A Murdered Peace

13 Secrets and Spies

Walking slowly through the groups of soldiers, Kate paused just outside the door of the apothecary and glanced back at Elric, still arguing with the elderly knight. Shadows beneath his eyes were the only hint of exhaustion. Back straight, his dress impeccably tailored and tidy as ever – thanks to his squire Harry, no doubt. Had he gone to Jocasta’s? If not, she needed to know about the soldiers. The feud between the royal cousins had sown fear in everyone’s hearts, and now, with the murders, the soldiers, the king’s men, and rumors of a traitor’s wife hiding in the city, one stray spark and the crowded tenements would explode in violence.

Noticing some of the soldiers regarding her, she embarked on a meandering course to Jocasta Sharp’s house. Crossing into Stonegate, she slipped down the alley that led to Drusilla Seaton’s home. The maidservant answered on Kate’s knock, shaking her head. Her mistress had returned from a night out and gone straight to bed. It took a little persuading to convince the woman that Kate wished only to pause long enough to catch her breath – the mist was chilling her – before she moved on. Stationing herself in a window, she watched the alley for a decade of Hail Mary’s, and when no one had passed through by then, she thanked the puzzled maidservant and hurried on through to Grape Lane, which she traversed only so far as another small alleyway, and so on until she wound up in Dame Jocasta’s back garden. The sun was just breaking through the mist, creating eerie swirls that dizzied her as she lifted her eyes to a man crouched on the kitchen roof, replacing tiles. Another man stood near the rain barrel at the corner of the house, the tool for breaking through the ice dangling from his hand. She nodded to both of them as if her appearing there were the most ordinary event, and knocked on the rear door of the house.

A lad opened the door, and Jocasta’s terrier, Lady Gray, came rushing out on her short legs to circle Kate and greet her with happy barks. As Kate scooped up the dog she heard Dame Jocasta calling to the lad to “step away from that door! What were you about?”

“Dame Jocasta?” Kate called softly as she stepped into the house, standing still for a moment with the squirming terrier in her arms, letting her eyes adjust to the soft candlelight. Every shutter in the house was closed against the daylight. A wise precaution.

“My dear Katherine.” Jocasta stepped out of the darkness to pluck Lady Gray from her arms and set her on the floor. “Forgive my witless prattle. I did not anticipate– But why did you come to the garden door? Were you followed?”

“I noticed no one, but mean to take no risks. I come to warn you of the temper of the city.”

“I have heard,” said Jocasta. “Sir Peter Angle is keen to stir up the people so that he might play the hero. Sir Elric says he will have all he can do to contain the damage that arrogant fool might wreak.”

“Sir Elric? When did you speak with him?”

“Why, last night, of course. He has already suggested ways we might be less obvious. And he promises that his men will be invisible.”

That solved the mystery of where he had spent the night. Kate tried to hide her surprise with an innocuous comment about being glad Jocasta felt reassured by his presence.

“I am indeed. He gave instructions to my usual helpers in how to remain hidden yet with clear sight of the doors or the windows – all the places someone might try to sneak into the house. And he showed them how to have the advantage when creeping up on an intruder. They could talk of nothing else when they came in this morning to break their fasts before going to their homes to sleep. He has promised that at least one of his men will be here at all times to assist until the danger is past. Bless you, Katherine.”

Was ever a woman more wrong about a man? Kate thought.

Do not taunt yourself, Kate, Geoff whispered in her mind.

Jocasta tilted her head, studying Kate. “You did not know of this, that he had watched through the night.”

“No. I had asked him to set some men to watch from today.”

Jocasta smiled. “God guided you in this. You opened your heart, and He showed you the way.”

Divine providence might guide Jocasta, but it had never figured in Kate’s decisions. Her own heart had led her into trusting Elric, and it had not led her astray. She was grateful for that.

“You carried in the chill of the morning, that clinging mist that turns to ice against the skin. Will you come warm yourself?”

“Later, my friend.” As she was turning away, Kate remarked, “You have improved on the disguise. For a moment I did not guess who the lad was.”

“I thought it wise. But I am worried. She has hardly spoken to me. As long as you are here …”

Kate owed it to Jocasta, having thrust this upon her. “Of course.”

Jocasta led Kate down the passageway to the hall, where Margery sat primly on a chair near the fire, feet together, posture upright, hands folded, chin up, dark hair escaping the felt hat, falling down over watchful eyes. She made a comely lad, though a close observer might notice a weight about his features, wise beyond his years, the dusting of freckles and the creases that suggested a happy disposition such a contrast to the eyes – grave, unblinking.

“Katherine.” In another time, when Margery took her hand Kate would have smiled, anticipating her friend’s impish grin and a boast about how well she had disguised herself. Who would think that Lady Margery, who traveled with cartloads of gorgeous clothing, could be hiding behind such a costume? But not today. She was solemn as she said, “I would say you look well, but I know you, Katherine, I know those shadows beneath your eyes bespeak nights spent pacing as you worry. I beg your forgiveness for burdening you with my trouble.” Her entire being bespoke a spirit drained.

“My complaints are as nothing compared with your suffering,” said Kate.

“Would you care for some hot spiced wine, Katherine?” Jocasta offered her a bowl. Kate had never seen her so ill at ease, so uncertain what to do.

Cupping her hands round the bowl, Kate held it to her face and inhaled the steam, appreciating the warmth while she observed the two women, considering how best to proceed. Jocasta, sitting beside Margery, took one of her guest’s hands in hers and rubbed it to bring up the blood. Neither woman was in any mood for idle chatter.

“I need to know whether there is anything you have not told me, Margery,” Kate said. “If Sir Elric is to argue your case with the king’s man, he must understand what happened, and in what order.”

“By the king’s man you mean Sir Peter Angle,” Margery said with heat.

“The king’s man who is lodging with your cousin, William Frost,” said Jocasta with a knowing look.

They knew much. “You may see that as a compromising position,” said Kate, “but it might benefit our cause. I have arranged for a spy in William’s household, with my cousin’s permission.”

“In truth?” Jocasta nodded. “Then it is well done, Katherine.” She rose from her seat. “I will bring more wine, and some bread and cheese?”

“I am not hungry,” said Margery.

Kate had a long walk ahead of her, to her mother’s to fetch one of the beguines to accompany her, then on to the castle. “I would be grateful,” she said.

As Jocasta saw to it, Margery surprised Kate by asking after Marie, Phillip, and Petra.

Kate filled the silence with tidbits about the children until the servants had set up the food and wine, and Dame Jocasta had settled, this time choosing a chair that allowed her to see Margery’s face.

“You would be wise to have Lille and Ghent with you at all times,” Margery warned.

“This morning I felt Jennet needed them more.”

