A Twisted Vengeance

16 The Chase

Kate listened to Elric’s report with interest. He, too, was aware of Griffin’s departure with Thatcher. He’d sent several of his men ahead, tracking both parties; Sir Alan and the dean had departed on horse, Griffin and Thatcher on foot.

“Taking the peg leg.” Elric shook his head. “He will only slow him down.”

“Unless he means to dispose of him outside the city walls,” said Berend. “He knows too much.”

Elric nodded. “And what of the missing maidservant? Has she played a part in this? I saw no sign of her.”

“We found her,” said Kate.

“Did you?” Head bowed, Elric rubbed his mount’s mane as Kate recounted what they had learned from Nan. The possibility that the Cliffords were taking their revenge on Ulrich and his household had him studying her with his cool blue eyes. “They have departed without troubling Dame Eleanor. Revenge on all but his widow? Why is that? Because she is a Clifford widow?”

“My mother has not been left unscathed. She will suffer long, I assure you.”

“Of course she will. Forgive me.” He pressed his hand to his heart and bowed to her.

She acknowledged the apology.

“If you are right about their purpose, I am surprised the Cliffords have permitted any of the deaths within the walls of York,” said Elric. “They’ll want nothing to connect them – as well you know.” He said the last with a nod to Berend. “And why not Thatcher as well?”

“He has nothing to do with Ulrich Smit,” said Berend. “If Dame Eleanor is right, the deaths of Hans and Werner are a point of honor. If members of the Clifford affinity are brought to law for them, they will defend themselves with a tale of betrayal – of family and the realm. No matter how personal in truth. Isn’t that what the Nevilles would do?” Elric glanced away with a wince of discomfort, signaling his reluctant agreement. “But Thatcher – he was a means to an end who now knows too much and so is a danger.”

Kate stepped between them. “We waste time. I want to catch up to Griffin before we confront my uncle.”

Elric looked to Berend, who nodded his agreement. “I thought that might be the case,” said the knight. “My man Arne returned shortly before you arrived with word that they have gone off the road not too far from here. Toward the river. They are moving slowly. The Welshman is staying off tracks, paths, which makes it difficult for Thatcher.”

“Then let us be off,” said Kate.

“The hounds will keep up with the horses if we are caught in a chase?” asked Elric.

“They will, I assure you. They were trained to chase large prey and bring them down.” Though they had not done so for a long while.

Elric motioned to his squire, who brought forward one of the horses. “I chose one for you that has some experience with hounds.” She was impressed that he’d considered Lille and Ghent. But then he would be accustomed to hunting with hounds for sport, and was also perhaps accustomed to working with war dogs. “But you’ll need to ride astride,” he said. “He’s not trained to a lady’s saddle.”

“Astride is preferable,” she said. “Thank you for your care in choosing a mount for me. Are all the horses accustomed to dogs?”

“I cannot vouch for three of them.”

“They should take up the rear. I don’t want them to take fright.”

He ordered three of his men to the rear.

Kate accepted the assistance of Harry, Elric’s squire, in mounting. Once astride, she gazed round with a sense of coming home. It had been a long time since she’d sat astride such a fine horse. It felt good. She signaled to Lille and Ghent to stay with her, clear of the other horses, and nodded to Berend to ride close. He said nothing, merely seeing to his own mount. Elric had managed to worsen his already dark mood.

“It is long past time you confided in your daughter,” said Dame Jocasta. “Now she rides out to confront them without an understanding of the gravity of Ulrich’s betrayal. I pray God watches over her.”

Eleanor had stood in the window, her back to Jocasta, all through the telling. She’d sought the woman’s advice but now dreaded to see the judgment on her expressive face. “How do I mend the rift between us? How do I win back my daughter’s trust and her love?” That is what she had asked. She was disappointed in Jocasta’s response. Should not have, should have – all in the past, and unhelpful. Katherine was riding out to challenge her uncle and Sir Alan, and she would learn all. From them. From the family Ulrich had betrayed. Jocasta was right, it would have been far better coming from Eleanor. “How will she ever forgive me?” It burst from Eleanor as a sob. She covered her face and wept.

Soundlessly, Jocasta rose and embraced her, whispering of God’s compassion, his limitless love and forgiveness.

