In the early hours Owen agreed to close his eyes, but he refused to climb to the bedchamber, instead stretching out on the bench beneath the garden window. Lucie understood. She sat wakeful and alert at Gwen’s bedside. It was difficult enough to step away now and then to check Jasper’s breathing or speak to Magda, who watched over Rhys. Something drove her to vigilance. She feared that if she were not there, awake, watching, one of her children would die. Even Magda could not ease her terror, could not dispel the awful sense of imminent loss.
Sometime before dawn, Lucie heard the latch click on the garden door, and felt a sharp breeze. Owen did not stir. Picking up scissors, she stood ready to defend her chicks.
‘It’s Alisoun. I did not wish to wake Kate.’
Lucie lowered the scissors with relief. ‘Are you in the city for a birth? Is someone dying?’
‘I am here to watch over Jasper and Gwen so that you might sleep awhile.’
‘Accept her offer,’ said Magda, joining them. ‘Thy children will need thee in the days to come, all four of them. Rest is necessary so that thou canst hear and act from a clear mind. Magda says nothing thou dost not know.’
Her body found the temptation irresistible, but Lucie did not think her heart would allow her to rest. ‘If something were to happen–’
‘We will wake you and the captain at once.’ Alisoun took her hands. ‘You know that.’
She did. After giving Alisoun a thorough account of Gwen’s and Jasper’s conditions, she woke Owen. Together they climbed to the bedchamber and lay down on the bed fully clothed, holding each other.
They slept but a few hours before returning to the little hospital in the hall, Owen with a burning question for Jasper. But his son still slept, a healing rest. While Owen waited for him to wake, he helped Magda, dripping a syrupy potion into Rhys’s mouth, a tiring process he welcomed, allowing him time to gather his scattered thoughts into a plausible scenario.
He was so deep in thought that it took a nudge from Magda to realize he was holding an empty spoon to Rhys’s lips. Her warm, light yet supportive touch drew him firmly into the present.
‘Forgive me.’
‘Nothing to forgive. Now that thou art truly here, Magda can trust thee to continue while she steps out into the garden.’
She departed with the grace of someone far younger.
Only when the cup of physick was empty did he move over to where Lucie sat beside Gwen, softly stroking her cheek and whispering a tale of a kitten with wings. Gwen’s cat, Ariel, was curled up on her feet. Not wishing to interrupt the story, Owen half-listened, turning his thoughts to the sequence of events he had earlier strung together.
‘Now, then, my love,’ Lucie murmured at the end of the tale, ‘think of all your Ariel might do if she sprouted wings.’
A rustle of covers as Gwen turned her head a little to look up at Lucie. ‘Will Rhys live?’ she asked in a tiny, breathy voice.
Owen snapped back to the present.
‘Oh, my dear Gwen, we are determined that he will.’ Lucie leaned down to kiss her forehead. ‘It is so good to hear you speak. How do you feel?’
‘Throat hurts. And I can’t hear out of this ear.’ She touched her left ear. ‘I had to turn it away.’
Lucie glanced up at Owen. Her left ear had been the source of blood on her cheek, the swelling on that side of her head indicating that she had hit the wall hard.
Pushing down his anger, Owen bent to her, kissing her left cheek. ‘Does it feel swollen?’ he asked.
‘Oh, swelling,’ she said, wrapping her arms round his neck and pulling him down for another kiss. ‘It’s just stuffed then?’
‘Could be.’
‘My head aches, Da.’
He held her close, taking a deep breath before he could trust his voice. ‘Do you know why? Because your body is busy healing you. It’s hot, tiring work and makes it ache all over.’
Gwen’s breath tickled his cheek. ‘I feel their hammers.’
Beyond Lucie, Owen saw Jasper sit up. ‘Do I hear Gwen?’
Lucie sat back so Jasper could see his sister.
‘Your brother is glad to see you awake and talking,’ Owen whispered.
Gwen let go with one arm and turned to smile at Jasper. ‘I have carpenters hammering in my head,’ she whispered.
