Eleven Jasper’s Penance, a Fox in the Fold


At first Jasper did not believe he’d need to fight sleep while up on a roof and not easy about it, or about winning his father’s trust. It worried him that whenever Ned passed beneath him in circling the tavern, he bobbed his head. A watcher would surely look round to see why, and eventually look up, find Jasper. Could he be seen? Ned should know better. The other one, Canter, slouched past without such acknowledgement, God be thanked. But Jasper wondered whether he was truly searching the darkness for trouble. His head hardly moved. Did he think intruders would come stand before him and announce themselves? He wondered about the other archer, the one standing on the roof of the house watching the cemetery. Did Ned nod up at him?

Jasper’s hands felt stiff with cold. He’d not expected so much wind. Was a storm coming? He could step inside and warm up, take a drink from the jug of water, piss in the pot Bess had provided – a moment’s grace now and then would keep him sharp, his father said. But he resisted, not wanting to be inside at the very moment trouble slipped into the garden. He needed to catch intruders at the garden gate, because once Ned or Canter were inside the garden they seemed to disappear, reappearing in the light spilling out from the kitchen and hall windows, then vanishing again as they moved on. Even worse, clouds skidded across the sky, occasionally blocking the moonlight.

But what if they entered the garden from Davygate? He needed to watch both the tavern yard and the part of the garden visible to him. He shifted from foot to foot, not realizing for a long while that he was doing it because he really needed to take a piss. Inside, all the while he used the pisspot and drank some water, he kept one eye on the yard from the window. The steps outside the room creaked. Bess checking on him?

The climb back out was better this time. For a while he had a sense of ease. He could do this. He could redeem himself. But it wasn’t long before the tedium had him nodding. Once he woke with a start, and it terrified him. How would he aim if half asleep? How had he done so when drunk? He hadn’t. He’d aimed for Rhys and managed to hit no one, according to Da. But that didn’t absolve him. He’d been unforgivably reckless. What would Brother Wulfstan think of him? He prayed for forgiveness. But no, he must not close his eyes. Did he always close his eyes when praying? Why had he not noticed that before?

A movement down below. Canter, pissing against the garden fence.

The light in the hall winked out, though one still glowed soft in the kitchen where he imagined his father pacing. The tavern beneath him grew quiet. Again he startled awake. Perhaps he, too, should try pacing. Two, three steps and his foot began to slip. He reared back and almost stumbled sideways off the roof. Better to be still.

A sound down in the tavern, a man’s voice, shouting a name, over and over. Someone shushed him. Nightmares. Jasper was no stranger to them. After his mother died he had been on the run, hunted by the murderer of Master Will Crounce, who would have married his mother. His mother. He could barely recall her face. But at the dying of the summer, a particular rose in the garden brought clear memories of her wrapping him in her arms to comfort him when he was small, especially after his father died, singing and gently rocking him, though he could hear only the tune, not the words. He had hummed it for Dame Marian, hoping she might know the tune, but she could not think of what it might be.


Lucie had insisted Owen lie down for a few hours while she sat with Trent. When he woke, she stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the garden, nodding to Ned, then Canter, as they passed.

Owen joined her. ‘Can you see him?’

‘Not from here, and I did not dare venture out. But all has been quiet. Trent as well.’

‘Any sign of fever?’

‘No, God be thanked.’ She yawned. ‘Did you sleep?’

‘Long enough. Go now, rest.’ He kissed her neck.

Once alone, he sat for a while beside Trent, bathing his face with a cloth moistened with lavender and hazel water, dripping some honey water in his mouth. When the warmth of the fire coaxed him into a doze, Owen went to stand in the doorway. He watched Canter pass once, then Ned – who reported all quiet, and when Canter returned he stepped into his path.

‘Look round,’ said Owen. ‘An intruder will not appear at your feet.’

‘I see well out of the corners of my eyes, Captain. Better at night.’

‘Everyone does. But if you move your head, your range is wider. I’m not angry, Canter. Just helping you learn. Have you seen anything?’

‘Rats in the churchyard. Night watch passing by. A lad sneaking out of a window down Davygate. Dropped his shoes when he saw me.’

