A Choir of Crows

14 An Unlikely Ally

Robert Dale led Owen and Ambrose to his office behind the bustling shop. Even here, Owen felt the heat from the fire over which the gold was softened.

Crispin Poole rose from a seat, leaning heavily on his cane as he greeted Owen and glanced with interest at Ambrose.

‘What is this?’ said Owen, looking to Robert.

‘You have Poole to thank for this meeting,’ said Robert. ‘Hear him out. He has convinced me that I have information you need. As does he.’

A lad brought in a flagon of wine and three cups, then apologized, noticing there were four to serve. After he delivered a fourth, Robert told him to close the door as he left.

‘We can speak freely?’ asked Crispin indicating Ambrose.

‘That depends,’ said Owen. ‘Are you here as Neville’s man?’

‘No. As your friend, and a concerned citizen.’

‘I just encountered one of your men escorting Dom Leufrid. The one with the scarred cheek.’

‘Diggs. You met him at the archdeacon’s house?’

‘You knew of the visit?’

‘Diggs says the woman who fled Cawood with the French spy is there. They planned to search the house.’

It was as Owen had feared.

‘The Nevilles want her,’ said Crispin. ‘They believe her to be someone of value to them. Their interest should concern you.’

‘It does.’

‘Good. We have little time. It might help me to know who she is.’

‘We? How do I know your men–’

‘I have told you, they are not my men. Never were. For a while I thought they might be useful, but they have become my bane, my curse. I sent them off to lodge with their fellows, my excuse my mother’s failing health.’

‘You serve Archbishop Neville.’

‘No longer, though he does not yet know. I thought it best to do what I could for you before speaking with him. So that I might still receive reports. I know Sir John has given you two days to find Ronan’s murderer. He’s keen to put the blame on the French spy.’

‘French spy?’

‘You know of whom I speak. The musician Ambrose Coates.’

‘He is no spy for the French,’ said Owen. ‘But you are right about Sir John’s threat.’

‘Who is she?’

Owen glanced at Robert. ‘What was it you wished to tell me?’

Fine, close work had ruined Robert’s eyesight, his habitual squint giving him the air of a man whose worries weighed him down. Yet Owen knew him to be blessed with a successful business and a happy family life. He peered at Owen, then Crispin, who, with a sigh of frustration, resumed his seat, plucking a cloth from his sleeve and wiping his brow.

‘It is about Ronan’s book,’ said Robert, ‘what he called his psalter.’

‘A prayer book?’

‘No. His distasteful humor.’

Owen sat down as well and poured himself some wine. ‘Go on.’

‘A few days before his death Ronan swooped into my shop with a nasty glint in his eyes, trailed by that clerk of his, Beck. He dared accuse me of being late to deliver a gold cross the new archbishop had ordered from me. I questioned his authority to represent His Grace, for he had taken no part in the original transaction, it was all done by messenger through His Grace’s secretary Leufrid, the usual empty flattery, currying favor with local merchants. Months ago Leufrid had sent a message, all apologies, His Grace had changed his mind and was cancelling the order. I do not like to speak ill of the dead, but my questioning Ronan’s authority set him to spewing vile things. Vile. He accused my beloved wife Julia–’ Robert paused a moment to breathe and calm himself. ‘I left the room to fetch the message and the two halves of the tally from the desk of one of my clerks who was working with the accounts in the shop. When I returned Ronan did not at first notice me. He had brought out the little book in which he jotted down items – parchment sewn together with a leather cover, costly for keeping accounts, but that was the man, vainglorious, delighting in show. He called it his psalter, and indeed the outward appearance would fool one.’

‘So you had seen it before,’ said Owen.

‘Oh yes, as have my fellow goldsmiths and many other merchants. Since his death I have prayed that Ronan had not pushed one of my friends to his limit, fearing his ruin. He was devious, greedy, cruel, lacking all compassion. The sort of churchman that causes a crisis of faith in the most pious of worshippers.’

Owen looked to Crispin. ‘Did Ronan still represent Neville in such transactions?’

‘Ronan certainly believed so, though Leufrid disagrees. In truth, he said that the archbishop had never considered Ronan to be in his service.’

‘I was told that he recommended Ronan as a vicar for the chapter.’

‘I did not know that,’ Crispin admitted.

‘When I asked you about his hoard the other day you mentioned nothing of this.’

‘That was before my conversation with the secretary.’

