Owen stood in front of a long window looking out on the back gardens in the widow’s hall, watching water gathering in runnels from the roof and flowing toward the river. He was caught in a vivid memory of waking in the camp in excruciating pain and remembering the betrayal. Reynard had sworn innocence, confessing to a lesser sin, that of coercing another to take his watch. And though the substitute supported his claim, Owen knew it to be a lie.
‘It is hardly a day to tramp about the city chasing criminals.’
Jolted back to the present, Owen took a moment to realize it was Brother Michaelo who had spoken, and that he was in the Gunnell house. ‘Convenience is a luxury I cannot afford,’ he finally said. ‘He is here. Near. I can feel him.’
‘Is this Dame Magda’s training?’
The monk’s unease was as clear as Owen’s sense of Reynard. He himself could not explain how he knew, what it was that convinced him. Did this prove he had learned to use the extra sense Magda called his third eye, or clear seeing? It mattered not at present. He had much to do.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, donning his cloak and pulling up the hood, ‘Hempe awaits us at the castle.’ He led the way out into the storm.
Though it was not far, they were soaked by the time they joined Hempe, who paced at the door to the building where guests were lodged, those people either under protection or awaiting trial and able to pay for comfort.
‘Have you questioned Dame Alys yet?’ Owen asked.
‘No. Letting her wonder whether I lied about why she is staying in the castle. She’s furious with you, which made my job harder.’
‘I will be all courtesy this time, I swear.’
‘You’d best. The chamber is comfortable, but when she realized she’s not free to go about the city, well, the woman has a sharp tongue.’
‘All I want is information about her truant son.’
‘Even if she gives him up, we cannot set her free just yet. Not without Reynard and Laurence in custody. Did you find anything in the house that might help us catch them?’
‘Not yet. Scattered about the loft were what looked like Pete’s clothes, castoffs from Snicket. Laurence and his mother appear to sleep in box beds behind a screen in the hall. In a chest there, and another in a space behind the kitchen, I found costly plate, a quantity of rare spices, bolts of silk, a pouch of assorted rings and brooches of quality. Have one of the men bring them here, for the sheriff’s safekeeping.’
‘So Laurence is a thief?’
‘It will be interesting to hear Dame Alys’s explanation.’
‘What of the shop? Was it as you thought?’
‘Yes.’ Owen described the signs of habitation, the evidence of a failed enterprise, and the tavern maid’s comments.
‘But nothing pointing to Reynard. Besides your certainty.’
‘It’s the only arrangement that makes sense of it all.’
‘Or Laurence takes his women to the bed behind the shop. An unwed man living with his widowed mother – I think it likely.’
‘You might be right. It might be a woman with her courses who bloodied a blanket.’
‘Ah.’ Hempe nodded. ‘Perhaps not. How does Wykeham fit in?’
‘He afforded Reynard the opportunity to come north and confront me, nothing more. My prejudice against Wykeham blinded me.’
‘Come north to confront you? Revenge? For what?’
‘For not making him my second. For shaming him before his comrades in arms when I was new to leading men. Too late I saw what pride he took in his skill, expecting to become captain of archers in someone’s guard. I became his barrier to what he felt he deserved. And now … it appears he’s no longer part of Lancaster’s archers but a common laborer. Perhaps he blames me. My successor, an old friend, knew I distrusted him and felt the same. He would be the first suspected of any trouble.’
‘I can understand that. I hated you at first,’ Hempe said with a fleeting grin. ‘But he’s not touched you.’
‘He’s done worse. He’s touched my children. Shown me that – despite all my success – I cannot protect what I hold most dear.’ Owen felt how he clenched his hands and forced himself to relax them. ‘But you are right to doubt me. I count on you to correct me if I go off course. Let’s hear what Arn and Walter have to say for themselves. Then we’ll talk to Dame Alys.’
After a night in a chamber not much more comfortable than a dungeon, Walter and Arn huddled together, shielding their eyes from the glare of the lantern Owen carried with him as he entered. No wonder they were in such a state, considering the chamber: stone walls with a window far too high and small to provide anything but a bit of air, straw-stuffed pallets on the floor, a bucket for relieving themselves, weak light through the barred opening toward the top of their door from a lantern on the wall opposite. Worse than Owen had intended.