‘And that is enough excitement for now,’ said Lucie, lifting her and settling her back onto the pillows. ‘The more you sleep, the sooner the hammering will cease.’ She held a cup to Gwen’s lips. ‘Are you ready to help?’
Gwen drank it down and lay back, closing her eyes.
Moving to Jasper’s pallet, Owen reached for the cup of wine mixed with physick on a stool beside him. ‘Are you thirsty?’
‘I am.’ Jasper drank a little. ‘Is this to make me sleep as well?’
‘I hope not, at least not at once. Could you tell me what you remember about the Gunnell house? When you passed it, did you hear anything?’
‘Which one was it? People were coming out of all the houses in that row.’
‘The white one. Did you see who stood there?’
Jasper took a moment. ‘A woman and several men? But they might have been from the other houses. Why?’
‘Trying to make sense of it. Enough of that. I am so proud of you, so thankful for your courage. You saved your sister’s life.’
‘Rhys would have–’
‘You did. That is what happened.’
‘I could never forgive myself if I hadn’t tried.’ He yawned.
‘Rest now.’
‘I heard that about her ear. Will it heal?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I wish I’d killed him.’
‘I know. Sleep now.’
Owen went out to the kitchen to fetch some food for himself and Lucie. Magda and Kate were talking softly on the settle before the fire. Seeing him, Kate rose.
‘I have food ready for you and Dame Lucie.’
He gave them the good news about Gwen speaking. The two women hugged each other and laughed with tear-filled eyes.
When he had delivered food and drink to Lucie, Owen returned to the kitchen for his own. Kate handed him a platter with food and a bowl of ale. Magda invited him to join her. He felt her watching him as he did so.
He stretched out his legs and tried to calm his mind while he ate, but memories bombarded him. His early days as a captain of archers. At first he had been buoyed by the honor of the old duke’s trust, the pride when a man improved under his tutelage. If one neglected his duties, Owen talked to him without anger, without punishment, giving him every chance to prove himself trustworthy. Gradually he had identified the difficult ones, those who took his generosity as a sign of weakness. With the help of the close circle he trusted implicitly, he watched them, learned how they functioned, those they held as comrades and those they used and cast aside. In the center of them was Reynard.
‘Magda senses a great weight bearing down on thee.’
‘Unwelcome memories long set aside as part of my old life, no longer needed. The past few days have stirred up all the misgivings and doubts, the anger and frustration.’
‘Thou speakest of this Reynard, a man from thy past?’
‘Him, and those he drew to him. One in particular, Madoc, is suddenly in my mind. Why? Could I have seen him and forgotten?’
‘They served under thee when thou wert captain of archers?’
‘They did. Every honor comes at a price, and Reynard’s circle were my penance to bear. I spent many evenings seeking advice about how to control them from my peers and those immediately above me in rank. They all agreed that in every contingent there were those who devoted their waking hours to defying authority, telling themselves they were more deserving of the rank than their captains. It was part of the responsibility, handling the defiant. All advised strict discipline.’
‘Magda sees how thy men respect and obey thee now. The defiant would have resented how loyal their fellows were to thee.’
‘I wonder whether I might have done more to convince them never to cross my path in future.’
‘Such men would take that as a challenge. Tell Magda more about Reynard.’
What to say? ‘When he served the old Duke of Lancaster, he felt his skill with the bow earned him a place as my second in command. It would have done so had I trusted him.’
‘Why didst thou not?’
‘There was a darkness in him. He never met my eyes unless it was to challenge an order. He was slippery. Sly. His appetite for violence seemed to have no bounds. Any slight was sufficient cause to attack. To promote him – I did not trust what he would do if given authority over the men.’
He felt the healer’s gaze boring through his eye to his soul. ‘And thou dost believe he sees a way to punish thee by threatening the lives of thy children?’
‘You said to heed my body’s message. My gut tells me that was his purpose. To attack my daughter–’ He stopped himself, feeling how quickly the spark ignited.
Magda nodded. ‘Was it his appetite for violence, or for cruelty that alarmed thee?’
She was right. Many of his archers had a taste for violence. But Reynard was cruel. That’s what made him the devil. ‘Cruelty.’