Slipping off the hat, Margery ran her hands through her hair. Someone had artfully cut a few locks to fall over her forehead, giving the effect of a lad when she wore the hat. But the color had not been so well applied, coming off on Margery’s hands. Lifting her darkened palms she said, “How I wish I might wash this out.”

She would look less haggard without the sharp contrast between her pale skin and her hair, but too easily recognized. “Best you keep the disguise for now,” said Kate. “At some point we will need to move you again.”

“I am preparing a better dye for you,” said Jocasta as she passed Margery a rag with which to wipe the dye off her hands. “Oak galls, alum, and urine fix better than the nutshells you have been using.”

Margery made a face as the cloth darkened. “I pray that is true.”

“Tell me how you came to be traveling with Berend,” said Kate.

“Who told you?”

“Berend told Sir Elric. Why did you not tell me?”

“Would you have continued to help me had you known the trouble I brought him? Will you now?”

“You forget yourself,” said Jocasta. “One would think you were ungrateful.”

Margery pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I would not blame either of you for throwing me to the dogs. I pray you forgive me.” She stared down at her hands. “I do not know what I would have done without Berend. I pray he does not pay with his life for his kindness to me.”

It is of little comfort that she realizes the danger in which she has placed him, said Geoff.

He was in danger from the moment he answered Salisbury’s summons, Geoff.

“I threw myself on Berend, begged him to take me with him,” said Margery. “I could not stay there. They would have found me. If they would not believe Thomas had no part in it – why would they accept my innocence?”

As if the king were being reasonable, said Geoff.

“You must find a way to free Berend,” said Margery. “He had nothing to do with the plot, I am certain. He condemned Salisbury. He did not come to Cirencester in the company of the rebels. When Thomas saw him, the rebels were already at the inn.”

“He came to you?”

“No. Thomas was in the abbey church the night before–” She crossed herself. “The abbot had written a letter of introduction for him, addressed to the abbot of a monastery in Cornwall.”

“Previously you’d said you did not know Thomas’s plans,” Kate noted.

“Did I?” Margery frowned.

Lies were like that, slippery things. “No matter. The abbot had written a letter–”

“Thomas was collecting it when Berend arrived. While the abbot was giving Thomas his blessing, he said the abbot suddenly glanced up with a gasp. ‘Berend Osgood? Is it you? But your ear.’ Clearly he had known Berend long ago. Thomas stepped away and let them exchange greetings, and then he invited Berend to stay the night with us. But the abbot would not hear of it. ‘I must hear about my friend’s adventures. Another night, Sir Thomas. Another night.’”

Berend Osgood. Another piece of his story Kate had never known. Berend Osgood. Was he from Cirencester? And what was this about his being the abbot’s friend? Berend had not described him so.

“So you had no chance to talk to Berend that evening?” Kate asked.

“No. Thomas–” Margery shook her head as tears fell. “No, he came straight back with the letter.”

“Do you have it – the abbot’s letter?”

“No. Thomas was carrying it when …” Margery shook her head.

Pity, Geoff whispered.

“How did you come to be traveling with Berend?” Kate asked again.

“He found me in the barn, with the groom’s body. Carl was pacing back and forth, praying and weeping. I was covered in blood – Thomas’s and the groom’s. God guided Berend to us. He helped my manservant bury the boy. And then– I could not stay in Cirencester, to do so would endanger my family even more than we already had. Berend slipped out after dark with my sister’s husband and recovered Thomas’s body. My sister promised to bury him as soon as they might do so secretly. This they did for me.” A sob. “I hoped that my departure would save them. I told them to denounce me, denounce Thomas, deny any knowledge of his body, say that I had taken it.” She stopped, staring at her hands. “I pray they are safe.”

Once a family is cursed …

It is not the same as our story, Kate.

No, Geoff?

“They recovered Thomas’s body, but not the letter?” asked Kate.

“Nothing he was carrying,” Margery whispered. “The mob had stripped him of his clothes. Everything.”

Why the whisper? Kate wondered. Why now?

You do not believe her?

The story keeps changing. Why?

“Will you rest now?” Jocasta asked.

Margery fixed her too-bright eyes on Kate. “Did you hear that Henry’s head was crawling with lice at his crowning?”

Petra’s vision.

“I want him to suffer,” Margery said flatly. “For all the days left to him may he never feel safe, may he never trust another, may he cower in the sight of God, who will avenge the good men Henry brought down. And then may he rot in hell.” She shook her head. “I cannot give myself up to Sir Peter. You and Sir Elric must find a way to free Berend so that he and I can continue to Scotland. We must not fall into the hands of the usurper.”

“Scotland?”

Margery studied Kate. “Speak to Berend.”

Jocasta made an impatient sound. “My lady, you place yet more friends in danger with your demands.”

Margery did not meet her eyes.

“You might be safer to escape separately,” said Kate.

“He has my jewels.” Margery looked defiant.

“About them. You lied to me about the dymysent I saw in the silversmith’s shop.”

Margery looked away. “I meant to protect him,” she said softly.

Rising, Jocasta declared the conversation over. “Come, my lady, you are overtired. You must rest.”

To Kate’s surprise, Margery permitted herself to be led away. No, this was not the Lady Kirkby she had known.

After Katherine had departed, Bess could not settle to her tasks. She had a nagging feeling about Trimlow the baker. There had been a cockiness in him when she’d complained this morning about the bread he’d delivered, as if he no longer felt dependent on her custom. The cur. He’d been the one to point the finger at Berend. Now that was interesting. Suddenly in the money, was he? She sent for his wife, said it was urgent she speak to her.

Edda Trimlow’s pretty face was marred by a bruise on her cheek and a split lip.

“I had a word with your husband this morning about his delivery. I’ve never seen the like from your ovens – lumpy and tasteless. Serve that to my customers and they won’t return, will they?”

Edda stuttered her apologies for the inferior quality of the bread as her eyes flitted about the public room of the tavern, anything not to look Bess in the eye.

“Come. I do not mean to shame you, my friend.” Bess led Edda into her more private space. “Had he told you of our conversation?”

“He said you complained about the bread.”

“Did he tell you that he thumbed his nose at me and strutted out as if he could not be bothered? As if he doesn’t need my custom of a sudden?”

Edda looked alarmed. “Of course we do, Bess. I will speak with him.”

“And suffer more injuries?” Bess laid a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “What’s he done to you, eh? What’s he beaten you for? What’s he hiding?”

“He lied, Bess. He lied about seeing Dame Katherine’s man with the spice seller. It’s those men sleeping in the shed in the back garden. They paid him to say it. He did not go out that night. A baker needs his sleep. I told him he must confess.” She touched her bruised cheek.

“Men in the back garden, did you say?” Bess led Edda to a chair, offered her some ale. “I will just go sort this out while you have a little rest. Do not leave until I return.”