‘Captain Archer himself,’ said the older of the two, snarling. Rhys’s uncle Walter – grizzled hair, lined face, a few teeth missing, paunch.
The younger one rose up, fists balled, grinning slyly – Arn, Walter’s son. ‘Which one first?’ He feinted toward Owen, then Hempe. Light on his feet, with good form for a fist fight.
‘Save your strength for the trial, you fool,’ Hempe growled, stepping aside to let the guard push him back down to the pallet.
‘I see you’ve brought us a priest,’ said Walter.
‘I am but a monk,’ said Michaelo. ‘Here to record your story for the sheriff.’ He stood aside as guards brought a small table, a stool, and an oil lamp. ‘Bless you,’ he said, taking his seat.
Owen motioned the guards to leave and close the door, then leaned against it, arms folded.
‘You’re here to beat us for injuring your second, I’m guessing,’ said Walter.
Arn turned to his father. ‘Shut your mouth!’
‘Our silence will not help,’ Walter said in a weary voice. ‘How is he?’
‘He will mend,’ said Owen. ‘It’s Trent you should worry about. He is the one who might not survive. That would be two of the bishop’s men dead, one you murdered, one you attacked, giving Raymond the opportunity to kill him.’
Hempe crouched down near the uncle. ‘So you’re for hanging at best.’
‘We kicked Trent, but the bishop’s own man shot him. Our kicks aren’t what will kill him,’ said Walter. ‘And the other – the carter’s beast of a man was attacking our David. Not a fair fight, a bear attacking a lamb. We beat him off to save our lad and get away with our lives. We didn’t hear until days later that he was dead. He was alive when we ran. I swear we never meant to kill anyone.’
Arn muttered something Owen could not quite hear, but he seemed to disagree.
‘So you’re saying Beck chose the weakest of you to fight?’ Owen asked. That would be unlike the Bruin he had known. He always went for the challenge.
‘If Beck’s the big one, no, it was David threw himself at him, to avenge his father’s death,’ said Walter. ‘We tried to pull him away. He wasn’t the one, we kept saying. But the beast could not miss that David was no threat to him. I can’t say I’m sorry the beast is dead. You know how it feels, Captain. You must want to kill his mate for what he did to your young daughter and your son.’
Hempe glanced at Owen, who took his time responding, fighting to keep his face passive and his body relaxed.
‘I want him to answer to the king’s justice,’ said Owen. ‘What do you mean that Beck wasn’t the one?’
‘The other, Raymond, him and another one killed David’s father, not the one you call Beck. The other was not so big as this Beck, but large enough. Malcolm, I think.’
‘Madoc,’ said Arn.
‘Right you are,’ said Walter.
Madoc, too, had left Lancaster’s service and was now a laborer. Was it possible he was the one Perkin saw watching Jehannes’s house? ‘Have you seen him here?’
‘He’s here,’ said Arn. ‘They’re never apart, so folk said back home. Must have come up early to prepare for them.’
If so, this had been planned with care.
‘If you did not set out to kill anyone, what was the purpose of your attack?’ Hempe asked.
That silenced the man for a moment. Of course they’d come for blood.
‘How is my cousin?’ Arn asked.
‘We are doing all we can for Rhys and pray it is enough,’ said Owen.
‘His family should be with him,’ said Walter. ‘Has he asked for us?’
‘He has not awakened.’
Walter groaned and crossed himself. Arn muttered a string of curses, then hurriedly crossed himself as well.
‘And your daughter? Your son?’ Walter asked.
‘They are mending much faster. Rhys may have saved both of them.’
‘He’s a good lad.’
‘You attacked Jonas Snicket and stole a considerable amount of coin,’ said Hempe. ‘The man died from his injuries. That’s another life you’ve taken.’
‘We were nowhere near him that night,’ Arn growled.
‘Pete pointed to the two of you,’ said Owen.
‘Then he’s lying,’ said Arn.
‘Might have guessed you would say that,’ Hempe said.
‘He described you as you would have looked that night,’ said Owen, ‘after the attack in the churchyard outside my home. Your injury, Arn.’
The younger man looked confused. ‘How would he know? Bah! You’re lying.’
