A Choir of Crows

7 A Deepening Mystery

‘Ronan was calling in pledges for His Grace the archbishop? Or debts?’ Master Thomas turned to gaze out the window of his parlor. A bird pecked at the bright berries on a holly bush. ‘I had heard nothing of this.’ Though the chancellor’s posture hinted otherwise.

Owen pursued it. ‘If you were to surmise about the manner of such loans or donations, what might they be? What favors might His Grace offer to extend to citizens of York? Or what cause? Building project?’

Master Thomas glanced at Michaelo, who was making notes of the conversation. ‘Is his scratching necessary?’

Michaelo knew many of the clerics and their clerks, so his insight might prove useful. To have him taking notes suggested he was merely assisting, not listening closely. ‘I can more fully listen to you when I do not need to worry about remembering everything. We were speaking of the type of pledges Alexander Neville might have received in the city.’

‘Do you mean as a prebend? Before his enthronement?’ Thomas shook his head. ‘I cannot think what it might be. He was rarely here. You might ask his secretary. Or the clerk Edwin. Are you certain this Beck is to be trusted?’

‘I doubt that he is. But Crispin Poole spoke to Ronan about this collection, so I am not depending solely on Beck’s charge.’

A sigh. ‘There is the matter of the Italian archdeacons. However, I should think it would be my fellows in the chapter who cared about that, not the lay citizens of York.’

‘Not necessarily. I should like to hear what you are thinking, what he might offer.’

Thomas continued to present his back to Owen. Perhaps he meant to imply that this questioning was beneath him. He might not realize it as a behavior often used by the guilty. In either case, and whether or not he was guilty of more than pride, the chancellor interested Owen more and more. Now he glanced back with a cold look. ‘Except for your friend Dom Jehannes, the current archdeacons under the archbishop of York are all Italian clerics.’ He returned his gaze to the winter garden. ‘Absentee heads of their jurisdictions, they are leeches draining the resources of the diocese. With his connections in the papal court, Neville was the obvious solution, the man who might argue at the papal court for more appropriate archdeacons. But Neville, too, was seldom here, so I had thought the idea abandoned. Perhaps someone pursued this.’

‘That is helpful. Thank you. Can you suggest any reason why laymen might care about the Italian archdeacons?’

‘Not the archdeacons. But they might have other concerns. Issues of marriage and inheritance can involve the pope. Perhaps Neville offered to intercede. Or to carry documents. Recommend lawyers.’

‘A man might grow wealthy offering such services to those with deep purses,’ said Owen.

A shrug.

‘How well did you know Ronan?’

‘Not well.’

‘But you had met with him yesterday?’

A slight shiver. ‘We are, or rather were, all consulting him on the archbishop’s preferences, Captain Archer. You will find few in the close who have not met with him frequently in the past fortnight. So much to be done. We must make a good impression.’

‘If you do not?’

At last the chancellor turned from the window, frowning. ‘I fear His Grace and his ambitious brother will make trouble for the dean and chapter. They count this as a great step up for the family. The second most powerful man in the English church is now a Neville. They expect us to make a great show of welcoming him, giving him the honor they believe he deserves. Or, perhaps, desires. One wonders … Alexander is so young. Were he not the brother of Sir John Neville – Admiral of the North, Steward of the King’s Household – would he have been considered for the post? Has he the maturity and breadth of experience to wield the power of this position with the proper mix of compassion and authority?’ A slight shake of the head, making clear Thomas’s impression.

Owen stepped into the opening the chancellor had provided. ‘I understand the family took an active role in convincing the chapter to choose Alexander as archbishop.’

A misstep. Thomas’s smile was anything but friendly. ‘Of course you’d hoped Ravenser would be chosen. A smooth transition for you, a malleable archbishop.’

‘An honorable man trusted by King Edward and his late beloved queen. Yes, I prefer him by far as a shepherd of the Church.’ Owen smiled. ‘But I did not serve John Thoresby without learning what is needed in the role.’

‘So you see the benefit of a Neville in the position.’

‘I do. That was not my question. Is it possible that the new archbishop made loans as promises of support to come?’

‘Acting as a money-lender? Captain, you know that is forbidden.’

‘And yet such agreements are often made.’

A shrug. ‘As I have no knowledge of any such loans, I could not presume to speak to that. Nor have I any knowledge of his seeking contributions to the funds for the Lady Chapel or other building projects. He did not consult me about anything of the sort.’

