Standing at the garden gate, Alisoun watched Dame Lucie clipping the last of the roses on this crisp autumn morning, her movements graceful, efficient, practiced. How many hours of her life had she devoted to the herb garden, her first husband’s masterwork? She stole moments from her busy apothecary to tend it, worrying about it when she had no time to spare. One spring when she left it for weeks, Alisoun and Jasper had scrambled to maintain it, guide the new growth, protect it from a late frost, terrified that they might disappoint her. Alisoun had found it a burden. Jasper had noticed, assuring her that when they wed he would not expect her to share his work in the garden, nor would his mother. If necessary, they could surely hire a gardener. He’d apologized for not thinking of that at the time.
It was one of the many things they had sat up late into the night talking about – on that night visit now causing a rift between Jasper and his sister Gwen. And despite the long conversation, she still had so many questions. Would they wed? She had never been less certain than she was now. She did not question her love for Jasper, but did he love her? And, if he did, was his love strong enough to resist the siren-call of the monastery? Would she always feel she was competing with the memory of Brother Wulfstan, his mentor and comforter, a man whose death had beatified him in Jasper’s mind and heart? And what of her own yearnings? What of her apprenticeship with the healer Magda Digby? She had never wanted anything more than this precious time with Dame Magda, not even Jasper – or in a different way. And there was the pull of undertaking a pilgrimage of the heart and soul, as Magda’s great-grandson Einar was doing, though not to find her true calling but to fulfill it, going where she was needed.
And there was Einar himself. She had come upon him after escorting her teacher’s daughter, Dame Asa, up to the moors, spent several days with him. One night in a shepherds’ hut – nothing had prepared her for her body’s response to his touch … All the other questions about her future with Jasper paled against that. For she had not yet told him.
Dame Lucie’s greeting brought her back to herself. She was sitting on her heels looking on Alisoun with puzzlement. ‘You need never await an invitation, not here.’
Alisoun realized that she had stood outside the gate so long that her feet and hands were cold. She lifted the latch and entered the garden, saying nothing until she was close enough to speak in a voice not easily overheard. ‘I hoped we might talk. Away from Jasper and the children.’
If the request surprised Lucie, she did not show it. ‘Come. I now have a bench in the far corner. My quiet place. All know that when I sit there, I do not wish to be disturbed.’
Alisoun followed Lucie Wilton’s lead, winding down the paths of the autumn garden, a pleasing mix of last bursts of color and stolid shrubs that were evergreen, rosemary and lavender still leaving a scent as her skirt brushed against them. Beneath the pleasant smells she caught a hint of leaf mold, but the dreariness of the autumnal decay was not yet dominant. She admired Lucie Wilton – a knowledgeable apothecary, a fair employer when she had cared for the children, a wise woman with remarkable patience, a fierce loving mother, and a tender (and most fortunate) wife. Alisoun trusted her with her heart. She might have guessed that the ‘quiet place’ was beside the graves of her first husband and child, consecrated as a great favor by the previous archbishop. Once they were seated side by side, Lucie shook out a blanket and draped it over both their laps. Alisoun appreciated the comfort.
‘I am aware of the rift between Jasper and Gwenllian, and I know I am partly responsible,’ she began. ‘Had I not spent the night up above the shop this would not have happened.’
‘Your behavior did not cause Jasper’s reaction,’ said Lucie. ‘I have never known him to refuse to believe his father. He insists that his sister betrayed him. I would hear your thoughts on why he might behave so.’
‘Before we speak of that, I want you to know that we did not lie together that night. We held each other, but no more than that.’
‘Oh. I–’ Dame Lucie touched her heart. ‘To have resisted such temptation … Is he talking of the monastery again?’
Alisoun was so surprised by the question she gave a little laugh. ‘No. Oh, no, not at all. He was willing that night. I am the problem. I fear that I might disappoint him, and once it is done, he will feel committed, betrothed, all but wed to me. Like you I am aware that he yet feels the lure of the monastery, of taking vows and following in Brother Wulfstan’s footsteps. I think he is torn between following your example, your happy marriage, and that. Taking vows.’
‘Is that your only fear? What of the life you have made with Magda?’
‘Dame Magda would not hold marriage against me. She was wed at least thrice.’
‘She would be glad for you, yes. But you would no longer live with her.’
