Ten An Attack, a Confession, a Child’s Bold Question


‘Trent is not here,’ said Bess. Owen had found her in the tavern kitchen, discussing a potage with the cook, a rat of a man who created remarkably fine food. She had taken Owen aside in the small space between kitchen and tavern room she referred to as her parlor. ‘And yes, we have at long last found a cook we will do whatever it takes to keep. Within reason. So praise the food loudly, my friend.’

‘I will. How long has Trent been out?’ It was coming on dusk. He’d counted on the man being in the tavern, staring into a tankard of ale, at this hour.

‘He left not long after midday. Ate dinner, then asked about merchants traveling south. Seems the bishop did not appear to want him in his traveling party.’

‘Wykeham told him that?’

‘Not directly, but Trent said it was clear. A pity. He had humbled himself before the bishop, confided in him that his wife had pushed him to make this journey despite his unease about the men accompanying him. Seems she’d heard him brag to a prominent merchant about cheating his clients, even the mighty Wykeham, and stuffing his coffers. She told him the journey would be his penance, and God might bless them with a child once he made reparations.’

‘He told you this?’

‘Men far from home often confide in me. Once it was in the hopes of taking me to bed.’ She laughed.

‘I think it likely that is still their hope.’

She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘You are kind.’ But just in case, she felt round her beribboned cap, tucking in stray locks.

‘Did you know of a party with whom he might make the journey?’

‘I’ve not heard of any, so I sent him to Crispin Poole. He keeps an eye out for opportunities to send his factor with other merchants. And you will be sure to hear where he went next.’ She smiled.

‘You are a good friend.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I will be back in a little while to meet Poole and Hempe. I hope to see Trent here as well.’

After the sense of someone watching on the road, he felt the need to see Lucie and the children, be assured that they were safe.

In the workshop, Lucie was showing Gwen how to heat wax in which to mix a poultice. Kissing her on the neck, Owen stepped past her to peek at Jasper, who was helping an elderly couple hard of hearing, using his entire body to communicate his questions. As Owen backed away, he found himself in Lucie’s arms.

‘You are worried for us, my love?’ she whispered in his ear.

He turned in her arms. ‘As ever when there is trouble in the city.’

‘Did you go to the priory?’

‘I did. Mother Isobel is pleased with Wykeham’s gift, and Dame Marian might return with him. So perhaps he will soon depart.’

‘I sense there is more.’

‘It may prove to be nothing. I must speak with Trent.’ He kissed her and went seeking Hugh and Emma. Not finding them in the garden, he checked the kitchen. His worries eased to see Emma racing round the room with a string of yarn, chased by the cat, and Hugh hunched over wax tablets, complaining whenever his little sister or the cat careened into him. Kate hummed as she spun yarn near the window. When she glanced up, he motioned that he did not want to disturb them. Smiling, she returned to her task.

He headed back to the York.

Still no Trent, but Hempe and Poole sat at their usual table in the corner. Owen joined them, asking Poole whether the carter had called on him.

‘He did. I sent him to Stillington on Fossgate. He’s likely to travel south soon, but I warned the carter that most merchants would be traveling to London, not Winchester. I hope I did not send trouble Stillington’s way. Carters. I remember how we hated them on campaigns in France, always blaming someone else for their spoiled meat and moldy bread. By the way, my wife noticed your man Alfred standing in the shadows outside. She tells me she invited him into the kitchen for an ale, but he refused.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

Something in Owen’s voice made both men lean in.

‘More trouble?’ Poole asked.

‘I heard they delivered the cart of stones to the priory,’ said Hempe. ‘Did the sisters find something in there?’

‘The stones are of good quality,’ said Owen. ‘The prioress now looks on Bishop Wykeham with favor.’

‘So what worries you?’ asked Hempe. ‘The carter’s other man? Or the two surviving attackers?’

Owen was filling them in on what he’d learned about the attack on Jonas, the sense of someone following him on his ride back to the city, the broken arrow and bloody shirt, when the voices around them hushed and heads turned toward a figure just inside the door talking to Tom Merchet. The moment Owen saw that it was Gwen he was on his feet and pushing past the crowded tables. She would not be here in the evening unless something had happened at home.

