A Choir of Crows

17 The Archbishop’s Choice

Jehannes need say nothing, his expression made clear the weakness of Owen’s argument on Will Farfield’s behalf.

‘It is for the dean to decide whether or not Will was culpable in this.’

‘I fear he will defer to the archbishop.’

‘I’ve little doubt he will do just that,’ said Jehannes. ‘But you do not want to cross His Grace at a time when he is most keen to impress us with the strength of the family supporting him. Is that not the very purpose of the Nevilles’ strong presence in the city? If you should embarrass him before them …’ Jehannes placed a hand on Owen’s shoulder. ‘You carry a double burden – the honor of the city and the heir to the throne. You do not need the Nevilles as enemies.’

Dean John and Master Adam grew anxious of the time. They had arranged for the chapter to meet after morning prayers and the hour approached when they must appear. Yet here they were, waiting at the palace.

‘Do they mean to insult us?’ the dean snapped, looking to Owen as if he knew the answer.

On arrival at the palace they had been told Archbishop Neville was celebrating Mass for his family in the chapel. Sir John was there, but would be informed of their presence. And then the long wait. Did Sir John mean to keep them there until he had heard from all the men out scouring the city for Ambrose? Or was he not in the chapel but out on other business? Excusing himself, Owen hastened to the stonemasons’ lodge where young Simon was laying out tools for the day’s work.

‘No, Captain, I’ve not seen the great lord this morning, and I’ve been here since first light.’

It was the best he could do. Heading back, Owen was gratified to see Sir John entering the hall, followed closely by the archbishop. The contrast between the two was sharp – Sir John tall, lean, handsome, with an air of cordiality – false, but to the untrained eye welcoming; Alexander a bloated man with a small mouth frozen in a scowl, jowls that trembled as he walked, and hands too tiny to wear well the ring of office. He looked far older than his brother, though he was the younger by a decade. As they were drawn aside by a man standing too far in the shadows to identify, a woman appeared, pausing to study the crowd. Catching sight of Owen, she approached his group, people scattering from her path. Brother Michaelo followed in her wake, arms folded, hands tucked into the opposite sleeves, head bowed. The woman’s gown flowed round her as she moved, a mark of costly fabric, though the cut, design, and color were simple to the point of austere, the only jewels the rubies and emeralds studding the crispinette encasing her dark hair. As she drew close Owen saw the family resemblance in the shape of her face, though in Marian the colors were faded almost to white whereas this lady’s eyes were dark, her color high, the brows and lashes as dark as her hair.

Brother Michaelo introduced Lady Maud Neville to Owen, Dean John, and Master Adam.

She repeated their names as she welcomed them to the palace. Turning to Owen she held out a slender, long-fingered hand graced with a gold ring of intricate design holding one ruby, one emerald. ‘Captain Archer, I am grateful for the chance to thank you for all you did for my niece Marian.’

Owen’s response was cut short by the arrival of the lady’s husband, who nodded to the three and demanded to know why Ambrose Coates was not with them.

‘He is recovering from a grievous injury inflicted by the murderer of the vicar, Ronan,’ said Owen.

‘The murderer? You have found another to blame for the crime?’

‘As I said, Sir John. The murderer. The dean and precentor have been informed of the circumstances and provided evidence, though we lack one item that is, I believe, in your possession.’

‘And what is that?’

‘A small book of accounts kept by Ronan, stolen from the chancellor’s hall by two of your men, Porter and Diggs.’

The archbishop had been making a slow progress through the crowd, pausing to speak to select folk. He reached them in time to hear the names.

‘They are Crispin Poole’s men, I think,’ Alexander said as he held out a small hand burdened by his ring of office for the three men to kiss.

All three made their obeisance.

‘The two were in Crispin’s service,’ said Owen, ‘but no longer, Your Grace. They resumed their place in Sir John’s household once his party arrived at the palace.’

The archbishop glanced at his brother with annoyance. ‘Is this true?’

‘I do recall now, yes, they brought me the little book. A curious thing. Have you forgotten?’ Sir John raised a brow to his brother.

Alexander turned to Owen. ‘The book has to do with the vicar’s murder? A man has confessed?’

Owen nodded.

‘Where is he?’

The dean stepped forward. ‘The miscreant is being held at the castle, awaiting the decision as to his fate, Your Grace. Although Captain Archer kindly stepped in to assist us at the request of Master Adam, the chapter precentor and the one responsible for our vicars choral, I feel that as the crime occurred in the minster liberty we should defer to you on the matter of the resolution.’ He gave a little bow as he took a breath and tore his gaze from the chilly hostility emanating from the archbishop. ‘There is a – complication, Your Grace. If we might retire to a more private place to speak of it …’

Alexander raised his hand and from the shadows stepped his secretary Leufrid.

‘Cousin,’ said Brother Michaelo with a little bow.

Lady Maud looked between the two with interest, the one most courteous, the other gracelessly pretending not to hear. A small smile played round her mouth and eyes. ‘What is the nature of this complication?’ she asked.

‘This matter is not your concern,’ said Alexander. ‘Leufrid, have some wine brought to my parlor. Four cups – I have matters to discuss with the officers of the chapter.’ Nodding to Owen, he took his leave, the dean and precentor following, the latter glancing back with a look of pleading.

For his part, Owen was relieved. His work was done.

‘And what of the spy Ambrose Coates?’ demanded Sir John. ‘When will he be brought to me?’

‘Ah, but he is no spy, husband,’ said Lady Maud.

‘No? How did you come to that conclusion? Your niece?’