Owen stepped away as Ned approached. Canter took off at a brisk pace.

A groan called Owen back into the kitchen.

Trent was trying to lift his head.

‘Are you thirsty?’

The man licked his lips. ‘I am.’

‘Honey water or watered wine?’

‘Wine. I … Where am I, Captain?’

Owen poured, then helped him sip. ‘You’re in my kitchen. You were brought here with an arrow in your side. I removed it, and my wife took care of the wound.’

‘I remember being thrown to the ground. A man kicking me.’

‘And then you were shot.’ Owen told him what Alfred had witnessed. ‘Was it Raymond who lured you into the alley?’

‘Yes, God help me.’

‘Who are the other men?’

‘Don’t know. But the one … building your wall … the young man … he was with them.’ He pressed his side as he breathed.

‘Slow and easy,’ Owen said. ‘I am in no hurry. Was that the first time you’d seen Raymond since the attack?’

‘No. He came … to the York.’ A few breaths. ‘Few nights past. Told me to keep my mouth shut or I’d be dead.’

‘He doesn’t want you talking about what?’

‘He …’ a breath, ‘and Beck …’ another breath, ‘knew you. Hated you.’

‘How did he get into the tavern?’

‘From roof. Through window.’

Jasper’s access to the inn. By the rood, how had Owen not thought of that? He’d thrust his son into danger far beyond what was appropriate for a lesson. How could he forgive himself if … Giving Trent a little more wine, Owen told him he would be just outside the door. ‘Sleep. You are well guarded.’


Jasper must have nodded off. One moment Ned had been passing beneath him, and now he was come again. Not good. It took him a while to pass again. How long had his eyes been closed? Now he watched Ned hesitate, cup an ear. Jasper held his breath, listening. Nothing. But something moved along the fence in the garden, heading from the midden toward the shop. Canter? He realized the dawn must be coming and he could see more. Or the moonlight was brighter. Ned still did not move. Canter came round from St Helen’s churchyard. Ned signaled for him to stop. Then who was creeping from the midden? Crouching down, Jasper searched for something to toss at Ned, found a pebble, rose and tossed it. When Ned glanced up, Jasper motioned toward the garden, indicated direction. Ned crept that way, Canter following. Jasper readied an arrow. Ned entered the gate, which had been left open for silence. Canter stood in the gap, watching. A flurry of movement. Someone rushed into the kitchen light. Jasper aimed his arrow, ready to shoot to warn him to stop, choosing a spot ahead of him.

Just in front of the kitchen doorway. What if someone stepped out to see what was happening? He would never forgive himself if he shot Gwen, Kate, Da. Could he forgive himself for shooting anyone? What would Brother Wulfstan say? Is this what God intended for him? He was trained as a healer. He had taken a vow to heal.

As he fought with himself he heard Ned shout, ‘Halt!’ The runner obeyed, turning toward Ned just as the kitchen door opened, illuminating him. Rhys. And now his father was stepping out.

Lowering his bow Jasper froze, feeling someone’s breath on the back of his neck. Glancing to one side he saw a gloved hand, the bow, the arrow.

‘Down,’ Jasper shouted. ‘Down! Archer on the tavern roof!’ He heard the arrow sing past him.

‘Mewling pest. I might have finished him,’ the archer hissed.

Jasper twisted round and sank his arrow into the man’s middle. With a curse the man tore out the arrow and swung it at Jasper. He ducked, almost losing his balance. By the time he was ready to grab the man, he was already crawling up the roof. Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Jasper flattened himself and followed. The archer slithered over the summit and disappeared. The shingles were slippery, splintery, digging into his hands and knees. When he crested the roof he saw the man now crouched as he slid down toward the lower roof over the kitchen area. A lantern lit the ground, but not the roof. He still could not make out anything about the one he followed. He chose to continue crawling, letting himself slide, ignoring the pain, intent on reaching the man’s legs. There. He grabbed an ankle.

‘Bastard!’ the man shouted as he tumbled forward, the force of his fall wresting his ankle out of Jasper’s grip.

Down below, a thud, a cry, the sounds of a scuffle. As Jasper slid head-first toward the light, he saw the man, bow slung over his shoulder, scramble to his feet. ‘Tell the captain the fox is in his fold,’ he crowed, then took off running.