‘Thou art a careful and just judge of men.’ She touched Owen’s patch. ‘Thy wounding. This was Reynard’s work?’
‘Yes. He studies others closely, finds their weaknesses, and uses them to his cruel purpose. That night he used what he had noticed about me and the jongleur, how I wanted to believe our connection and begged for mercy in his case. He had seen what I had not, that the jongleur would betray me. My commander had noticed that I did not use all my men in rotation for the duty of guarding the noble prisoners, and insisted I use even those I did not completely trust. He said they were all fighting against a common enemy, they could be trusted in this. Which is how Reynard came to be on duty that night. I believe he’d allowed the jongleur and his mistress to slip through.’
‘No one warned thee?’
‘I came upon the jongleur before my men were aware what had happened.’
Magda did not speak for a moment, gazing into the fire. ‘What was his purpose in accompanying Gerald Trent?’
‘In the beginning I thought Reynard had been sent to block Wykeham’s attempt to make amends, but if that were so his attention would now be fixed on the priory, on Dame Marian. Yet last night he was at the tavern, and today he was watching Rhys’s uncle and cousin – or following Gwen. Having failed to strike me last night, he may now mean to threaten me through my children.’
‘Magda understands why thou wilt not rest until the fox is no longer a threat to the fold.’
‘No, I will not.’
She put her hand over his and looked into his eye. ‘Trust in thine own wisdom.’
‘No one is right all the time.’
‘It is wise to remember that. Caution is part of wisdom. But thou hast deep knowledge of thy nemesis. Trust what arises here.’ She pressed the center of his forehead. ‘And here.’ She touched his stomach.
‘How do I know?’
‘Thou wilt know.’
When Hempe arrived shortly afterward, shedding wet cloak and boots, Kate was keeping Hugh and Emma engaged with a rainy-day activity, rehearsing a song for their brother and sister, and Rhys, if he woke. Owen sat alone by the kitchen fire, brooding over his conversation with Magda. He shook himself from his thoughts to greet Hempe, who settled down beside him, reporting a quiet night, no incidents, just wet, cold, grumpy men, eager to go home to dry off and sleep by their hearth fires. Most fortunate men, to Owen’s mind.
‘You look a bit more rested than when I left you,’ Hempe observed.
‘I slept a little,’ said Owen. ‘And I’ve had time to think it through. You’d set Ned to watch Gunnell’s shop. But he showed up yesterday near the castle. Did you take him off that duty?’
‘I did. He’d seen no activity. Why?’
‘Where’s Stephen?’
‘Watching the river for signs of Reynard.’
‘I want him watching the Gunnell shop. And two of our best men watching my home and the apothecary, front and back.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘If he swam across the river, Gunnell’s shop is close to the far bank.’
Hempe studied the floor for a moment. ‘So you think Pete’s biding at the widow Gunnell’s house and Reynard in the shop.’
‘I’m thinking a lot more than that, but it’s a start.’
‘Damned if I understand why you think Gunnell would risk so much. And what is his connection to Pete?’
Greed, that was the connection. But Owen could not be certain. ‘Reynard counts on our confusion.’
‘You believe this was his idea? I know you said he was sly, but how would he convince Gunnell?’
‘Offer something worth the risk.’ Hempe pulled a face that made Owen laugh. ‘You may be right to think I’m mad. Time will tell. For now I want Stephen to watch the shop, and our men to take all who are in the Gunnell house to the castle, keep them under guard.’
‘Not in the same chamber as Walter and Arn, I take it?’
‘It might prove interesting, but let’s keep them apart for now. Give the Gunnells a pleasant chamber.’
‘What do I say to Laurence and the widow? They will demand to know why they’re being taken to the castle.’
‘Explain that they might be in danger and we can protect them at the castle. Same for Pete if he’s still there.’
‘They will argue.’
‘Get them there.’
‘You also think Reynard might attack your family?’
‘He has, twice – the night he surprised Jasper on the roof of the York Tavern, and when he attacked my children.’ The heat in Owen’s head was building. He tried to breathe slowly, calming the storm. He had no cause to snap at Hempe.