‘You’re to hurry home with her,’ said Tom, frowning. ‘No one is ill?’

‘Not in our household,’ said Gwen with the dignity of a child given an important task. ‘I’m to say no more until we’re well away.’

Nodding to Tom, Owen took his daughter’s hand and left the tavern, Hempe and Poole following on their heels.

Once outside the circle of light from the lantern at the entrance, Gwen said, ‘Alfred is hurt. But the man they carried is worse.’

‘What man?’ Owen asked.

‘They called him Trent. An arrow’s sticking from his chest and he’s covered in blood, Da.’

Alfred stood in the doorway, backlit by light spilling from the kitchen beyond, his right arm cradling his left. ‘They were upon us before I could stop them,’ he said.

‘You’ve no cause to explain yourself. Come inside. Let me see to your arm.’

Gwen hurried past them. As Owen moved forward with Alfred, he could hear her announcing a successful summoning. The scene that met his eyes on reaching the threshold was of a hive of activity, Jasper carrying water, rags draped over one arm, two unfamiliar men anxiously watching while clutching bowls of ale. Trent lay on a pallet by the fire, eyes closed, breathing raggedly, cushions keeping him on his right side so the arrow would not touch the pallet. Lucie was cutting away his blood-soaked shirt. She glanced up, thanked Gwen, and told her to go up to take over with Hugh and Emma so that Kate could help in the kitchen.

‘His breathing has steadied a little with some brandywine,’ she told Owen. ‘His heartbeat was fluttery, but it is steadying. I thought him in a faint, but he was able to mutter something about reparations, God’s will.’ While she spoke she washed Trent’s chest, then spooned a numbing tonic into his mouth, watching that he swallowed. So he was conscious, but barely. At last she rose. ‘When you have removed the arrow, I will clean and pack the wound.’

The arrow had entered on Trent’s left side, just below the ribs, the arrowhead sticking out the front. Damaging, but not necessarily fatal as long as it was well cleaned. And he should be able to remove the arrow without causing him to bleed to death.

‘Once I’ve finished here I’ll see to your arm, Alfred.’

‘It’s not much. Should I let Stillington’s men go home?’

Owen went over to thank them, ascertained that they’d come too late to identify any of the attackers, then sent them off.

Hempe and Poole offered to hold Trent down.

‘I’ll take his legs,’ said Poole. ‘One hand and a knee should hold him.’

Hempe took up position at Trent’s shoulders.

‘Jasper, some more of the brandywine in a spoon,’ said Owen.

When Jasper had managed to coax Trent to swallow by massaging his throat, Owen was ready. Getting a grip on the fletched end he snapped it, checked for splinters, then slowly pulled the arrow out the front. Trent jerked and cried out.

Jasper had gone white. Owen nodded to him. ‘Go outside, gulp some air.’ His son hurried out.

Poole and Hempe retreated to the fire.

Lucie came forward, wiping the blood, motioning for Kate to assist. The household knew the routine for such an injury.

Owen led Alfred to a high-backed chair by the fire near Hempe and Poole, and crouched down, asking him about the weapons used while he peeled away the bloody shirt to see to the wound.

‘The one nicked me with a knife, but they kept it to kicking and beating with Trent, that I could tell,’ he said. ‘The one with the bandaged shoulder used his boots, the other his fists. Strong as an ox, the older one with the fists. I stabbed him in the side. He was ready for more, but both ran off when the archer hit Trent.’

An archer. Owen would return to that. ‘Your wound is too long for me to clean with the shirt on. Can you lift your arms so I can pull it off, or is that too painful?’

Clenching his jaw, Alfred raised his arms. As Owen drew off the shirt he asked about the archer.

‘I can’t swear to it, but I think he’s the same one as called to Trent from the alley, said he might like to see who was behind him. Three men arguing. As Trent reached the alley, the three came rushing forward. The one who’d called Trent over ran toward the rear gardens, and the younger of the three, I could swear it was Rhys, chased after him when one of his mates said, “David’s murderer.” The other two fell on Trent, as I said, beating and kicking.’

