A Choir of Crows

4 Deaths on a Snowy Morn

‘I pray you forgive this early call, Archer.’ Hempe was stomping the snow from his boots on the stone step outside the door. ‘There are two bodies in the minster yard, and Master Adam has requested your help. The mayor has approved.’

The precentor had perched on the bench inside the door, struggling with his boots while casting a doleful eye at Kate, who was filling a jug with ale. An important man in the chapter, responsible for the vicars choral and for the liturgy, Adam was keen on being respected in the city. Of course all here would be respectful and hospitable, but in this household a man removed his own boots unless he was unable to do so himself.

Lucie pressed Owen’s hand. ‘Your first official assignment as captain of bailiffs,’ she whispered.

‘I was not so eager as this.’

‘Nor I. We may regret your decision.’

‘I pray you, take my seat near the fire,’ Michaelo suggested as Adam padded toward the hearth in his stockinged feet.

The precentor thanked him and sat down with a grunt. ‘You are good to receive us, Captain, Dame Lucie. Brother Michaelo was just telling us of your children’s illness. It is difficult to watch the little ones suffer. I will pray for them.’

‘I believe we are past the worst of it, God be thanked,’ said Lucie, ‘but your prayers are most welcome.’ She took a seat across from him.

Michaelo asked whether Theo had found anyone in the chambers above the chapter house.

‘It seems he frightened someone away,’ said Adam. ‘They knocked him over rushing from the chapter house. Theo had no time to move out of the way. Nor did he see who it was, though he had an impression of a large man. He is in some pain – a lump on his head and a sprained arm – but he will recover. I will send one of the clerks to your apothecary for anything you would recommend, Dame Lucie.’

She asked for more information about Theo’s injuries.

While they were talking, Owen joined Hempe where he stood warming his backside at the hearth.

‘Not a morning I want to be abroad in the city,’ said Hempe. ‘Why do murderers choose the most cursed weather?’

‘With the archbishop’s enthronement so near …’ The precentor paused to ensure he was heard.

‘Is this about the man who fell from the chapter-house roof and a murdered vicar?’ asked Owen.

‘You have heard of that?’ Adam glanced at Michaelo, who had moved to a bench a little away from the fire. ‘Yes, of course.’ His nose quivered as he closed his eyes and began again. ‘The fallen stranger is now removed to the shed behind the deanery. But the other soul – it has been a fell night for us, Captain – Ronan, one of my vicars …’

‘May God have mercy on his soul.’ Michaelo’s voice broke as he lowered his head in prayer.

‘A fell night indeed,’ Owen said. ‘And you believe he was murdered, Master Adam?’

‘There is some blood, though we did not investigate. We have left him lying in the snow, awaiting your study,’ said Adam. ‘The coroner should be there by now, but I wanted all left as it was until you have seen him. Will you come?’

Only now did he ask for Owen’s help, long after sending the young woman to him. ‘If the mayor has agreed, of course,’ said Owen, uninterested in forcing an apology fraught with righteous nonsense. With the woman sleeping in the solar and his suspicion about ‘Master Ambrose’ he would not rest until he knew the truth of the night’s tragedy. ‘I would see both bodies.’ And then the chapter house. Owen regretted that his conversation with Magda must wait, but this was more urgent.

The precentor rose. ‘I am most grateful, Captain Archer.’ He paused, cleared his throat. ‘As long as Prince Edward would not object.’

The relief that Owen had taken on the role of captain of the city’s bailiffs had lasted only so long as it took for the news to spread that he was also now Prince Edward’s man. His friends knew that he straddled both worlds as a means of keeping safe all he held dear, but some saw it differently, that he had divided loyalties. ‘His Grace knows and approves of my position in the city. Though I should note that the minster liberty is not the city’s responsibility.’

‘Peace must be restored before the nobles and ranking churchmen arrive for the archbishop’s enthronement. The mayor agrees.’

‘Of course. When Prince Edward’s representatives arrive I will convey to them your concerns.’

‘The prince is sending … But of course. Yes. I– Yes, I pray you, express my thanks, and that of Dean John and all the chapter.’