Rhys, too, had said they’d not attacked Snicket, though he had only their word to go on. But he had believed them. Owen could think of another who could have described the wound, imagine how Arn would look afterward – the archer who had shot him. Reynard. It was time to see if some ale would loosen tongues. Owen knocked on the door, a signal for the guard to hand him a jug and bowls.
As he set them before the prisoners, Owen said, ‘Why don’t you tell us what happened the night you attacked the cart. Take your time. Tell us all you remember.’
Father and son filled their bowls, drinking greedily.
When Arn reached to refill his, Walter stayed him. ‘Make it last.’
His son grumbled but sat back. ‘Where do we begin?’
‘How did you hear that Raymond and Beck were coming north with Trent?’
‘We knew the two they paid off to stay behind,’ said Walter. ‘Bragging about it at the tavern. When we heard, we told my brother’s widow. She gave us some coin to come with David and Rhys. Though in the end Rhys came later.’
‘How did you know when they were approaching York?’ asked Owen.
‘David started working with one mason in the city, then heard of one whose brother was the priest at St Clement’s. He had put out the word that they would be needing good stone workers soon. David went to him, showed him his work. He had the charm, our David. The mason took a liking to him. Said if they waited long enough he would recommend him. Told him when a carter named Trent was expecting to deliver the stones, the ones coming by cart, some fancy stones from an archway. The rest would come by barge. But we knew Raymond and Beck would be with the cart.’
‘This was Marcus Bolton?’
Walter nodded. ‘He took David on after the first job was complete.’
‘Where were you lodging?’ asked Hempe.
‘That flea-ridden inn outside the walls,’ said Walter. ‘Green Man.’
Hempe laughed. ‘You’re better off here.’
‘We were free to come and go,’ said Walter.
‘So you rode out to meet them,’ said Owen. ‘Crept up on their camp, and then?’
‘We watched, saw where they tied up the carthorse,’ said Arn. ‘Waited until they ate, drank, and settled back. Then we charged, me first, then Da, then David.’
‘That’s when David locked arms with that beast Beck,’ said Walter. ‘Fool wasn’t thinking.’
‘Who thinks when the fight is on?’ Arn muttered.
‘The carter ran, probably pissing himself,’ said Walter. ‘And the other, the quick one, Raymond, he came for us. My son swatted him aside and went to pull the beast off David. Then Raymond came for me and I sliced him. He fell aside. And I went behind the beast, stabbed him in the back, a few times, until Raymond tossed me aside.’
‘You said you’d sliced Raymond. Where?’ Owen asked.
‘Somewhere in his middle.’
‘A long knife?’
‘Long enough, I thought. Must not have gone deep enough. Didn’t slow him down.’
If they were lucky, Jasper’s arrow had reopened a wound just beginning to heal. Owen nodded. ‘Go on. He’d tossed you aside.’
‘When I got my wind, David was lying on the ground all bloodied and limp and the beast was slumped over him. It was too far from the fire to see if that one was breathing. But Arn moved right enough when Raymond came at him with a dagger, slashing and pouncing. I jumped him, caught him off balance, and as soon as he fell I grabbed Arn and we scrambled off. Don’t know how we did it, my leg dragging some and Arn bleeding from his arm. We left our David there. God forgive us.’
‘We didn’t go far,’ said Arn. ‘Just down to a beck. Got water on our wounds, nice and cold. And hid, listening, watching. At first light we went back to the cart. No sign of the beast dead or alive. David was sitting up against a wheel. Could see he’d bled a lot. Clothes were soaked in it. But he was alive. Said he’d played dead until Raymond dragged the beast away. Then he tried to climb into the cart but couldn’t manage. I say it like he was fine and chattering away but it came out in bits, him holding his middle and coughing up blood between the words. We carried him to the beck, thought the water …’ His voice broke and he looked away.
Walter nodded. ‘He was dying all the while. I hoped the cool water might revive him. But by the time we pulled him out he’d stopped breathing. We wanted to get him to the cart. We went for the horses – had two. Farther down the beck.’
‘That’s when the bastard Raymond came flying from a tree, knocking me down,’ said Arn.
‘I grabbed him and shoved his face in the water,’ said Walter. ‘The two of us held him down till he stopped struggling. How he’s alive–’
‘Can’t kill the devil,’ Arn spat. ‘But we didn’t know that then. He looked dead, limp and still.’