‘No!’ Jasper twisted himself around so he could slide feet forward toward the edge. Not nearly the fall he had feared. As he left the roof, he curled himself into a ball, landing hard. He was momentarily stunned. When he could think again, he cursed himself for a fool thinking he’d quickly untangle himself and chase after the archer. Instead, it was a slow process, stretching out one leg, and, when it worked, the other. Now an arm, and the other. Rolling over on his side, he discovered Tupper, the Merchet’s nephew, lying on the ground beside him. Struggling to his knees, cursing as the splinters dug in, Jasper crawled over to him and gently rocked him.

‘Tupper?’

A moan. He was alive. Rising to a crouch, Jasper felt around Tupper’s head. Nothing sticky. That was a good sign. Felt his neck. Nothing strange about it. Gently he rolled him onto his back. Someone came running out of the tavern. Tom Merchet, barefoot and carrying a kitchen cleaver.

‘It’s me, Jasper,’ he said. ‘Tupper tried to grab the archer. He’s not bleeding.’

‘I thought you were the archer.’ Bess stood in the doorway holding a lantern. ‘Here now,’ she hurried to Tupper, setting down the lantern, checking his eyes. ‘He’s coming to. Come, both of you, bring him inside.’

Jasper and Tom managed to lift Tupper to his feet and support him over the threshold and through the kitchen to a chair in Bess’s quiet corner.

‘You go on home,’ she told Jasper. ‘Let your father know. We’ll see to him.’


Owen cursed himself as he rushed to the tavern with a dread deeper than anything he had ever felt, coming to an astonished halt as he saw Jasper walk out the door of the tavern. ‘Praise God. I thought I might need to carry you home.’

‘The bastard fell on Tupper and then got away.’ Jasper hung his head. ‘But I did jab him in the gut with my arrow.’

Owen was tempted to comfort his son but, remembering why he had been on guard, treated him as he would one of his men. ‘You did well, calling out that warning, stabbing him.’

Wilfrid, the bowman who had watched from the roof of the house, came running over, asked Jasper which way the man had run and took off, pausing to toss back a hat.

Catching it, Owen called out his thanks. The hat was a soft wool, dark, smelling of the river.

‘That’s right, he was wearing that,’ said Jasper.

‘Tell me what happened.’ As Owen listened he kept turning the hat round in his hands, a talisman, muttering a curse when Jasper finished with the message. Tell the captain the fox is in his fold. Reynard, the fox.

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘He called me a mewling pest for not shooting Rhys. “I might have finished him,” he said. Why Rhys?’

‘Did he say his name?’

‘No. But surely–’

‘You did the right thing, son, and I thank God that you survived the encounter and stand before me.’ Jasper was clearly battered, his movements stiff, tentative, as if expecting pain. But he was whole. ‘Injuries?’

‘Bruises from a tumble off the roof – not too far, by the kitchen doorway, splinters and scrapes on hands and knees from crawling up there.’

Crawling on a shingled roof. Owen knew the pain. He poked his head into the tavern kitchen, ascertained that Tupper was now happily drinking brandywine and spinning quite a tale. Calling out his thanks, Owen put his arm round Jasper. ‘Let’s see to your injuries.’

In the kitchen, Kate nodded to them as she handed Rhys and Ned bowls of ale. ‘And you two?’ she asked as Owen helped Jasper with his boots.

‘Brandywine for him,’ said Owen. ‘To dull the pain when I draw out the splinters.’

‘Talk to Rhys,’ said Jasper. ‘I can see to myself in the hall.’

‘I can help,’ said Kate.

Before he went, Owen wanted to hear all Jasper noticed about the archer while it was fresh in his mind.

Jasper closed his eyes. ‘Shorter than you, a rasp in his breath.’ He was shaking his head when he leaned forward, excited. ‘He wore a hat on the roof, but when he ran his head was bare. Light hair, couldn’t tell the color. And he’s nimble. Not fearful of heights.’

‘I might say the same for you,’ said Owen. ‘Your jab might slow him down for a few days. Now go, take care of your injuries.’