A careful man, the chancellor. Owen learned little more, and left before his impatience became obvious. His lack of sleep threatened to impair his tact. He rose so abruptly that Michaelo looked up from his work, startled. He had almost forgotten the monk’s presence, he had been so quiet. He wondered whether it was an art Michaelo had perfected as a child, his ability to disappear in full sight, or come upon one with no warning, or whether it was something he had learned in Thoresby’s service.

Before continuing on to the shops of the gold- and silversmiths whose work had been included in Ronan’s hoard, Owen told Michaelo he wished to stop at home to make his request to Kate regarding her twin siblings.

‘If you do not require my services for this, I will withdraw to Jehannes’s house for an hour of prayer,’ said Michaelo.

‘Of course.’

At the bottom of Stonegate, Owen noticed that a line had formed in front of the apothecary, common at this time of year in the morning and early evening, but not so soon after midday. He avoided notice by using the garden gate off Davygate and hurried to the workroom behind the shop to see whether anything had happened, a fresh outbreak of the pestilence or some other illness rushing through the city.

Jasper bent over the long worktable in the middle, crushing precious stones.

‘Your favorite task,’ Owen noted.

A dramatic groan. Jasper displayed reddened hands. ‘I do it only to spare Mother’s hands and arms.’

Owen flicked at a gray powder on the hank of fair hair falling over Jasper’s eyes. ‘Why such a long line at this time of day?’

‘I closed for a while, to hear what Dame Magda had to say. When I opened up to sweep the entrance, folk poured in. They come for the gossip.’

‘And the stones?’ Owen had never known them to be in such immediate demand to warrant attention at a busy time.

‘Red Timothy asked me whether it was true that precious stones were good protection from fever. I should have said nothing, but it was something I know about and I started talking about the protective properties of some jewels, pearls, other stones …’ Jasper screwed up his face. ‘And then everyone wanted stone powder in their physicks. Now I pay for it.’

‘As do they. Raises the price.’

Jasper grinned. ‘That it does.’

‘Have you overheard any helpful rumors?’

‘No. Except that Tucker’s been injured. That’s a fact, not a rumor. We made up a salve for him, and Dame Magda went to see to him.’

‘Tucker the fiddler?’

Jasper nodded. ‘He lodged Ambrose, didn’t he? And the woman.’

‘He did,’ said Owen. ‘Who came to the shop for the salve? What sort of injury?’

‘His wife, Dame Judith. Says when she returned from market the door was swinging open and Tucker lying on the floor groaning, pressing a cut on his forehead to stop the bleeding. But it’s his back that’s bad. He fell backward over a bench. Now he cannot straighten to walk.’

‘Can he talk?’

‘Sounds like it.’

‘And Magda is with him now?’

Jasper nodded. ‘It seems a lot of trouble for two minstrels.’

‘Ah. Magda told you how Ambrose came to be here.’

‘She did. But – how much trouble could he cause the king of France with his story?’

‘Quite a lot if the prince’s brothers decide to blame King Charles’s men for his long illness and the loss of so much of the Aquitaine.’

‘But without Prince Edward to lead them in battle …’

‘Even so, son. I will talk to Tucker.’ Owen began to head into the shop to see how Lucie fared.

‘I would not go out there if I were you,’ said Jasper. ‘They will fall upon you with their questions.’

Which would do nothing to help Lucie and Jasper manage the crowd. ‘What do you hear of our guest?’

‘Deep in a fever sleep. Not pestilence.’ A shrug. ‘I’ve yet to meet her.’

‘Do not let Alisoun know you are so eager,’ Owen teased.

Jasper rolled his eyes.

Owen thanked his son and left. Out in the garden he paused. This morning’s serene blanket of snow now dripped and puddled, revealing leafless stalks and muddy paths. As he stood there the kitchen door opened.

‘Da! I’m baking!’ Gwen’s dark curls were dusted with flour.

‘That you are, my beauty,’ said Owen, picking her up and twirling her around. She might be eight years old, but she was still his baby and his darling, and he felt his heart might burst with the joy of seeing her well. She giggled and screeched until he reminded her of her brother and sister in the nursery, and their guest. As he lowered her to the threshold he put a finger to her lips, and was rewarded with a peck on his cheek and a throaty giggle.