‘Our horses weren’t where we’d tethered them. We whistled and searched but they were nowhere, and we reckoned Raymond had hidden them for him and the beast. Arn’s arm was useless, sliced open, and I was limping – so we couldn’t carry poor David back to the cart. We thought Trent had likely taken the carthorse, but we found him right where he’d tethered him before we attacked. That was a bit of luck. I suppose Raymond preferred ours. We harnessed him and – God forgive us – by then Arn’s arm was bleeding badly and he was having trouble sitting up on the cart. There was nothing we could do for David until we were fit to bury him. So I went on. Drove the cart to the Green Man. The cursed innkeeper handed us our packs. Had given our room to someone else. Greedy bastard. Said they’d offered more coin. We cleaned up as best we could and drove the cart into York. Who questions carters? We left the cart and went to Trinity Priory, got Arn’s arm cleaned and bandaged, same with my leg. Didn’t dare stay.’
‘Should have checked there,’ Hempe muttered to himself.
Owen ignored him, finding much of interest in the tale spun by father and son.
‘We left the cart for the bishop,’ said Arn with a laugh. ‘He owes us.’
‘But we should have checked it,’ said Walter. ‘Didn’t know David had managed to tuck his scrip with his tools in there. Why did the lad bring them?’ Walter’s voice broke. He wiped his eyes and poured more ale for himself and his son.
‘Those tools are our property,’ said Arn, looking at Owen.
‘Rhys’s,’ said Owen.
‘It was his mother paid for them,’ said Walter. ‘My sister.’
‘Did you know she sliced open Rhys’s cheek when he refused to take part in your scheme?’ Owen asked.
Michaelo made a sound, reminding Owen he was making notes.
‘He’s soft,’ said Arn. ‘Doesn’t understand honor.’
‘Robbing Jonas Snicket was honorable?’ Hempe asked.
‘We told you we had naught to do with that,’ said Walter.
‘You went to the Bell, the tavern across from Gunnell’s shop,’ said Hempe. ‘You learned that Jonas Snicket might take lodgers.’
‘That shriveled manservant shooed us off,’ said Arn.
‘Tell me about the night in the cemetery in front of my home,’ said Owen. ‘The night you were injured.’
Arn pressed his shoulder. ‘The night you shot at us from the roof of your wife’s shop?’
‘That was not me. You saw someone up there?’
‘Seemed to come from there,’ said Walter. ‘Both shots. We were easy targets, standing in the light from a lantern in the tavern yard.’
Two shots, Owen noted. Reynard’s hit Arn. He salvaged Alisoun’s for later. He must have been on the roof of the apothecary, just above Jasper. So close.
‘Why were you there?’ Hempe asked.
‘For Rhys. Hoping he’d find out where his brother’s tools were, and if you knew where Raymond was hiding,’ said Walter.
‘It wasn’t you?’ Arn did not look convinced.
‘He wouldn’t have missed,’ said Hempe.
‘Injuring you serves no purpose,’ said Owen. ‘I would have rounded you up. Did Rhys agree to aid you?’
‘No. But when Arn was shot he helped us away, and I thought he might be having a change of heart.’ Walter shrugged. ‘But he left us.’
Lying? Rhys had told Owen it was the other way round. But it seemed a small matter.
‘What were you doing at the Gunnell house yesterday?’ Owen asked.
‘Word was old Snicket’s servant was hiding there, the bastard that blamed us for the old man’s death. Yes, we’d heard. We went to talk to him,’ said Walter.
‘How were you received?’
‘Bailiff saw,’ said Arn. ‘The widow treated us like stray dogs she could sweep from her door.’
‘Did you see Pete?’
‘He was sitting in front of the house with Gunnell when we came up,’ said Arn. ‘Ran into the house when he caught sight of us, the sailmaker following, and the woman came out to shoo us away.’
‘We were arguing with her when we heard a commotion,’ said Walter. ‘Thought it was bailiff’s men come for us so we hid.’ He wiped his face. ‘If Rhys dies I won’t find it in me to forgive myself. I might have helped.’
Arn reached for his father’s arm. ‘Da, don’t.’
Owen had heard enough for now. Nodding to Michaelo and Hempe, he moved to the door, gave the guard orders.
‘You’ll have blankets,’ he said to father and son.
‘How kind,’ Arn muttered.
Walter poked him and thanked Owen for that and the ale.
