The Guilt of Innocents

Five

With the tide in, the Riverwoman’s rock was an island, and George Hempe wondered whether they’d need a coracle to cross to it. He was never comfortable going there, which he’d admitted to himself by bringing Owen’s man Alfred with him. Magda Digby was the Riverwoman to Hempe, not a mortal with an ordinary name. He did not think she was entirely of this world, but had one foot in another place that fey folk inhabited. He was grateful when he found her standing on the north bank of the river with Father Goban from St Mary’s Abbey and the coroner. Beyond them, two servants held lanterns over two others at the water’s edge who were lifting a limp body out of a coracle. The man was wrapped in hides; he made no sound as they lowered him onto a pallet at the feet of the three standing there. Even in the darkening evening the Riverwoman’s multicoloured clothing confused the eye, creating an impression that her garments floated around her as she stood still. Hempe joined the group as she was explaining to the coroner why she had sent for him when the man was still alive.

‘Magda did not expect him to linger so long,’ she said. ‘He was already so cold from the river and had lost much blood.’ They all gazed down at him.

‘Nigel,’ Hempe said. ‘He’s an apprentice to Edward Munkton, the goldsmith.’

‘We’ve already established that,’ said the coroner. He and Hempe had recently fallen out over a judgment in the bailiffs’ court that the coroner considered excessively harsh. ‘He’s been stabbed in the back, near the heart.’

‘Or in,’ said the Riverwoman.

One of the servants brought a lantern near so that Hempe now clearly saw how Nigel lay with eyes closed, breathing shallowly.

The Riverwoman met Hempe’s eyes. ‘He loses strength with every breath.’

Father Goban of St Mary’s Abbey quietly greeted Hempe and Alfred. ‘I’m to take him to the statue of the Virgin where we will offer prayers for him. Then I’ll take him to the infirmary, while my brothers keep vigil for him in the chapel, praying for his recovery, or for his soul’s swift journey to heaven.’

‘I doubt a swift journey,’ said the coroner. ‘There is nothing saintly about Nigel.’

‘So you know him?’ Hempe said. ‘Does he have family in the city?’

The coroner shook his head. ‘I don’t believe so. I worked with him on a pin for my wife last year. He spoke as if he were quite alone here.’

Father Goban called to the servants to proceed with Nigel to the abbey. ‘God go with you, Dame Magda,’ he said, following the men into the darkness.

‘Wilt thou attend the priest?’ Magda asked Hempe. ‘Violence begets violence, and he walks through the darkness with a man someone meant to kill.’

‘I’ll attend Father Goban,’ said the coroner.

‘Before you depart,’ said Hempe, ‘you said the man is no saint — what are his sins?’

‘His master once asked the guild to allow him to let the young man go, saying he suspected him of hoarding gold filings,’ said the coroner. ‘But they were never able to find evidence, so he remains an apprentice, though he boards outside Munkton’s house. He’s generally distrusted. I counted myself fortunate to have experienced no trouble when I worked with him.’ With a courteous bow to the Riverwoman, the coroner departed.

Hempe was disturbed to have not known about Nigel’s problems.

‘Can the poor man survive the journey?’ Alfred asked the Riverwoman.

‘The priest said any man would pray to die in a chapel’s grace. Magda thinks few men care a whit where they die, only that they do.’

‘I’m sure many believe they’ll reach heaven more quickly by dying in a sacred place,’ said Alfred.

‘Aye, and others believe that death in battle is a good, honourable death,’ said the Riverwoman, ‘but that does not mean all do. Where is thy captain?’

‘He and Jasper are in the country,’ said Alfred. ‘They’re searching for the murderer of the last man pulled from the Ouse.’

‘Ah.’ The Riverwoman nodded. Just that.

Hempe decided he was not a man if he could not talk to the Riverwoman. ‘Did he speak at all?’

‘He did. He asked for prayers. He’ll have them now.’

‘He said nothing else?’

The Riverwoman shook her head. ‘He had ale on his breath.’

‘So he might have been at a tavern this afternoon.’ Hempe nodded. ‘That is helpful. I am grateful.’ He was beginning to feel more comfortable. ‘Did you know Nigel?’