Robert looked from one to the other. ‘But Ronan has plagued me and my fellow merchants in the city and collected fees, valuable items … You say he was not authorized? Have we been robbed?’ He hissed a curse.

Crispin rubbed what was left of his right arm. ‘I have no proof, but considering Neville’s behavior before becoming archbishop I would guess Ronan had been engaged by him, but that now, under the watchful eyes of his powerful brother, he has abandoned his partners in crime.’

‘I smell a cunning squirrel hiding away a winter’s worth of feasts before the first snow,’ Robert growled.

Owen had ample evidence of that in the cache he’d hidden at Jehannes’s home. ‘How did he behave when shown proof the order was cancelled?’

‘He seemed confused, but tried to hide it with fresh accusations. I ordered him out and warned him not to return or I would have a word with Master Adam, his precentor. He warned me that a goldsmith depended on a good reputation and he could ruin me. But I waved the proof before him and opened the shop door, loudly ordering him out. When he insulted my wife, he went too far.’ Clenched fists, a red face, the man’s passion was clear. Yet not for a moment did Owen consider Robert as Ronan’s murderer. He had known him too long,

‘Did you know of this psalter?’ Owen asked Crispin.

‘I guessed he kept some record of the accounts he claimed to be monitoring, but no, I’d never heard of the book.’

‘I believe it is what your men were after when Beck surprised them at Ronan’s lodging.’

‘Porter and Diggs? You are certain it was them?’ Poole’s tone held no surprise.

‘As of this afternoon, yes. Beck recognized Diggs’s voice when he escorted Leufrid into Jehannes’s kitchen to pray over the injured man. The way his twisted mouth shapes his words. Diggs had no cause to speak. He meant to frighten Beck, but his arrogance betrayed him.’

Crispin merely nodded. ‘I have no trouble believing it, and the account book would be something Neville would wish to retrieve. But it is not the only book they want. They believe Ronan had in his possession something belonging to the woman you have sheltered. A prayer book illustrated with crows. Sir John’s wife, Lady Maud, a Percy by birth, says her sister gave it to her ward, Marian Percy, when she took vows at Wherwell Abbey. They want the book, and they want the nun, who has been missing since Pentecost. Your fair singer, if I am not mistaken, now hiding in the archdeacon’s house. Hence their interest.’

So they had recognized her. Owen cursed under his breath. They knew. And Crispin had already heard.

‘They believe Ambrose Coates means to use her to bargain with Sir Thomas Percy, her guardian, Lady Maud’s brother. I want to help.’

‘Help?’ Owen asked.

‘I understand your wariness. But I am sincere. Call it atonement for my past sins, proof to the citizens of York that I am a man they can trust, a man worthy of Muriel Swann and the child she carries.’

‘The Nevilles are the new power in the city,’ said Owen. ‘Why would you cross them?’

‘They have yet to earn the trust of the citizens,’ said Robert. ‘My tale should make that clear.’

This would be the time for the shower of needle pricks to warn him away, but Owen felt nothing, nothing but the importance of moving fast. He regarded Crispin, noticed how much more at ease he seemed than the last few times they met. A man at peace with himself. ‘I intend to move Dame Marian to St Clement’s Priory tonight.’

‘I had much the same idea, except that I think tonight might be too late,’ said Crispin. ‘I intended to escort my mother there in a few days. I propose that I escort her there as soon as possible, with the Percy woman attending her.’

‘It might work,’ said Owen. ‘No one would expect the woman to be entrusted to you. Might I suggest the addition of Alisoun Ffulford? Your mother trusts her as a healer, and knows she is an excellent, fearless shot. In the event you are set upon.’

‘The young woman who saved my mother’s life? I welcome her,’ said Crispin.

‘How will you move the young woman from the archdeacon’s?’ asked Robert.

‘In the guise of a man,’ said Ambrose, the first words he had spoken since arriving. ‘She is accustomed to playing the part. Once she reaches your home, she transforms into a serving maid.’

‘Are you–’ Crispin leaned over to Ambrose, touched his temple, held up his fingers to show a dark smudge. The heat in the room had caused the dye to bleed. ‘You are the white-haired musician, Ambrose Coates.’

‘And if I am?’

‘The captain says you are not spying for the French. What, then, did you want with the Nevilles at Cawood?’

‘I learned of the captain’s new connection to Prince Edward, so I headed north. Hearing of a gathering of Nevilles at Cawood, I thought I might glean something of use to the captain to offer in exchange for an introduction to the prince.’