‘One more question. Was Beck fully clothed when you last saw him?’
Both men took a moment to react, then Arn burst out laughing while Walter, fighting a smile, said, ‘Course he was wearing clothes. Why?’
‘He was found naked.’
‘And you think we stole his clothes? Would take three of me to fill out his tunic, two of Da,’ said Arn, still grinning. ‘The bastard Madoc could wear it. But it’d be tight round the middle.’
‘You’ve no idea where they are hiding?’ Owen asked.
‘We wondered whether Gunnell’s been hiding them,’ said Walter. ‘Seems to collect curs.’
Out in the corridor, Hempe shook his head. ‘If Reynard carried Bruin away, why strip him? To see to his wounds? That’s when he gave up and left him?’
‘They mentioned Reynard’s friend Madoc, that the clothes might fit him,’ said Michaelo. ‘But why would he want to wear clothes that would remind him of a friend’s violent death?’
Owen was thinking about the brothers who had found the body, neither of them bulky like Bruin. ‘Clothes well made could be valuable.’
‘Not so easy to clean blood from them,’ said Hempe. ‘Would lower the value.’ He shrugged. ‘All in all they spun quite a tale. Might be helpful.’
‘Will it save them from hanging?’ asked Michaelo.
‘If they’re telling the truth about Jonas Snicket, it might,’ said Owen. ‘We need to find Gunnell.’
Hempe grunted. ‘We’re no closer to finding him or Reynard. And Dame Alys is not likely to tell you anything.’
‘Let’s give her time to consider her future.’
‘She won’t be happy,’ said Hempe.
‘None of us are,’ said Owen.
‘And who is Madoc? Another one of the archers who served under you?’
‘He was. One of Reynard’s group.’ Owen told him what he suspected about the man watching Jehannes’s house.
‘God help us. Two archers.’
‘Neville sent several.’
‘A small blessing.’
‘Have any of our men experience working with a smith?’
‘Why? No, I see. You’re thinking of the smithy by the Green Man. There’s Frick. Strong but not clever.’
‘Clever enough to watch for Laurence Gunnell and Reynard?’
‘Reliable for watches, yes. You want to know why the taverner gave up Walter and Arn’s room.’
‘I want to know whether Reynard took it.’
‘Do you think Gunnell joined him there?’ Hempe looked doubtful. ‘Why would Reynard risk your guessing that?’
‘Arrogance?’ Michaelo suggested. ‘He may not have expected Walter and Arn to talk.’
‘Or it might be a waste of time,’ said Owen.
‘I agree,’ said Hempe, ‘but we should check. Shall I send Frick up there in the morning? I can describe Gunnell. And Reynard’s hair is fair, right? What else?’
‘Thinning hair. Once red. Pale brows, dark eyes. About your height, broad shoulders.’
‘What about Madoc?’
Owen described how he remembered the man, now with more padding round the middle.
‘And we continue as we have begun in the city?’
‘That’s best. I’m for home.’
‘I’ll stay,’ said Hempe. ‘See that everyone is fed and has blankets for the night, hear what’s been discovered so I can tell those on the night watch where to search, where to watch. I continue to pray for Gwen and Jasper. And Rhys.’
‘We forget Trent,’ said Michaelo.
It was true. ‘I will speak with Brother Henry before I go home.’ Reluctantly, but if Trent were stronger, he might have more to tell.
Though the rain had eased, the wind made talking impossible. Both Owen and Michaelo focused on dodging items blown in their path. Near the minster, Owen turned his back to the wind to thank the monk for attending him and agreeing to return in the morning.
‘I do not understand why you would wait until tomorrow to speak with the widow Gunnell. Her anger will be all the hotter for the delay. Is it wise to give her more cause to refuse to cooperate?’
Owen had thought little of the woman, his mind turning on what he remembered of the men who clustered round Reynard. Michaelo brought him back to the matter at hand. Should he reconsider his treatment of Dame Alys? ‘I cannot think out here. Come.’ He led the way into the minster nave, choosing a quiet place away from the chantries. ‘You believe I was too harsh.’
‘Unless you wish to antagonize her.’
Was he allowing his frustration to lead him, rather than his wit? ‘What do you suggest?’
‘A brief visit this evening.’