Confused by the wave of sorrow, Alisoun bowed her head. ‘No.’ Her breath caught. ‘All would change.’
Dame Lucie took her hands. Alisoun looked into eyes warm with affection and understanding, melting the block in her heart.
‘I do not deserve you,’ she whispered as the tears flowed and she was pulled into a comforting embrace. She let herself be enfolded in warmth for a few moments before gently moving away. ‘There is more. I said I might disappoint him …’
Lucie pressed Alisoun’s hands. ‘I would hear more, but you should know that I will share anything regarding our children with my husband. That is how it is with us. If this is something that you do not wish Owen to know, or if you believe Jasper should hear it first …’ She leveled her gaze at Alisoun.
It was one thing to share this with a woman she regarded as a friend and advisor, quite another to share it with the captain, a man who had first awakened her awareness of men as objects of desire. She felt herself blush. ‘I will say no more for now.’
‘All I ask is that you make the choice about whether to bind yourself to my son from your heart, not your head,’ said Lucie.
As Owen walked through the streets toward home, Alfred recounted how he and Stephen discovered the cart, and the pouch of tools. He ended his account by cursing the curs who got away.
‘We learned so much in the course of one morning, but we want more,’ said Owen. ‘Greedy is what we are.’ He slapped Alfred on the back. ‘Excellent work, both you and Stephen. God be thanked you’re still by my side.’
His companion grinned. ‘Mayor Hornby treated me with courtesy on the street today, referring to me as your second. Asked if I would be so kind as to deliver a message. Never gave me a nod in the past.’
Owen glanced at his longtime comrade, seeing him as the mayor did, dressed modestly but well, hair tidy, nails clean. He’d noticed the transformation since Alfred’s marriage, but only vaguely. Now he took a moment to appreciate the change Dame Winifrith had wrought. It went beyond Alfred’s appearance to his stance, and, most of all, his spirit. The morose man, all sunken in on himself, was now a man with responsibilities he relished, and most definitely in love with both his wife and the children she brought to the marriage. And now they had a baby on the way. ‘Old Bede’s daughter has made you a man of consequence, Alfred. Hornby sees it. Wykeham as well, I believe. Was his message for me?’
‘He extended his thanks for helping Sir Ralph and said he was discussing the matter with the council.’
‘Good. I am glad of that. And that he understands your worth.’
They had reached the apothecary. Bobbing his head in unaccustomed shyness, Alfred declared himself off to collect Stephen and the cart he was guarding and take them to the castle. They would then take a few other men and search along the road south for signs of the cart having been taken into the fields once more after the murder. If one man had been fatally injured, there might have been more.
Thinking to discuss his approach to Trent with Lucie, Owen stepped into the shop, but Jasper was alone.
‘Mother is in the garden.’
‘She will be in soon,’ said Owen in passing. ‘Looks like rain.’
Outside the workroom, Rhys was assembling the final row of stones for the wall separating the workshop space from the garden.
‘Almost finished,’ said Owen. ‘We will miss you.’
Rhys glanced at the pouch in Owen’s hands. ‘Dame Lucie asked if I might strengthen an old section of the garden wall. So I will be here for a few more days.’ He looked again at the pouch, his eyes troubled, then away.
‘Speaking of Dame Lucie, is she still out here?’
‘In the far corner of the garden with Mistress Alisoun.’
Of course, there they were, the two women bent close. Lucie seemed to be comforting Alisoun. Judging it best not to interrupt, Owen headed next door.
Tom Merchet was polishing tankards at the counter. ‘I hear you’ve been out on the king’s road with the sheriff.’ Tom’s wife Bess was ever alert to the talk flowing round her at the tavern.
‘I have.’ Owen glanced round. The York was not crowded, a rowdy table up toward the door, workmen, a few other small groups, and a solitary drinker, the one he had noticed the previous evening. He dropped his voice. ‘The man in my usual corner – Trent?’
‘Yes. Murderer or next victim?’
‘Not likely the first.’
Tom held the pewter tankard up to the light, squinting, polishing a spot. ‘You’ll be wanting Bess then. And there she is.’
From the kitchen threshold Bess gestured to Owen, leading him through and out into the stable yard. Head down, arms crossed, she listened to his account of her lodger’s adventures.
‘I almost refused him the room last night, but he was soaked through. And he paid in coin from what looked to be a generous pouch.’
So he had not personally been robbed.
