The Guilt of Innocents

Eleven

Owen carried the flagon and mazer with him into the hall and looked around for Aubrey. He found him sitting by the fire and settled down beside him despite Aubrey’s unfriendly look.

Owen held up the flagon. ‘I’ve more than enough for both of us.’

Aubrey groaned. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands supporting his head. He smelled of stale sweat.

‘I have a head full of last night’s wine, Captain. I hoped if I sat very still I might survive the morning.’

Owen was familiar with that feeling. ‘If we were in York I’d offer you some feverfew in watered wine for your aching head, with some additional herbs for your belly. My wife is an apothecary.’

‘Your wife?’ Aubrey winced as he turned towards Owen. His colour was pale and dull. ‘I didn’t think of you as a married man. But my lord did say you’d had your son with you last time.’ He paused for breath. ‘I suppose you have more questions?’

‘Aye. It would help to know where you were for several days.’

Aubrey pressed his temples. ‘How would that help? Do you think I went to York and murdered those men?’ He’d returned his gaze to the fire, his speech listless, not angry.

‘No, I’m accusing you of nothing.’

‘Are you blaming my son?’

‘No, I am not blaming Hubert.’

An elderly woman with an air of authority strode through the hall towards Ysenda’s room. The local healer/midwife, Owen guessed, expecting Aubrey to go talk to her. But he stayed where he was.

‘I believe that your wife began a chain of misfortune that led to the death of two men, Master Aubrey. Your wife took the Gamyll birthing cross, though no one thinks she was with child, and she kept the cross hidden in her belongings. Your son found it when he was searching for something of his mother’s to carry with him, to feel she was near him while he was away and worried about her. In York he lost it to Drogo, a man who grew up on this manor and seems to have understood what the cross was. He showed it to a goldsmith’s journeyman, I presume to discover its worth, but then gave the cross to Father Nicholas, your parish priest, to return to the Gamylls. Then Drogo was murdered. The journeyman was murdered. Father Nicholas is now frightened for his life, and I would think your family might be as well. In fact, when Sir Baldwin mentioned a fire I feared I’d come too late.’

‘All for a birthing cross,’ Aubrey muttered.

‘I don’t know why a simple gold cross that has long protected the women of your parish in childbirth has become deadly,’ said Owen. ‘That is why I’m here. That is why knowing anything about your family’s activities since this all began might help me find the murderer.’

Owen drank down the wine in the cup and was considering whether to pour more when Aubrey sat up and turned to face him.

‘I hadn’t strung it together like that. I don’t know much about what my son and wife have done in my absence. I’ve been home less than a fortnight. My son came home without an escort, without his master’s permission and unwilling to talk about his reasons except to say he was worried about his mother. Ysenda kept whining about wanting to go collect firewood, go to market, go here, go there. I know while I was gone she went about as she pleased, but when I am here I try to keep her at home. You can see why — look what she’s stirred up.’ He looked haggard beyond the discomfort of a night’s heavy drinking, his pale blue eyes dull with weariness.

‘Why do you wish to keep her at home?’ Owen asked.

‘I told you — look what trouble she’s begun. She’s a beautiful woman, Captain, but there’s something lacking in her, God forgive me for saying so. She is a bit of a fool.’

Owen did not believe Aubrey thought his wife a fool, not at all, but he did not think it a good idea to contradict the man when he was finally talking.

‘As for where I’ve been, Captain,’ Aubrey continued, ‘I have a shed I once used for sheep where I stay when I fear I’ll lose all control of my temper with Ysenda. It’s over the hill, at the edge of my land. Hubert was there with me the afternoon of the fire. I’d seen him walking and took him in to get warm by the fire. He’s a good lad.’ Aubrey closed his eyes. ‘He fell asleep, and I let him rest until the sun was low in the sky, and then I woke him so he would be home before Ysenda began to worry. I walked back with him. As we came over the crest of the hill we saw the fire. The lad wanted to run in to search for his mother. Osmund and Sir Baldwin had come by then, and Sir Baldwin held him fast.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And that’s all there is to tell.’