‘And you believe the one they called David’s murderer was the one who started it?’

‘That’s who Rhys chased, I think. And I supposed he climbed to the roof and shot Trent.’

Raymond? And he’d had his bow and arrows hidden up there?

‘I’m sorry I didn’t give chase. Thought Trent more important,’ said Alfred.

‘Where did this happen?’

‘Fossgate. Trent had called on Thomas Stillington and was headed back. The one waited for him a few houses down. Going soft now I’m a husband and father,’ Alfred muttered.

‘You’re still my best man.’

‘You’re good to say that.’

‘The one you think was Rhys, did you see him after he chased his brother’s murderer?’

‘No.’

‘Some brandywine?’

Alfred grinned. ‘Brandywine. A rare pleasure for the likes of me.’

As Jasper handed Owen a cup he whispered, ‘When we are finished here, I need to tell you something.’

‘Should not be long.’

Alfred made short work of the brandywine after the first approving sip. ‘That’ll set me right.’

Owen looked to Poole. ‘Walk him home?’

‘Gladly.’

‘Tell Dame Winifrith we can launder your shirt if she’s not accustomed to washing out blood,’ Kate told Alfred as she opened the door for them.

‘My wife has been cleaning up for her father all her life,’ said Alfred. ‘This will be nothing.’ Old Bede had a talent for arguments that led to brawls. It had taken him some time to notice that, as he aged, he lost more than he won.

Hempe headed for the door. ‘I’ll set men to search, then put guards on your house tonight.’

‘Ned, another walker, and a marksman for the roof,’ said Owen. ‘And call on Marcus Bolton on Colliergate. He employed David Wells, the one who died in the attack. The two survivors might have gone to him. I should have checked earlier.’

Once the five were gone, Owen turned to Lucie, kneeling beside her as she packed Trent’s wound front and back with a poultice. Jasper had thread and needle ready for the stitching.

‘Setting a watch through the night,’ she said softly to Owen. ‘Who are you expecting?’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting Rhys to betray our trust.’

She patted her forehead with her sleeve. ‘No.’

Dipping a clean cloth in the bowl of lavender water that sat near her, Owen dabbed at her forehead, taking care not to get in her way.

‘Bless you,’ she murmured. ‘I will stitch it at both ends. But first, some poppy in the brandywine.’ She cleaned her hands and picked up a small bowl with a little spout, coaxed open Trent’s mouth, poured in a minuscule amount, then massaged his throat, whispering for him to swallow.

Owen breathed out when he saw the action in his throat. ‘He still lives.’

‘Did you doubt it?’

In the field such an injury meant almost certain death, but they had moved quickly. ‘I will take him to St Mary’s infirmary in the morning.’ The abbey was near, and the infirmarian Brother Henry could be trusted.

‘Will Abbot William agree to take him in?’ she asked.

‘Trent is Wykeham’s man.’

‘But Wykeham is out of favor. You know the abbot, he ever looks to please the king.’

‘I will take him straight to the infirmary.’

Though she kept her focus on her work, beginning to stitch, Lucie smiled.

Once the stitching was finished, Owen suggested Jasper wait for him in the garden. First he wanted to examine the arrow. His first glance had disturbed him – it looked like one of Alisoun’s arrows, the fletching, the type of point for hunting small game. On closer examination he saw that he was right. How had the archer acquired it?

After the warmth of the kitchen, the evening chill was welcoming as he stepped out the door. All the same, Owen carried a small cup of brandywine to warm him. He’d taken some to Lucie as she’d settled by the fire to watch over Trent, and she’d insisted he share it with Jasper.

‘I am glad he is ready to unburden himself,’ she said. ‘I think his behavior at Simon’s farewell has unsettled him.’

Jasper waited on the bench beneath the linden. He shook his head when Owen offered him the cup as he took a seat beside him.

‘Am I about to learn why the arrow I removed from Gerald Trent’s body is one of Alisoun’s?’

‘Alisoun’s? But–’ A sharp exhale. ‘God help me. I am so ashamed.’

Not words a father welcomes. ‘Tell me.’