‘York seems an odd destination for a mission to Prince Edward,’ said Crispin. ‘You wish an introduction to him? Why? I should think he has his choice of musicians. Why not stay at the French court?’

‘A tale for another time,’ said Owen as he rose. ‘Your offer is generous, Crispin.’

‘I would rather not include Ambrose in the scheme.’

‘I have no intention of further endangering Dame Marian,’ said Ambrose.

‘Then why are you here?’

‘It seems the company of musicians and players with whom Dame Marian traveled is in the city,’ said Owen. ‘Ambrose knows them well enough to help me track them to their lodgings.’

‘You think they mean trouble?’ Crispin asked. ‘Why?’

‘Too curious about Marian and Ambrose. I want to know why,’ said Owen. ‘Do you have any more to share, Robert? Have you any sense of who Ronan might have pushed to the point of desperation? A man fearing the loss of all he has worked for, whose family is in danger of destitution? The most pious man might break beneath such a fear.’

‘Any number of us, to be honest, and yet I have sensed nothing among those with whom I have spoken. Beecham detested the man, but he has just returned from London. The snow had trapped him south of York.’

‘What of Will Farfield?’ The silversmith whose apprentices had seemed frightened when Owen had called, saying their master was ill. Yet Lucie and Jasper had seen no one from his household in the shop despite the Farfields being regular customers. And there was something– ‘Did he not lose his wife or one of his daughters to pestilence?’ Owen asked.

Robert flinched.

‘I am a fair man, Robert, you know that.’

‘I do, Owen, I do.’ He pressed the bridge of his nose, nodded to himself. ‘Will sent his wife and children off to her parents in Shelby this past summer.’

‘Why?’

‘He claimed for fear of the pestilence. And then … When my wife called to see whether there was anything she might do she was sent away with such dispatch she worried about the welfare of his apprentices. I dislike accusing a fellow merchant …’

‘Is his business prospering?’

‘He has always struggled. A surly man at the best of times. Lacks his father’s eye for quality, has no patience with apprentices. No, his business is not prospering.’

Owen thanked him. ‘If you think of anyone else, encounter anyone …’

‘I will come to you,’ said Robert. ‘I swear.’

One of the apprentices knocked, and as Robert consulted with him regarding an order, Owen rose, nodded his thanks, and withdrew with Ambrose.

Crispin followed. Outside, they agreed on a plan.

‘I thank you for this,’ Owen said as they were parting.

‘You have my betrothed to thank for the idea. Muriel is my conscience, my guide. I seek her advice in everything. She encouraged me to distance myself from the archbishop, a connection that she believes will make it difficult for me among my fellow merchants.’

Owen had not guessed Muriel Swann to be someone so attuned to the temper of her late husband’s colleagues. ‘May God watch over her and the child in her womb,’ he said.

Returning to Jehannes’s house Owen explained Crispin’s plan. After some initial hesitation, Hempe, Jehannes, Michaelo, Lucie, and Marian admitted they could think of no timely alternative.

Michaelo offered to accompany the party, lending Marian the robe of a Benedictine monk for the walk to Crispin’s home.

‘A monk would not serve as an attendant for a widow,’ said Marian.

‘Carry your clothes with you,’ said Lucie. ‘Once you reach Crispin’s home you will shed the disguise. I will help you dress before I leave. You must look believable as a monk. We must hasten, for I must also prepare Alisoun and send her on her way.’

Michaelo went to fetch one of his habits and a hooded cape. Lucie asked Anna the cook for a comb and something to tie back Marian’s hair. When all was assembled, including a plain cloth sack for the change of clothing, Lucie led Marian into Jehannes’s parlor.

‘I cannot believe I will be back among sisters of my order so soon,’ Marian said, her eyes alight. She burst into the Benedicamus Domino she had sung earlier, lowered her voice and sang more, cutting herself off with laughter. In that same low voice she asked, ‘Will I do as a monk?’

Lucie smiled to see her come alive. ‘You will.’ But as she lifted Marian’s gown over her head, she groaned. ‘Your shift. You are bleeding.’

‘My courses?’

‘I believe so.’

Marian spun round and caught Lucie up in a hug. ‘That is good! Bless Dame Magda.’ She released Lucie and twisted the shift round to see. ‘But we have no time to wash out my shift.’