Owen bent to kiss Lucie. ‘I will send Alfred to you,’ he whispered. Alfred had been his second in command when he was captain of Archbishop Thoresby’s household guard. Owen now retained him and several others to serve him in his dual role.

‘To guard our house?’ she asked.

‘As we know nothing of the woman, I think it best. If Ambrose should come here seeking shelter …’

He watched her consider. ‘Of course.’

Master Adam had turned to Michaelo. ‘You brought the youth? Where is he?’

Seeing a benefit in letting the precentor believe their guest was a male, Owen took the question. ‘He is asleep up in the solar.’

‘Ah. He did seem a delicate lad. Sick, was he?’

‘No stomach for excitement,’ said Michaelo with a sniff.

God be thanked Michaelo caught the omission. Not that Owen meant to keep the young woman a secret, but she was an unknown.

‘Do you think him capable of murder, Captain?’ Adam asked.

‘He was in a faint by the time Brother Michaelo appeared at my door, so I could not say. We will know more when he wakes.’

‘Ah. Of course.’

Sitting down to pull on his boots, Owen suggested the others do likewise. ‘You will not want Ronan lying in the snow so long.’

Michaelo perched beside him, reaching for his own boots. ‘I will accompany you.’

Quietly, for his ears only, Owen suggested Michaelo follow his lead in how much to share about what they already knew, or surmised. ‘I must see the bodies, hear the stories, see how it all might fit together.’

‘To begin with secrets seems a precarious foundation.’

‘Even so.’

‘I will do as you wish.’ Michaelo bent to his boots.

Hempe was giving Owen a look that said: you will explain this over an ale in the York Tavern this evening. God grant Owen had something to share by then.

In the garden their boots punctuated the early morning hush, crunching and squeaking in the wet snow. Owen noted the slight warming of the air, not his ally in studying tracks in the snow, though better than a dry, frigid wind blowing what had fallen into drifts. Trees shed the weight of the night’s storm, branches creaking overhead, showering them with snow as they passed beneath. Michaelo had fetched the sledge from the tavern yard and dragged it behind him. Before fastening the latch of his garden gate, Owen gazed back at the snow-laden linden, a grand old tree, the children’s favorite. God grant my children long, fruitful lives.

Beyond St Helen’s churchyard the men were able to walk four abreast, the street almost deserted with the snow, cold, and the early hour. The light was just enough now to distinguish colors, though not subtleties. Owen enjoyed the chill, refreshing after his sickroom vigil.

He asked Master Adam what he knew so far.

‘Just before dawn a clerk stumbled over a body in the snow, in the shadow of the chapter house. As I was praying over him, a servant came upon Ronan lying in a drift by the gate of the chancellor’s house.’

‘Whose servant?’ Hempe asked.

‘The chancellor’s. Master Thomas’s kitchen help.’

‘What else can you tell me about the body, besides some blood?’ Owen asked.

‘His face’ – Adam paused in the street, eyes wide with the memory – ‘such terror. Perhaps some bleeding at the nose? Some bruising?’ He shivered and resumed his pace. ‘I left two clerks to watch that no one disturbed the ground near Ronan, then went at once to the mayor to see about engaging you.’

‘You woke the mayor?’ Owen asked.

‘He is as keen as we are to make a good impression on the Nevilles. All Alexander’s kin will attend the enthronement, you can be sure. Neither the city nor the minster want them to hear rumors of a murderer loose in York.’

They would not be the only noble family descending on the city. This trouble might be but the first incident of many with a full complement of the powerful soon biding within the walls, a darksome prospect. He wondered which of the prince’s emissaries would attend. Geoffrey Chaucer? Perhaps. More likely Owen’s friend Dom Antony. Or Sir Lewis Clifford, a nobleman to deal with an ambitious clan.

‘I need a list of all those who represented our new archbishop when he was a canon here, who worked for him,’ said Owen.

‘He was seldom in residence,’ said Adam. ‘But I see your point, Ronan was Neville’s vicar. He would have had clerks advising him on matters that needed his attention. I will enquire.’

