A Spy For The Redeemer

Twenty-four

At the guest-house of the Benedictine Abbey of St Peter in Gloucester the hospitaller handed Owen a letter as the party arrived. It carried the seal of John Thoresby, Archbishop of York.

‘Is the messenger yet here?’

‘The messenger departed for Wells the next morning,’ the monk said. ‘That would be two days past.’

Two days. Thoresby would not send a second message unless something further had gone wrong. Was it possible the aldermen or the guild had paid heed to Alice Baker’s complaint? Owen waved on the other men and the servants who carried their belongings. He would find his chamber after he had read Thoresby’s letter.

‘Deus juva me,’ he whispered as he read. The manor attacked and Lucie there in the midst of it. Praise God that Thoresby was sending Alfred and Gilbert. The destruction of the gatehouse worried Owen the most — the violence, the danger. Roger Moreton’s new steward had accompanied the party as protection.

‘Much good he did,’ Owen muttered.

‘What is it?’ Friar Hewald asked. Owen had not noticed him standing nearby.

‘We must depart at once for York. Find the infirmarian to change my bandage.’

‘You must rest the night. His Grace would not wish you to be deprived of sleep.’

‘I care nothing for His Grace’s wishes. Find the infirmarian!’