Out in the yard, Sir Elric was pacing. The king’s men were gone, as were most of the soldiers.

“You might want to take a few men and search Peter Trimlow’s back garden.”

Stepping out of Jocasta’s house, Kate blinked against the glare of sun on surfaces still wet with mist. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall to wait for her heartbeat to slow. She had been shaken by how Margery’s ordeal had transformed her. How had she not noticed it before? At the guesthouse? Had she been too intent on protecting her? Of course. But now, seeing how even when asking about the children she had spoken without her usual warmth, and in those moments when she had exhibited some emotion it did not reach her eyes, it had shaken Kate.

She is much like you when I was carried home, said Geoff.

No. Kate remembered tears, wailing as she threw herself on his body. Not at all.

You stood still as death and so pale it was as if the lifeblood had been drained from you as well as me. I could not leave you.

Be quiet. I need to think.

You do not believe her story.

I felt– Something about her time in Cirencester is false. She keeps changing her account. And then there are the coincidences – Thomas and Berend at the abbey. Berend finding her in the barn.

Too many coincidences.

Yes, Geoff.

You do not want to doubt her.

She is my friend. As is Berend. He did not tell me everything either. Scotland?

He meant to tell you as little as possible.

Even Elric was not to tell me all.

But you will help them.

I will.

With Elric’s help.

Yes. Apparently his disappointment in me has not changed that. But Margery– In her state, can I trust her not to endanger us all? You say I was like her. Would you have trusted me?

No.

That is why you stayed.

Silence.

And now you do not know how to leave? To go to your rest?

Would you be rid of me?

For myself, no. But for you …

You have much to do.

She did. Crossing to the gate that opened into the alley, still in shade, she hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. If she set aside Merek’s murder, her focus should be on clearing Berend’s name. She must get a message to St. Mary’s Abbey in Cirencester as soon as possible. The abbot could testify that Berend had not been in Salisbury’s company. Could she get a messenger there and back in time? Would that be enough? As for Margery, Kate could think of no way to prove that Thomas knew nothing of the plot against the king, or that he had not shared information with his wife. As Margery had said, there was no way to prove ignorance. Margery must remain hidden until a plan was in place, and she must know nothing about any such plan until the last moment. God knew what she might say or do.

Kate must find a way to sneak them out of York. Her impression of Sir Peter, albeit brief, was that he would cling to his mission like a terrier its catch. She had no confidence that he could be dissuaded from taking Berend and Margery to the king. So they must slip away.

Would Elric help? Westmoreland had ordered him to find Margery and take her to Sheriff Hutton. It was one thing to defend Berend, quite another to defy his lord.

Bess Merchet might be the one to help her with Margery.

Listen! Geoff whispered.

Someone moved away from her down the alley, trying to do so in silence, but the melting snow and mud betrayed them. There. A shifting shadow along the wall of a house across the alley, beneath a deep overhang. She waited for them to reach the corner where they must step into the light of the back garden – or disappear round the corner. Her patience was rewarded. A skinny lad, tall – Skulker. Still spying for Parr and Sawyer, she presumed. Had he been listening at one of Jocasta’s windows? But how had he not been caught? He crouched low, slinking toward the next overhang.

Taking care to stay out of sight, Kate slipped through the gate and followed. He knew his way along the back gardens and alleyways of the city. He was quick, and good at slipping through narrow places, requiring her to wrap her cloak close round her and suck in her breath a few times. Had she any more flesh on her she could not have kept up with him. Once, when she had struggled through a particularly tight spot, she thought she heard someone behind her, and stopped, waiting as long as she dared, holding her breath. It must have been a cat or a rat scuttling across the opening, for she heard it no more.

The pause cost her. She stepped into the Shambles just as a carter shouted to stay clear, his cart rumbling toward her with little clearance on either side. Skulker slipped between two buildings across the way, eluding her. As she stepped back into a doorway to avoid the cart someone brushed her, darting across the street so close to the moving wagon the carter cried out and halted. “Did I hit him?”

“No. Child made it across,” a woman shouted back. “Little fool.”

As soon as the carter cleared the doorway in which Kate had huddled she crossed the street and considered another narrow, dark alley between two butcher shops, the odor of rotten meat assailing her. She almost abandoned the chase – Skulker would be long gone – but as long as there was a possibility, she would not give up. Lifting her skirts, she plunged into the darkness, placing one booted foot in front of the other, not pausing when she felt the slight weight of something running over it, moving forward, one hand on the wall to steady herself on the slippery ground. The alley opened onto back gardens so small, houses rising all round, that no sun reached them and the snow still crunched underfoot.

A yelp. Human. Kate strained to hear more. Was that a whimper? She hurried across the snow and into another alley, not nearly so narrow as the last one, allowing some light to filter between the buildings.

“I thought you would never come!”

God in heaven, Kate knew that voice. “Petra?” Kate blinked in the dimness, making her way to where her niece appeared to be kneeling on something.

“Bloody bitch,” Skulker moaned.

“He’s pissed himself, the pig,” said Petra.

How did her niece come to be … Kate had left the girl in the schoolroom. Safe, she had thought. Master Jonas would hear from her. Drawing her axe from her skirt, Kate placed her booted foot on the lad’s neck and told Petra to rise slowly and move away. “Steady now, Skulker,” Kate said as he began to reach for her niece. “I have a battle axe in my hand. You do not want to test my skill with it.” He went still. “Now I’m going to let you up, but if you try to run, I’ll throw the axe. And in this shadowy place I might miss and harm you more than I intend. Do you understand?” How she wished she had Lille and Ghent with her.

“Bloody bitch,” he repeated.

She increased the pressure on his neck. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he cried.

“Now. Do not stir.” She removed her foot. Of course he tried to roll away, but she had anticipated that and grabbed him by one arm, pulled him up, and propped him against the wall, holding him there with one arm and a foot on one of his feet. In her other arm she swung the axe. He reached for it and she kneed him.

He moaned and tried to double over, but she held him upright.

“Petra, what’s on the other side of this alley?” Kate asked.

“An old shed,” she said without hesitation. “I once slept in it.” The child spoke of her time on the streets without emotion. It was fact, it had happened. The truth was, the girl took pride in what she had learned in that hard life before Kate even knew of her existence.

“We’ll go there to talk.”

Yanking Skulker by the shoulder, Kate pushed him ahead of her, Petra staying well ahead. As they stepped out into what seemed an abandoned yard between two dilapidated houses, the blade of a knife glinted in the girl’s hand. God help her, the girl carried a dagger to school?

Inside the shed was an old bucket missing a slat. Petra turned it over and Kate shoved Skulker toward it.

“Sit.”

The boy rubbed his crotch, then sat down, gingerly, holding a hand to his mouth. As he sucked, a drop of blood rolled down his chin.