Lucie began to undress.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You will wear my shift beneath the monk’s robes.’ Lucie held it up for Marian. ‘Too short, but it matters not. Dame Euphemia’s maidservant is tall and slender. Borrow something from her. I will be back with cloths. You must inform the sisters of your needs tonight.’

‘Yes!’

Lucie silently echoed Marian, Bless Dame Magda.

When at last Marian stepped into the hall in Michaelo’s robes her stride was longer, her expression pinched, her voice, when she spoke, huskier than her normal tone but not as exaggerated as the voice that had set her laughing. A hood covered her hair.

‘You are transformed,’ said Michaelo, his smile expressing approval. ‘Shall we depart?’

Owen took Lucie aside. ‘How is she?’

‘Excited. Happy. I pray this works.’

A curt nod, signaling his concern. ‘I have checked round the house. It looks safe for them to depart. We have done all we can.’

‘I need to prepare Alisoun. Then we will have done all we can.’

Once the monks and Lucie had taken their leave, Owen turned his attention to Beck. Clearly the man knew far more than he had admitted.

Jehannes suggested the blinded man be questioned in his parlor, and that he attend. ‘I would know what I am sheltering in my home.’

Owen could hardly object, and Beck was sufficiently improved that he could walk with support. As Jehannes guided Beck into the parlor, describing where he was, adding cushions to the chair in which he was seated, asking whether he might need a lap rug, Anna followed with a bowl of ale to calm him, for the man behaved as if he were being summoned to his execution despite Owen’s assurance that he had nothing to fear as long as he told the truth. When Jehannes withdrew to his seat, and Beck appeared able to reach for the bowl beside him, Owen settled across from him, reaching out to touch his hand, let him know where he was.

He began by talking a little of his own experience in losing sight, some of the things he had found helpful, such as all that they had been doing to make him comfortable. With a shaky voice, Beck thanked him and the archdeacon.

‘But why am I here?’ he asked.

‘You have not told us all you know,’ said Owen. ‘So we are giving you the opportunity to do so.’

‘You call me a liar?’

‘I have learned from a trusted and well-respected citizen of York that you accompanied the vicar Ronan on his visits to merchants, that you witnessed him consulting his account book, which he called his psalter, and know much about his threats to merchants and how often they rebuked him for exaggerating and making false claims. Tell me about this account book of his. Where did he keep it? Where else did he hide the items and money he collected, besides what you say was stolen from the chest? He was a careful man, Beck, he would not have hidden everything in plain sight.’

The man was sweating as he shakily reached for the bowl of ale. Owen leaned forward and assisted him.

‘I do not know his hiding places. He trusted no one with that, I think.’

‘And the account book, his so-called psalter. Why did you pretend you did not know what the men were searching for in his lodgings?’

‘He made me swear I would never speak of it. Never. He said he would curse me.’

‘And you believe he is capable of that?’

‘He is not yet buried, is he?’

That made a difference? Owen glanced up at Jehannes.

‘It is not uncommon to fear that a soul does not rest until the body be buried in blessed ground,’ said Jehannes. ‘But the vicar has been placed in a temporary sarcophagus in the Bedern chapel, Beck. A sacred space equal to burial in blessed ground. He can no longer carry out such a threat, if he ever could. Churchmen are not trained to curse their fellow man.’

Beck frowned, as if taking this in.

‘If you refuse to speak truth to Captain Archer, you must leave my house,’ said Jehannes.

‘You would throw me out?’

‘I would hand you over to Master Adam, the precentor.’

‘Does Diggs frighten you?’ asked Owen. ‘Crispin Poole’s man?’

Beck squirmed in his chair.

‘If you tell me the tale, from the beginning, I will protect you from him,’ said Owen.

‘You can do that?’

‘He can,’ said Jehannes. ‘Tell him what he needs to know.’

‘Were you with Ronan when he left for the minster that evening?’ Owen asked.

Once again, Beck reached for the ale and Owen assisted him, giving him a moment, then took possession of the now empty bowl.

‘I grow impatient,’ said Jehannes.

Beck nodded as best he could. ‘I was there. I came after my pay. He had not paid me for a long while. He said he must meet someone, must not keep them waiting. I said but my pay and he said he would pay me the next day, ordered me to lock the door when I left, and hurried out. He knew I knew of the box of coins and jewels in the chest. Why would he trust me–?’ He bowed his head.

‘You stole it,’ said Owen.

‘God forgive me, I did,’ Beck said.

‘Did you return to his lodging that night?’