No time. He had more urgent meetings this evening. But a visit from a man of the cloth might soften her. ‘I agree.’
Michaelo took a step back. ‘You do?’
‘Once again you prove yourself indispensable. I will not forget this. You will attend her after your rounds in the minster yard?’ It would fit with an idea pushing its way to the head of the plans he had been formulating.
‘I will– No. That is not what I was suggesting.’
‘If you would stay with her until I arrive, I will say a few words and we will return together. I caution you it might be quite late.’
‘Captain, I am not the person she wishes to see.’
‘Your presence will comfort her. When I arrive I will apologize for being delayed. You are inspired, Michaelo.’
‘I will be in my tattered habit.’
‘All the better. Tell her you came to her directly from your evening rounds. Well done, my friend.’
Michaelo stared down his nose at Owen for several heartbeats, then bowed. ‘Do not make me wait too long, I pray you.’ With another bow, he floated away down the nave toward the side door.
Already lost in planning, Owen pulled up his hood and headed back out into the wind toward Bootham Bar and on to the main gate of St Mary’s Abbey.
When the infirmarian opened the door, Owen feared it was too late, he looked so spent.
‘Benedicite, my friend,’ said Brother Henry. ‘You will be here about Master Gerald.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘I thought for a time last night that he was being called to God, but I watched over him, reciting psalms and assuring him that he was safe in the abbey grounds.’ He stepped aside to allow Owen entry, shutting the door behind him. ‘You look as if you might benefit from a taste of brandywine. Come. I will take you to Master Gerald while Brother Paul pours us both a swallow.’ He gestured toward the young monk hovering nearby.
Lamplight glowed in sconces on the walls, warmth radiated from several braziers. Both welcome after Walter and Arn’s castle cell followed by the wet, windy walk.
Trent lay on a pallet near a window overlooking the garden. Outside, wind lashed the trees, sending leaves in a wild dance over the beds piled with straw for the winter.
‘Not that he has noticed his preferential placement,’ Henry said softly. ‘But Brother Wulfstan believed the soul was aware of such comfort.’
Owen took a seat by the pallet. The haughty carter had shrunk, the ruddiness of his skin from the long journey to York faded to a sickly pallor. At least his breathing was quiet and steady. ‘Has he spoken?’
‘A few words. He seems most concerned about meeting a barge at the staithe. As I prayed over him he asked me to thank you and your kind wife.’
‘Anything else?’
‘He asked us not to admit Raymond. When he spoke his name I could see his terror. I promised he would be refused. Bishop Wykeham’s priests have taken turns sitting with him when His Grace gives them leave. Kindly men.’
‘Has anyone come asking about him?’
‘No one, God be thanked. He has had peace.’ He leaned close to his patient, smelling his breath, then felt the pulse in his neck. Owen saw why Brother Henry’s appearance had alarmed him – worry about his charges overrode self-care. ‘I expect a slow recovery,’ the infirmarian said as he straightened and settled opposite Owen, thanking the young monk who handed them cups of wine. He sipped his and closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure.
Owen spoke softly to Trent, reassuring him that he was safe at the abbey. ‘I would like to talk, if you have the strength.’
The carter opened his eyes, blinking at the light. ‘Captain Archer,’ he rasped, his eyelids closing.
‘I came to check that you are comfortable, though I cannot think how you would not be. Brother Henry’s infirmary is a sanctuary.’
Now the eyes fully opened. ‘I am cared for, body and soul.’ Trent rested a moment, his breath more labored. ‘Worried about the shipment of stones. The barge. Should have arrived two days after I was attacked. I know not what day this is. Has it been met?’
That would be this day. ‘The storm may have delayed it. I will speak with His Grace in the morning.’
‘His Grace … He would not know whom to ask … Or did I tell him? I cannot recall.’
‘You arranged the arrival with a merchant in York?’
‘Gisburne. His factor.’
Gisburne was not one of Owen’s favorite people, but perhaps his factor was reliable. ‘I will speak with him.’
‘Bless you. I do not deserve–’
‘We want you to recover,’ said Owen. ‘If I might ask a few more questions. Had you ever before seen any of the men who attacked the cart?’
‘I saw only shapes in the dark before I fled.’
‘When Raymond worked for you, was another man, Madoc, in his company?’
Trent hissed. ‘Another monster. Grateful he did not accompany us.’
