A Fox in the Fold

Seven The Morning After, the Stonecutter

It was Gwen’s task in early morning to take Hugh out to the privy while Kate dressed Emma. This morning the scene in the cemetery haunted her and she feared what she might find, though it was clear the dead had not come for her. Yet. In no mood for her little brother’s usual antics, she yanked him out the door with her, hurrying down the pathway.

‘Go first, while I peek in to say good morning to Jasper.’ She shooed him on and doubled back, heading for the apothecary. Beneath the linden she stopped as Rhys rose from behind the foundation he was working on, a heavy stone in his arms. Had that been him last night? Had he stabbed the man he’d argued with? She had not noticed him moving toward the man before he fell, but he might have struck so fast she did not catch it.

She tilted her head, studying him. ‘Why are you hugging that stone to you?’

He turned a little away from her. ‘I believe your brother might welcome help preparing the shop this morning.’

Moving closer, she noticed blood on Rhys’s shirt. And on one hand. ‘Have you cut yourself?’

‘What?’ He looked down. Groaned. Took a few steps away and dropped the stone. ‘My hands are so toughened by my work I cannot always feel when a sharpened tool slices me.’ He grimaced.

Was it his blood? Or the man’s from last night? ‘Jasper can clean and bandage that. Come with me.’ At the door to the workshop she took a deep breath, remembering her brother’s state the day before. Maybe she should offer to clean and bandage Rhys’s hand. It would give her the chance to examine the cut. If there was a cut.

Two lamps burned in the workroom, indicating that her brother was up and about somewhere. ‘Jasper?’

‘Here.’ His voice came from the shop.

He was sitting on a stool at the counter, holding a small bowl of liquid, foul-smelling.

‘Feeling better?’ Rhys asked.

Jasper blinked at them, as if he could not see clearly. But the shop door was open and they stood within the circle of light from the lamp on the counter. Even on the brightest days they needed at least one, or often a pair of lamps for the close work of measuring physicks. ‘What do you want, Gwen?’

‘Rhys is injured,’ she said. ‘I offered to clean and bandage it.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Jasper, taking his time standing up.

‘No need,’ said Rhys. ‘If you point me to the bandages I can help myself.’

‘Come,’ said Jasper. ‘Sweep outside the shop, Gwen.’

She thought it best not to argue over who bandaged Rhys. Fetching the broom from the workroom, she stepped out into the lane. The work took longer than usual because Alice Baker came past tsking about Gwen being forced to do her brother’s work while he recovered from a day of drinking. She was shooed away by Tom Merchet, who winked at Gwen and went about his business tidying the tavern yard with a rake.

When she finished sweeping, she leaned the broom in the doorway and took the few steps into the walled cemetery, stopping on the top step. From there she looked up to her window and tried to remember how far into the cemetery the two men had stood in the night. Crossing herself and praying for protection from any uneasy spirits, she placed one foot down onto the grassy edge, then the other. Slowly, pausing with each step to listen and feel for movement beneath her, Gwen inched toward what she thought might be the spot. She had never before dared step into this place of eternal sleep. The ground was far more disturbed than she had expected, full of partial footprints and animal tracks. It might be impossible to tell where the two men had been. But then she spied a trail of something dark. Blood? She tried to go further, but her heart began beating faster and faster until she could not breathe. Turning, she stumbled back to the wall, pressing her hands to her heart to try to slow it.

Jasper stood at the top of the steps watching her. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I–I saw something last night.’

‘In the cemetery?’

She nodded, biting her lip.

‘What were you–’ He stopped. ‘You are shaking.’

She hugged herself to try to stop shivering. ‘Will the dead punish me for walking on their bones?’

He gathered her up and set her down in the lane, holding her until she was steady on her feet. ‘You were brave to go there.’ His voice was soft, kind, like the old Jasper.

If he had been mean she might not have cried. ‘I wanted to see,’ she blubbered.

Jasper crouched to meet her eyes. ‘And did you see anything?’

‘Maybe some blood.’

‘Blood? No wonder you were frightened. I will check. Wait for me in the shop.’ He kissed her cheek and rose.

She touched the spot he’d kissed and smiled through her tears. ‘You aren’t afraid?’

‘Have you watched a burial?’

‘Course I have.’

‘Did the dead rise up to strike down any of the mourners? Or the priest? Or gravediggers?’

‘No.’ She drew out the word, then took a deep breath. ‘If I watch, I can guide you.’