Owen debated whether or not it was time to divulge what he knew about Ronan’s encounter with the white-haired stranger. He would not share his idea about the stranger’s identity. If it was Ambrose Coates, he must know his purpose in returning to York from France before he could decide whether or not he was still someone who deserved his trust, whether or not he was a threat to the city or the realm. Ambrose’s longtime lover Martin Wirthir shifted his allegiances with ease, and had powerful enemies in the realm, including at the royal court. King Edward’s mistress Alice Perrers, for one. Owen must tread with care. ‘When did you last see Ronan?’

‘Master Thomas saw him last evening, in the minster nave, speaking with a stranger,’ said Adam. ‘French, from the style of his cloak, his long white hair. Ronan now wears that very cloak. Curious, is it not?’

‘How do you know that about the cloak?’ Owen asked.

‘Thomas came out to see what was amiss. Saw Ronan lying there. He recognized the cloak.’

‘What are we to make of that?’ Hempe muttered. ‘Chancellor sees him in the minster, then the man is murdered outside his gate in that cloak.’

What indeed. ‘An odd twist,’ said Owen. ‘I did not know Ronan. What can you tell me about him?’

‘Unlike most of our vicars, local men, many from St Peter’s School, Ronan came to us from Oxford,’ said the precentor. ‘Recommended to us by Alexander Neville.’ A shrug. ‘He held himself above his fellows.’

‘Resented?’ Hempe asked.

‘Not so much that his fellows would harm him, if that is what you are asking. But I did not often encounter him in the company of others.’

‘Which is why the chancellor noted seeing him with the Frenchman in the minster last night?’ asked Hempe.

‘Now that you mention it, yes.’

‘Did he live with the others in the Bedern?’ Owen asked. The vicars choral had their own compound in a section of the minster liberty, now boasting a sheltered cloister and a fine refectory.

‘He did. I can have someone escort you to his lodgings.’

Owen thanked him. ‘And what of our jurisdiction? Are the city bailiffs free to go about the minster liberty?’

‘As I sent for you I can hardly restrict you. Though if it is possible to limit the numbers, perhaps Hempe and whatever assistants you require, I would be grateful.’ Master Adam rubbed his arms, as if comforting himself. ‘Mourning our brother, preparing for Archbishop Neville’s enthronement – we are in danger of forgetting our purpose, our prayers.’

Prayers. That was the least of Master Adam’s problems in Owen’s opinion, but he agreed to limit the number of men involved. As did Hempe.

At the minster gate, the guard reported seeing no strangers come through.

‘What of other guards? None around the minster at night? Or near the homes?’ Hempe asked.

‘We’ve not seen the need to guard the minster at night,’ said the precentor. ‘Perhaps we have been unwise.’

‘At such a time, with the preparations for the enthronement, valuables being placed in the building, vigilance is essential,’ said Owen.

‘Yes, I do see,’ Adam murmured.

‘I will loan you some men for the nonce,’ Hempe offered. ‘Until we know what happened.’

‘More upheaval,’ the precentor sighed.

‘Not if we can prevent it,’ said Owen.

Adam cleared his throat, nodded brusquely. ‘Yes, of course. I would be grateful.’

As they passed the minster, morning prayers were in progress. Michaelo deposited the sledge where he had found it, at the door to the Lady Chapel.

‘Once you have shown me the body, feel free go to your prayers,’ said Owen. ‘I know it is your office.’

‘A kind offer, but no, I charged another with the task. I would see this through until Ronan can be removed to the Bedern.’

They cut behind the minster toward the chancellor’s house as the first rays of sunlight shone between the buildings of the Bedern. Almost at once, a fog began to rise from the freshly fallen snow as the light met the cold.

The vicar’s body had sunk into the bank of snow and was now only partially visible near the gate to the chancellor’s house. Owen sent the pair standing guard to find a plank onto which the body might be moved. As he had anticipated, the earlier blowing snow had covered any clues as to whether Ronan had been attacked here or elsewhere, and, if the latter, whether he’d been carried or dragged. Master Adam could not recall seeing any footprints or signs of dragging when he had viewed the body earlier.

‘I will have one of my men keep watch as the day warms,’ said Owen. ‘As the snow melts it might reveal lightly covered prints.’

‘I see why you are valued,’ said Adam.