“Where are Parr and Sawyer?”

He dropped his hand to his lap. “Don’t know ’em.”

“You led them to the warehouse on Castlegate yesterday.”

“Oh, them.” A shrug. “I don’t know where they’d be.”

“You were spying on me for them.”

He spit just to her left. “Not today.”

She took hold of his shirt and shook him. Not hard. “The men in that warehouse want you dead, do you know that? They are looking for you.”

“Well, they won’t catch me, eh?”

“My niece did.”

Another spit. “Girls’ luck.”

Kate glanced at Petra. The child grinned but said nothing.

“You are going to take me to Parr and Sawyer.”

“And then hand me over to those what mean to kill me? Hah.” He scratched his crotch.

“Is there anything in here we could use to tie him up?” Kate asked Petra.

“I’ll look.” The child began to search through the debris.

“I don’t want tying up,” said Skulker, hiding his hands behind him.

“What you want means nothing to me,” said Kate. “Unless you’re ready to talk.”

“Why do you want them?” He sounded sullen, but tired. His tough façade was cracking, and she was keenly aware of the patched clothes and mismatched boots stuffed with hay for warmth.

“I believe they are guilty of murder, and I know the king’s men will be interested in them.” They were Salisbury’s retainers, she would tell Sir Peter, and they might know much about the plot against the king. That should entice him.

“What do you give me?”

“Safe passage out of York?”

“Never been nowhere else.”

Of course he had not. He stayed where he knew his way, knew whom to fear, whom to trust. “If you’re very helpful, I’ll find a place where you can work for your keep.”

“Don’t know how to do nothing.”

“You are cunning. You’ve kept yourself alive. It takes far less skill to clean out stables, but you would need to be honest and obey orders.” She imagined Bess Merchet’s laugh.

A shrug. The child’s stomach grumbled.

“Hungry?”

“Always.”

“Where are Parr and Sawyer?”

“You’ll help me?”

“I told you, I will help you if you help me.”

He gave an impish laugh. “Your knight, Sir Elric – his men have ’em.”

Kate felt a frisson of excitement. Yet another surprise. “How do you know?”

“Saw them being pulled from baker Trimlow’s shed back of his house.”

“Their hiding place?”

A nod.

“You were with them?”

“They let me sleep there some days, didn’t they? So’s I would spy round while they slept.”

“So why were you sneaking through the alley near Dame Jocasta’s?”

Petra returned from her search with several lengths of rope, filthy and frayed but still strong, enough to tie up the skinny lad.

The boy shot up, ready to bolt.

Kate caught him and pushed him down on the overturned bucket.

He whined about she-devils and having rights, but he sat quietly. “I don’t want tying up.”

“Did Parr and Sawyer have other helpers besides you?”

“Two others. Younger. Squeaks, I call ’em, peepers. Just seeing who’s going where.”

“Did any of you see what happened to Merek?”

“The spice man?” He shrugged. “Those two you’re after, they found him stumbling along the Shambles, roughed him a bit and he fought back, but they ran when they heard someone.”

“They did not slit his throat?”

Skulker shook his head.

“Who did?”

“Don’t know. I followed them.”

“Why?”

“I had a bad feeling about what was going to happen.”

Jennet said the children who learned to respect such feelings were the ones who survived on the streets.

“Did you see who was approaching Merek?”

A shrug. “Might have.”

“Who?”

“Dressed like a lord.”

“Jon Horner the scrivener?” Was it that simple?

“Don’t know ’im. I only saw a red jacket with shiny buttons when he passed a lit up window.”

Kate thought back to Horner lying on his bed in a soiled crimson jacket with the shiny buttons to mark him as a man of means. She turned to Petra. “Go to Jennet. Tell her I need some clothes to disguise him. Then we’ll take him – somewhere. I need to think.” Where could he stay until one of the sheriffs’ men got his statement? Certainly not Jocasta’s.

As Petra hurried off, Kate asked, “Why were you sneaking round the Sharp house?”

“Of a sudden I couldn’t get close last night, could I? What’s she guarding in there? I’m thinking the king’s men would like to know.”

Had he been watching the guesthouse? Saw Margery moved last night? “Too late. I’ve decided to take you off the streets.”

“You’ll feed me?”

“I will.” Or someone would. Her mother’s Martha House might be too far. “What about a man who was traveling with my cook Berend? Did Parr and Sawyer take him?”

“Bald man?”

“Yes.”

“Took him off the street a night or two before the spice man was killed. Searched his pack and it was a woman’s things. Clothes. ‘Where are the jewels? Where’s the lady?’ They shook him and punched him and stomped on his hand and he never said a word. So they slit his throat and left him in the ditch right there outside Micklegate Bar.”

“What were they doing there?”

“They were hiding there a while. Old plague hut. I didn’t tell ’em what it was.” A snicker. “Then they found the baker. Didn’t want to be around when the dead man was found.”

Jennet shook her head. “If I knew where she’d gone I would tell you, but I don’t. Last I knew she was headed to the York Tavern.”

Elric cursed. “I don’t think anyone else can convince him to eat.” Kevin had reported that Berend was fasting. Penance. Said God was punishing him through all this and innocents were suffering for it. Not good. If Elric wanted to sneak Berend out of the castle he needed him sharp, limber.

“Dame Jocasta’s?”

“I went there. She’d gone.” He looked down at Lille and Ghent, napping by the fire. “I don’t like that she’s out there without them.”

“She is armed, sir, you can be sure of that.”

He turned round as a whirlwind rushed through the door, pushing him aside, stomping her foot at Jennet.

“Where is she? Where’s Petra?”

“At school. Where you should be, Marie. What is this about?”

The girl’s pretty face screwed up in what looked more like fear than anger as she stumbled through a story about Petra going to relieve herself and never returning. In her distress Marie’s words were a mixture of her native French and her usually impeccable English.

Elric crouched down to her. “Marie, tell me. Did anything happen earlier? Was something said? Something that might draw Petra away?” How better to get to Katherine than through these children so dear to her? But Parr and Sawyer were in his custody. Who, then?

The gray eyes looked here and there as the girl thought back over the morning. She shook her head. “Nothing, sir knight. Dame Katherine saw us to school. We heard people whispering about soldiers, and our schoolmaster stepped out to speak with her after we were inside, but he was not long, and Petra was with me. Do you think the soldiers? She wanted to see them?”

“They were with me in St. Helen’s Square. I would have noticed her, as would Dame Katherine.”

A great tear coursed down her red cheek. “Something has happened to her!”

“Who?” asked someone from the doorway.

“Petra!” Marie squealed as she ran to her fellow ward and punched her shoulder. Not hard. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. I was humiliated.”