He hugged her. His breath smelled of the foul herbs he’d been drinking. ‘Wait here on the steps and call out to me.’ He went into the cemetery, heading toward the spot where she had stopped.

‘Here?’ he called to her.

She climbed up the steps. ‘I think so. Do you see the dark spots?’

He was already crouching, pressing a hand to the ground, holding it up to his mouth, tasting. He nodded to himself and had begun to walk when he crouched again, picked something up, glanced back toward the upper story of the apothecary, then stuck something up his sleeve. Rising, he circled again, searching the ground, then at last walked a line toward the lane beyond the York Tavern, stepping down into Coney Street and coming round to her, his eyes moving here and there, still searching for evidence.

‘What did you find out there?’ she asked.

‘A trail of what tastes like blood. We will show Da. Whoever it was went toward Coney Street.’ He took her arm, gently, patting her on the back. ‘Come into the shop and tell me everything.’

He’d said nothing about what he tucked up his sleeve. Maybe a sample of the blood? He was being so sweet to her, she did not want to spoil that by asking him about what he had taken. ‘Where is Rhys?’ She did not want him to hear her account.

‘He put on clean clothes and took his stained shirt to Kate, along with mine from yesterday. I was about to follow him – I need some food – but I saw you and came out here instead.’

In the shop she told him everything – what she had witnessed in the night, what she thought had happened.

‘Rhys?’ He frowned down at the basket of bandages. ‘His cut was deep. I know some of his tools are that sharp. But it was a lot of blood on his shirt, and I didn’t look to see if any of it was more dried than the rest.’ He shook his head. ‘Da will sort that out. I will tell him to look at the stain before Kate works on it.’

Gwen was sniffing the bowl of herbs. ‘I saw you yesterday.’

‘Oh.’ He winced. ‘I am sorry you saw me like that. And about how I have treated you.’ He leaned down to kiss her cheek. ‘Can you forgive me?’

‘I would never betray you,’ she whispered, feeling the tears rising again.

‘When I think clearly, I know that.’ He pressed his hands to his face, then raked them through his fine hair. ‘There is no excuse for how I’ve behaved. And yesterday. I paid no heed to how much I drank. I remember nothing of the afternoon. Not even how I made my way home.’

‘One of your friends brought you to the gate. Rhys helped you inside.’

He looked confused. ‘And up to my bed? That was Rhys?’ He muttered something.

‘What did you say?’

‘I was praying for the courage to ask what you’ve heard about my behavior.’

‘You want it all?’

He nodded.

She told him what she had heard their parents say.

He listened with bowed head, his ears turning a bright red. When she finished he groaned. ‘How can they forgive me? And Alisoun. God help me, I betrayed her?’ His voice broke.

She would never fall in love. It made people so unhappy. Changed them.

Owen stood beneath the linden talking with Francis Hull, one of the nightwatchmen, when Jasper and Gwen stepped out of the workshop. Hand in hand. What miracle was this? He was so caught up in the joy of seeing brother and sister reconciled that he had to ask Hull to repeat what he’d said.

‘Would you prefer not to speak of this in front of the children?’ Hull asked.

‘They will hear about it in the house,’ said Owen. ‘Whether we mean for them to or not.’

Hull, a father himself, grinned and nodded. ‘I was saying that I followed the trail of blood to a spot on the riverbank. I guess whoever it was washed it off in the flood. Or mud, depending on the tide.’

‘You found nothing to suggest where the injured person had gone after that?’

‘Nothing. But I might have seen the injured man earlier. A pair weaving their way from this direction on Coney Street, one helping the other who seemed about to fall over. I see such things all the time, crawling from taverns and alehouses, and thought no more of them. Until I saw the bloody handprint on a wall.’

‘Would you know them again?’

‘Doubt I would. I can say they were not old men, not beggarly in their appearance, and now I’m guessing one of them is injured. I might even go so far as to say probably the right shoulder from how he held himself. And there might have been a third man following close behind. Might not have been with them.’

‘Did you hear their voices?’

‘No. One of them was muttering, but I could not even tell you which one.’

‘This is far more than I had before. Will you take me?’

Gwen stepped forward as Owen and Hull began to depart. ‘Jasper has something to show you.’

‘And Gwen saw something in the night that might be connected to what you’re talking about,’ said Jasper.

‘Wait for me in the kitchen,’ said Owen, continuing out of the gate.