Owen had learned that as a child in Wales, but he did not correct him. ‘Did you reach the man fallen from the chapter house soon after he fell?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Even in this cold he was still warm,’ said Adam.

‘And you were summoned here shortly after that?’

‘I had time to say but a few prayers over the fallen man. It could not have been long.’

‘So Ronan might have been the first to die,’ said Hempe. ‘Was he still warm as well?’

‘I removed my gloves to bless him and say prayers …’ The precentor frowned down at his feet. ‘Not so cold as to make me think he had been out in the snow for long, but not so warm as the other. I regret I cannot be more precise.’

‘Anything you noticed is helpful,’ Owen assured him.

When the men returned with a board Owen and Hempe helped them place Ronan’s body on it. In the process the cloak fell open. Blood soaked the squirrel lining over the chest. Owen crouched to examine the corresponding wound. He had been stabbed through the heart.

Once the body was settled, those gathered stood with heads bowed, their breath rising like smoke about their heads, as Master Adam said a prayer. Owen was about to give the order to take Ronan to the deanery when someone approached from the chancellor’s property.

It was Master Thomas himself, his long gown caught up in a belt so he might pick his way through the snow. The chancellor greeted all but the two clerks. ‘You are welcome to bring him into the house while we send for a cart to carry him to the chapel in the Bedern.’

After Owen and the precentor agreed to the plan, the chancellor stepped over to the body and bowed his head, whispering a prayer.

‘To look at him, one would guess he had lain down in the snow to sleep,’ Master Adam said as the chancellor turned away.

Hardly, thought Owen. Adam had been right about the bloodied nose, the bruising.

‘He would never be such a fool,’ said Thomas.

Spoken with some emotion. Was he Ronan’s friend, or more? Owen glanced at Michaelo, who was studying the chancellor with interest.

‘Had he cause to come to your home this morning?’ Owen asked.

‘At this hour?’ Thomas looked at him askance. ‘He would not be so bold.’

‘Unless he sought help,’ Hempe suggested. ‘Would he have felt confident you would open the door to him in need?’

The chancellor blinked. ‘I had not considered that. I would turn away no one in such a circumstance. He would know that. But your house is just beyond, Adam.’

Too eager to distance himself? Michaelo met Owen’s eye, raised a brow.

Hempe asked again whether he had been warm to the touch.

‘Touch him? No. And in any case I was wearing gloves.’

So he had not rushed out the door unprepared. ‘Were you on your way out?’ Owen asked.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘The gloves.’

‘The cold is unkind to aging bones, Captain.’ A stiff smile. ‘Shall we move inside?’

The precentor had been shifting from foot to foot and huddling deeper into his cloak. ‘Bless you, Thomas, it is cold out here.’

Little came of the talk in the chancellor’s hall, where they huddled round a brazier to warm themselves. The chancellor and the precentor seemed most keen to lay the trouble at each other’s feet. Thomas did not seem to connect the ‘Frenchman’ with anyone in particular, but Owen sensed the chancellor knew who might want Ronan dead.

Taking his leave of him for now, Owen reviewed with Michaelo all that he had noticed about the body so that the monk might record it when he returned to his lodgings. The stab wound, the injuries on the face suggesting a broken nose, the ice on the front of the hat. As if he had been pushed face down in the snow, then rolled over and stabbed. Whoever stabbed him knew how to do it, and where.

‘I cannot think of anyone in the minster liberty likely to be experienced with stabbing a man through the heart,’ said Michaelo. ‘Perhaps a guard?’

Owen approached the precentor, who was talking with Hempe. ‘Any former soldiers among the vicars? Or in service here in the liberty?’

‘One or two guards,’ said the precentor. ‘But I cannot think why any of them would attack Ronan.’

Master Adam led them to the deanery garden, where the other body had been laid out in a storage shed behind the kitchen. Looking at the damage to the head, Owen guessed the man’s neck had snapped on impact, killing him at once. A blessing of a sort. The man was short but muscular, younger than Owen, mid- to late twenties. His hands were calloused and scarred, his nails jagged, dirty. Yet he seemed a tidy man, his thatch of brown hair trimmed with care, face shaved, his clothing well made, a leather jerkin beneath a padded jacket and heavy wool cloak, good boots, with wear from chafing caused by riding. No marks of livery, but when Owen pulled up the shirt, the scars on the torso were those of a soldier or guard. This was no traveling merchant. All this he shared with Michaelo, Hempe leaning close to catch it.