All very sweet, but Eleanor already had faith in God’s forgiveness; it was Katherine’s of which she despaired.

A light drizzle did nothing to freshen the air, which felt heavy with moisture as they rode through fields toward the trees lining the bank of the Ouse. Kate fretted about her bowstring wicking up moisture and sagging. She had remembered to bring a spare, but it would take time to restring. She must plan accordingly.

You intend to shoot Griffin on sight? Geoff asked.

She had not consciously planned it. No. I want him to talk, to tell me all Mother should have told me.

He’s not likely to oblige.

When he refuses to say more, then I’ll shoot him. She expected laughter.

Instead, Geoff warned her, Do nothing that will endanger your plans for yourself and the children. Do not risk all to avenge Mother’s loss.

Would it be for her mother that she shot Griffin? Or would it be for Nan and Sister Dina? Hans, Werner, and, likely, Thatcher?

What does Dina have to do with this? Geoff asked.

I cannot believe the attempted theft was not part of this plan. Look how the rumors about the beguines have spread. Mother’s attempt at good works discredited, rendered suspect.

Geoff was quiet.

Kate watched as Lille and Ghent explored beside her, pausing now and then to gaze round them, then catching up. Her heart eased. They had been bred and trained for this. Her uncle’s horses would encourage her to run them more often. Blood money or not, she was grateful for the gift. The house would enable her to lease out her present home, adding more regular income. Considerably more. And, as her uncle had reminded her, Lionel could not touch it – a gift in her name, made in her widowhood.

She glanced up as Elric rode back to tell her that they were close to where his man Arne had last tracked Griffin and Thatcher.

“Dismount and approach on foot?” he asked. When she agreed, he called to his squire Harry to help Kate dismount and take her reins.

The fields beyond Clementhorpe Nunnery were more bogs than meadows in all seasons but summer. Now the grass grew so high that Kate lost sight of the hounds once she was on foot. It took but one call and they were suddenly beside her, their fur a mess of seeds and burrs, their ears flicking at the insects buzzing round them. Walking through the high grass was unpleasant, Kate’s skirts already damp, the insects noisy, and she could not imagine how she might use her bow, nor how they would spot the two men they tracked. Glancing back, she saw that she was not alone in regretting the decision to dismount, Elric swatting at the insects, Harry sneezing. Only Berend stoically waited for her to proceed.

A rustle in the grass. Lille and Ghent stood at attention, and Kate fingered the axe hidden in her skirt. But it was Arne, his freckled face seeming to glide over the grass. “Found this.” He raised high a length of wood from which dangled leather straps. Thatcher’s peg leg, or what was left of it. “Found it just ahead, where the grass ends at the edge of the trees. Only one set of footprints moves on, and they are deep. I would say the Welshman carried the cripple to the river.”

“Lead the way,” said Kate, relieved that she would soon break out from the grass. Within a few moments she stepped onto dry soil beneath the trees, shaking out her skirts as Arne pointed to where he’d found the peg leg and the footprints. Berend and Elric moved on to the river, but Kate was in no hurry. Griffin had reached the bank a while ago. Already the footprints were powdered with debris. He would be downriver. Alone. She stayed with Lille and Ghent while they inspected the area, gathering scents. Suddenly they halted, glancing back to her. She praised them for discovering a patch of grass smeared with blood, bloody fingerprints on a fallen limb. Thatcher had not gone willingly. When had he realized he’d been betrayed? she wondered.

“Look! There, in the branches,” Berend called out from somewhere farther on.

Signaling the dogs to follow, Kate moved toward Berend’s voice as he directed the men, the sound of the river growing louder as she walked.

The peat-darkened waters of the Ouse flowed sluggishly under the wide gray sky. Near the bank, Thatcher floated face up, bobbing with the current, his hair and clothing snagged on the branches of a fallen tree whose roots still anchored it to the bank. He had a gaping wound on his forehead, washed clean by the river. Two of Elric’s men sat on the bank, removing their boots and rolling up their breeches, preparing to wade in and pull him out of the Ouse.

Elric paced the bank, listening to Berend and Arne arguing about whether marks in the soil were that of a coracle or a more substantial boat.