Petra gave Marie a little punch. “So you missed me?” She crossed to Jennet, nodding to Elric. “Dame Katherine needs some clothes to disguise Skulker. Just long enough to get him to a safe place.”

“Skulker?” Elric sat down on a bench and patted the space next to him. “While Jennet is finding what you need, I want to know what’s happened.”

Petra looked to Jennet, who assured her he was trustworthy.

He was gratified to hear that, listening closely as Petra described seeing the boy following them in the morning.

“You didn’t tell me,” Marie said.

“I didn’t know what to do about it. Dame Katherine would notice him, I told myself. But as I sat in the schoolroom I worried about how long before she noticed, and if he would hear or see too much before she did. So I left. She wasn’t at the tavern, so I thought of Dame Jocasta’s. This morning she said something about her to Jennet.”

The walls had ears, at least where this child was concerned. Elric must remember that. “How did you know him?”

“Before Dame Katherine took me in I was one of the homeless and knew the others in the city, who could be trusted, who couldn’t. I’d been warned to stay away from him.”

She said he had been circling Jocasta Sharp’s house as if trying to find a way in.

“Do you think he heard anything?”

“He could not get near the doors or windows. Dame Jocasta’s watchers are not obvious to most folk passing by, but to someone glancing round hoping not to be seen, they find eyes everywhere.”

Elric thanked God he had trained the men when he did. Even so, they would soon be noticed. “Where does your aunt mean to take him?”

“She is thinking about that.”

“Why is she sheltering him?”

Petra told him what Skulker had witnessed the night of Merek’s murder. “I think she means to find a safe place for him so he can tell the sheriffs’ men what he saw that night. And keep him from going to the king’s men with the news that you’ve caught Parr and Sawyer.”

“He’s told her?”

Petra nodded.

“And then, after he’s talked to the sheriffs’ men?”

A shrug.

The stables at Sheriff Hutton could use a lad. “I will come with you, Petra.”

“But you’ll be noticed.”

“That cannot be helped.”

The boy’s whining gave rhythm to Kate’s pacing. Her mind was a scramble. Petra’s daring was admirable, and had netted just the lad Kate needed. But the child might have been injured, or worse. And she must be disciplined for leaving the classroom. But how to do so when she had been of such help? God help her, Kate had not the heart or the gut to be a parent. She was also of two minds about Skulker. He knew far too much, and she could imagine him going about the city remarking on Jocasta’s house being a fortress, calling attention to it. But it was just chance that he was playing eyes and ears for men Kate considered criminals, it should not condemn him. What to do? She alternated curses and prayers, relief and worry. It was only a matter of time before Sir Peter caught on to the watch on Jocasta’s home. Lady Margery must be moved again. And Trimlow the baker – it was he who had pointed to Berend, the bastard. Had he truly seen him with Merek, or had he said what Parr and Sawyer told him to say? Was he protecting them? What did he know about Carl? Had he recognized him? He might have seen Carl when Lady Margery had visited the previous winter, but would Trimlow, a baker, have made the connection?

“Bastards, bastards, bas–” she sucked in her breath as footsteps approached.

Skulker jerked up. She put a finger to his lips. Two people, a child and an adult from the length of their strides.

Petra appeared at the door, raising the sack of clothing over her head as she saw the axe. “It’s just me,” she said, “and Sir Elric.”

“Elric?”

He bowed through the low doorway. “I came looking for you, Dame Katherine. I need you to come with me to the castle.”

“First we must get Skulker to a safe place. Then, yes, the castle.”

Elric nodded to the boy who eyed him with curiosity. “Sheriff Hutton Castle up north, in the forest. We could use a lad in the stables.”

“First he must give one of the sheriffs’ men an account of what he witnessed the night of Merek’s death.”

“If I go with you, will you feed me?” Skulker demanded of Elric.

“We’ll do more than that. Clean you and clothe you and if you prove yourself teachable who knows? You might learn to be a groom, or a manservant to a soldier.”

“Learn to fight?”

“I’ve no doubt you already know something of that. But we will see.”

“Let me see to this,” Kate hissed at Elric. He shrugged. Insolent know-it-all.

“They’re not the king’s men, the two you caught,” said Skulker. “They killed two men to steal their livery. They did not want folk to remember them as once serving one of the lords taken down at Cirencester.”

“What brought them to York?” Kate asked.

“A treasure, held for their earl’s cunt and her bastard child.”

The posey ring was for his mistress?

“They came here to snatch it. That’s what they thought the bald man carried?” Skulker shook his head. “Poor sod.”

Had the mere presence of a knight loosened the lad’s tongue? Or the promise of a position at Sheriff Hutton? Damn Elric’s impertinence, but bless him if this was the result. “That is helpful,” she told Skulker. “Anything else to report?”

“Parr’s bedded Trimlow’s daughter.”

God help the young woman.

“How is it you were not there when Sir Elric’s men came for them, but you witnessed it?” asked Kate.

“They did not dare move about the city today, with the soldiers milling about and Sir Peter putting on a show. They wouldn’t need me till dusk, but they told me to keep guard, warn them about trouble.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Looking out for myself.”

Elric touched Kate’s arm. “Would Petra be safe with him for a moment while we step outside?”

Kate asked Petra, who said she’d be pleased to keep an eye on Skulker.

“A boot as well, if need be.”

Elric led Kate far enough across the small yard that the lad would not hear them. “I could take the boy to the York Tavern and send for one of the sheriffs’ men. After they’ve spoken, Wulf will take him to Sheriff Hutton, his punishment for disobeying my orders and frightening the folk of York. All of my men arriving at once – I could wring his neck.”

“A fitting punishment,” she agreed. “But I would prefer more men on such a mission. Skulker is slippery. And he’s witnessed a murder.” She told him what the boy had said about Carl’s capture, beating, death.

“Even better to get him out of the city. Two of my men? Wulf and Stephen?”

“That is better. The forest is never a safe place, worse so of late, with all the men who were armed and ready for a battle that never happened. But you know that.”

“I am more concerned about the city, with Sir Peter eager to stir up the citizens about Lady Kirkby and Berend.”

Berend. She had forgotten his comment. “You said I was needed at the castle. Has Berend asked for me? Has something happened?”

“Berend is fasting. Penance for his sins, for which he fears Lady Kirkby is paying. I cannot have him starving himself. I want him sharp, ready to move as soon as we have a plan.”

That was nothing, but Elric did not know. “He fasts often. He says it scours out his bad humors. I’ve never known him to do it so long that he weakens. He can wait, surely, while we see to Skulker and question Parr and Sawyer. How did you find them?”

“Bess Merchet following a suspicion about Trimlow the baker. Three of my men fresh from Sheriff Hutton found the pair napping, knocked them out, and carted them to a shack in the yard of the York Tavern as if they were sacks of flour.”