Kate took his cloak and hung it near the fire. ‘Have you taken time for dinner, Captain? Most everyone’s already eaten, but there is plenty.’

‘I am hungry.’ Despite the bread and cheese with Jehannes. ‘Would you join me? I would have a word with you about the twins.’ He glanced at Gwen, considering how she might react to what he had to say, but she had returned to work, standing on a stool to reach the bowl of dough she appeared to be kneading to death, and humming as she did so.

Over a savory pie washed down with Tom Merchet’s ale, Owen explained what he needed of Kate’s siblings, Rose and Rob.

‘Of course they will agree,’ Kate said. ‘They itch to work for you again.’

‘Will your mother permit it?’

‘She will be glad to have them out of the house. Too wild to be of much use to her, except when she needs strong arms and backs.’

‘Should I speak with your mother, or would a message from you suffice?’

‘You have work to do. I will pass the word, and they will find you, never worry.’

As Owen rose to leave, Kate mentioned that Magda had arranged for Alisoun to continue to bide with them to look after the children and their guest.

‘She is not to attend Muriel Swann’s lying in?’ Owen knew Alisoun to be proud of the widow’s confidence in her skills.

‘Dame Muriel will not be neglected. Dame Magda will be there in Alisoun’s stead.’

That was not the issue. Alisoun could make the family’s life a penance if she resented the arrangement. Owen prayed she had chosen to stay of her own free will.

Gwen ran over to him as he sat to pull on his boots. ‘The angel sings like the sisters at St Clement’s,’ she said. ‘Is she a nun?’

‘She is awake?’

‘Mistress Alisoun said not to peek, but I heard her singing.’

‘What do you mean she sings like the sisters?’ Owen asked. Lucie had been educated at St Clement’s, and occasionally provided physics their infirmarian needed. She had on occasion taken Gwen with her to see the gardens.

‘Deus in something intende,’ she chanted. ‘Then Domine …’ She gave a solemn bow.

‘Well done, Gwen. Sing that for your mother. She might know what it is,’ he said. Convent-trained indeed.

‘Shall I spy on her?’

‘No, my love. She is a guest in our home and deserves our respect.’

Gwen rose on her toes and spun around. ‘I could dance for her and she might talk to me to keep me with her.’

Fighting a smile, Owen pretended to frown as he considered. ‘You might ask Alisoun whether in her opinion such a dance would be soothing for our guest when she wakes.’ He believed he knew what Alisoun would say to that. He kissed her. ‘And now I must be away.’ He thanked Kate for the food, and for giving Gwen a task.

Kate glanced up from her work. ‘She lifts my– Brother Michaelo! I did not see you step in.’

The monk stood in the doorway with a thoughtful expression. ‘I believe she was singing the beginning of the hours, Captain.’ He chanted the entire phrase. ‘I know how difficult it is to complete one’s daily prayers when not in community.’

‘And while deep in a fever sleep,’ said Owen, plucking his cloak from the hook.

Michaelo touched his arm. ‘Fever? Not–’

‘No. Not pestilence.’

Michaelo crossed himself.

In the garden, Owen turned toward the gate that led into the York Tavern yard. ‘Before Stonegate, Tucker’s home. I will explain why as we walk.’

‘I was correct about the woman,’ Michaelo said softly.

‘It would appear so.’

‘I become indispensable.’

‘Insufferable.’

Michaelo sniffed.

After Gwen danced down the steps, Alisoun stood in the doorway of the nursery listening to the stranger’s singing. The child was right, this was music one heard in church, not out on the streets or in taverns. A voice so strong, so clear … Peering back into the nursery to make sure both Hugh and Emma slept, she filled a cup from a jug of water and knocked on the shut door.

‘Mistress, are you awake? Would you care for some water?’

The singing paused. A whispered exclamation Alisoun could not make out. Then silence.

Alisoun knocked once more. ‘Do not be afraid. You are in a safe place.’

‘There are bars on the window.’

‘Protection for a beloved elder who grew confused before her death.’

Movement, then a rustling at the door. ‘I am locked in?’

Alisoun moved the wood stop installed for Dame Philippa. ‘Try again.’ She stepped aside as the door swung outward.

‘Oh.’ Pale eyes peered out from a damp tumble of curls fairer than Jasper’s. The only color on the woman’s ivory skin was two spots of red on her cheeks. Her borrowed smock hung limp with sweat over a skinny frame, stopping above knobby ankles. ‘I am thirsty.’