A bloody trail in the cemetery – Jasper had collected a stone with a sample of the blood, the two – possibly three – men on Coney Street, and now a name for the corpse in the beck, courtesy of the master mason. David Wells. That was Rhys’s family name. The dead man was his brother the stone carver? Owen had much to think about as he crossed the minster yard to Jehannes’s house. He hated that his young daughter had witnessed something that so frightened her, but he was gladdened by Jasper’s kindness toward her. Some good had come from a troubling incident. But who was the man arguing with Rhys in the cemetery – if it was the young stonecutter she had seen – and what had happened? He suspected she was right, as Rhys had suddenly disappeared after offering to take his soiled shirt and Jasper’s to Kate for washing. He’d not come to the house to break his fast. Why would he run from them? Even if he had not been in the cemetery the previous night, his sudden departure – with his tools and his pack – was still troubling. Did he know they had identified his brother’s body? Had he known his brother was involved in the attack?

Gwen’s description bothered Owen. What if Rhys had not stabbed his companion, but someone else had come upon them? Or shot at them from an upper-floor window or a roof? Trent had mentioned his men being fine marksmen. Might Rhys have something to do with the attack on Trent and his men? Did he know the other attackers with his brother? As he reached Jehannes’s door, Owen shook himself to quiet the rushing thoughts. He must be clear-headed when talking to Wykeham.

‘You shake your head. Am I to understand you would have preferred that I refused to open the door?’ Brother Michaelo asked with a sniff.

Only he could make Owen laugh at the moment. ‘I was arguing with myself.’

‘Were you indeed?’

‘Is Trent still here?’

‘No. Their meeting was brief, and, I believe, unsettling for the carter. He rushed out with ears ablaze.’

‘Unfortunately for me, I would like to have a word with His Grace.’

Michaelo stepped back and motioned for Owen to enter.

‘My dear friend.’ Archdeacon Jehannes came forward to greet Owen. ‘Will you and Lucie be dining with us today?’

Owen had forgotten. ‘Forgive me.’

Jehannes patted his arm. ‘Another day. You’ve much on your mind.’

‘You are kind. I came to speak with–’

‘His Grace. I heard. He is in my parlor – perhaps I should say his parlor.’ Coming closer, Jehannes whispered, ‘I pray you, do what you can to hurry him away. I am forced to dictate to Michaelo in my bedchamber.’ He smiled, but his eyes pleaded.

‘I am not sure I have such power, but I will do all I can – short of offering him shelter in my home.’

They shared a laugh.

In the parlor, Wykeham sat by the garden window, one of his priests at the small table Michaelo had used.

‘Archer. Have you news?’

‘I have, Your Grace. The name and some information about the man found in the beck.’

‘Sit, I pray you.’

The servant who had answered Owen’s knock now placed a chair close to the bishop and, once Owen was seated, brought a cup of wine.

‘I had only just heard about the man. You move quickly, Captain. I am pleased. So what have you learned?’

‘Yesterday, one of the master masons working on the minster looked at the body at my request and recognized the young man. Not long before your carter and his men were attacked, the young man had appeared at the minster stoneyard seeking work. He reminded the mason that they had met several years earlier – his father had introduced them. It had been on the site of one of your building works outside Winchester. You had asked to consult with the mason on a structural concern in the nave of the old church being repaired. Later the mason heard of the father’s death in a fall at the building site.’ Master masons communicated through many channels, sharing information, trading skilled workers. ‘The surname was Wells, and the dead man’s name David.’

Wykeham tried the name on his tongue. ‘David Wells.’ He shook his head. ‘I recall no one by that name, but then it would be my masons who hired him. You say his father died of a fall at a church being restored?’ He looked to the priest who had sat silently, head bowed. ‘Dom Sebastian, is the name familiar?’

The man looked up, nodding. ‘I have been thinking. There was that case, the widow and her son accusing you of negligence in seeing to the safety of your workers. That the men you hired to oversee them were malicious.’

Wykeham nodded. ‘Old St Floribert’s. I came to think the project cursed. Was she the woman who made a spectacle of herself in the square?’

The priest nodded, his pale eyes averted.

Owen was curious. ‘Cursed project?’

‘Delay after delay, until the work planned for summer extended into autumn and had to be abandoned when ice storms made it impossible to continue,’ said Wykeham.

‘Is that why the man fell?’