‘My lady is correct,’ said Owen. ‘Ambrose is under the protection of Prince Edward. I will be handing him over to Sir Lewis Clifford as soon as he arrives in the city.’

Sir John grunted. ‘Clifford. You are known to him?’

‘He was in Princess Joan’s party when she paid a visit to the late archbishop,’ said Owen.

‘Ah yes, you were Thoresby’s man – steward and captain of his household guard.’

‘I had that honor.’

‘Have you heard we found Pit’s body floating in the Floss this morning?’

‘I have.’

‘Two of my best men drowned in your treacherous waters. And your bailiff has arrested another two for the murders.’

‘May God forgive them their sins,’ Lady Maud whispered, crossing herself.

‘For Pit’s murder, not Gareth’s,’ said Owen.

‘They are my men,’ said Sir John, his eyes cold but his color deepening.

‘They committed a crime in the city of York. Two witnesses came forward. The bailiff did his duty. You can take it up with the sheriff.’

‘You can be sure I will.’

A courtier interrupted them, and Sir John stepped away with a glare.

Lady Maud rested a hand on Owen’s arm. ‘Be of good cheer, Captain. My lord knows it would not serve his interests to cross either the prince or the Percys. Your family and your friend are safe.’ Her smile was warm, her eyes kind and knowing. ‘And now the prince and the city depend on you,’ she said more loudly as Sir John returned his attention. ‘You carry much on your shoulders, Captain Archer. May God watch over you.’

She reminded him of Princess Joan, a gracious facade, kind heart, and iron will.

‘We will talk again anon,’ said Sir John with a cold smile.

Owen bowed, taking his leave of them. He forced himself to stroll across the hall and out the door, aware of Sir John’s eyes upon him all the way to the steps. As soon as he reached the yard he picked up his pace. Despite Lady Maud’s assurances he wanted to see for himself that all was well in his home.

Lucie greeted Owen and with a hug and a finger to her lips. But she had no need. He had heard the singing from out in the garden.

‘Dame Marian is here?’ he whispered.

‘She came by barge from St Clement’s with Lady Neville. The novice-mistress accompanies her. They will be summoned when it is time to return. She wished to thank us, and tell us how it stands with her. But Gwen drew her away to fulfill her promise to teach her a carol.’

As Lucie spoke, the refrain was repeated slowly by Gwen and Hugh, with Dame Marian assisting.

‘They learn quickly,’ said Owen.

Lucie laughed. ‘It is the third time round. Listen!’

‘I see what Michaelo meant about her voice,’ said Owen as Dame Marian repeated the lines with the children. ‘Surely that is the voice of an angel. Has there been any trouble?’

‘None. Sir John and His Grace were informed that Dame Marian is paying us a visit with Lady Maud’s blessing. Now come.’ Lucie took his hand and led him into the hall, where Kate, Alisoun, and the children sat round with their backs to the fire, listening to Marian sing a verse of the carol. Then she gestured to the children to sing the refrain.

Garbed in a simple gown, wimpled and veiled, Marian sat beside an older sister. Her eyes alight, her pale face seemingly bathed in a beatific glow, Owen shed any last doubt of her innocence. No dark secrets shadowed her heart.

Owen and Lucie settled on a bench a little away from the others, listening, watching. Dame Marian’s hands danced in the air as she sang a verse, marking a rhythm, the highs and lows, the gestures as graceful as her voice. The children repeated the refrain. Gwen made it through without a stumble. Hugh managed almost as well. Emma sang her own tumbling melody. Dame Marian sang another verse.

This time she sang the refrain with the children. At the end, she noticed Lucie and Owen.

‘We must pause here,’ Marian said to the children.

‘Will you teach us another before you leave?’ Gwen cried.

‘If I have the time, of course, my love.’ Kissing Gwen on the forehead, then Hugh and Emma, Marian joined Lucie and Owen. ‘I have a message for you, Captain. Lady Maud says to beware her husband, he poisoned a maidservant at Cawood for helping Master Ambrose, and he has his eyes on you. He will not rest until he knows what brought the musician to England.’

Lucie touched Owen’s arm. Of course she felt the threat.

Thanking Marian for the warning, Owen said, ‘I have something for you.’ He drew the prayer book from his scrip and handed it to her.

‘My choir of crows!’ Tears welled in Marian’s eyes as she ruffled the pages, then pressed it to her heart. ‘How might I ever repay you for all you have done?’

‘Pray for us, Dame Marian,’ he said.

‘I will. Always.’

‘Will you return to Wherwell?’ Lucie asked.

‘I will accompany Lady Maud south. I must at least see Dame Eloise. But her health no longer permits her to carry out her duties, and Bishop Wykeham’s protégé has taken her place. I–’ Marian blushed and looked away.

Having long experience of Bishop Wykeham, Owen could well imagine the arrogance of anyone considered his protégé. ‘You might not stay?’

‘I am not certain. Lady Maud says Archbishop Neville will accept me back into the order to appease my uncle, but Mother Isabel believes Bishop Wykeham should be consulted as he heard my vows at Wherwell.’

‘Wykeham might prefer you beholden to Neville,’ said Owen, ‘so that his protégé is not threatened by your return.’

‘All that is out of my hands,’ said Dame Marian. ‘I am theirs to command.’

‘And if you are accepted back into the order but find the situation at Wherwell difficult?’ Lucie asked.

‘Mother Isabel is of a mind to have a trained cantrice at St Clement’s. Lady Maud has told her she could find no one better trained for such a position than I have been. Dame Veronica, the precentrice, welcomes the possibility of lightening her duties.’ A little smile.

‘How wonderful for us,’ breathed Lucie.