As Jasper followed Kate to the hall door, Ned rose. ‘A good night’s work, Jasper. I was glad to have you up there.’

Jasper straightened and nodded to Ned before he disappeared into the next room.

‘I am grateful he was up there,’ Ned said to Owen as he moved toward the door. ‘But this one … I’m curious what he was doing in the garden. No, wait – looking for a lost tool. Hah! Don’t believe it, Captain.’

‘Where are you headed?’

‘To find Wilfrid.’

‘Where’s Canter?’

Ned stopped, shook his head. ‘Haven’t seen him since the arrow came flying. I’ll keep an eye out for him, too.’

When he was gone, Rhys said, ‘He’s right to doubt me.’

‘It would seem so. You were with the men who beat Gerald Trent.’

‘I know how it looks, but I hoped I might convince them to leave the city. I failed. They want those tools you found in the cart.’

‘Your brother David’s tools.’

‘You know?’ He was silent a moment as tears pooled in his eyes, then bowed his head and crossed himself. ‘May he rest in God’s grace.’ His voice broke on the last words.

‘I am sorry you have suffered the loss of both your father and your brother. But the others – you do know they left your brother’s body in a beck outside the city.’

Rhys flinched, but he met Owen’s gaze. ‘I came to warn you, Captain.’

‘Were they here in the night?’

‘I caught them coming over the back wall. Sent them off. But they’ll be back.’

They were interrupted by a knock on the kitchen door. One hand on his knife, Owen crossed to it.

Ned, with Wilfrid and Bess’s nephew Tupper behind him.

Owen motioned the first two into the kitchen. ‘How are you?’ Owen asked Tupper.

‘I’m fine. Aunt Bess had me ready the donkey cart. I’m to take Master Gerald Trent to Brother Henry at the abbey. The cart’s standing ready by your gate.’

How did Bess know where he’d meant to take him in the morning? She was a wonder. ‘Her advice is to take him there now?’

‘She said best before dawn. And who would think I was carting him instead of my uncle’s ale?’

‘I will accompany them,’ said Ned. ‘In the shadows.’

Owen agreed. ‘I will follow in the morning.’ Perhaps Trent might revive enough to answer more questions. He noticed Wilfrid held a pair of bows. ‘You brought two?’

‘This one’s not mine.’ Wilfrid held one out to him. ‘Found it on the riverbank. No sign of the man. Thought I’d heard a soft splash as I reached there, but it might’ve been a fish or a rat.’

‘You watched to see if he surfaced?’

‘As long as a man might breathe, Captain. He never came up.’

Owen and Wilfrid helped Ned move Trent to the cart, managing not to wake him. ‘Tupper will let me know he’s safely there, eh?’ said Owen.

‘I will, Captain.’

‘Get some rest, Ned, Wilfrid. I will need you tomorrow.’

Nodding, the three strode off with the donkey cart.

Owen returned to Rhys, studying the young man, his pallor after a sleepless night accentuating the angry scar across his cheek. ‘Who are those two men to you?’

‘My uncle and cousin. I am sorry I pulled you into this, Captain. I never meant to cause you harm, or your family. You welcomed me.’

‘We trusted you. As to my involvement, that was the sheriff’s doing.’

‘I did come to warn you last night.’

‘Ned would think you say that now you were caught.’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘I believe this all began when your father died in a fall at St Floribert’s. Unfortunately for Gerald Trent, the two men accompanying him were the pair who ordered your father to climb up a scaffold knowing ice had made it a treacherous climb. Why did Beck and Raymond endanger him?’

‘If you know so much about my family why did you–’

‘I ask the questions,’ said Owen. ‘Why did they want to be rid of him?’

‘I don’t know. My father picked fights often enough. It might have been something between him and one of them.’

‘Your mother was quick to accuse them of murder.’

‘She did. Told everyone they were Bishop Wykeham’s men. I don’t know why. She knew they weren’t. When the bishop’s clerk came to offer us help she spat at him, said his master did it to save his name. But she took what he offered. More than we deserved.’

Owen searched for signs of deception. But he found none. ‘You condemn it now, but from where I sit, you were part of the plan to attack Trent and his men.’

