is here in the city he might have gathered information for me while I have been off the streets.’

‘Do you believe he would help us?’ asked Lotta.

‘If he sees that I walk freely with Dame Lucie, I believe so.’

‘Your hair? Will he know you looking like that?’ asked Lucie.

‘If he is here, he doubtless followed the captain and your husband from the riverbank yesterday.’

So many ifs. It was a risk, either way. But with the Nevilles so close, Owen would be pressed to resolve the murder quickly to avert the risk that they, or others, would falsely name someone convenient to them, whose death would serve as a warning. An innocent would suffer. And the murderer would still be free.

‘No gloves, no singing,’ Lucie warned.

Ambrose hurried to fetch his cloak, but Lotta stopped him, offering one of her husband’s cloaks. ‘You must not walk out in clothes they will know.’

Glancing up from his work, Brother Michaelo discovered goodwife Anna hovering in the doorway of his chamber. He must remember to close the door while he worked. When the archdeacon was out the cook seemed unable to pass an hour without a question for Michaelo.

‘A woman to see you,’ said Anna. ‘I think she is the one you rescued in the minster. Pale hair and eyes, tall, skinny. She calls herself Dame Marian.’

‘Alone?’

A nod.

Had she run away? Michaelo took a deep breath.

‘May God watch over us,’ said Anna. ‘The Nevilles are at the palace in the minster yard. All the yard is talking about it. So many servants and armed men. Trouble will come of it.’

Two pieces of unwelcome news. ‘I know you are a busy woman, goodwife Anna. But might you ask your husband to watch for Captain Archer, tell him who is here, and what you’ve told me about the Nevilles?’ Her husband was a stonemason working on the minster.

‘Now?’

‘I would be most grateful.’

A momentary twinkle in her eye. ‘I might take him some of the pork pie, still warm.’

‘Bless you.’

‘What about the woman?’

‘Invite her to sit by the fire. Tell her I will join her there.’

‘Wine?’

‘Yes.’

With a sniff, the goodwife flounced away. A woman as changeable as a Yorkshire sky, glowering one moment, shining brightly the next. He never understood how he had offended or pleased. At times he felt his mere presence in this house irritated her, though she told him often that he was good for the archdeacon. In what way, he could not imagine. He sanded the letter he had been copying and covered his work against prying eyes. With a prayer for patience, he set off for the hall.

Dame Marian glanced up and then stood, asking Michaelo when Dom Jehannes might return, she had a favor to ask.

‘Does Captain Archer know you are here?’ Michaelo asked.

‘No.’

‘Dame Lucie?’

‘No.’

He’d thought not. Pray God the captain passed near the stonemasons’ lodge, and soon.

Already hatted and cloaked, the goodwife bustled in with a flagon of wine and two cups, set them down with a nod, and hastened out the door.

‘Have I offended her?’ asked Marian.

‘More to the point, I have no doubt you have offended the captain and Dame Lucie, who mean only to protect you.’

‘I know how much I owe them,’ said Marian. ‘My purpose is to protect them. Twice today they suffered intruders because of me. I hope to convince Dom Jehannes to escort me to St Clement’s himself, without endangering Dame Lucie.’

‘Without her, I am not certain the prioress will take you in. Dame Lucie knows Prioress Isabel, and how to persuade her to take such a risk. But come, have some wine while you tell me about these intruders. Then I must think what to do.’

As she walked with Ambrose, Lucie related what had happened with Gabriel, his tale, and Marian’s.

‘Deus juva me,’ Ambrose said, crossing himself. ‘I shudder to think how, but for her crying out, I might have abandoned her.’

‘But you did not,’ said Lucie.

‘No. I brought the trouble to your door. I am sorry.’

She paused inside the minster gate, drew him toward a quiet spot where she might watch those passing yet not be overheard. ‘Why did you not tell Owen about the prayer book?’

Ambrose looked aggrieved. ‘Forgive me. But I felt it was for her to tell you, if she trusted you to know of it.’

Misplaced courtesy. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘I had noticed a pack that Tucker took with him on occasion, careful to hide it beneath his cloak. For a man whose wife complained of their ability to feed two more mouths I wondered what he shielded with such care. When the prayer book disappeared I feared I had lodged us with a thief. When next he left with the pack I followed him – to Ronan the vicar’s lodging. I cannot be certain the bag was empty when he left Ronan’s, but I heard rumors about the vicar collecting tribute for the new archbishop that included fines for transgressions that should be the concern of a summoner. And as Tucker went there …’ He made a face as if uncertain that his reasoning made sense, now that he heard himself speak it aloud. ‘I thought it worth asking Ronan. Putting it as a request to advise me who in the Bedern might be receiving such items.’