‘Have you seen him in York?’
‘No.’ He reached out a hand to clutch Owen’s sleeve. ‘Do not let him in here.’
‘Madoc and Raymond will be refused,’ said Brother Henry, taking Trent’s hand and tucking it beneath the covers. ‘Rest now. You can trust that the captain will ensure that all is as it should be.’
Owen bowed to the infirmarian and Trent and took his leave.
At a table brought close to the kitchen fire, Owen warmed his bones while supping with Lucie and sharing the news of their days. Magda sat with Gwen and Rhys. Jasper had gone to the apothecary to help Alisoun.
‘A difficult time for that pair to be thrown together,’ said Owen.
‘I know. But he is still recovering. He cannot do it all.’
Owen reported on Trent’s condition, asking about Rhys.
‘His injuries are visibly healing, the heat cooling, yet he does not come fully awake.’ Lucie was quiet a moment, her blue-gray eyes seeking the solace of the fire.
‘And Gwen?’
‘She is eager to be up and about. The dizziness is fading. Her ear no longer aches. How could it? We’ve used oil of thornapple, bishopwort, henbane, and knotgrass on it, each time slowly dripping the warm oil into her ear, me whispering prayers.’ She began to smile but shook her head. ‘Yet the hearing doesn’t return.’
‘Time to try the dog’s head?’ Owen asked. ‘Gaspar swore it restored his father’s hearing.’ One of his archers, a good friend, had suggested the remedy for a wounded soldier when Owen was working with the camp physician. Burn a dog’s head, spread the ashes on the injured area. The physician had scoffed at the idea. It was a treatment for headache, not loss of hearing. And he’d never known it to work. Gaspar had argued that dogs hear far better than humans do. It could not hurt to try. The physician had refused. Behind his back, Gaspar had found the corpse of a dog, recent enough that it still had some flesh and fur, burned it, and plastered the ashes around the soldier’s ear, wrapping it tightly. Within a few days, the soldier said it was as if his ear had opened and he could hear again.
‘Magda did not advise against it,’ said Lucie, ‘but she doubted it would work for Gwen. She thinks the thread of connection between Gwen’s ear and her mind snapped with the impact of the fall, and that will take time to reconnect. Such a remedy is no substitution for rest and patience.’
‘She thinks the dog’s head more a charm than a physick.’
Lucie sipped some wine, considering. ‘Yes. So do I.’ She gave him a teasing frown. ‘I recall that the camp physician believed it was the good wrapping and the tinctures he gave the soldier to stir his blood that cleared his ear. You left that out this time.’
‘So I did.’ Owen reached for her hand. ‘If only I could take on her suffering. I want our Gwen to be whole.’
Lucie leaned over to kiss his forehead. ‘She is, my love, no matter whether she hears with one ear or two. Our part is to treat her as such. Do all we can to help her heal and forget the frightening experience, but encourage her to do all she would normally do once Magda judges her ready.’
‘I count on you to guide me in this.’
‘What of Laurence Gunnell and Reynard?’
She listened to his account with sad eyes, frowning at the news of Madoc, bowing her head at another death. ‘Despite his apparent role in betraying his master, I am sorry to hear Pete met a violent end.’
‘In truth, I feel nothing.’
‘You feel too much. There is no room in which to fit pity for the old man.’ She kissed his hand. ‘Bruin’s nakedness. Do you think it important?’
‘It bothers me.’
‘The sort of feeling that Magda would encourage you to notice?’
‘I think it might be. A small detail, but it nags at me. Then again, it would be the sort of trick Reynard might play to confuse things. He delighted in his own cleverness.’
Lucie was watching him with concern. ‘When you have him cornered, you will find it difficult to allow him to live.’
‘Yes.’
‘But I trust you will do your duty, delivering him up to the king’s justice.’
‘That is my intent.’ He could not swear.
They were quiet for a few moments, staring at the fire, sharing some watered wine.
‘This news of Madoc, that should make you more assured in your theory.’
‘Yes. And adds another threat to the bishop. It’s time to remove him from harm’s way so that I might devote my attention to finding Reynard and his minions.’
‘You will meet Crispin and George at the York this evening?’
Poole and Hempe. He grinned. ‘You know me so well.’ He took her hand. ‘First let’s visit the children.’