‘Not willingly.’ Said quickly, eyes hot. ‘This scar …’ Rhys touched his cheek. ‘My mother sliced me for refusing to help my uncle avenge my father.’

David’s carving. Was the Fury his mother? No wonder. ‘Your brother was also with them,’ said Owen.

‘I told David people talked to you, that he was a fool to think you wouldn’t learn about him.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘Down deep I think David agreed to help my uncle only because it meant he might talk to the masons here in York. Find work.’

‘He paid dearly for the chance.’

‘He was no more a fighter than I am. I heard that his body was taken to the castle. Could I see him?’

They had not yet buried David. ‘I will take you to him in exchange for what you know about the attacks.’

‘Like I said, I came to warn you. I never meant to hurt you or your family.’

‘Is your mother often so violent?’

‘She’s like her brother, Uncle Walter. Angry at the world. But none of what they’ve done will bring back my father. I’ve no cause to protect Walter and Arn – he’s my cousin. She set them on Gerald Trent and his men. But I don’t think Trent had anything to do with it.’

‘How did they know Trent and his men were coming to York?’

‘I don’t know. They never trusted that information with me. David just said they knew people.’

‘Where are they hiding?’

‘I don’t know. I waited in the rooms where I’d taken them after Arn was hurt, off Coney Street, near the river, but they haven’t returned. I just happened on them when I went to the man David had been working for. He said he told them to go away and stay away, that you were coming to talk to him. I can take you where they had been. I didn’t see anything useful, but you might. I’d left Arn’s bloody shirt and the arrow in the alley outside, but they’re gone.’

‘I have them.’

‘You do? How?’ He waved away the question. ‘No matter. I’m glad you have them.’

‘What else?’

‘They say that Pete is lying, they never attacked Jonas Snicket. Went there once to see about lodgings and were sent away.’

Good that he’d set someone to watch Snicket’s house, and Pete. ‘Why would Pete lie?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Tell me about Arn and Walter.’

‘Not much to tell. Ever in trouble with the law, thieving, setting fire to barns, brawling in taverns. My father would have nothing to do with them. But when he died, my mother sent for them. Asked them to help David and me avenge Father.’

‘You said the bishop helped your family.’

‘He provided us a home on one of his manors. Better than anything we’d had before. All we had to do was farm the land.’

‘Your mother wanted more.’

‘She said it was an insult to expect us to farm. She knew we both wanted to work with stone on a cathedral, David and I. He was gifted. He was meant to carve in stone.’

‘He was. I have seen a head he sculpted.’

Rhys bowed his head. ‘I should have been satisfied to work the land. I’ve no particular talent, not like David’s. I might have persuaded Mother.’ He wiped his eyes.

‘Where is this manor?’

‘North of Winchester. Not far.’

Not Llŷnfield then. Good. ‘The attack on Alfred and Trent changed your mind about helping your uncle and cousin?’

‘I told you, I never wanted anything to do with it. But after my brother …’ He tried to hold back a sob, but it escaped him.

‘What do they want with his tools?’

‘To take to my mother, they said, so she might sell them. But they’ll keep them to sell themselves. She’s a fool to trust them.’ Rhys wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Owen handed him a bowl of ale and went into the hall to see whether Kate needed help with Jasper. He found Lucie tending him while Kate held Emma and watched that Gwen and Hugh did not interfere.

‘I think we have found all the splinters,’ said Lucie. ‘He will be sore for a few days. And bruised.’

‘I was lucky,’ said Jasper.

‘What have you learned about Rhys?’ asked Lucie.

Owen glanced at the children.

‘Hugh and Gwen know we are concerned about him,’ said Lucie. ‘The truth is likely less frightening than their imaginings.’

‘The attackers were his brother, an uncle, and a cousin. It was his brother’s body they found in the beck.’

‘His kin?’ Jasper said. ‘And he lived with us?’

‘He’s attempting to make up for that by telling me everything he knows.’ Owen glanced at Gwen as she crept closer.

‘He meant to betray us all along?’ Her eyes were filled with tears, her trust shattered.

He crouched down to her, held her close. ‘He did not want to help with this vengeance. His scar is from his mother’s anger when he refused.’