All he’d said was helpful, but incomplete, the motions, but not the content. Owen chose his next questions with care. ‘What do you suppose your wife was reaching for when she burned her hand? Was there something in the house precious to her?’

‘For the love of God, a burning door, a burning cloak, how clearly would she have been thinking by then?’ In Aubrey’s eyes was a desperation that Owen read as a plea for time to calm himself.

Perhaps that would serve Owen’s purpose. ‘I’ve bothered you long enough,’ he said. ‘A walk in the cold air might help your head and your belly. I swear I’ll be quiet.’

‘I am comfortable here.’ Aubrey’s words were barely out of his mouth when his son appeared. ‘Hubert?’

The boy did not look at his father but planted himself in front of Owen. ‘There was a man who sometimes came and Ma would walk out with him, never asked him to come in.’ The words poured forth as if Hubert were desperate to be rid of the secrets. ‘When I saw Drogo at the barges I thought he might be that man. And he noticed me watching him. He pulled so hard at the scrip the knot gave way, and he said, “Why it’s Ysenda’s lad. What treasure have you stolen from her hoard, boy?” and he bounced the scrip in his hand, feeling its weight.’ Hubert took a breath. ‘He frightened me. That’s why I ran. I didn’t even wait to see if he’d give it back. I just ran. I wanted you to know that, Captain. I’m going back to Ma now.’ As suddenly as Hubert had appeared, he rushed away.

Owen looked at Aubrey, who was shaking his head. He looked neither dismayed nor confused, but guarded. ‘Do you know anything about a hoard?’ Owen asked.

‘I don’t know what the lad’s talking about,’ Aubrey flatly declared.

Owen did not believe him, but right now thought Hubert seemed a more likely informant. Leaving Aubrey, Owen went in search of the boy and his mother. The elderly woman he’d noticed earlier stood in the doorway to the room in which Ysenda was lodged. She put a finger to her lips and shook her head as he approached. The woman had a powerful presence, almost as powerful as Magda Digby’s.

‘I want to talk to the lad,’ Owen whispered.

The woman nodded towards the bed, where Hubert had his forehead pressed to his mother’s uninjured hand. He could tell by the boy’s trembling shoulders that he was weeping. ‘He is in no wise so disposed,’ the woman said.

Owen could see that, and though he grumbled to himself that the lad had all the time in the world to be with Ysenda later he withdrew, having not the heart to wrest him from her.

He found Alfred and led him out of the hall. ‘Let us see the ruins,’ he said. ‘Aubrey’s land is not far — just beyond that tall, old hedge.’

They took off across the snow, exchanging the facts they’d collected. They agreed that so far it was pitifully little except for what Hubert had just told Owen.

‘Have you talked to Sir Baldwin about Ysenda?’ asked Alfred. ‘She’s plainly at the centre of the web, Captain.’

‘No, I haven’t. I wish the boy had told us about Drogo’s comment earlier. We’ve wasted precious time.’ Owen slapped the hedge with a stick as they ducked through, dislodging the shrivelled corpse of a small animal.

‘Country,’ Alfred growled, kicking it away. ‘Full of death the country is. Give me a city — full of life, a city is.’

They were upon the outbuildings of Aubrey’s farm before Owen realised it, so changed was the clearing without the house. The charred remains were a scant memorial to a home in which a family had lived.

‘God was watching over her, to have escaped that,’ said Alfred as he crossed himself.

They stepped with care through the slushy debris in the ruin, gently nudging piles with their boots, but they found nothing of help. Footprints in the ashes gave evidence that others had already moved things about, so even had Owen found something of interest he wouldn’t have known whether or not it had been moved.

‘A hoard.’ Owen gazed round. ‘Let’s search the outbuildings while it’s light.’

Alfred looked doubtful, already stomping and blowing on his fingers. ‘What are we searching for?’

‘I don’t know,’ Owen admitted. ‘But I’ll know when I find it.’

Despite opening the doors of the outbuildings as wide as the snow and terrain allowed, they found the interiors dark and difficult to search. In the one closest to the house, scorched on one corner but remarkably intact for having been so near, they found four large jugs of cider and a small barrel of wine.