The fiddler lived in a small cottage behind a more substantial home, across a garden that received so little light it was still blanketed in snow except for the pathway to the door, which was melting around icy footprints that would take more time to soften. Footprints circled the cottage as well. Owen took a moment to study the multiple tracks ringing the building, one set going out to a woodpile behind the house, the others staying close. A widening in the track suggested that someone had stood for a while at the shuttered window beside the door. He was able to make out the prints of at last two different pairs of boots, one longer and wider than the other. Fewer prints than the smaller man. The front door hung on one hinge. When Owen knocked, Magda called out that he should lift the right corner of the door in order to enter.

He stepped into a warm room with fresh rushes on the floor, well-scrubbed stones surrounding the central fire, a pair of box beds in opposite corners, a ladder rising up into the rafters. Spare but inviting. After Brother Michaelo had passed through, Owen closed the door.

Tucker lay face down on a trestle table near the fire. Owen thought of his daughter’s kneading as Judith, a woman of some strength, pressed and pummeled her husband’s back under Magda’s watchful eyes.

‘Might I interrupt?’

‘Help him turn and sit up,’ said Magda, nodding with satisfaction as the man was able to walk to a chair with Owen’s assistance.

Out of breath, but grateful, Tucker thanked Magda. ‘Bless you.’

Judith wiped her eyes with her apron and greeted Owen and Michaelo. ‘There was no need to bring a priest, Captain. Tucker is not in danger of death.’

‘I am the captain’s secretary, not a priest,’ said Brother Michaelo, taking a seat.

With a curt nod, she turned her attention to the pot over the fire.

Magda drew a blanket round Tucker’s bare torso. ‘Not too long,’ she warned Owen. She held his eye for a moment and whispered, ‘Much not said.’

He gave a little nod. ‘I am grateful you were able to come to him so soon, so that he is able to answer my questions while the ordeal is fresh to him.’ He turned to Tucker. ‘Who attacked you?’

‘I don’t know him, Captain, but I have seen him before, watching the house. One of several who’ve been sniffing around. But they have never trespassed farther than the garden.’

‘None tried to talk to Ambrose?’

‘Not that I saw.’

‘Your old friend brought this trouble,’ Judith muttered.

‘He did,’ said Tucker. ‘But he warned me there might be someone following him.’

Judith hit the pot with her spoon. ‘That is the first I have heard of it, husband.’

‘How could I refuse him shelter? A friend is a friend in all ways for all days.’

‘That is a child’s song, you dunderhead.’ Judith wiped her eyes and stabbed at the stew.

Magda crossed the room and put an arm round Judith, spoke in her ear. The woman seemed to calm.

‘She will not soon forgive me,’ said Tucker.

Owen thought it likely Judith’s anger masked her fear for her husband, but he said nothing of that, pulling up a stool so he and the injured man might talk quietly. ‘Tell me all you can about your intruder.’

‘I found him tossing stuff about and challenged him. He turned on me and cursed me as he struck.’

‘You had gone out?’

A nod that caused him to wince and touch his back. ‘Carrying in wood for the fire. So quick he’d come in, gone straight to the bed over there.’ He began to nod, then said, ‘One to my right, where Ambrose slept. He stank of horses and sweat, but his clothes were well made. Wore a hat covering his hair, if he had aught.’

‘Was your attacker alone?’

‘Yes, God be thanked.’ He began to move his hand, perhaps to cross himself, but stopped. Noticing how Tucker trembled, Owen hurried on with his questions.

‘Could you tell anything of him by his speech?’

‘From across the sea. I know a Frenchman when I hear one.’

Impossible to know whether either of the corpses were French. Owen thought he might take a closer look at their clothing. ‘He was searching through Ambrose’s things?’

‘That I could not say, for Judith had put what Ambrose and the lad had left in that bed, so we might use the other again.’

‘Do you know what was in those packs? Have you looked?’

‘Ambrose promised to pay us, but left without doing so, and once the rumor spread that he’d murdered the cleric and stolen his treasure, well–’

‘What did you find?’

‘Naught but their traveling kits – wooden spoons and cups, combs, bits of clothing, nothing worth stealing. Broken paternoster beads, coral and jet. A few pence in coin, no more.’ Tucker’s voice trembled – the pain? Or a lie?