‘I don’t like the look of him,’ said Hempe.

‘Nor I,’ said Owen. ‘He would have had the strength to be Ronan’s murderer. But the timing troubles me.’ He handled the man’s dagger, testing the balance, appreciating the quality. ‘Well crafted. He fell with his weapon sheathed. No time to draw it,’ he noted to Michaelo. It was not his dagger Michaelo had taken from the young woman. Glancing up at the precentor, who had been drawn aside by the servants guarding the body, ‘Now the blood’s washed off his face, do you know him?’

Adam sent his clerks off and returned his attention to Owen, his expression markedly less officious. ‘Know him? No, Captain. Nor can I guess what business he had in the chapter house. Or how he gained access.’

‘So the door would have been locked.’

‘The clerk assigned to the evening rounds yesterday says he found the door unlocked and rectified that. We have warned the masons time and again to ensure that they have locked the door behind them.’ The stonemasons at work on the Lady Chapel used some of the chambers above the chapter house to store tools and sketch plans.

‘When would the evening check occur? Shortly after the sun set?’ Which was about the time Michaelo recalled witnessing the exchange of cloaks.

‘An hour or two after that. Sunset is so very early in Advent.’

‘What about Theo? Had he locked the south door behind him when he came to investigate the singing?’

‘Forgive me. I did not think to ask. But I will.’

Thanking him, Owen turned to Hempe. ‘After I walk through their spaces up above, I would have some of them look to see if they find anything amiss. Care to join me?’

‘Of course.’

Turning back to the body, Owen opened the man’s mouth – gingerly, one side of the jaw crushed – and sniffed for any telltale scent of poison. Trouble breathing of a sudden, rushing up to the roof for air, becoming dizzy, falling … But he smelled nothing untoward.

‘Services have begun for the day,’ the precentor said at his back. ‘You will not disturb them?’

Owen turned. ‘You sent the lad to me, then went to the mayor to request my help. Have you changed your mind?’

With an apologetic shake of the head, Adam blessed them and asked God to guide them in their search.

‘Remember the list of those who worked with Ronan,’ said Owen. ‘And whether Theo locked the door behind him.’

‘Of course.’

As they left the dean’s garden, Owen asked Michaelo for his impression of Master Adam.

‘Risen above his capabilities, and therefore unbending in the rules as he understands them. Desperate for your help yet fearful lest you wrest control of his charges. He will do what he can, but with much complaint.’

Hempe chuckled.

‘And the chancellor?’ Owen asked.

‘He fears what you will learn about him in regard to Ronan. I hesitate to say this–’

‘I want to hear all that came to mind, Michaelo.’

‘I sensed no surprise about Ronan meeting a violent death.’

‘Do you think he might provide names?’

‘I believe he knows far more than he is willing to share.’

Hempe grunted. ‘Shall I collect him?’

‘On what grounds?’ asked Owen. ‘That we sense there is much he is not telling us?’

Brother Michaelo bowed. ‘I will deliver my report this evening, Captain.’

‘Tomorrow. You need sleep.’

The monk bowed again and took his leave.

Watching him gliding away through the melting snow, Hempe said, ‘I would never have believed you would accept his opinion on anything.’

‘Nor would I.’

‘So what changed your mind?’

‘Realizing that what I took as Thoresby’s insight benefited from his secretary’s keen observation. Better to have it working for me.’

‘Do you like him?’

‘Does it matter?’

A chuckle. ‘Not as long as he stays away from the York Tavern.’

‘Agreed.’ In truth, Owen could not imagine Michaelo having any interest in frequenting a common tavern.

They approached the masons’ lodge, where Hempe had stationed a man to talk to the stoneworkers as they arrived for the day’s work in the minster yard. At this time of year only the most skilled were retained, with a few apprentices to fetch and carry.

‘Have any noticed strangers lurking about the past few days?’ Hempe asked his man.