‘To have him here might be of use to me. Has anyone come asking for him today?’
Bess shook her head, the ribbons on her white cap dancing. ‘You will know if I see anyone about. But who are you expecting?’
‘The fate of his hired men is unknown. It’s possible one or both are injured. If not, they might come seeking Trent’s assistance. Or their pay. As to the attackers, I know nothing.’ He touched the pouch of tools tied to his belt. ‘One of them might be a stone carver. They left fine tools in the cart.’
‘I will be watching. I saw Trent had tucked himself in your corner. You should have quiet there. I will bring ale.’
Bess led the way back to the tavern room, where Trent now sat up as if watching for their return.
‘This is my neighbor, Owen Archer, Captain of the city. The sheriff has engaged him to find those who attacked you and your men. He has just come from His Grace the Bishop of Winchester and would speak with you.’
As Owen nodded to him the man seemed to remember himself, rising to give him a small bow. ‘Gerald Trent, Captain.’ He was a short, tidy man with a hint of a belly. ‘I pray you join me. I told Sir Ralph all I know.’ He spoke in a soft voice, his eyes focused on Owen’s patch and scar. Intimidated. Good. ‘His Grace has arrived safely in the city?’
‘He has.’
‘I should go to him. But how to explain–’
‘He will summon you when he is ready.’
‘Ah.’ The man drew a linen cloth from his sleeve to pat his sweaty forehead. ‘I pray the barge carrying the additional stones arrives before we speak.’
‘You will be contacted here?’
‘I must check the staithes each day.’
Owen settled on a bench at an angle from Trent so that he was not completely blind to anyone arriving at the door, yet could watch the man’s expressions. Bess placed a tankard of ale before him and withdrew.
‘I have seen the place the attack likely happened. A corpse has been found nearby. By his condition, he’s been dead for several days. Where have you been all that time?’
‘Several days?’ The man kept his eyes on his tankard. ‘Has it been that long?’ He finally glanced up. ‘Was the dead man one of my workers?’
Owen ignored the question. That was for Trent to tell him at the castle. ‘Where did you shelter during the storm two nights past?’
‘Storm.’ Trent seemed unable to keep his gaze from his tankard. ‘I suppose that was the night I found shelter in a barn.’
‘Whose barn?’
‘Cannot say. I am from the south.’
‘Describe it to me.’
‘It was dark.’
And so it went for a time, until Owen reached over and clutched Trent by the arm, drawing him across the table so that their eyes were inches apart. Around them, all was hushed, as if their fellow drinkers held their collective breath.
‘We’ll see what a night or two in a cell in the castle does for your memory. Most men find it clears away all confusion.’
‘No! No need, Captain. I was here. In the city. An inn near the river.’
‘Name of the inn?’
‘I–I don’t recall. Filthy, it was, full of rough folk. I did not feel safe.’
‘Name of the innkeeper?’
‘How would I know?’
‘Come, Gerald, you are a carter patronized by the wealthy Bishop of Winchester. Surely you made your complaint to the innkeeper of the filthy, unsafe lodging. If not his name, describe him for me.’
‘But you see I did not make my complaint as I have little coin. The attack–’
‘Little coin? Mistress Merchet says otherwise.’
‘Ah. I …’ He squirmed beneath Owen’s grasp. ‘God’s grace. If you will unhand me, I will tell you.’
Owen released the miserable liar and signaled Tom for another round. Gradually the room around them returned to life.
Fussing with his tunic, Trent made a show of recovering his dignity while Tom refilled their tankards.
‘I am listening,’ said Owen.
A sip of ale, a moment brushing an invisible speck off his sleeve. ‘One likes to think that danger will bring out one’s courage. In truth, I had wandered off from my men to relieve myself before sleep. When I returned I heard the trouble. One of my men waved me away. He need not. I was already turning away. I plucked my traveling pack from my horse and ran.’
‘You didn’t ride?’
‘I never ride in the dark. Never. I know what you’re going to say, I might have led him. And that I might have, but it would be slow and I felt the need to run.’
‘Go on.’
‘I found a place by a creek, not really a cave, but under roots. I stayed there until it was light enough that I thought I might find my way back to the camp. No sign of the cart, the carthorse, my fine mount, or my men. You say you found a body?’