‘That is why you met him in the minster?’

‘Yes. I sent word asking him to meet me there. I found him little changed in face – older, but still the long nose, deep-set eyes, yet far less trustful in manner. Tucker had warned me that there had been much gossip about my sudden disappearance years ago. If Ronan knew where I had been, he might also think me a spy for King Charles. But he heard me out, and offered to make inquiries. I was to call on him in the morning. It was he who suggested we exchange cloaks, for I might not wish to call attention to myself. I sensed it a false charity, that he recognized its value and intended it as payment. I was not unaware that he might be mistaken for me, yet I did not warn him. I am responsible for his death.’

‘How can you be certain?’ Lucie asked.

‘Why else would he have been attacked that night? I know from George Hempe that he was wearing my cloak and that my hat was found beside his body. Swathed in my clothes, with just the snow to illuminate the night, he would have been mistaken for me. Can you suggest how that would not be so?’

The attacker knew of the exchange? She did not think it likely.

‘I pray you forgive me for not speaking of this earlier,’ said Ambrose.

‘You risked your mission, pursuing Ronan,’ Lucie said.

‘I felt responsible for trusting Tucker.’

She had learned what she needed from him. ‘Come. I need to know if Marian is with Jehannes.’

‘Dame Lucie–’ Ambrose touched her arm they resumed walking. ‘I believe I just saw Carl, who led the company of players. You said Marian thought one of them might be in the minster. Something about how he kept to the shadows close to the buildings. Why would he behave so?’

‘I will tell Owen,’ she said. They had reached the archdeacon’s house. ‘Did you sense your protector?’

‘No.’

She touched his shoulder, assuring him she appreciated his intention.

Brother Michaelo answered the knock. ‘Dame Lucie!’ She read his relief in voice and odd smile. ‘I can guess what brings you here.’ He eyed her dark-haired companion. ‘And this man?’

‘He is with me,’ said Lucie. ‘Might we come in?’

Michaelo stepped back and shut the door as soon as they both passed through.

With a mixture of relief and anger Lucie watched Marian rise from a chair by the fire and touch her heart.

As he took Lucie’s cloak Michaelo must have noticed the heat in her eyes. ‘Before you say anything you might permit her to explain herself. She thought to protect you and your family,’ he said quietly.

Marian was staring at the dark-haired newcomer. ‘Master Ambrose?’

‘Of course,’ Michaelo murmured, ‘his hands. The musician.’ He bowed to Lucie. ‘I will bring wine.’

Lucie thanked him and approached Marian. ‘I hoped you knew you could trust us.’

‘I do. You have been so kind to me I want to protect you,’ said Marian. ‘The intruders today, the two at the shop, and Gabriel. I hoped to convince Dom Jehannes to take me to St Clement’s Priory today. So that I might no longer attract danger to you and the children. I could not bear it if any of you suffered for my transgressions.’

Whether or not she had committed any transgressions seemed beside the point at present. ‘With Neville’s men searching the city for you and Ambrose how were we to know you had walked out of your own accord?’ asked Lucie.

‘They would not know me. They thought me a young man.’

‘We speak of the Nevilles. Sir John arrived this very day, the one who sent men to silence you and Ambrose, believing the two of you to be spies. His men have been scouring the city for information. By now he will know full well you are not what you seemed. And all who have sheltered you are in danger.’

A flicker of uncertainty in Marian’s eyes. Ambrose understood well enough, glancing toward the window with unease.

‘Would it not be safer for everyone if I went at once to the priory?’ asked Marian.

‘My husband advised us to wait until he has a plan in place for your protection. Our protection. It is a long way, and there are strangers abroad in the city. Possibly even the players with whom you traveled. You may indeed have seen Paul in the minster. Ambrose believes he just saw Carl.’

That unsettled her. ‘You see? I must leave, I–’

She was interrupted by goodwife Anna flinging open the door and rushing into the hall. ‘Oh dear heaven, armed retainers approach, in the company of the archbishop’s secretary.’

‘Ah, my cousin.’ Michaelo gave a mirthless chuckle as he set down the wine. ‘His corpulence will slow them.’

Lucie was already in motion. ‘Servants. You are servants,’ she said as she took Marian by the hand and looked to the goodwife.

‘Yes. She can wrap her hair and scrub my table in the kitchen.’

‘And Ambrose?’ Lucie asked.

‘He can take the shovel just outside the kitchen door and work up a sweat. I will fetch my husband’s hat and gloves,’ said Anna.

Ambrose and Marian hurried away with her.

Lucie was surprised her hand was so steady as she poured herself some wine and turned to Brother Michaelo. ‘Now, what is the purpose of my visit?’