‘I should say,’ said Hempe, as if oblivious to Owen’s mood, ‘though it will only encourage your flight of madness – when I asked Lotta whether Laurence Gunnell is a citizen of the city, she said he was fortunate he had any custom, always late with orders and the quality of his sails unreliable. Fabric and sewing both inferior to other sailmakers in the city. He has far to go to earn the support he would need to become a citizen.’
Hempe’s wife was a reliable source. ‘You asked because you wondered about his part in all this?’
‘After finding Arn and Walter at the Gunnell house, yes, I did wonder. He has some explaining to do. And though he seems to live well, we’ve seen no customers at his shop. I’m wondering how he thrives, what his real business might be.’
‘Let’s question them together after I’ve searched the shop and the house.’
Hempe rose. ‘Best begin. I will see you later, at the castle.’
‘I will go first to Gunnell’s shop.’
‘I’ll send Stephen there.’
After the prayers at terce the other sisters dispersed, but Marian had remained in the cloister, listening to the drumbeat of the rain on the lead roof, watching it bend the branches on the trees still laden with leaves, feeling the mist on her face. Though Sir John Neville’s men had arrived eager to turn round and head south, there would be no traveling until the storm had passed. She had spent the hour before the others arrived for none kneeling before the Blessed Mother’s altar praying for Gwen, Jasper, and Rhys. And, selfishly, for a sign. Her bag was packed, Dame Claire as ready to assume Marian’s duties as she could be in so short a time, but she yearned for a clear sign to be certain she made this decision out of a true calling and not pride – to be the cantrice of Wherwell Abbey would be the greatest honor she could imagine. But did God mean this honor for her? Or had the abduction that had ripped her from there been His doing, to chasten her? Was she meant to stay here at St Clement’s, a humbler establishment? Should she bend to the wishes of her family, who dared not antagonize the Duke of Lancaster in this delicate time, as all feared the death of the king and the accession of a child to the throne? A gust of wind sent a shiver through the tree just outside the part of the cloister where she stood, showering her with drops.
Alisoun had opened the apothecary mid-morning, handling the orders she could and making notes for Lucie and Jasper for more complicated compounds to be prepared later. During a lull she went to the house to see whether she was needed.
Jasper sat by the garden window watching the rain drip from the eaves.
‘How is Gwen?’ she asked.
He pulled his eyes away from the storm, settling on his sister. ‘Quiet since she first spoke. Sleeping. It is a good sign that she can speak, isn’t it?’
‘Very good.’
‘But her left ear.’
‘I heard. Did Magda seem worried?’
‘I would not know how to tell.’
Alisoun smiled. Magda rarely exhibited worry, and the signs were so subtle it had taken living with her and studying her closely to detect any. ‘I know little about ear injuries. I will ask her. And you? How are your ribs? Do you have pain with deep breaths?’
‘Some, but the binding helps. Do you need me in the apothecary?’
‘Today is for rest. Tomorrow you might try a few hours.’
‘It’s only bruising.’
‘I know how hard it is to be still, but if one or more ribs are broken, moving about too much will cause more damage. And you did hit your head.’
He reached up to take her hand. ‘I have not had a chance to say how sorry I am for all I said.’
She stepped back, not ready to talk about his outburst. ‘Not now. Not here. Too many ears.’
He turned away from her.
She joined Magda, who sat by Rhys’s pallet. He lay so still it was no wonder Gwen had asked if he would recover.
‘He has a long healing ahead of him,’ said Magda. ‘But no fever.’
‘That bodes well. He hasn’t awakened at all?’
‘For a moment. Long enough to drink physick in a broth. He lost much blood from the stab wounds in his side, and the bloody knot on the back of his head suggests a rock on the ground where he fell.’
‘Poor man.’
‘Or fortunate to have been with members of this household when he fell.’
‘And Gwen’s ear?’
‘Time will tell.’ Magda nodded toward the pallet where Lucie sat beside her sleeping daughter. ‘Reassure her that all is well in the shop.’
Lucie glanced up as Alisoun approached. ‘Do you need me?’