‘They enjoy their drink,’ said Alfred. ‘Their food stores were likely in the house — ashes now, but I doubt they’ll starve. Their lord seems a generous man, eh?’

‘Dried apples here,’ Owen said, poking a sack hanging from a rafter.

Avoiding the building with the livestock for now, they tried one farther away from the house. When Alfred tripped over something near the rear wall they both crouched down, feeling with their hands how the floor bulged there. Alfred went for a shovel they’d noted in another building, while Owen kicked a hole in the wall to let in what little light was left.

‘This will warm me,’ Alfred said as he began to dig.

Gradually he uncovered a chest an arm’s length long and half as wide. He rested on the shovel once he’d uncovered the lid, watching Owen lift it.

‘God’s blood,’ Alfred murmured.

Owen gazed down at the contents: cloth, a pewter plate, a mazer, several lamps. He reached beneath the cloth, which felt like silk, and found a small box — inside were perhaps two dozen sterlings.

‘A hoard indeed,’ he said, sitting back on his heels. He wondered whether the gold cross had been but one minor part of this treasure, and who had helped Ysenda bury it. ‘I have a feeling Sir Baldwin might recognise some of this. Let’s dig it out and carry it back to the hall.’

‘I feared you’d want to do that,’ said Alfred.

‘I’ll share the work,’ Owen assured him.

By the time they reached the hall the shadows were very long. It was no small hole they’d had to dig, and though the chest was not full it was heavy and awkward to carry so far in the snow, across unfamiliar ground.

Lady Gamyll expressed great relief at their return, having feared for them in the dark and cold. ‘But what is this? Did you salvage some things from the fire?’

‘From one of the outbuildings,’ said Owen, sighing with relief as a servant pulled off his boots. ‘Where is Sir Baldwin?’

‘In the stables,’ said Lady Gamyll.

The servants asked where to put the chest.

‘By the fire,’ Owen suggested. ‘Sir Baldwin will wish to see it. Where is Aubrey?’

‘In the stables with my husband. Might we talk before I send for them?’

Owen readily agreed. ‘It has lain hidden a long while, there is no cause for hurry now. What is it?’

‘Dame Ysenda. She’s frightened the boy, moaning and calling out for my lord’s son.’

Osmund?’

Lady Gamyll took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I was glad that she spoke — it is a sign that the fever is abating and that she is still with us. But I cannot explain her calling for him.’

‘And it frightened Hubert.’

She met his eye, and he saw that she was worried. ‘He ran out to the stables. Perhaps it was not so much whose name she cried out but how she sounded.’ As Janet spoke she led them to a small table set with drink, near the fire. ‘I do not know her well, but I trow her voice sounds too weak for him to bear. Come, rest yourselves. We are quiet here this evening, but do ask for whatever you need.’

Owen thought that the tragedy had brought out a calm strength in her. Sir Baldwin was a fortunate man.

‘Where is Osmund?’ Owen asked as he took a seat. ‘I’ve not yet met him.’

The question made her ill at ease. She fussed with the drape of her wimple. ‘He was in a temper after the fire, arguing with his father about the smallest things. My husband said it was best that we leave him alone. Osmund would likely stay in his room behind the stables and take his meals at the inn in Weston for a few days, then rejoin us in the hall when he’d forgotten his anger. It is their way.’

‘You’ve not seen him since the searches yesterday?’

‘I have not seen him since the evening before.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘I know it must sound as if we’re a family at war, but my husband was away, and I’m not so much older than Osmund …’ her voice trailed off. Owen guessed she realised that he had not asked for an explanation and felt she’d revealed too much.

‘Ysenda’s calling out his name has you wondering what there is between her and Osmund,’ Owen said.

Blushing, she nodded.

‘Might one of the servants show us to Osmund’s room?’

Lady Gamyll seemed to finally grasp the significance of Owen’s questions. ‘To his — have you had news of him? Has he done anything wrong? Has something happened?’

Owen thought the order of her questions interesting. ‘Not so far as I know,’ he said, ‘but his name being the first on Dame Ysenda’s lips when she woke is of concern to me.’