‘Passed it. Much later. Saw a light in his window and him watching the street. I thought he watched for me.’

‘Was anyone else on the street?’

‘One man. He stood beneath the eaves of the house across the way and growled at me when I passed, like an animal.’

‘Did you stay?’ asked Owen.

‘Would you? I went home and all night I feared every noise. When I heard of the vicar’s murder– Someone had been after his treasure, I guessed, and now I had it. Would they come for me? I could not rest until I put it back. I went to check if his door was locked or guarded. But you came, with the monk.’

‘Were you putting it back when Porter and Diggs found you?’

‘I was. I told them they could have it. But they beat me anyway. They wanted the account book. I did not know where it was.’

Is that what they later took from the chancellor’s hall? Or was it Marian’s prayer book? Or neither?

‘Did the vicar take anything with him when he left for the minster that afternoon? His account book?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Did he say who he was meeting?’

‘No.’

A knock on the door. ‘Yes, Anna, come in,’ said Jehannes.

‘The chancellor is here to speak with you and Captain Archer,’ the cook announced. ‘Shall I show him in?’

Owen rose. ‘No, Anna. We will speak with him out in the hall after we help Beck back to his bed in the kitchen.’

Jehannes signaled his agreement. ‘More ale for the fellow, Anna.’

‘May I stay in your home?’ Beck asked.

‘For now,’ said Jehannes, as he and Owen led the man by the arm.

‘Bless you, Father.’

Meaning to ask Ambrose if he had noticed whether Ronan had worn a scrip beneath his cloak, Owen looked for him in the kitchen. ‘Where is he, Anna?’

‘He stood in the doorway a long while, watching evening fall, and then he was gone.’

Damn the man. Bloody fool. ‘Did you see anyone else with him? Was he following someone?’

‘I did not know to look,’ she said with a sniff.

Inspired by Owen’s concern for his serving man, how he had tended to his shoulder after the burglars injured him, the chancellor wished at last to speak of his conversation with Ronan in the early evening before the vicar’s murder. Master Thomas had summoned Ronan to learn more of Sir John Neville’s tastes, what he might enjoy when he came to dine.

‘He had boasted of his connection to the family, so you can imagine my surprise – indeed my disappointment – when he confessed he had never met either Sir John or his wife. His only advice was that as Lady Maud was a Percy she might appreciate some of her kinsmen being included in a dinner.’

‘Lady Maud will be in attendance?’ This was news to Owen.

‘Unless he was still pretending knowledge he did not have. But he seemed certain of that.’

Good news? Sister to Sir Thomas Percy, Maud might be willing to vouch for Marian at St Clement’s, which would be helpful if the prioress was hesitant to accept the young woman back in the fold. It was also possible that the family considered Marian wayward, partly to blame. ‘Will Lady Maud lodge with her husband at the palace?’

Thomas presumed so. But he seemed far more interested in complaining about Ronan’s deception, enumerating the many people who had sought his advice – all the resident canons, the heads of the religious houses, prominent merchants and officers of the city. ‘Many of those noted in the account book he carried.’

God’s blood, the imbecile. Owen checked his temper. ‘He showed it to you?’

‘Pushed it at me. I refused it, but he stuffed it into a pile of books and fled. He said someone was following him. He feared for his safety. No one would know–’

Fighting a desire to grab the man and shake him, Owen quietly asked where the book was now.

‘I am sorry to say it is gone. Stolen by the intruders who injured my serving man.’ Apparently sensing Owen’s growing anger, Thomas held up a hand as if to ward him off. ‘I know I should have told you of this when you first asked. I know. But I thought– To my shame I thought I might make a good impression with Sir John were I to deliver it up to him.’

‘Sir John? Not His Grace?’

A frown. ‘You do not for a moment believe Alexander is suddenly the power in the family? Everything he has he owes to his eldest brother. No, I meant to give it to Sir John.’

By now Owen was only half listening to the chancellor. He had learned what he needed, that the account book was now in Sir John’s possession – unless Porter and Diggs were fools. Now it was Ambrose’s disappearance that distracted him. It weighed on his conscience. His duty to the prince was clear. He must protect Ambrose, which meant finding him. When it was plain he would learn no more of immediate use from Thomas, he excused himself.

‘Call on me at any hour, Captain. I wish to help in any way I can. I pray you forgive me–’

But Owen was at the door, off in search of Hempe, hoping one of his men might have seen or heard something of Ambrose.