‘No letters of passage?’

‘Nothing like that.’

‘They both left their packs?’ A nod. ‘Did you expect them to return?’

‘Ambrose said he might be called away with little warning and asked if I would send his pack on to Dame Magda if he did not return in a day. But he meant for the youth to stay. He’d send the money, he said, and word of where to take the youth.’

Owen glanced over at Magda, who raised a brow at that. So Tucker had known Ambrose meant to go to Magda, or at least entrusted his things to her. Had he informed the one who’d drowned?

‘Yet his companion left as well,’ said Owen.

‘Matthew went out to the midden after Ambrose left and didn’t return. I hear he spent the night in the chapter house. And now he’s with you?’ He glanced over at his wife. ‘Or she. Judith said–’

‘Hush, husband!’

‘Yes. Our guest now. Have either of you told anyone about Matthew and your suspicion?’ Owen asked.

Bowing his head, Tucker shook it. ‘No.’

‘Nor I,’ said Judith. ‘The youth had a reason for so hiding.’

‘Good. Say nothing to anyone for now,’ he said, looking first at Tucker, then Judith. They both swore they would keep the secret. The truth would be out in time, but it might help to keep people guessing for now. ‘Nothing in the pack to suggest this? That the intruder might have seen? Or taken? Did he take anything?’

‘No,’ said Judith. ‘I checked. The prayer beads might be more a woman’s style, but many men like a jeweled trinket.’

‘Did your intruder ask after either of them?’

Tucker snorted. ‘He was not so polite as that.’

‘You could understand him sufficiently to be certain?’

‘A curse is clear in any tongue, Captain. He said no more.’

‘Might he have been a Fleming?’ Michaelo asked.

‘Nay, I know the weavers. They don’t speak as he did.’

Michaelo was thinking of Ambrose’s former lover, Martin Wirthir, spy, assassin, pirate. ‘Did you injure him?’ Owen asked.

‘Never had the chance.’

‘Did he seem hampered in his movement in any way? A previous injury?’ Owen asked. ‘Did he use both arms?’ Martin was missing a hand.

‘He came on me so fast I couldn’t say, Captain.’

Owen thanked Tucker and wished him swift healing. ‘I will take their packs,’ he said as he rose. Magda went to fetch them while Owen helped Tucker move back to the table.

‘Good riddance to the both of them,’ Judith muttered as she wiped her sweaty forehead with her apron and returned to the table, assisting Owen in easing her husband down and rolling him back onto his stomach.

Magda resumed her instructions as Owen lifted the door to swing it open.

The twins stood just outside, stamping their feet and hugging themselves to keep warm.

‘How might we serve you, Captain?’ asked Rose.

He gave them the packs to leave at his home. ‘I will be on Stonegate, in and out of the shops. Catch me there, stay without, observe who is too curious.’

‘Our pleasure!’ said Rob as he snatched the packs and headed off.

‘Can he still fiddle?’ Rose asked, nodding back toward Tucker’s house.

‘Dame Magda will see that he is able.’

‘Good,’ said the girl. ‘Dame Judith counts on that money to keep them in food.’

‘He makes so little at the stable?’

‘He’s working off a debt there.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘I listen.’

So Tucker needed money. ‘Glad to have you and Rob on my side.’

Rose grinned and ran off after her twin, stopping once as her right foot stepped out of its boot, jamming it back on, hurrying on. Owen would see that the city paid them well so they might have boots to fit.

Owen stepped out of the goldsmith’s shop on the corner of Stonegate and Petergate. It was late afternoon, growing colder as the light faded, but it would be a still night, no icy wind. Melting snow puddled on the street and dripped from the eaves. Time to let the tradespeople go home for the evening. He pulled his cloak round him and glanced back toward his own home. No, not yet.

‘I want a closer look at the dead men’s clothing,’ he told Michaelo. ‘You are free to go about your evening work in the minster yard.’

‘I will complete the day with you, Captain.’

‘As you wish.’

They made their way to the shed behind the deanery. In the fading light Owen could just pick out a well-worn path circling the small building, the snow long gone. It was impossible to know how many had been lurking.

‘Who goes there?’ Alfred called from within in his most threatening voice.

‘Archer, with Brother Michaelo.’

The door opened, and Alfred bowed them in. ‘Bloody cold in here.’ Of course a brazier was out of the question. The corpses were best kept cold.