Blowing his hands, as if to remind his boss that he had been out in the cold all morning, the man shook his head. ‘Most say they pay no heed to folk coming and going as long as they keep clear of the work in the Lady Chapel and stay out of the lodge. No one’s bothered them of late.’

‘Most say. Someone said otherwise?’ Owen asked.

‘Young one there says he felt someone watching him yesterday and early this morning when he came in.’

Owen walked over to the youth in the dusty hat who had been watching them.

‘Hire me. I would be more help than that cotton-eared cur.’

‘Where was the watcher?’ Owen asked as Hempe joined them.

‘More than one.’ The lad pointed to a part of the minster roof, and on the ground behind the Lady Chapel.

‘They were there this morning?’ Hempe asked.

‘Only one. On the ground.’

‘You are happy here in the stoneyard?’

A sigh. ‘I want to carve faces. But it takes years.’

Owen grinned. ‘You sound like my son when he became apprentice to my wife. But his duties have quickly become far more to his liking.’

‘If you decide that chasing down those who break the peace sounds better than helping to build this great minster, come and find me,’ said Hempe. ‘You have been helpful.’

The lad beamed as they headed toward the Lady Chapel. Beneath the overhang they found that the melting snow coming off the roof in icy chunks obliterated any sign of watchers.

Owen continued on round the corner and through the door. The activities of the day had begun in earnest within, the chapter at prayer in the choir, canon lawyers and their clerks at work in the transept, priests saying masses in the nave chantry chapels. Another one of Hempe’s men guarded the door to the chapter house.

‘Any activity?’ Hempe asked.

‘Clerks curious to hear more about the deaths, a mason wanting access to his tools, accused us of keeping them from their work. I told him to see you, Captain.’

‘He had no key?’

‘We were told not to let anyone past until you said so.’

‘Welcome news,’ said Hempe.

‘Good man,’ said Owen. ‘Now if you will open the door.’

‘No need, Captain.’ He stepped aside. ‘It’s not locked while a guard is present.’

‘I trust you will ensure that it is not left unattended, not even for the moment it might take to step outside and relieve yourself?’

A blush. God help them. ‘Yes, Captain.’

Within, morning light flooded the circular room, though it was as cold as the rest of the vast interior of York Minster. Access to the upper reaches was by a small door to the left inside the main entrance, the stone steps narrow, unlit. ‘We need your man’s lantern.’

Hempe fetched the light. ‘What are we looking for?’

‘Other than a small chunk of wood out of the handle of a dagger, anything that might suggest a struggle, someone lurking a long while – candle wax, fresh piss.’

‘Stonemasons piss elsewhere?’

‘I said fresh.’

‘Right. Whose dagger? The fallen man’s had no chip.’

Owen told him of the dagger Michaelo had taken from their guest, moving off before he could ask more questions.

The steps opened onto a large area surrounding heavy wooden beams supporting the ceiling below. Colder here, his breath now smoking. Owen threw an end of his cloak over his shoulder and crouched to light the floor. Recently swept, and done well. Lighting a corner he saw that the sweeper had reached there. He doubted that last night’s intruder would be so thorough. ‘The masons are a tidy lot.’

‘So whatever we find, it likely belongs to the lad or the man who fell.’

Owen said nothing as he moved farther and crouched again. He repeated that all the way to where the ladder led up to the roof. Almost at the bottom of the ladder, he found the piece of wood near the archway. Standing up, he searched the stone of the arch, and found a fresh scar – with a dark smudge that might be blood, at about the height he expected. The hand that drew the knife had been grabbed and slammed into the stone to release it. Owen recalled Lucie’s description of the woman’s right hand. So she had tried to defend herself?

‘Found something?’ Hempe asked. ‘Connecting the lad to what happened up here?’

‘About the lad,’ said Owen. ‘This is to be shared only with those who must know in order to assist in our search for the truth.’

Hempe stepped close, studying Owen’s face in the lantern light. ‘What is it?’

‘A young woman, not a lad.’

A tired chuckle. ‘They might pretend not to lie with women, but churchmen are not so innocent as to make such a mistake.’

‘They are when the woman does all she can to appear a man.’

Hempe grunted. ‘Such an effort speaks of trouble left behind.’