‘Today, no,’ said Alisoun. ‘And tomorrow Jasper means to return. He will easily fill the orders I could not in a short time, and then I will send him back here to rest.’
‘How can I thank you?’
‘You have done so by trusting me to see to the shop. Despite … everything.’ She took a breath. ‘And now I must eat and return for the late afternoon trade.’ Kissing Lucie on the cheek, Alisoun escaped to the kitchen before the emotions in the room overwhelmed her. She felt their distress so keenly, all of them. In one way or another she had been part of the family ever since losing her own parents and siblings to the pestilence. And for a long while she had expected to marry Jasper and live among them. That she now saw no path to that future saddened her.
Before heading for Laurence Gunnell’s shop, Owen talked with the already soaked and miserable men searching around the north end of the Ouse Bridge, as well as some of the workmen on the staithe. He was late to the game – all the hiding places they knew of had been searched, in vain.
The rain was penetrating Owen’s cloak by the time he crossed the bridge. Stephen already stood in the shop doorway, arms folded, chin tucked, watching the neighbors watching him. With his considerable size and heft and his menacing frown, he was an intimidating presence.
Spotting Owen, he broke out in a wide grin. ‘Come along in and dry off. Though I can’t promise warmth.’ He stepped back, shutting the door behind him as he followed Owen inside. ‘You were right, Captain, someone’s been biding here, in a room behind the shop. Meant to serve as an office, I reckon, but now a bedchamber. Pallet, blankets, cup and bowl on a table, warm coals in the brazier. Comfortable. One of the blankets is stained. Maybe blood.’
‘That might prove helpful. Any clothing? A pack?’ Owen asked as he pulled back his hood and shook the rain off his brows.
‘Found none, but I’ve not yet searched this room. Thought I’d best block the doorway.’
‘No lock?’ He squinted back at the door as his eye adjusted to the dimness within.
‘There’s a lock, but the door is presently the only source of light. The window in here is boarded up.’
No wonder it was so dark. Put in place for Reynard? Or had this never been intended for regular trade? ‘Help me tear off the boards.’
In the light from the open window, Owen found a few lamps. Once he lit them using the stoked coals in the brazier, he began a systematic search of the shop – Stephen had found all there was to find in the heated room behind it. Tallies and a list of clients spoke of a struggling business. Shelves held heavy fabric for sails as well as light fabric and straw, stuffing for cushions. A sniff confirmed his suspicion that mice had nested in the straw. Gone now, but they would return as winter set in. A long board on trestles served as a workspace on which lay a wooden box containing a few spools of heavy thread and large, sturdy needles. A pair of benches provided seating. No samples of goods, sketches of sails – Gunnell was either about to fail or he kept all of that at his mother’s home. Not convenient. A third possibility came to mind – he was busy pursuing something else. Whatever supported him, Owen found no sign of it here.
Crossing over to the tavern, he ordered food to take over to Stephen, and some ale. While waiting he talked to the tavern maid.
‘Much custom at the sailmaker’s?’
She glanced round as if to be certain no one listened. ‘I’ve seen few passing through those doors,’ she said.
‘How long has the window been boarded up?’
‘A fortnight, maybe. Queer, isn’t it? I expected to see a new tenant, but Master Laurence comes now and then, spends some time within.’
‘Seen anyone else there since old Jonas died?’
‘No. But I swear I smell smoke when I pass by of an evening – in the shop, not the house behind.’
The food arrived along with Dunn, the proprietor, ordering his informer off to clean tables.
Owen had heard enough, and was curious about the presence of Brother Michaelo at Laurence’s shop, talking to Stephen. As he greeted Michaelo, a lad interrupted to say that Hempe needed him at once at the Gunnell house.
‘What happened?’
The boy shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t let me in, but someone was crying.’
‘I will accompany you,’ said Michaelo. As they walked he explained his presence. Two of Neville’s men had called on Wykeham. ‘As the prioress had heard, they are to escort him to Winchester, ensuring his safety on the road, and take the sisters to Wherwell. Sir Francis, who leads the small company, came with his page to discuss plans for the departure. The others are arranging their lodgings at St Mary’s Abbey.’