‘I will take you to him. Go on. You found the camp, but none of your things …’
‘I did see blood on the ground. All I could think was to find my way to York. I stayed one night at the Bell. By the bridge. As I said, filled with rowdy, unsavory men. But the storm drove me to stay.’
‘When you arrived here last night you were soaked through. Where did you spend the day?’
‘I left the city again, hoping to find my men on the road. But nothing. And then the rain came.’
‘Why here? The York Tavern?’
‘The innkeeper at the Bell said that if I wished for a law-abiding clientele, the York Tavern was the place, and good riddance. I would be drinking with bailiffs, coroners, and the captain of the city.’
Owen finished his ale and rose. ‘We can continue this conversation on the way to the castle.’
‘The castle? But I … Do I have no say in this?’
‘I am not locking you up. I want to know whether the dead man is one of yours.’
‘Yes, I see. Who else might do it?’ A sigh. He downed what was left in his tankard and rose, a little shakily.
As Owen felt the eyes of all in the tavern on him and his companion, he thought it best to say loudly, ‘It is good of you to agree to accompany me, Master Gerald. Let us hope it is no one you know.’
Once outside, Trent had the good grace to thank Owen for that.
‘I would as lief not be stared at in the public room.’
‘I doubt you will avoid that. Word of a body found on the road to the city has already spread. It will not be long before people know you were attacked, and the murderers possibly in the city. People will hope you might enlighten them, at least tell a good tale. And I will be asked over and again what has happened, whether folk are–’
As if on cue, a couple hailed Owen. ‘Captain Archer, I hear a man was murdered on the sheriff’s land just without the gate,’ said the man.
‘Are we in danger?’ asked the woman.
‘The incident occurred days ago and there has been no trouble in the city,’ said Owen. ‘But you may be sure we are keeping close watch.’
Blessing his efforts, the couple hurried on.
‘You have the respect of the people of York,’ said Trent. His tone indicated puzzlement.
‘I am captain of the city by invitation,’ Owen said.
‘Unexpected.’
‘You had a different opinion of me before we met? From whom?’
Trent inhaled sharply and cleared his throat. ‘It was your appearance … Forgive me. My wife says I trip over my tongue because I do not pause to note what I am about to say.’
In this case she was wrong – to an extent. What he had originally meant was not what he said. He had reached for the first thing that came to mind to cover himself.
‘What does your wife think of the journey you undertook for His Grace?’
‘She is the reason I am here. A penance of sorts.’
Owen learned little more as they hurried along, but what he had heard put some meat to the man’s bones. It was at the castle, as the man gazed down on the corpse, that Owen began to think the shower of needle pricks might have had nothing to do with Wykeham.
‘One of your men?’
‘He was, yes. Beck. I am amazed that anyone could cut him down. Strong as an ox, a temper far too easy to spark into violence.’
‘There are signs he fought.’
‘I do not doubt it.’
‘What of the other?’
Trent glanced round, as if to check that he could not be overheard. ‘Strong as well, and quick. Cleverer than this one, so more dangerous.’
He feared them.
‘You chose them for protection?’
‘Little good that would have done. But I did not choose them.’
‘Who did?’
‘They presented themselves the day of departure. Said the men I had hired found work that paid as well but did not take them away for so long.’
Owen felt the shower of needle pricks. ‘And you agreed? Embarking on a long journey with strangers?’
‘No. I am not that reckless. Or perhaps I am. I had employed them before, offered to me by the Bishop of Salisbury when I needed to replace a pair who were injured in a tavern brawl. Not a pair I would have chosen for this, but I could not spare the time to replace them.’
‘You often work for the Bishop of Salisbury?’
‘Only that one time. I have not heard from him since.’
‘Do you have any idea who attacked you?’
‘None.’ He had been backing away from the ripe corpse, which was understandable, and now glanced round to discover the cart of stones. He gestured toward it. ‘We carried building stones. I am at a loss to think how anyone would decide to rob travelers of a cart of stone – heavy, lumbering.’ He tsked and shook his head.
‘Perhaps it was not the cart, but the attendants,’ said Owen.
‘That I would believe.’
‘Describe Beck’s companion to me. What is his name?’
Again he looked round as if worried who might hear, then moved closer to say in a quiet voice, ‘Raymond. Average height, slender but strong, fading red hair, thinning. A sly look about him – arched brows, dark eyes. He has the coloring of a fair-haired man but for the eyes. Calloused hands. Like yours, in fact. As were Beck’s.’