‘I thought perhaps I should tell my husband — out of Master Aubrey’s hearing, of course. He might — ’ She shook her head. ‘I cannot think but that they have been lovers.’ She called a servant over. ‘Escort Captain Archer and his lieutenant to Master Osmund’s room behind the stables.’

A weariness was settling over Owen despite thinking that he might finally get some answers. Riding so hard for a day and part of the morning was no longer the pace of his life, had not been for a long while, and the aches were settling in and stiffening his stride. As they passed the front of the stables he could hear Aubrey’s deep voice and he realised how like his own father’s voice it was, a powerful singing voice. He must be tired to be thinking of the father Owen had not seen since leaving Wales as an archer in his youth. When Owen had at last returned to Wales a few years past he’d learned his father was long dead, and that he’d died horribly, struck down by lightening. It was not something he wished to think of right now.

The stables were of more solid construction and fabric than Aubrey’s hall had been. In the back was a high stone wall that broke the wind from the fields beyond, and in the courtyard a wooden stairway led up to a well-fitted oak door. The servant knocked, and another servant answered.

‘Master Osmund is away,’ he said.

‘You said naught of this at dinner,’ said Owen’s guide.

‘I don’t need to inform the household of my master’s comings and goings.’

Having no patience for servant chatter, Owen thanked their guide. ‘You are free to return to your duties in the hall.’

Clearly disappointed, the man shuffled down the steps.

‘He isn’t here, sir,’ said the servant, a man of perhaps twenty years with a deformed ear and a drooped eyelid.

‘What is your name?’ Owen demanded.

‘George, sir. I know you’re Captain Archer. I heard about you in the kitchen.’

‘You did, did you, George? Then you know that I’m on the archbishop’s business and you’ll stand aside while I look round your master’s room.’

Alfred put his hand on the door and pulled it open wider, startling the servant. ‘Whether you will or no, we will come in,’ said Alfred.

George moved aside, muttering something about hell.

The room was high-ceilinged though small, with one shuttered window. It was furnished with a curtained bed in the far corner, a brazier, several chests, and a small table with a pair of campaign stools. Owen thought it strangely lacking any indication of the man who lived there.

‘When did your master depart?’

‘Not sure, Captain.’

Weariness made Owen impatient. He grabbed the man by the shoulder. ‘If you bide here in this room you know when he departed.’

‘Morning after the fire,’ the servant gasped. ‘At dawn.’

Owen let him go. ‘Did he tell you where he was going, or when he’d return?’

The servant shook his head. ‘I knew he wasn’t just going to the inn in Weston because he took another shirt.’

‘Thank you for your help. You might want to sit with your friends in the kitchen while we are here.’

‘I don’t think I should leave you unattended.’

‘I do,’ said Owen.

The servant nervously departed, peering in once more before shutting the door.

‘Let’s search the chests,’ Owen said.

One contained a number of documents and a ledger indicating a wide variety of business transactions.

‘He’s not an idle young man,’ said Alfred.

‘He’s certainly not sitting back to await his father’s passing,’ Owen agreed.

Another chest was filled with linen and hides, and Alfred was straightening out what he’d rumpled when he called out, ‘Here, now.’ He drew out a casket, no larger than two hands long and shallow. ‘Captain,’ he said, holding it out to Owen.

‘Remember the poison. Wipe your hands.’ Owen was thinking of the knife used on Drogo. He used some linen from the chest to protect his own hands as he took the casket and set it down.

Within were several small pouches of powder and a jar of unguent. Physicks or poisons, Owen could not immediately tell.

‘What is the likelihood that he would save the poison?’ he wondered aloud.

‘If this were his chamber in York, I’d say it was most unlikely — he doesn’t sound like a fool,’ said Alfred. ‘But so far from York, and in his father’s home, he might have felt safe.’

Owen nodded. ‘We’ll take this back with us, for Dame Lucie to examine.’

In the third chest they found an elegant pair of boots and several elaborate hats, including a green one trimmed in fur that sported several peacock feathers attached with a circular brass pin. Owen wondered whether Osmund was the finely dressed man whom Alice Tanner had seen on the riverbank with Nigel, the man with the furred and feathered hat. Many men might have such hats, but that Osmund owned one was of particular interest to Owen.