‘Magda never had cause to talk to him, though after some thought she put a name to him.’

‘Well then at least he wasn’t bedding with young women who needed your assistance to rid themselves of bastards,’ said Hempe.

‘Folk come to me for other reasons,’ the Riverwoman said, clearly angry.

‘Forgive me,’ Hempe quickly said, not wishing to antagonise her. ‘I am certain they come to you for healing far more often — ’

‘Magda is weary.’ She stretched her arms to the sides, her clothing shimmering in the darkness. ‘Magda bids thee good evening, now. She has much work to do on the morrow.’

Hempe gave her a little bow and wished her peaceful sleep, but that thought led him to thoughts of her lonely house. To Alfred he said, ‘The murderer might try to silence the Riverwoman, believing that Nigel betrayed him to her.’

Alfred cursed under his breath. ‘You want me to watch over her tonight, am I right, Hempe?’ He made it sound as if Hempe were sending him to his doom.

‘I’ll send someone to take the later guard,’ said Hempe.

‘Why not you?’

‘I do not know her. I sense that you do, at least a little.’

‘She’ll not be pleased,’ Alfred grumbled. He looked over at where she was preparing her coracle for the crossing. ‘But she’s a good woman and a friend to the captain and his lady. Perhaps I’ll earn grace for watching over her. God knows that many folk need her.’

Alfred turned and went to join her.

As Hempe was weighing whether to begin talking to taverners or Master Edward, the goldsmith, he heard a strange barking sound. Glancing over his shoulder he guessed it was the Riverwoman laughing. He shivered and crossed himself.

A full belly and the warmth of the hall made Jasper drowsy, but the captain was counting on him to listen and remember, so he fought sleep, wanting to hear all that Sir Baldwin said. There was so much to remember — that was his challenge today. Yesterday’s challenge had been the ride; Jasper had not ridden far in a while, so his thighs had been burning by mid-morning. When he’d dismounted at midday his legs had wobbled for the first few steps and he’d been grateful that no one was looking his way. Today’s ride had not been easy either, but it had not been as bad as he’d feared this morning when he’d awakened so stiff he’d worried he’d be unable to stand. But he’d managed to stand, and walk, and mount, and after awhile he’d gone numb, for which he’d thanked God.

He had also been trusted to tell Hubert and his mother about Drogo’s murder. For a moment he’d been irritated that the captain had not warned him, but in the end he was proud to have done it. He would tell Alisoun how the captain had trusted him, indeed counted on him for a firsthand account. He wondered what she thought of his going off with the captain and his men. Edric could not boast of anything similar. He did not like to think of Alisoun and Edric together back in York, but he hoped that she was irritating him by imagining aloud what Jasper was doing. He often wondered whether she knew she was voicing things people would prefer not to hear, or whether she had missed being taught that before her parents died. Sometimes she seemed surprised by people’s reactions to what she said, but sometimes she seemed to be expecting a reaction. Jasper’s mother had always shaken her head and put a finger to her lips when he was blurting out what he should have kept to himself, and it had become part of how he thought. He sensed now when she would be shaking her head, and he’d stop.

Alisoun. Jasper sighed through the knot in his shoulders. She was so smart, so pretty, and she had the singing voice of an angel. Strange how different it was from her speaking voice. But she wasn’t delicate like so many girls. She was strong, and that’s how she could be as skilled with the longbow as she was. She would have been fine on this journey.

When he’d heard he would be accompanying the captain Jasper had been excited, but he had not given much thought to the long ride, the wind, the snow, the mud, and then the strangers’ houses they would be entering, interrupting their lives, asking questions that could be embarrassing. He had in the past imagined the captain chasing down murderers and sitting in faraway taverns telling strangers about his days as captain of archers for the Duke of Lancaster, maybe singing one of his sad Welsh songs while accompanying himself on a borrowed lute. But what Jasper had seen so far was nothing like what he’d imagined. He saw how much the captain disliked intruding on people to ask questions that made them uncomfortable. He could tell when the captain was reviewing the interrogations — there was a tension in his shoulders and his jaw, and his mouth twisted into a little snarl. Jasper found his father’s work decidedly unpleasant. He had felt unwelcome at Hubert’s home, despite Dame Ysenda’s courtesy, or maybe because of it. When she’d forgotten herself and spoken coldly to Hubert, who was very upset, Jasper had seen through her guise. She had been very careful about what she said and she’d seemed too pleasant in the circumstances, having been beaten by her husband and then deserted. Jasper was certain that both mother and son were hiding something.