‘The night after Simon’s farewell. You know my state. Rhys helped me. But I thought he was Einar, enjoying seeing me brought so low. It angered me and …’ He took a breath.

A sharp breeze caught the leaves in the garden, stirring autumn scents of fading blossoms and green decay.

‘In the night I dreamed you were at a farewell feast for one of your archers, the finest of them all, you kept saying, toasting him. And he looked like Rhys, who I thought was Einar. When I woke I was angry. All the years at the butts on St George’s Field and never had you called me the finest of them all. I must have strung my bow. I don’t remember doing it. But when I heard voices down below, in the cemetery, it was in my hand, with an arrow. When I saw Rhys …’

God’s blood.

‘I shot, Da, and the man fell back. In the moonlight I saw it. I can’t explain the arrow Rob and Rose found. Or how the one I shot was used by the archer today. If it’s the same one. But I don’t see how else he would have one of hers.’

‘Did you run down to them?’

‘No. Rhys looked up at my window and I dropped to the floor. I might have killed him, Da. And he wasn’t the one I wanted to hurt. I wanted Einar.’

‘You want to hurt Einar,’ Owen said softly, ‘and you chose not one of your arrows with blunt points for practice at the butts but one of Alisoun’s hunting arrows.’

‘I know I’ve no cause to attack him. I have no claim to Alisoun and even if I did … I am not a murderer, Da.’ His voice broke and he stifled a sob.

‘Drink,’ Owen growled, thrusting the cup of brandywine into his son’s hand.

‘Da …’

‘No argument. So that’s what you were doing in the cemetery the next morning when you found the bloodstains? Searching for your arrow?’

‘It wasn’t there.’

No. Owen was thinking there had been two archers that night, one on the roof and one below him – Jasper. Perhaps the second archer had retrieved Jasper’s arrow while his son hid from Rhys. ‘Why did you have some of hers?’

‘She was teaching me how to track small game. Gave me a few arrows.’

Owen swallowed the curses on his tongue. ‘Does Gwen know?’

‘No. I’ve spoken of this only to Dom Jehannes. I sought his counsel.’

He’d already guessed that Jasper had been the ‘comely young man’ closed up with the archdeacon. ‘Did Jehannes send you to me?’

‘I would have told you anyway. You need to know. I am sorry I did not tell you sooner. I was so ashamed.’

‘Yes, I needed to know.’ Owen did not trust himself to say more just yet. What Jasper did was a betrayal of the trust he’d placed in him. To use a bow when drunk, to aim out of a window in the dark of night, to intend to harm someone out of jealousy, and then to say nothing when it was clearly part of Owen’s investigation – had this been one of his archers, he would have given his anger free rein. But this was his son. Until now a responsible young man, pious, kind. What was Owen to do?

‘I heard you send for a marksman. I want to stand the watch tonight, Da. After that, I will destroy my bow.’

Owen could not see his son’s face in the dark garden, but he heard the pain and humiliation in his voice. The penance he offered was an acknowledgment of the seriousness of his act. But was it the right thing? All the years at the butts on St George’s Field and never had you called me the finest of them all. Jasper needed to understand how he differed from the men Owen spoke about, men tested in battle. Standing watch was one way. But the archer was skilled. Could Owen put his son in danger?

‘Excelling at the butts is one thing, but how a man shoots when the enemy is charging, or after a long watch – that is quite another,’ said Owen.

‘Give me a chance to learn. And begin to earn your trust again.’ The pain in his voice cut to the heart.

‘The finest archer in my company was the devil’s own. I knew it the moment I met him. I made good use of him in battle, but never allowed him to move up in the ranks. So he hated me. The night the jongleur and his leman slipped into the camp and I caught them, the night I lost my eye, the devil was on watch.’

‘He betrayed you,’ Jasper whispered.

‘Me, the old duke, the king, and all the realm. But he did it in the hope I would die.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because using your arrow – what he thought was yours – to shoot the man I was protecting is what he would do. Reynard. I believe he is the one you would be up against. He is older now, but Trent told me both men were skilled marksmen who kept them fed on the journey. He may no longer be in the duke’s service, but he hit the man in the cemetery at night. Still a skilled marksman.’