Wykeham looked to Dom Sebastian.

‘That is when he did,’ said the priest, ‘but there is disagreement about the why. The family, and some of Wells’s fellows, claimed the mason’s men forced him to climb when they knew it to be dangerous. But my mason swore that his men had called off the workers for the day and Wells chose to go against their order and climbed up to retrieve one of his tools.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Our opinion is unimportant,’ said Wykeham.

‘What became of them?’ Owen asked.

‘I believe they were resettled on one of His Grace’s manors,’ said Dom Sebastian.

‘Which one?’ asked Owen, thinking of his own, deeded to him by Wykeham a few years earlier.

‘I could not say, Captain,’ said the priest. ‘But I assure you it was fairly done.’

‘In other words, you’ve heard no more complaints,’ said Owen.

Wykeham smiled, but his eyes were troubled. ‘What are you thinking, Archer?’

‘It may be nothing, yet the connection is suggestive, is it not?’

Taking up his cup, Wykeham sipped his wine as he made a show of considering the matter. ‘Perhaps.’

The delicate carving tools … Wells’s sons had taken after their father in being good with stone, David having a special gift. It seemed more and more likely the tools were his, and that was why Rhys had kept glancing at the pack. ‘What caused the delays?’

‘Deliveries were late, incomplete,’ said Wykeham. ‘It happens with all such projects, but this one seemed to be constantly behind. Yet the workers expected to be paid for sitting about and waiting.’

Deliveries … ‘Was Trent one of the carters on the project?’

Once more, Wykeham looked to Sebastian. The priest’s eyes had widened.

‘I believe he might have been. We use him for that type of work, a smaller church. And he has been one to cause delays. Forgive me, but I did not travel with any records.’

‘Do you know the names of the mason’s men overseeing the work? The men blamed for ordering the father to climb the icy wall?’

The priest shook his head.

‘I begin to see …’ Wykeham pressed one of his temples, his expression pained. ‘Trent said he had not chosen the men, Beck and Raymond, but they volunteered when the pair he’d chosen took other jobs. They are the ones responsible for the death of David’s father?’

‘At this moment it is only a seed,’ said Owen. ‘But it might explain David’s apparent involvement. He might have found work in the city. I need to find out where.’

‘Who are the other men? Trent said three attacked.’

‘We are searching for them.’ Owen chose not to mention the incident in the cemetery. He wanted to find Rhys first. ‘I’ve been told that the mason who worked for you on St Floribert’s is now working at Rievaulx. If you would write to him, Your Grace, ask him for the names.’

‘I will. But it will take time for him to be found, and to respond.’

‘It is worth a try.’

Owen did not choose to share what else the mason had said.

‘I can tell you that one of the carters who works for the Bishop of Winchester was later recommended to me, but I had been warned against him – Gerald Trent, the one who was attacked on the road to York.’

‘Who warned you? And why?’

‘A fellow mason who had used him for a job. He quotes a price far lower than what he will bill, and he never delivers on time, citing issues. Plenty of carters like that. It’s how they make their money. But we come to know the reliable ones and spread the word.’

Yet Wykeham, who prided himself on his building works, employed him. Owen studied the bishop, puzzling over that. A lack of judgment that might go quite a way in explaining his troubles.

‘Are you worried that the Wells widow and son were sent to the manor I ceded to you?’ Wykeham asked as Owen continued to ponder.

‘Llŷnfield? I had wondered.’ Though Owen made regular trips to the manor, he had not yet met all the tenants. ‘My steward says little about the tenants.’

‘You changed the name. What is the significance?’

‘Llŷn was my home in Wales. There is a stretch of the property that reminds me of the one broad field near my home.’

To Owen’s surprise, the bishop smiled. A sincere smile.

‘I am glad of that, Archer. The land should be loved.’

He had a heart, it seemed.

‘If I might,’ said Dom Sebastian, ‘there were two Wells sons. This David, and one I did not meet. I don’t know the other son’s name. But perhaps he was involved in the attack?’

Still not ready to implicate Rhys, Owen said, ‘That might be helpful. If you recall anything more–’

‘I will be certain to inform Brother Michaelo.’

Owen thanked them both.

Wykeham rose. ‘Does your wife await us in the hall?’

The forgotten invitation. ‘Not today,’ said Owen. ‘She was needed in the apothecary.’

‘A pity. Perhaps tomorrow. I will confer with Dom Jehannes.’