As they passed through the yard, Owen noticed Hubert standing in the stable doorway, cuddling a cat. He was glad the boy had found something warm and living. He’d looked so forlorn when sitting with his mother.

As Jasper headed down past the minster towards home, the late afternoon light reminded him of the afternoon less than a week earlier when he’d hurried after his friends and boarded the abbey barges. So much had happened since then. Drogo’s murder, Jasper’s journey to Weston with the captain, Nigel’s murder. And now, nothing. Waiting. For all the captain had praised his help on the journey, he’d left him behind this time. Dame Lucie had explained that this time might be more dangerous, and he should not miss more school. But Jasper was still upset. He felt betrayed, that he’d believed the captain’s praise only to learn it had been false.

He was fuming when he passed a finely-dressed man heading into the minster gates, but something made him turn to look again. He was glad that he had, for it was the young man who had talked to Father Nicholas the night of Drogo’s death, the one called Osmund, who Jasper had later realised must be Osmund Gamyll. He wondered what he was doing in York. The captain would be sorry to have missed him. Jasper turned back through the gate to follow him, but he’d vanished. He hurried towards school and, catching sight of Osmund just turning down Vicar Lane, he followed, trying to stay hidden in the long afternoon shadows.

Osmund stopped at Master Nicholas’s school and when the guard had passed around the corner on the near side, he tried the door. Jasper thought that worth the chase to witness. Failing to open it, Osmund turned down the alley on the far side. Jasper followed and peered round the corner, watching the man try a door farther down the alley that would lead into the same building. Jasper ducked back as Osmund looked around. Waiting what he hoped was long enough for the man to be walking away, Jasper peered around the corner. The alley was empty. Might he have broken in? Jasper crept carefully down the alley, listening for footsteps, and then tried the door himself.

‘Why is Captain Archer’s foster son following me?’

Jasper jumped. Osmund stood less than a hand’s breadth behind him, breathing down his neck.

‘Christ Almighty,’ Jasper cried. ‘I wasn’t following you, I’m looking for Master Nicholas.’

‘He does not seem to be in,’ said Osmund.

He was quite obviously Sir Baldwin’s son, though his hair was paler and his build much slighter. He was studying Jasper in a disturbingly focused manner as if he was boring into his soul.

‘Father Nicholas’s parish needs him,’ Osmund said. ‘One of his flock has died — Ysenda de Weston.’

‘Hubert’s mother?’ asked Jasper. ‘How? What happened?’

‘A fire. May she rest in peace,’ said Osmund.

‘What of Hubert?’

‘He was with his father. He is a friend of yours?’

‘We’re in school together.’

‘Ah. If you should meet Father Nicholas, do tell him to hurry back to Weston.’ He made Jasper an exaggerated bow, and sauntered off.

Jasper’s heart was in his throat, but he cursed that he had no way of quickly getting word to the captain that Osmund Gamyll was in York looking for Master Nicholas. He stopped in the minster to pray for Ysenda’s soul, and for Hubert, as well as saying a prayer of thanks for having dealt safely with Osmund, and then he trudged on home.

After helping Edric close the shop, Jasper joined Alisoun in the corner of the hall where she was watching Gwenllian and Hugh play with a paddle ball. He told her about his encounter.

She listened with rapt attention, almost forgetting her charges. When they fussed over her distraction, she offered them each a piece of dried apple and returned to Jasper.

‘What will you do?’ she asked with a conspiratorial air.

‘I don’t know. I might tell — ’ He stopped himself, uncertain whether or not she knew where Master Nicholas was biding. ‘I might tell His Grace, and ask him for advice.’

‘Can you do that? Just walk into the archbishop’s palace and speak with him?’

Jasper nodded, pleased to have impressed her. ‘I’m sorry for Hubert. He was devoted to his mother. She was very pretty.’

‘Do you wonder what you would be like now if your parents were still alive?’ Alisoun asked.

‘I’d be apprentice to a carpenter,’ said Jasper. ‘What about you?’