‘Another sign,’ Owen muttered. He had wasted precious time in blaming Wykeham for all that had happened since his arrival.
‘Whatever you mean by “sign”, I doubt you are feeling the chill of this rain for the heat of your anger.’
‘I have failed to hide it?’
‘As much as I pride my skill in observing my fellow mortals, a blind man would sense the steam emanating from your person. Might I know the cause?’
‘I have been so wrong,’ Owen began …
Two women sat near the entrance to the modest hall of the widow Gunnell. By the clothing and age difference, Owen surmised it was the maidservant consoling the weeping widow, Dame Alys.
Brother Michaelo joined them on the bench, reaching for the widow’s hand.
‘He must have tumbled from the solar, the poor man,’ she sobbed.
With a nod to him, Owen approached the body lying at the bottom of the ladder to the solar, which Hempe was descending. Even before he crouched down to see more clearly, Owen knew it was Pete, Jonas Snicket’s servant. His neck was broken, as was likely when falling from the height of the solar. No doubt other bones broken as well, and the skull fractured. Not that it mattered. The dead felt no pain.
‘Dame Alys and her servant returned from visiting a neighbor to find him so,’ said Hempe as he joined Owen. ‘“Poor old man,” she said, and blamed herself for not seeing that he was safely down in the hall before departing.’ He sounded skeptical.
As was Owen. ‘She sent for you?’
‘No. We happened upon her standing over him, weeping loudly.’
‘And Laurence?’
‘Called away on business, she said. Left at first light, but I’m guessing he sneaked out in the night.’
As Owen rose, he glanced toward the widow who sat quietly now, hands folded, as Brother Michaelo led her and her servant in a prayer. A man of many talents. ‘How did our guards not see him depart?’ He kept his voice low, despite Michaelo’s attempt to distract Dame Alys.
‘You might have a word with the men,’ said Hempe. ‘They don’t like disappointing you.’
‘They need experience, not my approval.’
Hempe winced at Owen’s angry tone. ‘Steady.’
‘The trail of bodies does not disturb you?’
‘Of course it does. And we’re doing all we can to stop it.’
‘And failing. Laurence’s might be the next body discovered.’
‘Gunnell? So he is not in league with Reynard?’
‘Disappearing in the night is not the behavior of an innocent man, I grant you, though possibly a frightened one. Reynard trusts no one – uses them, then discards them. Laurence might talk if we could find him.’
‘I’ve sent word to watch for Gunnell at all the gates. But if he killed Pete he will be long gone. You’re right. I’ve failed you.’
‘I am as much to blame, so ready to conclude that Wykeham brought trouble in his wake, looking no further. Have the body taken to the castle, and escort Dame Alys and her maidservant there. As planned, a comfortable chamber.’
‘You think she is part of it?’
‘I have yet to speak with her. But I smell a carefully staged drama. Let her stew at the castle. I’ll return here to search after I’ve met with Sir John’s men.’
‘That’s why the monk’s with you?’ Hempe nodded toward Michaelo. ‘He has charmed the widow. Might be useful when we question her.’
Owen agreed. On his way out he paused to introduce himself to Dame Alys, offering his condolences regarding Pete. ‘You knew him well?’
‘I? No. Laurence believes it his Christian duty to take in strays.’ A tight smile followed by much dabbing of the eyes.
‘I am sorry I missed Laurence,’ said Owen. ‘When do you expect him to return?’
‘I could not say.’
‘Or do not care to incriminate him?’ Even as he said it, he knew it a mistake.
Brother Michaelo sighed as Dame Alys reared up, her finger stabbing Owen as she demanded he apologize.
Too late for that. ‘To convince me of your innocence, you’ve only to tell me all you know.’
‘The mayor will hear of this!’
‘He will indeed.’ Owen bowed to her and departed.
Michaelo hurried after him. ‘All my work calming her and you– What demon possessed you in there?’
‘I thank you for distracting the women.’
‘I make myself useful.’
‘And I regret confronting the widow in such wise.’
‘You have turned her against you when you need her.’