‘All the tracks outside – have you met any of the visitors?’

‘A few vicars and their clerks who thought Ronan was here. Others are gone before I can identify them. The clerk Edwin thought he might have seen this one before.’ He nodded to the one who’d drowned. ‘He didn’t want to say, but I caught his look.’

‘That is helpful. Did he say more?’

‘No. Could not think where or when, or name companions.’

Edwin having worked for Alexander Neville, it might be significant.

‘And you? What have you learned, Captain?’

Owen told him of Tucker’s intruder, and his visits to the gold- and silversmiths, as well as the pewterers along Stonegate. Only one had made himself unavailable, Will Farfield. He heard from the others that Will had sent his family away to avoid the pestilence in the city. Foolish man, sending them south to his wife’s parents where the sickness took one of his daughters. None had any dealing with Ronan, a few had with Neville, but they all expressed disgust at the thought of paying him to move anything along in the papal court. Difficult to judge how many were lying, but most seemed eager to prove to Owen they had nothing to hide, keen to see the items and identify the owners. None had noticed a Frenchman being a particular nuisance, though there were many strangers about, organizing lodgings for the enthronement celebration. From all the great Northern houses, and a few farther afield.

The chill already penetrated Owen’s cloak. Alfred blew on his gloved hands and wiggled one foot at a time, as if testing for feeling. His usually pale face was red and chapped with the cold.

‘Go home,’ said Owen. ‘Rest. Another guard should be here soon. For the nonce, I have much to think about and the quiet will serve me.’

‘No, Captain, I am fine. It was just last night you watched over your son Hugh. You need the rest.’

But when Owen insisted, Alfred shrugged and moved toward the door. Where he stopped, listening.

Owen heard it as well. A shout and a curse, the latter a young woman’s voice.

Throwing open the door, Alfred stood back in amazement as young Rob and Rose escorted a man into the shed.

‘He’s been too curious for my taste,’ said Rose.

‘We thought it best to introduce you, Captain,’ said Rob.

Bald and barrel-chested, the man was dressed much like the unknown corpses lying on the slab, especially the drowned one. ‘Cursed street rats. Who do they think they are?’

‘My watchers,’ said Owen. He nodded to the twins. ‘Well done. You can release him now.’

The man staggered a moment as the two let go, but caught his balance and made a show of brushing off his cloak and straightening the padded jacket beneath.

‘You must be Captain Owen Archer,’ he said, struggling to regain his dignity. ‘I have heard much about you.’

‘And you are?’

‘I’m called Pit.’

‘Not a Christian name.’

‘It’s what I’m called.’

‘A stranger in York?’

‘I am. I came here–’ He glanced at Alfred, Michaelo, and the twins.

‘Wait outside,’ Owen told Alfred and the twins. ‘We will not be long. Brother Michaelo stays.’

Alfred bobbed his head and exited with Rob and Rose.

‘You carry yourself like a lordling,’ said Pit. ‘Or a commander.’

Owen ignored him. ‘You were explaining what brought you to the city.’

‘I was ordered to follow two minstrels who performed for my master and then slipped away.’

A surprising admission. But then Pit did not know how much Owen knew. ‘I see. Is your master Sir John Neville or His Grace Alexander Neville, Archbishop of York?’

He liked the man’s discomfited surprise, how he hesitated before responding. ‘I prefer not to say.’

‘Perhaps after a night in the castle jail you will feel otherwise.’

Pit glanced round as if sizing up his chance of escape. Owen grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

‘God’s blood!’ Pit cried. ‘I’ve done nothing to warrant this. Or your threat.’

‘You would not tell me if you had,’ said Owen. ‘Whom do you serve?’ A yank.

Pit cursed. ‘Sir John Neville.’

‘Why is he interested in the minstrels?’

‘He thinks them spies.’

‘And your orders?’

‘What do you think?’

Yet he was confessing to Owen. ‘Why are you here now? Did you suspect the men lying on those slabs were the minstrels?’

‘No. I come to claim my friend.’

‘Which one might he be?’ Owen released him.

Nursing his arm, Pit moved to the drowned man, the one Edwin might have recognized. One of Neville’s men. That made sense.

‘Gareth was following one of the minstrels, the older man. We were fools to move about without lanterns in the winter dark.’

‘You say he was following one of the minstrels. Where were you?’