She pushed away, leveling her eyes on Owen, so like her mother. ‘His mother cut him?’

‘So he says.’

‘Mother would never hurt us!’ Hugh declared.

‘I am glad you know that,’ said Lucie.

Kissing all three of the young ones, pressing Jasper’s shoulder and thanking him, promising they would talk in the evening, Owen headed for the kitchen. To his surprise, Lucie accompanied him.

‘I will take Rhys out into the garden, return the kitchen to you,’ said Owen.

‘What will you do with him?’ she asked.

‘Take him to the castle to see his brother. And if the sheriff agrees, he will stay there until we have the archer, and Rhys’s uncle and cousin, Walter and Arn.’

‘What did Jasper tell you of the archer?’

Owen told her, including the message. ‘Fox. He is Reynard.’

He watched as Lucie searched her memory, her eyes widening. She touched his eye. ‘That archer,’ she whispered. ‘Holy Mother Mary. Why is he here?’

‘To accomplish what he failed to do that night in the camp. Destroy me.’

‘So that is who we face, the devil himself.’ Lucie crossed herself, and then surprised him. ‘We will not permit him to destroy you and all you have created out of your loss, will we?’

‘I will do–’

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. ‘I know. I have all faith in you. Your great heart will not be your undoing.’

He drank in the calm in her eyes. ‘Where do you find your strength?’

She took his hand. ‘In you.’

He wanted to believe in her certainty, but … ‘Reynard came close to destroying me years ago.’

‘He caught you by surprise. Not this time. You will be aware of him every second of every day until you bring him down.’

She was right. He kissed her hand.

‘Now. Why don’t we break our fast in the hall – you, Rhys, Jasper, and me – while Kate feeds the children in the kitchen? And then go find Reynard.’

‘Why would you include Rhys?’

‘You don’t believe he wanted no part of this?’

‘I do, but …’

‘Take him to see his brother’s corpse. Get a good sense of him. If you feel he’s telling the truth, bring him back to stay with us.’

‘But the danger, love.’

‘Rhys is but a small part of it.’

He hesitated, thinking of all at stake, but her certainty calmed him. ‘I’ll bring him to the hall after I show him the arrow and bloody shirt. I am not sure about his lodging with us.’

They were indeed the items Rhys had removed from his cousin and tossed in the alley. Gwen might be slightly appeased to hear that she was the one Rhys most regretted betraying. But it was when he saw how badly his cousin was beating Alfred that he had given up any attempt to help his kin.

‘Alfred’s a good man,’ said Rhys. ‘He told me about his marriage, the children, his wife’s father Old Bede. He didn’t deserve what Arn did to him. Seeing it, I hated myself. Felt unclean. I knew I could not be a part of it any more or no amount of penance could wash me clean.’

Gwen managed to sneak back into the hall while Owen, Lucie, Jasper, and Rhys broke their fast, peppering her brother with questions about his night on the roof of the tavern. He managed to respond with good-natured patience. When she turned to Rhys, Lucie signaled Owen it was time for him to depart.

Rhys was quiet as he led Owen to the rooms where he had stowed his things. His uncle and cousin had left nothing of interest. He shouldered his pack and they headed on to the castle.

‘You didn’t want Gwen talking to me?’ he asked.

Owen chuckled. ‘You heard how thoroughly she questioned her brother. I was sparing you a similar interrogation.’

‘I would like the chance to ask her forgiveness.’

‘Perhaps you will have it.’

Rhys glanced at him, but said nothing.

At the castle, Owen drew the guards aside. ‘Give him time with his brother’s corpse. I’ll watch over him.’

Settling on a bench at a remove from Rhys – as much to avoid the stench of the ripening corpse as to give the man privacy, Owen tried to remember Magda Digby’s lessons in using what she called his third eye to judge whether to trust Rhys. Watch him with thy body, Bird-eye, not thine head. The body sees the truth long before the head understands. Owen watched Rhys doubled over beside his brother’s corpse, keening his grief, and felt the sadness in his bones. His mind told him that such emotion could lead either toward a hunger for revenge or a disgust with the waste of his brother’s life. Rhys professed the latter, but now, seeing the corpse, he might feel differently. Yet Owen felt in his bones only the pain, remorse. Thou seest? He did.