‘I know, Michaelo,’ Owen growled.
The monk raised a brow, but said no more about it. Glancing at the sky he proposed they hurry on. The rain had stopped, but the wind was rising and clouds scudded across a steel-gray sky.
Walking cleared Owen’s head. By the time they reached the minster, near Jehannes’s house, he was able to return to Michaelo’s mission. ‘Are Neville’s men treating Wykeham with courtesy?’
‘Most gracious, extending greetings from the baron himself, and his brother the archbishop.’ Michaelo watched Owen’s reaction.
‘The Archbishop of York?’
‘Insincere, to be sure. Elder brother smoothing over his sibling’s shortcomings as the archbishop cannot be bothered with the affairs of York.’
‘And ensuring that if such a prominent bishop as Wykeham is murdered in his brother’s city, he will be able to claim having done all he could to protect him. They will find a way to put the blame on me and the bailiffs.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Do they know of Dame Marian’s decision to return to Wherwell?’ Even if this trouble had nothing to do with Wykeham, if from the beginning Reynard’s purpose had been to destroy Owen, he had not expected Neville’s men to approve of Dame Marian’s return to Wherwell. After all, she had been warned away by her uncle, albeit a Percy.
‘They do, and they say Lady Maud will be glad of it. I know this is an interruption in your day, but Dom Jehannes will be reassured by your presence.’
‘I am glad to meet Neville’s men. In return, I would have you accompany me as I talk to Walter, Arn, and the Gunnells at the castle.’
‘I will honor that debt despite this not being my request.’
‘Do not pretend you don’t enjoy this.’
Michaelo raised a brow as he paused at the door. ‘Think what you like.’
In the hall, Wykeham rose to greet them, the others following.
‘Captain Archer. This is Sir John Neville’s man, Sir Francis.’
‘And my page, Phillip.’ The knight was younger than Owen by several years, he guessed, but he was at ease with Owen’s scarred face in the way only a man who had seen battle would be. ‘I am glad to meet you. When I heard that you were captain of bailiffs in the city and seeing to His Grace’s safety, I was reassured.’
‘Come now, both of you, and sit by the fire,’ said Dom Jehannes. ‘Dry yourselves.’
As everyone settled, Jehannes steered the conversation to the coming storm, until Perkin and one of Wykeham’s servants brought hot spiced wine for Owen and Michaelo. Sir Francis expressed his hope that they might depart as soon as the weather cleared. The bishop nodded in agreement, though the lines of weariness in his face spoke of his dread.
When the conversation turned to the reason for their visit, Owen listened with interest to Sir Francis’s account of Sir John’s orders. As he’d guessed, the baron was convinced it was in his and his brother’s best interests to ensure that Wykeham was safely returned to Winchester, for if he or his party were injured or killed, people might blame the archbishop. When Wykeham asked why Sir John was concerned for his welfare, the knight grew quiet, glancing at Jehannes and Owen as if for help.
‘Speak plainly,’ said Wykeham.
‘Your Grace, it is said that the Duke of Lancaster seeks to make an example of you as a warning to all who would see advantage in the king’s illness and the royal family’s mourning. My lord knows that his fellow bishops will be incensed by the treatment of one of their own, and if any ill should befall you in York, they would look to his brother the archbishop as responsible.’
‘I should think we are most concerned about the potential source of trouble,’ said Jehannes.
‘Yes. If you might clarify, Sir Francis,’ said Wykeham.
‘My lord believes you have made enemies in the realm, Your Grace. As do all great men,’ he said quickly with a strained smile. ‘And he fears that once they learn you are being stripped of your temporalities, they will presume you have no protection, no allies, and they might’ – he cleared his throat – ‘use that to their advantage.’
Michaelo leaned close to Owen, saying quietly, ‘Enemies who want him dead is what he cannot bring himself to say.’
‘And therefore he is protecting me, and taking his place as my ally.’ Wykeham raised a brow. ‘I admit I did not anticipate such generosity from the Baron of Raby. I am grateful to Sir John.’ A vein pulsed at his temple. He felt diminished. Which was Lancaster’s purpose. And Neville’s? Sir John could not risk Wykeham’s death during a journey to York, but he could insult him.