‘Have they always been laborers? The scars on Beck’s body made me think he’d been a soldier.’
‘I am certain both were soldiers. Archers, I imagine. Both carried bows and quivers of arrows and were fine marksmen. They caught a fair amount of game to eat along the way.’
The needle pricks. Did Owen know them? ‘You did not ask whether they’d been archers?’
‘The less I knew, the better – that was my feeling.’
Owen led him over to the cart, asked if he noticed anything missing.
‘All their belongings. And a fair number of stones.’ He ran his hand along the waxed cloth that covered the goods. ‘I would say a half-dozen are missing.’
Drawing out the pouch of tools, Owen asked whether Trent had seen it before.
‘No. But I did not search their packs.’
Owen parted from Trent in the yard of the York Tavern, heading for home. Hunger drew him into the kitchen, where he found Jasper and Rhys talking amiably over a spicy stew and plenteous bread and cheese.
‘Customers have seen you all about the city and beyond today, Da,’ was Jasper’s greeting. ‘A corpse, an abandoned cart of stones, a stranger who did not seem at ease walking with you, and a rumor of Bishop Wykeham.’
Owen laughed. ‘You forgot the sheriff.’ He took a seat at the table. ‘Tell me about your days while I fill my stomach.’ He helped himself to stew, ale, and the remainder of the loaf of bread. It was not often he could match the appetites of young men, but today he was ravenous.
Jasper talked about his old friend’s farewell dinner that had been set for Saturday but was now happening on the morrow because of complications in their travel arrangements. Simon was leaving for Antwerp, where he would join his uncle’s trading company; his betrothed awaited him there. ‘But with you caught up in all this, I need to help Mother in the shop.’
Owen doubted Lucie would deny him the chance to celebrate his long friendship. ‘And what did your mother say?’
‘That I might tend the shop alone after my dinner today and give her time in the garden in exchange for being away tomorrow.’
‘Seems a fair offer,’ said Owen.
‘More than fair,’ said Rhys. ‘Has your friend met his betrothed?’
‘A few years ago,’ said Jasper. ‘He says he is the most fortunate man. She is beautiful and well-spoken, modest and devout.’
‘A nun?’
Jasper laughed.
‘So will you go?’ Owen asked.
‘I will decide in the morning. Rhys will be leaving tomorrow, did you hear?’
‘Oh?’ Owen noticed Rhys eyeing the pouch of tools again. ‘I have not forgotten what we spoke of – my finding more work for you in the city.’
‘I am grateful for the offer, Captain. But I heard of work in Beverley, something that might lead to an apprenticeship.’
‘Wise to pursue that,’ said Owen.
Rhys touched the pouch. ‘I’ve not seen you with that before.’
‘Found in the abandoned cart.’ Owen opened the pouch, watching Rhys as he drew out one of the tools.
Rhys touched it, his hand trembling. ‘Finely made.’ A tight voice. ‘A carver’s tool for decorating stone.’
‘Odd for a delivery meant to repair an orchard wall,’ Owen said softly. ‘The carter had never seen it before.’ He drew out another tool.
Rhys brushed it with his fingers, a reverent gesture. ‘Very fine.’
‘Have you seen these before, Rhys?’
The young man’s face reddened, almost matching his scar. ‘No. How would I have?’ He avoided Owen’s gaze. ‘I just know stone carving tools.’
‘His brother is a carver,’ said Jasper.
Rhys shot him an angry look.
‘Of course,’ said Owen, interested.
‘I suppose one of the carter’s men might have hoped to find work at the minster,’ said Jasper.
As Rhys was still mostly a cipher to Owen, he chose to say no more about the cart in his presence, nothing of why that was unlikely, that none of the three who were attacked were such artisans. ‘We know little about what happened,’ he said.
In truth, he did not know who had driven the cart into the city. It might have been the attackers, or possibly Trent’s Raymond.
Rhys rose, saying he needed to complete the work on the wall.
‘So who is the man lodging at the York?’ asked Jasper when they were alone.
‘The carter. Gerald Trent. Lodging there since last night.’
‘How did he choose it?’
‘He did not feel safe at the first inn he tried, so the taverner suggested the York because the captain of the city lives nearby.’
Jasper grinned. ‘And no one dares cause trouble in Bess Merchet’s tavern.’