Kate saw no purpose to the argument. “What matters is that Griffin has moved on by water. Downriver, toward Bishopthorpe. To meet up with Sir Alan and his men.”

“To Bishopthorpe Palace then,” Elric said. He ordered two of his men to follow with Thatcher’s body.

The guard at the gate of Bishopthorpe Palace bowed to Sir Elric and sent his fellow running to inform the archbishop of their presence. The power of the Earl of Westmoreland. Or the Neville name. Elric had taken care to introduce Kate as well, lingering on the surname.

“Are you part of the Clifford party visiting His Grace?” the guard asked her as they waited.

“The Dean of York Minster is my uncle,” said Kate. “We have cause to believe a murderer will seek refuge here with his party. We found his victim upriver. I have come to warn Dean Richard and His Grace.”

“Two of my men are following with the body. The murderer will come by boat and is unlikely to tell them of his crime,” said Elric. “Do you guard the river approach to the palace as well as the road?”

“We do.”

“Is it possible to land elsewhere on the property?” asked Elric.

“A small boat? Yes. Lawns down to the river, and a woodland farther downriver. In times of threat we have sentries throughout the grounds.”

“But not now?”

“We were not aware of a need.” He glanced behind them, on the road. “Are those your men with the body?”

Elric glanced back. “Yes. If they might stand watch over it someplace private in the grounds?”

The guard nodded as the second retainer came hurrying from the palace, gesturing for his comrade to open the gate. He was followed by a tall, elegant, elderly man in clerical robes, who bowed to Kate’s company and introduced himself as Don Vincent, His Grace’s secretary, welcoming them and inviting them to follow him to the palace. He ordered the second guard to assist Elric’s men with the horses.

“They will be well stabled, I assure you.” Don Vincent stood a moment, considering Lille and Ghent. “It is customary to take hounds to the stables as well.”

“My uncle, Dean Richard Clifford, can vouch for them. They are well trained and will stay with me,” said Kate.

“I pray that is so.” He looked past them. “And the body?”

Elric repeated his request.

“Of course. I will have someone come out to assist your men.” Don Vincent swept round and led them through the gate and on to the palace.

His Grace the archbishop stood just within the grand entrance, Richard Clifford beside him.

“You are most welcome, Dame Katherine, Sir Elric, Berend, I believe?” said Archbishop Scrope. “But I am at a loss as to your mission.”

Kate and Elric repeated what they had told the guard. While they were talking, Sir Alan Bennet appeared in the doorway of a small room off to the side of the hall entrance. As soon as he saw Kate, he began to retreat, but His Grace addressed him, repeating what Kate and Elric had just told him. Sir Alan frowned, shaking his head as if to counter their claim. And, indeed, he proceeded to sputter as soon as the archbishop was finished.

His Grace raised his hand for silence. “There can be no argument against fact. Sir Elric, you are welcome to set your men to searching the grounds. Anyone who takes it upon himself to interfere with their task will answer to me.”

Richard Scrope rose several choirs of angels higher in Kate’s esteem. Clearly His Grace’s acceptance of Kate’s earlier request for help had been in character. Sir Elric bowed and went out to the stables to instruct his men.

Sir Alan made to follow, but Scrope called him to heel.

Alan was not the only person looking glum. Her uncle watched her with an unease she had only before glimpsed in their most recent conversation.

“If I might have a quiet word with my uncle?” she said.

Scrope nodded to his secretary, who showed her into the room from which Sir Alan had emerged. High-ceilinged, with several high-backed chairs surrounding a long table piled with documents, a tiled floor, and a window opening onto the garden, it was an inviting chamber. Looking back, Kate signaled to Lille and Ghent to wait just outside the door.

“Katherine,” the dean bowed to her as he entered the room.

“You left betimes, Uncle. We expected you to dine with us today.”

“I had said perhaps, that I would send word.”

She inclined her head. “So you did. And, in the event Griffin finished his task earlier than expected?”

“Griffin? Task?” His expression was almost convincing. Almost.

“The murders of Ulrich Smit’s servants. Dame Eleanor and the beguines are preparing Werner’s body for burial. And he added another victim, Thatcher, a man of York who had assisted him and was of no more use. We found him drowned in the Ouse, with a great wound to his forehead – Griffin made sure that he would not survive despite the sluggish summer current.”