Neither Alfred nor Stephen had any luck finding more witnesses to the incident in the cemetery. They had gone round the square questioning neighbors. In the evening they would talk to the night watch, who were all abed at present.

Thinking about his conversation with Laurence Gunnell, the sailmaker whose shop sat in front of Jonas Snicket’s house, Owen stopped in the apothecary to see whether Alisoun had come by.

Jasper colored to the roots of his hair and shook his head. ‘I’ve not seen her. Ma’s been in the garden.’

Owen was surprised. He had imagined she would give Jasper time before facing those who had heard of his drunkenness. ‘Have people been difficult today?’

‘Alice Baker’s been by to sneer. But everyone else has done their best to pretend they’ve heard nothing.’

‘Perhaps Alice has failed to spread the word.’

On a typical day that would have won a snort from Jasper, but he seemed distracted – his bruised honor? Owen pressed his son’s shoulder. ‘It will pass.’

‘But Alisoun,’ Jasper said. ‘I don’t know what I might have said to my friends. Or out in the street.’

‘Do you know you said anything?’

‘No, but …’

‘Perhaps your friends kept you quiet.’

Jasper grunted.

Out in the garden, Lucie was lugging an overflowing basket. Owen plucked it from her hands.

‘Have you seen Alisoun today?’

‘No. I imagine she is with Anna Thornton. A long labor. Poor woman. How is His Grace?’

‘Wykeham surprised me. Made no fuss over my forgetting we were to dine with him today.’

‘We? You hadn’t told me.’

‘I’d forgotten. Apparently Dame Alice suggested you might be of help.’

‘In what way?’

‘I believe with your insight into what is left unsaid around the table.’

‘A compliment, to be sure. But this does not sound like Bishop Wykeham.’

‘He is not quite the man I knew before. In the past I would not expect him to show such poor judgment in choosing Gerald Trent for this mission.’ He told her about the mason being warned against using the carter, and how he might be connected to a death that could explain the attack on the cart. ‘Not that he could have anticipated the man’s kin, or friends, to come so far for vengeance, but he himself admits the man is problematic.’

‘We felt the same about the clerks he chose to accompany him on his last visit to York,’ she said.

She was right. ‘As ever, I am grateful for your memory. But he’s changed in other ways. Softened. He liked that I renamed the manor. “The land should be loved.” He said that with a smile.’

‘Now I am curious. I look forward to dining with him. This latest body, the young man who might be the son. Those were his carving tools?’

‘It seems likely. Rhys knew what the tools were for because his brother is a skilled carver. Apparently David Wells had a brother.’

‘Wells? But that’s Rhys’s family name.’

‘Yes. I had little cause to connect the two until I learned the name. And now with Rhys’s altercation in the cemetery last night, the blood Gwen said was on his shirt this morning, and his disappearance …’

‘Is there any question they are brothers? Do you think he knows of his brother’s death?’

‘He might have guessed when he saw the pack. Or knew of the plan to attack. I don’t like to think he might have been a part of it.’

‘Magda would tell you to trust yourself in this.’

The healer believed his half blinding had strengthened what she called clear-seeing in Owen. He nodded.

‘But why was he here if not to take part in the plan?’ she asked.

‘Another reason to find him.’

‘You don’t believe he’s gone to Beverley for work?’

‘No.’ Owen lifted the basket. ‘Where do you want this?’

‘The workshop.’

They moved together toward it.

‘I hate that Gwen witnessed such a thing,’ said Lucie. ‘And I’d no idea she feared the dead would rise from St Helen’s churchyard to punish her for walking on their graves.’

‘Nor I. But her fear might be what finally turned Jasper round.’

Lucie stopped at the new stone steps leading down into the small sunken garden near the expanded foundation and turned to Owen. ‘What a joy to see them hand in hand this morning. I worry now that I thrust him forward in the shop too soon. Did you speak with him?’

‘Most are being diplomatic.’

‘Or have not yet heard about it.’

‘Alice Baker stopped by to taunt him.’

Lucie had borne the brunt of the woman’s ire for years, for recognizing her tendency to abuse physicks and refusing to sell her more than she should take in a day. The woman had done her best to stir up trouble for Lucie ever since, an effort with little success, for too many townspeople had suffered similar tantrums from the woman.

‘Then all the city knows by now,’ she said.

‘Most likely.’