“Bless Bess Merchet,” said Kate. “We need to talk about Lady Margery’s account of how she and Berend came to meet in Cirencester.”

“You have her permission to trust me with it?”

She ignored that. “But first I want to speak with Berend.”

“First Parr and Sawyer,” said Elric. “We need to know what they have to say before Sir Peter finds them. He’s heard they’re Salisbury’s men and he means to deliver them up to King Henry along with Lady Margery and Berend.”

“Even if we prove Berend’s innocence?”

“Should Berend be cleared of the murders, Sir Peter has ordered the sheriffs to hand him over. The king will want to question him about the uprising.”

“God help us.”

“Are we agreed, then? I’ll take Skulker to the York Tavern?”

“Bess Merchet might not be pleased, but yes, do. And one thing.” Kate told him about Berend’s encounter with John of Leckhampton, the abbot of St. Mary’s, Cirencester. “We need the abbot’s testimony that Berend had come neither with them nor with Thomas Kirkby.”

Elric was shaking his head. “Had we known a few days ago, but now? Even if I had a man to spare, he would never return with the abbot’s witness in time to make a difference.”

“We can try.”

“No, Katherine. I will not spare one of my men on a hopeless mission.”

Stubborn man. “I will find a messenger.”

He reached out to her, taking hold of her arm. “I am not the enemy, Katherine. I never was.”

“Even after my confession?”

“That did not alter my belief in what is right.”

“Then help me save him.” She saw how he tightened his jaw. He would not send anyone to the abbot. Damnable man.

After the midday meal Kate and the hounds headed down Stonegate for the York Tavern, collecting a small crowd all asking after Berend, offering food, prayers, inquiring whether there was anything they might do. She assured them all that their prayers were appreciated and urged them to give the sheriffs any information about the night Merek was murdered, anything anyone saw on or around the Shambles. Their support lifted Kate’s spirits, which had taken a downward turn when she’d heard Matt’s news from the Frost residence.

“Sir Peter hopes the city will turn on Berend, the bastard,” Matt had said. “He’s searching for Parr and Sawyer as well. He’s heard that they were likely in the service of the Earl of Salisbury, thinks they might know who else rode in the company of the earl. And he says they came here chasing some treasure Salisbury sent to York for safekeeping, which Sir Peter claims is the king’s by right. All the rebels’ wealth is forfeit. Master William forbade him to interfere with the city’s search for the murderers of Merek and Horner, but the knight and his captain claim the king’s safety is the higher good.”

Higher good. Pah. And now there he was. Sir Peter stood by the steps to the cemetery in St. Helen’s Square, watching her as she moved away from Berend’s supporters with a benedicite. Arrogant bastard. But better that he serve as a warning. Had she not seen him she might have led him straight to Parr and Sawyer. She turned onto Davygate, heading toward the castle.

She not gone far when Lille growled, alerting her that the knight followed. Glancing over her shoulder, Kate warned the old knight to keep his distance. “She does not know you and considers you a threat to me.”

“Might we talk, Dame Katherine? I will not keep you long.”

She called the hounds to heel.

Sir Peter bowed and introduced himself. With just that brief walk he was quite out of breath. Frail for such a mission. Did the king not realize?

“Ah, yes,” she said. “My cousin’s guest.”

“I ask for your cooperation, Dame Katherine. I have been told you are trusted by Lady Kirkby, who is said to have come to York. And her escort from Cirencester is late of your household. One Berend Osgood. Formerly of the Earl of Salisbury’s household?”

“Berend? No, he did not serve in the earl’s household, but that of the late earl’s father, Baron Montagu. Years ago.”

“That may be true, but he answered the earl’s summons.”

“About that I know only what Sir Elric has told me.” She felt herself trying to breathe for the man.

“If you would simply tell me whether you know who is harboring Lady Kirkby?”

“Then she is in York? I thought it a rumor.” Kate assured him that she would be listening for any news of Lady Kirkby.

“And you will inform me if you hear anything?”

“I should think you would hear first. But if someone thinks to tell me, I will of course send word to your host, my cousin William Frost.”

“I would be most grateful. As to Berend Osgood, you have not spoken to him?”

“I know only what Sir Elric shared about his conversation with Berend at the castle. But I am on my way to speak with him now.” And do, by all means, follow, she thought. It would keep him away from the York Tavern.

“If you should learn anything …” said Sir Peter.

“I would not presume to do your job for you,” she said. “I merely wish to deliver greetings from my wards, who are fond of Berend.”

The knight reached out a hand to Lille, receiving a bark from Ghent and a threatening growl from Lille.

“I warned you.”

“An unusual choice of pet for the city.”

“I have not always lived in York, Sir Peter. I brought them with me from the North. Is there anything else you wished to ask me?”

A formal bow. “No. That will be all. For now. I pray that you see your way to assisting me in my search for Lady Kirkby.”

“Do you doubt my word?” Kate asked, with a teasing smile.

The pale, drawn face colored. Ah yes, the man was susceptible. That was useful information.

As Kate walked on, she regretted telling Sir Peter where she was headed. She had thought to collect one of the beguines at her mother’s Martha House. They had permission to visit Berend. But if Sir Peter’s man chose to follow her to Dame Eleanor’s house and decided to intrude, it would ruin a special treat for Marie and Petra.

Matt would be escorting the girls to the house on Castlegate in a little while. They were to have their final fittings for the white Candlemas dresses Sister Dina was making for them. Tonight, they would hear from the sisters the story of the Blessed Mother’s purification in the temple forty days after giving birth to Jesus. And how all new mothers now went to the church on the fortieth day to give thanks for surviving the ordeal of childbirth. The girls were to stay the night with Eleanor and the beguines, and, in the morning, take part in the candlelit procession to St. Mary’s Church across Castlegate. It was meant to be a sweet interlude in a difficult time. The girls had been excited to be invited by Sisters Clara, Dina, Brigida, and Agnes. It was also the day on which households brought candles to be blessed, to be used in the sickroom during the coming year. Dame Eleanor, guessing correctly that Kate had forgotten to set aside a stock of candles for the ceremony, would provide the girls with a dozen for the occasion. Kate did not want the event ruined by Berend’s and Margery’s troubles. She had even put off disciplining Petra for slipping out of the schoolroom and risking her life. Time for that later.

But surely whatever happened this afternoon would be outshone by the warmth of her mother’s beguines and the beauty of the ceremony. They were resilient children. Despite the upset of the morning, they had remembered Berend. In Kate’s scrip were gifts for him – two freshly baked pandemain rolls from Marie and a chunk of cheese that Petra particularly loved.

Just as she and the hounds passed the Ouse Bridge and turned up Castlegate, Ghent gave a bark of greeting, and Lille followed. Kate turned to see who approached.