‘And you think he’s the one who shot Trent?’

‘Yes.’

‘If I’d not told you how he came to have Alisoun’s arrow, you wouldn’t know?’

‘I’d thought of him earlier. Something someone said about a laugh, and a feeling I had when riding from the priory today. This makes it plain.’

‘I should have told you earlier.’

‘Yes.’

‘He was tracking you today?’

‘I believe so. Do you still want to stand watch?’

‘More than ever. I won’t be alone. There will be another marksman on the watch, right? I need to do this, Da.’

‘Let me think.’ Owen got up to pace in the twilight garden, his feet stirring up dried leaves. He disciplined himself to consider Jasper’s skill as a marksman, as if he were one of his men. Was he one he would choose for tonight? As far as he knew, none of the bailiffs’ men had used their bows outside of practicing at the butts, except for hunting game. The same with Jasper, and he was the better marksman. So, yes, he would have put him at the top of the list for tonight.

Though it was Owen who would top the list, had he the use of both eyes. He would enjoy going up against the archer he had known as Reynard. But no. Owen was also to blame for his own blinding. He had trusted the Breton jongleur. Had not seen the man’s duplicity. He’d convinced his lord to have mercy on the man and release him. Because his music reminded him of home, and Owen had believed him a kindred spirit. Had he been wiser, he might yet be a soldier.

Never to meet Lucie, never to know this life he protected so fiercely. He would not have been here to take Jasper in when he was in danger after his mother died and he was orphaned. This precious son who’d had nothing of his father, John de Warrene, but a decorated bow. Which was why Owen had thought to teach him to use it. His son, who had used his bow so recklessly. He must allow him this chance at reparation.

Owen returned to the bench.

‘You’ll work with Ned. And Canter, most likely. He’s a good runner. Hempe will choose our best bowman to stand on the roof of our house, watching St Helen’s churchyard. You’ll be on the roof of the York Tavern. Ned and Canter will keep circling, watching. Can you stay awake through the night?’

‘Standing on a roof? I would not dare close my eyes.’

‘You still want to do this?’

‘I do.’

‘May God watch over you.’


Lucie and Owen stood in the hall near the kitchen door while they talked so they might listen for signs of Trent waking. The confession had shocked her. My Jasper?

‘I do not know what to think.’ She hugged herself and whispered a prayer. ‘What has happened to so change him? Is this all about Alisoun’s betrayal? Or did I fail to see signs of a change?’

‘You are not to blame, my love.’

‘I thought his cruelty to Gwen a passing mood, but this– He might have killed one of them. And he meant it for Einar, who never harmed him.’

‘In that moment he believed he had. He is not the first to want to kill a rival.’

‘But to act on it.’

‘I expect it will haunt him during his night on the watch.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was soft with sorrow. ‘I know Jasper. He will torment himself thinking how disappointed Brother Wulfstan would be.’

‘He needs to face it.’

‘He does, and your plan seems wise, yet I cannot help my worry. Nor can you. You will not sleep this night for listening for him.’

‘I will be down here, watching over Trent,’ said Owen.

‘Will you tell Hempe or the sheriff what he did?’

‘I cannot bring myself to do that. Nor will I tell Bess and Tom why he is doing this.’

‘Are you certain they will agree to this?’

‘I am captain of the city. But if they are adamantly against it, I will place him on the shop roof.’

Bess led them up the steps to Trent’s room. Access to the flatter part of the roof was through the window. ‘I cannot say I welcome the thought of you up there in the night, Jasper. Like a son to me, you are. I’ll lie awake and worry.’

‘That will make three of us,’ said Owen, a hand on his son’s shoulder.

Bow in hand, quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, padded by a quilted tunic, Jasper tried to make light of it. ‘Many my age go off to war,’ he said.

Time for Jasper to understand what all the training at the butts is for – that was all Owen had told Bess. And that he needed a good marksman this night.

‘Seeing you up there, they will think Trent is recovering in his room,’ said Bess.