‘We’d argued about which one to follow. I tracked one to the chancellor’s house. As he entered and took off his hat I saw he might be wearing the cloak, but he was balding.’ A deepening frown. ‘Gareth chose the other for the way he walked.’ His voice had gone gruff.

‘What did you do then?’

‘Went looking for the other minstrel, the younger one. He’d gone into the minster, but I thought by then he might have returned to his lodgings. No sign of him. Downed a few tankards at an alehouse and stumbled to my bed. Gareth still wasn’t back when I woke. Thought he might be waiting for me in the minster yard. Didn’t really think he’d be so daft but I had to do something. Someone was pacing back and forth in front of the chancellor’s house.’

‘Could you identify him?’

‘No. Still dark. And snowing.’

‘How did you know it wasn’t Gareth?’

‘Didn’t move like him. So I gave up. Reached the hovels on the north side when I heard a cry. Ran back.’

‘What did you see?’

‘I heard a shout up above, on the chapter-house roof, I thought. Sounded like a scuffle. Then a sound nearer to hand, where the one had paced. Moved toward it and a body hit the ground. Just missed me. God help him.’ A pause. Cleared his throat. ‘Thought I’d best disappear or I’d be caught up in it.’

‘Would you recognize the voice calling from the roof?’

‘Shouts are shouts. I could see nothing but shadowy shapes. Even the man who fell, could not really see him. Just the snow darkening.’ He glanced over at the corpse and crossed himself. ‘Is that him?’

‘It is. Have you seen him before?’

A nervous swallow, a shake of the head.

‘Take a close look.’

He did so, lingering on the ruined face. ‘No.’

Owen sensed a lie. ‘You were to follow the two minstrels and then what?’

‘See who they met.’

‘Why?’

‘My lord did not say. Only to return to report where they are, who took them in.’

‘Not kill them?’

The man crossed his arms over his chest and averted his eyes.

‘They lodged with Tucker for several days,’ said Owen. ‘Yet you stayed.’

‘An old friend who would take him in for some coin. But he was not what drew them to York. I reckoned the old one, his clothing so fine, he would have important friends. I waited for him to go to them. Find out who might have sent him spying on my lord.’

‘That was why you followed him last night.’

‘Lost him at the minster. Did someone else make my mistake? Was the murdered vicar the one wearing the fine cloak? It’s what I thought I saw. A glimmer of the white lining when he turned.’

‘He was.’

‘Someone meant to kill the old minstrel and killed a vicar?’

‘It would seem,’ said Owen, seeing no need to provide more information.

‘Poor fool. I hear the old minstrel went to the Riverwoman, so Gareth must have been on the right path when the river took him.’ Cleared his throat again. ‘They say the Riverwoman has power. Did she know Gareth was coming and bade the river stop him?’ He crossed himself.

Magda would enjoy that tale. ‘And if the old minstrel did meet with someone of importance to your lord, what then?’

‘I would tell Sir John.’

‘No more.’

Silence.

As Owen had thought. ‘Have a moment with Gareth, but he stays in my custody until we know what happened here.’

‘My lord will not like that.’

‘What would you do with him? Drag him back to Cawood? Pay for his burial?’

‘Don’t know. I’d not thought so far.’

He pretended to be far simpler than he was. Owen stepped away while he considered what to do with Pit. He’d been sent to silence a pair of spies. And he’d failed. Sir John would not take that kindly. Seemed to Owen that Pit had two choices – either go to his lord, confess his failure, and accept whatever insult his lord felt appropriate, or disappear. Yet now that he was in Owen’s hands he confessed his mission – a third option? Submit to Owen, seek his protection? Perhaps, but he was clearly lying about much, or at least holding back information. He either underestimated Owen or – what? He thought to hold onto something with which he might bargain?

When Pit turned from his orisons Owen kicked the door and called out to Alfred to come within, he had a man to escort to the castle.

‘I told you what I know!’ Pit protested as Alfred stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder and standing in the way of his escape.

‘Do you count me such a fool as to set you free to finish your work?’ Owen told Rose and Rob to wait there until someone relieved them.

‘Shall I come?’ Michaelo asked.

‘I have no time to spend with this liar this evening. If you would send a messenger to Hempe’s home in case he’s there, tell him to meet us at the castle. Then go about your other business.’

Michaelo bowed and folded up his wax tablet. Rising, he whispered, ‘May God watch over you.’