“I commend your quick thinking,” said Elric. “Smart to continue on toward the castle when you saw Sir Peter in the square outside the tavern.”

“I am not a fool. Nor was I when I asked you to send someone to the abbot in Cirencester.”

“It is–”

“Too late. Yes, I know you have decided that.”

She hurried on. He kept up. At the castle, he made himself useful by arranging for her admission, then escorted her to Berend’s chamber.

“I will stay out here, in the corridor, ensuring you are not interrupted,” he said.

His kindness confused her.

Berend was standing by the one window in the tower room when Kate entered. A fire burned in a brazier, a jug of ale and a cup sat on a table, several blankets were folded at the foot of a narrow bed and the pillow was plump and clean. Even from behind she could see that Berend no longer looked as if he had been sleeping along the roads for weeks.

“Have you no welcome for me?” she asked.

Berend turned, his expression quiet, perhaps a little sorrowful. “Dame Katherine, forgive me.”

For not welcoming her? Or for leaving, and all that had happened since? She did not ask, but instead released Lille and Ghent from their leads so they might go to him. “You do not look as bad as I feared you would,” she said. He looked unhealthy, tired, his eyes sunken, the lines in his face deeper than she remembered. But uninjured, and alert.

He knelt to the hounds, resting his large, scarred hands on their backs, visibly moved by their affectionate greetings. “How is it that of all I have encountered since returning, these two make me feel most human?”

She crossed the room to the window and gave him a moment to collect himself. When she heard his knees creak as he rose, she turned back to him. “Are you eating?” She’d seen no sign of food in the castle chamber.

“I asked the sisters to offer today’s meals to the poor. Tomorrow, Candlemas, I will take communion.”

He proffered the jug of ale, but she shook her head and settled on a bench beneath the high window. Lille and Ghent padded over to sit at her feet.

“You will be permitted to attend mass?” That was an unexpected courtesy.

“In the castle chapel. Sister Clara has arranged for a priest – one of the friars.”

“If she promised, it will be so.” Although Kate’s mother was the founder of the small group of beguines on Castlegate, Sister Clara was their spiritual guide, and adept at the art of accomplishing her goals by wearing down her naysayers with stubborn persistence. “After communion, you will break your fast?”

He bowed his head.

“Berend, I need you strong and ready to do what must be done. And I’ve something to tempt you.” She opened her scrip and took out the food, wrapped in parchment. “The girls sent gifts. Marie’s pandemain rolls, Petra’s favorite cheese.”

A smile creased his face as he accepted the gift, laying the package on the table beside the ale. “You are right. Already I weaken in my resolve. Marie’s bread should be eaten this very day. No later than after mass in the morning.”

“They have always known how to coax you from a mood.”

He sank down on the bed opposite her. “My greatest regret is disappointing them.”

Not me? she thought, and felt foolish. She had never known him to be so ill at ease with her. Even when he had come to her the other day he had seemed more the Berend she knew. He was on alert, guarded. She needed to let him talk for a little while, get to know him now. “Tell me about Pontefract. Did you see the royal prisoner?”

“Pontefract? Why do you ask?”

“I am curious. What did you do there?”

“I went to an old friend who works in the castle gardens. A modest job, he welcomed the money I offered. His grandson, just a lad, is a serving boy in the castle. He enjoyed giving me much detail. Apart from having none of his supporters or friends with him, Richard might have been quite comfortable.”

Kate settled back on the bench. “The boy described his lodgings? Just like that?”

“As I said, his grandfather is an old friend.”

“A gardener at Pontefract Castle?”

A sad smile. “That is not a tale for today. But, yes, the lad thought nothing of it. Neither the steward nor the captain of the guard seem aware that servants have eyes and ears, and mouths once outside.”

“So Richard’s prison is comfortable?”

“As much as a prison can be so. The steward gave his own lodgings to him, near the gatehouse, a large apartment over the bread ovens, so it is well heated, with windows facing into the inner ward. Old tapestries on the wall, faded and a bit dirty. There is even a garderobe, a warm one – right next to one of the bread ovens.” Berend paused. “Rumor has it that the king is now refusing food.”

“Like you.”

“Mine is a penance. One day.”

“His is not?”

“I do not presume to know his mind.” Berend rubbed his injured leg. “But it strikes me as a cruel place to fast, in a chamber directly over the brew house and baking ovens. The aroma.” He rubbed harder. “I would find it difficult.”

He was sounding more himself. “Is your leg no better?”

“Much better. Just habit now.” Straightening, he studied her a moment. “Why do you want to know all this?”

Careful, careful. You are doing well, Geoff warned.

“According to Margery, Thomas Kirkby felt Richard was poorly treated. He railed at the steward and guards about Richard’s treatment.”

“Lady Margery told me.” A shrug. “I can speak only of what I heard from the grandson of a man I trust. A difference in rank? The lad lives with his large family in a small house.” He paused, frowning. “Lady Margery. Did she come to you?”

“She did.”

He cursed under his breath. “I told her to go to the widow Seaton or Dame Jocasta. I would not so endanger you and the children.”

“Bless you for that.”

“We had gone our separate ways by then. She must have felt safer with you. Did she come to the house?”

“No, God be thanked.” She told him how Carl had waited outside the guesthouse. “I could not in good conscience turn her away, leave her stranded outside the gates on a snowy night. I have done my best to keep her safe.”

“And Carl?”

She told him of Carl’s fate. “I have seen to his burial.”

Berend bowed his head, crossed himself. “She put you at such risk.”

“You took a risk going to Pontefract,” she said.

“I have lost the knack of going unnoticed.”

“I did not mean that. Why, Berend, why did you answer Salisbury’s summons? Elric left out the heart of the story, what drove you to take such a risk.” She joined him on the bed and handed him the pouch.

He took a breath as if to prepare himself. “Elric mentioned this. I’d had no time to examine the contents of the casket.”

“Open it.”

His thick fingers seemed stiff from the cold, but he managed to open it, dropping the two rings in his left palm.

“I presume JM is the earl himself,” said Kate. “And the posey ring belongs to?”

“I remember him giving it to her. Why she is not wearing it–” Berend shook his head.

“Tell me about her.”

She watched the emotions play over his scarred face as he told her of Rosamund Lacy. He might have wed her. Fickle woman, or merely wanting the best for her child? Berend’s child? Now Merek’s part fell into place.

“I understand. I do.”

“Thank you, Katherine.”

“My dear friend.” Gently she took the rings from his warm palm, returned them to the pouch, closed it. “What will you do?”

“Ensure that Rosamund has the means to bring him up in safety and comfort.”

“In Scotland.”

“Yes. He told you that?”

“Margery did. She seems intent to accompany you.”