Owen laughed with him.
‘Is it the carter’s man who died?’
‘One of them. He doesn’t know what’s become of the other, or who attacked them. He thinks they were the target. If you hear of a stranger named Raymond, fading red hair, dark eyes, possibly an archer’s shoulders, let me know.’
‘Not a man to be noticed in a crowded city.’ Jasper pushed back from the table. ‘But I will pay attention. And now to work.’ He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘You didn’t believe Rhys. You think he’s seen the tools before.’
‘You noticed?’
Jasper shrugged. ‘You’re my dad.’
‘What do you know of his brother?’
‘David? I don’t know where he is, but Rhys says God gifted him the skill to bring life to stone. He said he’s good with stone, like his father, but they cannot do what David can. Do you think he might have something to do with this?’
‘I would not consider it if Rhys had not seemed drawn to the pouch of tools the moment he saw it. I’m glad you mentioned the brother. Will you miss him?’
‘No. I’d rather not have a stranger over the shop.’
‘Have you found anything missing?’
‘It’s not that I think he’s stealing, I just … that room … We had talked about how we would paint it after the builders enlarge it …’ He shrugged.
He and Alisoun. ‘He intrudes on your dreams.’
‘I don’t know what I mean. It doesn’t matter,’ Jasper muttered as he headed for the door. ‘I should be in the shop.’ He hurried out.
Owen wished he could get to the root of his son’s unhappiness. Had he and Alisoun argued? Was that why Lucie had been comforting her earlier?
Finishing his meal, he was cheered by the sound of the children’s rowdy play in the garden and wandered out to where Kate was watching them. Emma reached her chubby arms up to him and he swung her about, her throaty laughter lifting his spirits. A good long chase with Hugh and Gwen ended with them all tumbling onto the lawn beneath the apple trees. Emma came rushing to dive onto the three, completing the pile.
When Kate collected Emma to tuck her in for her afternoon nap, Gwen and Hugh wandered away to resume their own game.
‘If you were not already exhausted …’ Lucie laughed as she joined him.
‘I was worse before laughing with them.’
‘Come talk to me while I work.’
He followed her to the garden shed.
‘If you would carry the baskets of straw. And the bucket of ripe soil behind the shed,’ she said. ‘I’m working on the delicate herbs by the apple trees.’
She followed him there with a basket piled with gloves, a rake, pruning shears, a small knife, and a short-handled shovel.
Owen settled on a bench near the bed Lucie was covering for the winter and told her of his morning, ending with his recent exchange with Jasper. ‘I wish I knew what was troubling him.’
‘You might be right that not all is well with him and Alisoun. I don’t know. If that is it, I pray they resolve it quickly.’ She bent again to her work.
Leaning back to look up into the tree above him, Owen remembered the letter in his scrip. Drawing it out, he noticed the seal. Virgin with child.
‘Dame Alice writes to us,’ he said.
‘Alice Perrers? When did that arrive?’
‘Wykeham gave it to me. Asked me to read it before we talk again.’
Lucie brushed off her skirts and joined him on the bench. King Edward’s longtime mistress had befriended her two springs earlier and offered helpful advice regarding the royal family. ‘News of the king? Would you read it aloud?’
Since the death of Prince Edward in June, the word was that the king’s health, already fragile, had deteriorated. The letter confirmed that, along with news of Princess Joan’s mourning, her difficulties with her youngest son, now heir to the throne and far too aware of that, and other royal family news. Alice said little of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, beyond that his father the king was grateful for his willingness to take on the added burden of his late brother’s duties. More to the point was a brief comment at the end of the letter that she prayed Owen would grant an ear to the friend who carried it.
It is in your power to be of assistance, though I would never ask you to betray your conscience. I say only that he speaks the truth in describing his immediate peril. I believe his hope lies in nurturing a path of peace that will serve him when tempers calm.
‘What is in your power?’ Lucie wondered aloud when Owen had finished.
‘Something to do with his purpose in coming all the way to York himself? I had hoped it had nothing to do with me.’
‘And the immediate peril?’
‘I’ve no idea. I will go to him as soon as I might tomorrow.’
‘Good.’
‘I do not understand why he seeks out me and Jehannes.’
‘Perhaps he has alienated all his powerful allies,’ said Lucie.
‘I don’t like the sound of that.’