‘I don’t know. Betrothed to some farmer, I think, and hating the thought of it.’

Jasper was delighted to have her attention, and let her lead the conversation. He would make his plans for seeing Master Nicholas once he went to bed.

On their return from Osmund’s room, Owen and Alfred found Sir Baldwin and Lady Gamyll gazing down at the opened chest, quietly talking. Aubrey sat nearby with his head in his hands. Perhaps some answers might come out of this, Owen thought.

Their hostess came over to greet them, looking worn and anxious. ‘How did you find Master Osmund?’

‘He has been gone since dawn yesterday,’ Owen said.

Baldwin glanced up at that. ‘Since then? So soon after the fire?’ He shook his head. ‘My son is a riddle to me.’ He lifted a length of silk from the chest and let it drop back. ‘It is good you are here. We have much to learn from Aubrey and his son, I think.’

‘Shall I go for the boy?’ asked Lady Gamyll.

Sir Baldwin’s expression softened. ‘That would be best.’

As she passed Owen she whispered, ‘My husband showed the chest to Master Aubrey against my advice.’

‘I thought as much, my lady,’ he said.

She moved on.

‘You’ve seen some of that before?’ Owen asked Sir Baldwin, taking a seat near the chest.

‘All of it,’ said Baldwin. ‘It’s all from this hall. Aubrey, tell the captain what you’ve just told me.’

Aubrey slowly lifted his head, and when he looked at Owen his face was lined with suffering. Now it seemed less the pain of too much wine that tormented him than a more profound wounding.

‘My wife was ever bringing home small things from the hall when she worked here, as if her admiration for them made her foolish, unable to let go of them,’ said Aubrey. ‘I would find things and return them as soon as I might. It seems I was good at it, for Sir Baldwin was aghast when I confessed it just now, though now and then he’d noticed things gone missing.’

‘I never thought of Ysenda,’ Sir Baldwin said.

‘But this — ’ Aubrey gestured at the chest ‘- and her calling out for Master Osmund.’ He closed his eyes, his forehead pleated with suffering. ‘Were they his gifts to her?’

‘Perhaps because of Hubert, Ysenda felt she was owed more,’ Baldwin suggested. ‘The boy is my son, Captain. Aubrey took her to wife knowing that, protecting her honour.’

‘Her honour,’ Aubrey said with a bitterness in his voice. ‘No, I failed at that, it is certain.’

Owen poured a cup of wine, using it as a prop to excuse a few moments of quiet thought. ‘So the cross was just one thing of many that she’d taken.’

‘It seems so,’ said Baldwin. ‘When I returned from France, cook complained of many items that had disappeared, including two casks of wine and several silver goblets as well as a plate. I note the silver is not in this chest. Then I discovered that the circlet I intended to present to my lady on her first evening in our home was missing. Osmund expressed outrage and threatened to beat all the servants. My steward, having more sense than my son, instead searched all the servant’s quarters and the stable. Of course we did not find it. Nor is it in the chest.’ Baldwin rose with a curse and began to pace, but halted when he caught sight of his wife.

Lady Gamyll was crossing the hall, Hubert and the cat following close behind her. Baldwin sank back down on his chair.

‘Come, sit beside me, son,’ said Aubrey, patting his bench. ‘We are in need of your counsel.’

Bits of hay stuck out of the boy’s curls, and he’d looked half happy until his father spoke. Now he sat down too quietly and stiffly for a lad his age. Owen was glad when the cat leaped up onto the boy’s lap and curled up, awaiting no invitation. Hubert stroked the cat’s head as he looked around, then at the chest. Owen detected no spark of recognition in the boy’s eyes.

‘Son, do you remember when I asked you whether Master Osmund had accused your ma of thieving?’ Aubrey sounded weary and sad.

Hubert’s nod was jerky, hesitant, and he glanced at Owen and Sir Baldwin as if wondering why his father was repeating such a question in this company.

‘Now let me ask you this,’ Aubrey continued in an unsteady voice, ‘while I was gone last summer, did Master Osmund come to our home?’

Hubert stopped petting the cat and closed his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled.

‘Often?’

Hubert nodded.