“She wants a purpose. You say she is safe?”

“For now. Will you stay with them?”

Berend shook his head. “How can I know? Rosamund will not know me. I was whole when we were together.”

“She will come to see you are more than you were then.”

He looked doubtful.

“And if his age proves he cannot be your son? If it was all a ploy to turn you to their purpose?”

“The point is that he might have been. The way I left–” He crossed himself. “And I owe Salisbury’s father a debt. For his unwavering belief in me. He would believe I would protect his grandson.”

“His bastard grandson.”

“Does that matter? Should I do any less for him than you’ve done for Simon’s children?”

“Oh Berend,” Kate whispered, but she could not find the words.

“I will miss the children,” he said. “All of you.”

“Surely there was another way to help, without being marked a traitor?”

“If there was, I did not think of it. Katherine, I owe it to Rosamund’s child, and to the man who helped me climb back out of the darkness.”

What could she say to that?

“I took many lives,” he said. “My atonement was never going to be easy. I believe God is testing my resolve.” With a remarkably steady hand, Berend poured ale, passed the bowl to her.

Taking a small drink, she handed it back to him. “Drink up. And eat the bread and cheese. I need you strong, and ready to move. Margery is safe, but not for long.” She told him about Skulker, how he had noticed the guards about the house in which she was hiding. “I will find a way to get the two of you out of York as soon as possible. With the casket.”

“You will do that?”

“Of course I will. I have faith in you, and I am certain you did not murder Merek.”

“Who did?”

“Do you care? He was no friend to you.”

“He was Rosamund’s brother. She will want to know. And he did stay in York, even added to what Salisbury had sent, sharing with her what he made on his spices.”

“He told you that?”

“Bragged about it. Said the people of York are easily separated from their money.”

“Griselde said you’d warned her to avoid him. Were his spices truly unique?”

“Not at all. And folk did not return after trying them. It was his potions that brought in the coin. Valerian powder and whatever else was not selling at present, mixed into watered wine. So. Have you discovered his murderer?”

“Perhaps.” She told him what Skulker had told her.

“Jon Horner.” Berend ran a hand over his bald pate. “But why?”

Kate told him about the stolen brooch.

“So Merek had tricked him and he felt a fool? I can understand his wanting some revenge, but such a savage assault, and returning to murder him? Then drinking poison? All because he was embarrassed to have purchased a stolen brooch?” Berend looked at Kate askance. “Horner was a coward. He would fear God’s wrath if he took his own life.”

“But not if he took another’s?” asked Kate.

“He would have time to repent.”

“Whatever you think of his courage, he did attack Merek and Lionel.”

“No one could have been more surprised than I was when I recognized him.”

“I agree that something is missing. Or someone,” said Kate. “I cannot make sense of it. But the sheriffs were eager to call it solved. And now, they will be even happier to learn that it’s mostly likely that Merek’s murderer is dead. Everything points to Horner. Tidy.”

“You will sort this out,” said Berend. “I would like to know who murdered Merek, in case I ever succeed in taking the casket to Rosamund and John.”

“When you deliver it to them.”

He met her confidence with raised eyebrows and a grin. “I would not like to be the sheriffs when they discover me gone.” Then he grew serious. “Parr and Sawyer. What will happen to them?”

She told him that she was about to question them at the York Tavern. As she talked, she felt her yearning that he might be there with her at the tavern. This time with him had reminded her how much she trusted his insights. Damn him for making himself so important to her.

“You and Bess Merchet.” His old, familiar grin. “A formidable pair. I can believe anything might happen.”

She patted his hand and rose. “I should go.” She waited as Lille and Ghent padded over to Berend to say their farewells.

He bent to them, stroking their heads. “I will be ready.”

“I pray you find the peace you seek,” she said. Calling the hounds to her, she began to walk to the door as it sank in that this might be the last time they would speak.

“I pray you do as well, Katherine.” Such sadness in his voice.

She waited until she was at the door to ask the most important question, as if it were a mere curiosity on her part. “What really happened in Cirencester?”

Berend had the cup of ale halfway to his mouth. Now he set it down. “What do you mean?”

“Two coincidences – you and Thomas at the abbey, you running for your life and finding the very barn in which Lady Margery was hiding.”

“I did not question it. I saw it as God’s plan.”

“God is not so cooperative.”

“You do not believe that he is testing me?”

There was a falseness in his injured expression. God might be testing him, but there was something in the coincidences that was of man’s agency.

“Well, we will see when we hear from Abbot John,” she said.

He looked dumbfounded. “You have sent a messenger to Cirencester?”

“To John Leckhampton, abbot of St. Mary’s Cirencester.”

He avoided her eyes. “God in heaven, why?”

So the abbot was the key. “Why not? Lady Margery said you were old friends. Would he not wish to help you?”

Berend tried to shrug it off, but he was troubled.

Quietly, she opened the door, letting Lille and Ghent slip through as she whispered a farewell.

Elric had been leaning against the opposite wall. He must have read something in her posture, or her face, and crossed to her in one long stride, catching her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

“I lied. I told him we’d sent someone to the abbey.”

“And?”

“The news worried him a great deal.”

“Which you interpret as meaning he was never at the abbey?”

She studied the chiseled face of the man she had once despised and mistrusted. Now, she saw the lines of concern, felt how gently he held her, and how much she appreciated his presence and support. “He was there. But he does not want us to know something about it. The identity of the man with whom he arrived?”

“Whom he escorted,” said Elric.

“And still hopes to protect. He is protecting something or someone.”

Elric gently pressed her shoulders. “Wulf will escort Skulker to Sheriff Hutton, secure a new mount and a companion, and head to Cirencester.”

“Even though we mean to have Berend and Margery away before he can possibly complete the journey and deliver the abbot’s report?”

“I want to understand Berend.”

“In case he returns to York?”

Elric tilted his head, as if to ask whether he had heard rightly. “In case? Have you any doubt of that?”

“I am no longer certain which Berend I knew. The man behind that door, or a man I conjured.”

A little bow. “It will be done. Shall we return to the York Tavern?”

“First I would have a word with my mother. Her Martha House is on the way.”

“Of course.”

“But I am concerned that Sir Peter might have put someone on our trail,” she said. “I do not want the household disturbed. My girls are there.”

“I will watch.”

She thought better of that. “No, that is not necessary. Lille and Ghent will stay outside. Dame Eleanor might have some useful information. The sisters go about the city. They hear much.”

Another little bow. “I will listen with care.” His voice was cool, as were his eyes.

That moment of tenderness when she had first stepped into the corridor, had she caught him off guard? He’d smelled of anise, damp wool, ale, and a spicy, tangy scent she associated with him. She’d felt steadied, warmed, supported – understood. Is that what she might have enjoyed had she trusted him from the beginning?