Wykeham had risen and walked to the hearth. For a long while he stood facing it, his back to the company, gazing into the flame. His servant slipped into the hall to replenish cups, then withdrew. Owen noticed Perkin hovering in the doorway.
At last Wykeham turned, nodding to the gathering. ‘I am grateful for the protection. We shall depart as soon as the weather permits. Now I should like to retire to the minster to pray.’
Sir Francis and his page rose, as did the others, as Wykeham departed. As soon as the door shut behind him, the knight asked whether someone should attend the bishop.
‘One of my men will be following him,’ said Owen.
‘I am glad to hear it. Might we talk, Captain?’
Jehannes asked Brother Michaelo to accompany him to his parlor. ‘If you should need anything, call Perkin,’ he said, bowing out.
Sir Francis sat forward. ‘It is said we are facing a formidable archer, one whom you trained. Is that true, Captain?’
‘I would be curious to know who told you that.’ Raby Castle was at the very least a two-day ride from York. How would Sir John have heard so quickly?
‘I am not certain where I heard that.’
A lie. Owen noticed Perkin in the corridor leading to the kitchen, moving away from them now. ‘You heard correctly.’
‘Three of the men in my company are excellent bowmen, including my page. As you trained our opponent, I hoped you might work with them, prepare them. I should be grateful.’
Dredging up his memories of training Reynard was not something Owen welcomed, but he must do so in any case. ‘You might ask Abbot William’s permission to set up a butt in the abbey grounds. It would be best to work without an audience.’
‘You mean this man Reynard?’
Even to the name. ‘I doubt he is alone.’
‘I will do my best with the abbot.’
‘He is keen to please the Nevilles.’ Owen rose. ‘I cannot say when I will be free, but I will make the time before we engage with Reynard.’ He nodded to Sir Francis and departed through the kitchen, where he found Perkin pretending to be busy by the door. Wykeham’s serving man was tending a pot on the fire.
‘Come with me to the kitchen garden,’ he said in Perkin’s ear.
The man shied from his nearness. ‘Captain? But I have–’
Clutching his shoulder, hard, Owen looked into the man’s frightened eyes. ‘It is not a request.’
Perkin moved slowly toward the door, shaking his head when the one stirring the pot asked if he needed him. Outside, he glanced round the garden and up onto the roof before focusing on Owen.
‘You’ve seen someone watching the house,’ Owen guessed.
‘What do you want of me, Captain?’
‘To give you a piece of advice. When confiding in your superiors, impress upon them the importance of being discreet with the information. I saw you when Sir Francis mentioned Reynard.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You gather information well. But you have yet to learn whom you can trust. Still, Neville must have confidence in you.’
Perkin crossed his arms and tried to look stern, but his blush betrayed him.
‘Why not help me help your master keep the peace for his brother?’
‘I work for Dom Jehannes.’
And report to Sir John Neville, who placed you here, Owen thought, but did not say. Jehannes would deal with the man later. ‘Tell me about the watcher.’
Another anxious glance round the garden. ‘At first it was a boy. When I caught him he said his mother sometimes cleaned for Dom Jehannes and he liked the garden. But the past several days it’s been a man, large, not swift on his feet, but quiet. Withdraws into the shadows as soon as I’m aware of him.’
‘Anything else you can tell me of his appearance?’
‘A great bush of fair hair and thick brows.’
He might be describing Madoc. Except … ‘Large, you said. Strong, or fat?’
‘Muscle, but a belly, too. You know how old soldiers go to fat.’
As had Bruin. ‘Has he spoken to you?’
‘I think he started to last night, but the bishop’s man came out and he slipped away.’
‘This is helpful. Have a care, Perkin.’
‘Will you tell Dom Jehannes?’
Nodding to him, Owen returned to the house, knocked on the door to the parlor where Jehannes was talking to Michaelo. He informed him of the spy in his household, asked if he would keep him on for now.
Jehannes closed his eyes. ‘Until this is resolved. And then he goes.’