‘Did he bring presents to your mother?’

Owen pitied the man, for by his questions it was plain the depths to which he suspected his wife had sunk.

‘Sometimes,’ said Hubert. ‘Jugs of cider, wine, a duck once.’ His voice was tight, but he’d opened his eyes and was gazing down at the sleeping cat.

‘When he came — oh, lad, just tell us all you can about his visits.’ Aubrey looked away.

Hubert looked round at all the faces watching him, then leaned towards Aubrey and said softly, ‘I tried to tell you last night, Da, I swear.’

Owen’s heart ached for both of them, the boy edgy and the man bowed, both ashamed.

‘Tell me now, son, and that will be good enough,’ said Aubrey.

Hubert nervously licked his lips. ‘There’s not much to tell because they sent me out when he came. When I’d return sometimes Ma was humming, but more often she would go out to gather firewood — I thought she was upset and wanted to walk.’

‘Did she ever talk about Master Osmund? Try to explain his presence?’ asked Owen.

‘She told me he reckoned he was responsible for us while Da was serving Sir Baldwin.’ His blush was witness to his understanding.

‘I know this is not easy for you,’ said Baldwin. ‘But I pray you, tell us how often my son visited your mother.’

‘He’d come a few days in a row sometimes, but more often once between Sundays. But the last time I was there when he came it was different. Ma told me to stay.’

‘When was that, son?’ Aubrey prompted.

‘The day before the fire.’ The boy described how he’d soon run out of the house. He expressed such regret despite his mother’s unseemly behaviour. He clearly felt somehow responsible for her, the child parent to his mother.

‘You told me yesterday about the man who sometimes came to the house,’ Owen said, ‘that you thought of him when Drogo took your scrip and wondered what treasure you’d stolen from her hoard, and that is why you ran.’

‘Hubert, is this so?’ asked Baldwin.

The boy nodded.

‘Do you think now that Drogo was the one who came?’ Owen asked.

Hubert looked up at Owen as if he expected to be struck. ‘I don’t know, Captain. He always wore a hood, and Drogo always wore that green hat.’

‘But there was something about Drogo that reminded you of him,’ said Owen. ‘Do you have any idea what it was?’

Screwing up his face, Hubert looked down at the floor, thinking. After a while, he looked up at Owen. ‘The way he held his head to one side,’ he tilted towards his left shoulder, ‘like this. And he sounded like he was holding his nose.’

‘His oft-broken nose,’ said Owen.

‘Long ago there was talk that Ysenda and Drogo had pledged marriage,’ Aubrey said. ‘But she always denied it. I saw her with him at the fair once, and once in Sir Baldwin’s woods when she said she was gathering firewood. But I’ve not seen him in a good long while.’

‘God bless you, Hubert,’ said Baldwin, smiling at the boy. ‘You’ve been a great help. I pray that Dame Ysenda can soon talk.’

Aubrey mumbled something unintelligible, but by his angry expression Owen guessed he’d cursed his wife. He thought the boy had been through enough for now.

‘You’re a fine lad, Hubert,’ said Owen. ‘Sir Baldwin, might we walk out into the air?’

‘What are you going to do with my wife?’ Aubrey cried, rising so fast he almost tripped over the cat, who’d leaped off Hubert’s lap at the cry.

‘We shall take care of her until she is recovered,’ said Janet. ‘I’m certain my lord agrees?’

‘I see no cause to do anything less,’ said Baldwin.

‘And us?’ Aubrey asked.

Baldwin’s face softened. ‘You have done nothing I would not have done to protect my wife, Aubrey. And as for Hubert — you need not ask.’ He turned to Owen as Aubrey’s eyes swam. ‘Captain.’ He gestured for Owen to lead the way out to the yard.

‘Wait,’ said Hubert. ‘There’s something else. Ma would drink a lot while Master Osmund was in the house, and after she’d just keep drinking until she fell asleep. Maybe that’s when the fire happened.’ He described the recent near accident, when she’d upset a lamp.

Aubrey sat down again and took Hubert in his arms. ‘Brave lad. You’re a brave lad. You’ve been a good son. Do not blame yourself for your mother’s suffering.’