‘It does.’ Holding the lantern high over the ladder, Owen said, ‘Ready for the cold?’

‘I am already frozen, so it matters not a whit.’

As they began to climb, Hempe said, ‘I did not want to say in front of Master Adam, but Ronan was called Neville’s summoner. Some wondered whether he would still play that role now.’

‘Sniffing out sin? But that was never Neville’s duty, was it?’

‘Which is why I find it of interest. Murder of an informer – not surprising.’

Having reached the top, Owen searched for something on which to hang the lantern, found it, then called down, ‘Opening the hatch.’

Hempe looked away. Owen pushed with his left hand, turning his blind side to the rush of accumulated snow. There would have been far more last night. He hoisted himself up onto the walkway, staying in a crouch as he moved far enough for Hempe to join him. He was not at ease on precipitous ledges since losing half of his sight.

‘Bloody–’ Hempe caught his breath as he rose to full height. ‘It would not take much to topple over.’

‘No.’

‘Even worse at night.’

‘Can you see where Ronan lay from here?’ Owen asked.

Hempe shielded his eyes from the pale sunlight and looked round, shook his head. ‘Not from here. Maybe farther over.’ He turned right, walking as if it were nothing to balance on the slippery edge of oblivion.

Owen cursed his own cowardice.

‘No. Trees in the way.’ Hempe turned back. ‘You thought someone might have been watching, witnessed the attack?’

‘It was a thought.’

‘And just fell?’

‘Or someone took care of the witness.’

‘The woman?’

A possibility. But the woman’s condition suggested she might simply have taken the opportunity to save herself from her attacker. ‘Theo frightened someone out of the chapter house. Two men? Too early to say.’

‘I will circle round,’ said Hempe, moving on.

More snow, then melt. There was little he could tell from prints, but Owen crept over to the place where he guessed the body would have gone down and examined the stones for anything other than snow and ice. Blood would have been helpful. But he found nothing.

‘Snow, slush, nothing else up here,’ Hempe declared behind him.

Owen agreed, grateful to clamber down the ladder.

Back in the large space they explored the chambers opening off it. Mason’s tools, several lanterns and oil lamps, pieces of candles, rope, neatly coiled – Owen noticed nothing helpful until a small room near the doorway to the steps to the ground revealed a pool of spilt lamp oil.

‘Someone might have hidden here,’ said Owen. Or was this where she had been placed while bound? And then what? Who had cut her bonds? Why? Was it to force her to scale the ladder on her own? The fallen man looked strong, but the woman was tall, and had she struggled … Indeed, if her captor had any sense he would not have attempted carrying her up the ladder. Two men? He stopped himself. How easily he made up a tale, with little proof.

‘What is this?’ Hempe dropped to his haunches and took out his dagger to poke at something where one of the wooden beams met the floor. Owen lowered the lantern.

‘Beads.’ Hempe dragged out a short strand. ‘Bracelet?’ He handed it to Owen.

Coral. A fine strand, the knots torn at the ends. The circle it formed seemed small for an adult wrist, the coral too fine for a child’s. ‘Or a piece of a paternoster,’ said Owen. ‘A woman’s, I would think.’

‘Our woman’s? Or lost here long ago. Not a bad place to bring a mistress. If one had a key.’

As he dropped the beads into his scrip, Owen asked Hempe to arrange for one of his men to await the arrivals of the masons at their lodge in the minster yard. ‘Have him take them through these spaces, find out whether they notice anything amiss.’

‘I will do it. While you’re in the Bedern? No need for both of us to go.’

‘Right. Check the city gates for last night and this morning as well. Find out what you can about strangers moving through, in or out. Meet me at the York midday.’

‘You are after something in particular?’

Nothing so clear. Vague feelings.

‘After the bailiff’s men have taken the masons through, keep the chapter house locked and guarded,’ said Owen.

‘The masons will complain.’

‘Let them. Pray God we will not need to guard it long. I will have one of the precentor’s men show me Ronan’s lodgings now.’

Taking his leave of Hempe, Owen moved back out into the steadily warming morning. Thinking Brother Michaelo might be of use in examining the vicar’s rooms, he stopped at the archdeacon’s.