‘They might,’ Owen agreed. ‘But Canter and Ned will be circling both our homes and the shop, watching for trouble.’

‘And they will signal Jasper if they need him?’

‘They will. But he is also to use his judgment about whether such force is needed.’

With a nod, Bess went to the window, instructing Jasper how to crawl out onto the ledge and over to where he might get a good footing. ‘I know Tom’s taken you out there from time to time to help him with a patch, but you’ve not done it at night.’ She stood back, hands on hips, waiting for him to go out.

Owen saw the deep inhale before Jasper poked his head out the window. Doing precisely as Bess instructed, he was soon on the roof.

‘Are the lanterns sufficient, or should I put out more?’ Bess asked both of them.

‘Any more and we reveal ourselves,’ said Owen.

From the roof, Jasper agreed, though there was a hesitance in his voice.

‘I will be leaving now,’ said Owen. ‘Anything you need, son?’

‘No, Da. You prepared me well.’

‘You are ready then.’ Owen wanted to tell him to leave the watch if at any time he felt threatened, but that would undermine the lesson. May God watch over him, he silently prayed.

Bess took his place at the window, leaning out to see Jasper. ‘I will leave a jug of water just inside the window for you. Don’t mistake it for the pisspot, eh? Know that we are grateful you are watching over the York.’

Owen pressed her shoulder. ‘Let him become accustomed to the dark.’

She stepped away from the window. ‘I am not at ease with this,’ she muttered as she led Owen back down the stairs.

‘Nor I.’

At the bottom she turned to him, looking into his eye. ‘I have not asked why you chose this night to train your son in courage. Not my place to ask. But you might trust me. I will not betray a confidence.’

‘It’s not for lack of trust, Bess, I assure you.’

She paused a moment longer, then said, ‘We will be listening to help if he needs us.’ Then continued on down the steps.


Hugh and Emma were asleep by the time Gwen heard her mother climb the stairs. Tiptoeing out, she met her on the landing.

‘I remembered something that might be important,’ Gwen whispered.

Her mother drew her into her bedchamber and closed the door. Sitting down on the bed, she patted the space beside her. ‘What is it?’ She smoothed Gwen’s unruly curls back from her forehead, then kissed it.

‘I saw Rhys arguing with a man in the market. When I asked him about it, he said a merchant thought he meant not to pay. But he was lying, I am sure of it. They knew each other and he didn’t want me to know.’

‘Why did you ask him about it?’

‘He asked me about where Da was going – it was the morning he started out to Dom Jehannes’s house and everything started happening, and I told him that he was going to see the Archdeacon of York. So he owed me an answer.’

Her mother looked uneasy. ‘You must have a care with men you do not know well, Gwen. You are so young.’

‘I thought we were friends. Now I’m not so sure.’

‘There. You see the cause for my concern. We are puzzled why he disappeared as he did. He did not behave in a way to reward our trust in having him lodge with us.’

‘But he helped with Jasper.’

‘And his work was more than acceptable,’ said her mother. ‘But that says nothing about whether he can be trusted.’

She had the look that meant not to argue, but to hug her and promise to be more careful.

Hugging her back, her mother asked what the man looked like.

‘Older than Rhys, but not so old as Alfred. He looked like he’d been on the road – not so clean and his clothes were torn in places. Like he was in a fight.’

‘Had you ever seen him before? Or since?’

‘No. Is it important?’

‘I couldn’t say. But I will tell your father.’

Gwen was glad she had spoken up, even though she knew her mother would watch her more closely for a while.

His daughter’s boldness worried Owen, as it clearly did Lucie. ‘How do we discourage this behavior without changing her, making her fearful?’

‘We cannot,’ said Lucie. ‘It is her nature to be curious, to speak her thoughts – but she knows when to be silent, when it might be hurtful, or is not her tale to tell. Yet in this instance …’

‘It could be important,’ Owen admitted. ‘She told us when she realized that.’

‘Which is why I did not scold her, but warned her that the danger is in judging a stranger trustworthy when she knows little about him.’ She sighed. ‘At least she is not out on the roof of the York Tavern.’

‘You did not tell her?’

‘No.’

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