And now he waited. While he sat there he considered why Wykeham wished to dine with him today, and why he’d included Lucie in the invitation. Dame Alice Perrers had recommended his wife, but Wykeham had already chosen this path of reparation with St Clement’s. Did he think to convince Lucie to push Owen to argue Wykeham’s case to Dame Marian? Lucie was not easily swayed, and would never interfere with a decision that would affect a person’s future. She would counsel that Marian must come to her own decision. He resented the interruption in his work. But Magda had encouraged him to be kind to Wykeham.

Rhys rose and crossed himself, turning away from Owen to wipe his eyes before approaching.

‘Where will they bury him, Captain?’

‘They spoke of the plague cemetery outside the city. It’s used for the poor and those with no kin to pay for a burial.’

‘David in a plague pit? No. No! I have my wages. Would they pay for a proper grave?’

‘Yes. But that would leave you little for yourself.’ There was another source of money. ‘You would get a good price for your brother’s tools at the minster stoneyard. But your mother–’

‘She doesn’t need them. Bishop Wykeham has provided her with the means to live better than we did before. I’ll return to work the land and support her.’

‘You would do that after what she did to your face?’

‘She’s my mother. And now she’s alone.’

Owen put an arm round him. ‘Come. We will talk to the bailiff on duty here about your brother’s burial, and then you can settle back into the room above the shop while my wife and I dine with Bishop Wykeham.’

‘You would take me back? But I might draw trouble.’

‘I don’t believe your uncle and cousin have cause to attack you. Nor does Raymond.’ Not true, perhaps, but he trusted his sense that he himself was the true target. ‘I warn you, you will face my daughter the interrogator.’

The hint of a smile. ‘I will bear up.’

Remembering the carving, Owen drew it out of his scrip. ‘The mason David was working for gave me this – your brother’s work. I thought you might like it.’

As Rhys took the stone in hand he froze, staring, then burst into laughter and tears. ‘Our mother,’ he said, laughing so hard that he choked on the words. ‘He caught her to the life.’

The Fury who had slashed her son’s face for spite. As Owen had guessed.

Hempe hailed them as they were leaving the castle. ‘No sign of the two attackers. Bolton says they did hide in David’s old room for a few days, but left when they heard him telling his wife about talking to you. Hasn’t seen them since. Heard about yesterday’s trouble and thanked the Lord it hadn’t happened near his home, with children at play.’ He eyed Rhys. ‘You’re not keeping him here?’

‘Come, walk with us,’ said Owen. ‘I’ll tell you all he’s told me.’

He waited until they reached the yard of the York Tavern and sent Rhys ahead to tell Lucie he was back, then told Hempe the rest.

‘The archer betrayed you? That’s how you lost the eye? This Reynard is a dead man.’

‘He is the king’s to punish.’

Hempe looked doubtful. ‘I hear he disappeared in the river last night.’

‘According to Wilfrid.’

‘Snicket’s house is near the river.’

‘We have a guard on it.’

‘Only now and then. We’ll do better. Still dining with the bishop today?’

‘I am.’

‘I’ll post some men there.’

‘Good.’

On his return, Owen went to Bess Merchet to fetch Trent’s things. He would take them to the abbey.

‘Happy to be rid of them,’ she said. ‘Not for need of the room, but he’s caused enough trouble. I warn you, though, someone’s been there ahead of you. Must have been in the night.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll see. I went up there this morning and found his things tossed about, the mattress turned over. Happened while Jasper was out on the roof, I would guess. I’d not thought to go check.’

Of course. Reynard accessed the roof from Trent’s room. Owen headed up the steps, Bess behind him, asking about Jasper, Rhys, and, finally, Trent. ‘Will he live?’

‘Brother Henry will do his best to bring him back to health,’ was all Owen could say for now. He stopped in the doorway, surveying the mess. It was as Bess had described. Picking through the items he found only a change of clothing, a cloak, boots, a comb.

‘He had a fine leather travel pack,’ said Bess. ‘And a purse heavy with coin.’

Reynard would find that useful.

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