‘Come, Captain,’ said Baldwin.

Outside, clouds with the look of snow approached along the river valley. Sir Baldwin led Owen across the yard to the stables.

‘The horses keep the air much warmer in here,’ he said, taking off his felt hat and raking a hand through his hair that was so much like Hubert’s. ‘I don’t need to tell you that the lad’s revelations chilled my heart. I’ve often wondered whether I should have acknowledged him and brought him up in my own household. But Aubrey is a good man, and — I suppose we’ve all been blind to the fair Ysenda.’ His pale eyebrows rose and fell, a facial shrug. ‘I’ll find a way to do more.’

‘Tell me about Ysenda.’

‘I think she’ll live, Captain.’ Baldwin did not meet his eye.

‘You know what I mean. What was she like when you loved her? How were you drawn to her?’

Baldwin walked over to a handsome stallion with slightly wild eyes, the sort that’s never entirely tamed, but loyal to one man. He murmured to him and stroked him between the ears.

‘Like Sultan, she was exciting. I’d loved her for a long time, and I finally took her. She was mischievous, daring, and she made me feel a little wild. I didn’t know myself sometimes, never knew what to expect when I was with her. But I loved my wife, deeply loved her, and I knew I must put Ysenda aside. I knew Aubrey lusted after her, so I asked him to wed her, telling him about the child she thought she was carrying. That’s my great regret, Captain, that I did not recognise Hubert. He is everything Osmund is not.’

‘What about Osmund’s part in all that has happened?’ asked Owen. ‘For example, what do you think this might be?’

Baldwin, stepping away from the horse, looked at the box in Owen’s hands. ‘This is something you found in his chamber?’

‘Among other things.’ Owen opened the box and held it out. ‘They might be physicks, but they might be poisons.’ He looked up at Baldwin’s face, saw not anger at such a statement, but fear.

‘Poison?’ he said softly.

‘The reason I suspect poisons is that we also found a hat that matches what a possible witness described, and papers indicating that Osmund has a considerable trading interest to protect. All of that added to how often his name has arisen … Let me ask you, Sir Baldwin — what do you think?’

Baldwin closed the lid on the box and dropped his hands as if in defeat. ‘I do not know where I erred in the raising of my son. His mother worried about what she called his godlessness, a lack of fear of God’s wrath. She also thought him too proud of his cleverness. I did not at first agree with her, but I gradually came to see that she was right. Without ever speaking of it we made a pact of secrecy, hoping that he would change and so we did not wish to have irreparably sullied his name. You ask what part I think he might have played in the deaths of the two men.’ Baldwin had moved back to the horse, and pressed his forehead to the animal’s head for a moment. ‘If he believes I’ll disinherit him, he’ll do what he can to gather wealth — indeed, you have found evidence that he has done so. He has costly tastes.’

‘He would take lives?’ Owen pressed.

‘I pray he would not.’ Baldwin moved away as the horse grew restive, sensing his discomfort. ‘But there have been times when I’ve feared what I saw in him. I once asked Father Nicholas about the difference between a sinful man and an evil man. I told him that I saw evil as a darkness so much a part of someone that prayer and the sacraments could not reach it, could not rescue the person, but that a sinful person could be saved.’ He made a strangled sound and walked to the doorway, breathing deeply. In a moment he returned to Owen. He shook his head. ‘I’ve not told Janet this, though I should, I should. Father Nicholas knew I was speaking of my son. He knew. I have prayed over that moment of terrible doubt, Captain. That I even entertained such a thought about flesh of my flesh.’

‘Yet you allow him to live separately here, come and go as he likes.’

Baldwin sighed. ‘He is of age, Captain. When his mother died I lost my patience — or perhaps my faith. I gave up on him. But now I wonder whether I irresponsibly unleashed him to prey on innocent people. I pray I am wrong.’

Owen looked out at the gathering storm, wondering whether he’d be able to ride home on the morrow. He feared that Osmund had gone to York. He realised he’d already condemned him without ever having met him. But with the apparent evidence and such a confession from his father, he felt justified in believing Osmund guilty.