Inside the workshop, Lucie bent down to some cloth wadded up and dropped near the door. Picking it up, she shook it out. Rhys’s bloody shirt.

‘Copious bleeding,’ she said softly, as if to herself.

‘I’ll take that.’ Owen found Jasper alone in the shop. ‘How serious was Rhys’s wound?’

‘He’d sliced his hand.’

Owen shook out the shirt. ‘Would it have bled this much?’

‘No.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I should have noticed that this morning. I’m sorry, Da.’

‘He might have thought you had noticed and that’s why he fled.’

‘If I’d told you–’

‘I doubt we could have stopped him.’ Owen wadded up the shirt as the shop door opened and slipped back to the workroom.

With a weary grunt, Crispin Poole settled next to Owen. He nodded toward Gerald Trent, who sat at the next table trying not to watch them – and failing. The gesture caused the man to frown down into his tankard, face flushed.

‘Is he the carter who suffered the attack?’ Poole asked under his breath.

‘He is.’ Owen took equal care to modulate his voice. He nodded to Hempe as he joined them.

The three friends often sat at this table in the far corner of the York Tavern, drinking ale and talking about their days. Poole was the coroner of the forest of Galtres upstream from the city. Both he and Hempe were successful merchants who enjoyed assisting Owen in his work. It lent spice to their days, according to their wives.

‘Tell us about the young man we’re to watch out for,’ said Hempe.

Owen described Rhys and explained what might have caused his sudden departure.

‘Poor Gwen, seeing such a thing,’ said Poole. He had two young daughters, one only months old.

‘His brother is the second corpse? You think Rhys might have been involved in the attack?’ Hempe asked softly. ‘Christ, I wish we had a fiddler tonight so we might talk freely.’

‘I have a mind to clear the table nearest us,’ Owen said quietly. ‘Knowing how much we know can loosen a man’s tongue.’

He raised his voice and launched into the tale of the corpse in the beck, and his connection to a story out of the South, a mason working on St Floribert’s fallen to his death after being ordered to climb an icy wall. No names, just the outline. All the while he watched Trent, who turned slightly away. But when he lifted his tankard he could not hide his trembling. Owen finished with the question, ‘So I put it to you, would you consider it mere coincidence that this man is found murdered on the road to York after an incident with a carter involved in that project, as well as one or both of the men who ordered his father to climb to his death?’

With that, Trent rose and stumbled out of the tavern.

‘You brought up the bile in him,’ said Poole, ‘that is clear. But whether he’ll now talk …’

Bess Merchet came to refill their tankards. ‘Ned and another young man are following Master Gerald,’ she said.

Owen thanked her for the report. All was working as planned.

‘You’ll be watching him and searching for this Raymond, and the lad who was working on your wall?’ asked Poole.

‘And I’d have you put the word out to the king’s men in Galtres to keep their eyes open for either of them,’ said Owen. ‘As well as an injured man and his partner. Though I am guessing they’re still in the city.’

‘Young Rhys would not be helping Raymond,’ said Hempe. ‘Chasing him?’

‘I think it more likely he might be helping the injured one and his partner, if they’re the ones who attacked the cart. I wish I knew their connection to David Wells.’

‘And his brother right there in your home. Bold young man.’

‘Our men will be watching here and on their rounds,’ said Hempe.

‘What about your house and shop?’ Poole asked. ‘If Rhys is connected, the men now know that you are leading the investigation. They might try to stop you.’

‘That’s always a risk. But so far I’ve seen no sign of that.’

‘The cemetery incident did not worry you?’ asked Poole. ‘Do you think they were watching for Trent?’

‘I tell you what worries me,’ said Owen. ‘How Gwen described the way the man jerked, then toppled. As if he’d been hit by an arrow.’

‘At night?’ Hempe shook his head.

‘In order to see as much as she did, they must have been standing in some light,’ said Owen. ‘Maybe from the lantern in the tavern yard.’

‘Someone up on a roof,’ said Poole. ‘I don’t like the thought of that.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Owen. He told them what Trent had said about his traveling companions being skilled marksmen.

‘Have you had the men asking people who live around St Helen’s churchyard about hearing anything up on their roofs?’ asked Hempe.

‘About whether they heard or saw anything,’ said Owen.

‘I’ll send a few around in the morning, asking about the rooftops,’ said Hempe. ‘I hate to think of the damage an archer might do in the city.’

Owen knew only too well how dangerous an archer might be.