Her uncle blanched and turned away from her, clearly struggling with how to respond. He was saved by a sharp knock on the door and the entrance of His Grace.

“The gardener’s boy observed a red-haired man pulling a coracle into the woodland downriver. Sir Elric’s men are spreading out in search. I thought you would wish to know, Dame Katherine. I would think this a task well suited to your wolfhounds. The boy awaits you by the door.”

She thanked him and hurried out, calling to Lille and Ghent. Berend followed.

The lad grinned at the sight of the hounds, bobbing his head at Kate and Berend. “This way, mistress,” he said, turning about and leading them off into the gardens. Lush and peaceful, the landscape seemed an unlikely place for a murderer to hide. But as they moved beyond the graveled paths into the trees, the grounds grew wilder. She saw Elric’s men ahead, signaling to each other to spread out as they moved with practiced stealth into an area with underbrush. One glanced back toward them – Elric’s squire, Harry. She motioned to him to push Griffin toward the river. He nodded and disappeared.

If Griffin had thought to hide in the gardens, the men would flush him out. Realizing he was hunted, he would know the palace was not safe. “Take us first to where he landed,” she told the boy.

A wind came off the river, damp, heavy. No more rain today. The heat was settling in again. As the coracle came into view, Lille and Ghent began to slow, sniffing the ground, looking up, listening. Nan said she had bitten Griffin. How deeply? Might the scent of his blood be on the coracle? Kate led the dogs to the boat. It interested them, and they circled round it, taking in the scents, then took off in a direction farther downriver.

“Did he go this way?” she asked the lad, who had been watching the hounds with fascination.

He nodded. “I saw him head into that brush, and then I hurried back to tell my da. This is Church land, not for poachers.”

Kate thanked him and told him to return to his father. She would not want him injured if Griffin were cornered. Disappointed, the lad turned with reluctance, glancing back several times as he retraced his steps. Kate removed her short cloak, dropped it into the coracle, unhooked her bow, and checked the string. Dry. Good. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she looked to Berend. “Ready?”

At last he graced her with a smile as he patted the soiled rope tucked in his belt. “Let us be the ones to truss him and carry him to His Grace.”

They set off after the hounds, moving into the wilder part of the woods, where fallen limbs, old stumps, and mounds of fallen leaves slowed them. They had not gone far when the dogs paused, heads up. Kate nocked the arrow and moved forward to stand beside Lille and Ghent at the edge of a clearing. Holding her breath, she listened. Lille turned slightly to the right as Kate registered the snap of a twig. With care, she took a step out into the clearing and caught a movement, a man rising up from the shrubbery, still shadowed by the trees. As she watched, he raised a bow with the arrow ready, drawing the string back – the arrow pointing toward Lille. Kate called to her hound to drop as she let her arrow fly, aiming for the archer’s shoulder. Lille’s reflexes proved as quick as ever. She just missed the arrow meant to kill her. The archer dropped down.

“Careful,” Berend whispered.

A rustling. The man rose up, and, to Kate’s puzzlement, seemed unharmed. She had missed? Damn you. He took a step toward the clearing, dappled light revealing his coppery hair.

“Drop the bow and come out with empty hands, Griffin.”

He nocked an arrow.

She let hers fly. This time she saw him fall back with the impact.

Berend rushed him. Silence.

Kate walked across the clearing to join him.

If he’s dead, he deserved it, Geoff whispered in her mind. His arrow would have killed Lille had she not obeyed your command. Well done.

Berend rose from beside the still body. “Your arrow pierced his heart. A clean kill.”

A kill was not her plan. “I would have preferred that he surrender, and talk. Tell me who had hired him, why, how he was to carry out their orders.”

Berend shook his head. “Assassins never talk.” He called out to Elric’s men to come collect the body. “Go back to the palace, Dame Katherine. I will assist them.” He avoided her eyes, though he did crouch down to Lille and Ghent to rub their ears and praise their tracking.

“Berend?”

He shook his head as he rose, looking out to the river. “Too many unwelcome memories.” He pulled the soiled ropes from his belt. “I’ll bind him.”

Kate called the hounds to her side, slung her bow over her shoulder, and headed for the palace.