Being in their house had brought back strong memories of his life with his mother after his father died. He had wanted to protect her. He’d loved her doubly for being his only parent. He had disliked her being out of his sight. He would have done anything for her, given his life for her. He could see that Hubert felt that way about his mother. But Ysenda was nothing like Jasper’s mother, who had been soft-spoken, gentle, always loving, and had a beauty that was less striking but more compelling, he thought. Hubert’s mother had a prettiness that made him uneasy somehow. As if she would be trouble. Alisoun would be trouble, but in different ways — she chafed at the restrictions of being a girl, not at being loyal or honest. Sometimes she was a bit too honest. Maybe it wasn’t Ysenda’s prettiness, but something else.

Sir Baldwin seemed an honourable man with a heart. Jasper liked him. Right now he sat by the fire, the scarred knight who’d fought bravely for his king, with a beautiful, large black cat curled up on his lap, gently stroking it as he talked to his guests.

‘Did you learn what the lad had lost?’ he had just asked. ‘What this pilot had taken?’

When the captain described it, Sir Baldwin’s demeanour changed. ‘Where might Dame Ysenda — ’ He gave the cat a pat on the bottom. Once the cat was down, Sir Baldwin headed towards the screened end of the hall, saying he wanted to check something, that they should all be at ease. Jasper leaned over to entice the cat his way, but straightened as Lady Gamyll joined them.

‘Where is my husband?’ she asked, looking round.

Her face was not pretty, but she moved and spoke with such grace that she seemed beautiful. Jasper would rather a woman like Lady Gamyll any day to one like Ysenda de Weston. He was glad that Sir Baldwin had such a wife.

After the captain explained Sir Baldwin’s absence, he said, ‘This is a beautiful hall. You must be proud of it.’

‘I shall be,’ she said with a shy smile. ‘I’ve only lived here for a few days, so it is still a little strange to me. I’ll feel more at home when my tapestries have been hung.’

‘You are newly wed?’ asked the captain.

Jasper thought that a bold question, but Lady Gamyll did not seem to mind.

‘We’ve been wed for almost a year, but my husband thought it was best I remained with my family until he completed his mission for the king.’ She kept her eyes lowered as she spoke. ‘I am blessed that God granted his safe return.’

As she spoke the last few words Sir Baldwin strode out from behind screens at the far end of the hall looking even more agitated than when he’d left.

‘The birthing cross is gone,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘I must ask Father Nicholas who last had it.’

‘Is there a problem, husband?’ asked Lady Gamyll. ‘Did you mention the birthing cross?’

He looked at her and his expression changed, lightened. He must love her, Jasper thought, pleased with that. The captain looked at Dame Lucie like that, as if being with her made everything all right, worth every struggle, every effort. Just as with Sir Baldwin’s scarred face, the captain’s would soften and the scars would fade a little.

‘Yes, my love — have you heard of it? I’m sure I’ve not thought to mention it — yet.’

Lady Gamyll blushed. ‘The servants mentioned it. They told me that when Father Nicholas sought it for a woman’s lying in they could not find it. I would have mentioned it, but I did not think you needed that worry just yet.’

Jasper guessed the cross was a charm against trouble in childbirth.

Sir Baldwin bowed to his wife. ‘That is most helpful. And now, my love, this is unpleasant business. I do not want you troubled with this.’

Lady Gamyll needed no more signal, but rose and excused herself, withdrawing in the direction in which Sir Baldwin had just come. Jasper was sorry for that, but excited that there was something troubling their host that he would speak of.

‘The cross the boy lost — I think it almost certain it was the one that belonged to my first wife.’ Sir Baldwin remained standing. ‘I cannot imagine where Ysenda might get something so like it. They have little wealth. Aubrey has no true skill for farming. He’s a fighting man, not good for much else.’

‘You called it a birthing cross,’ said the captain. ‘What is that?’

Sir Baldwin closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose as if it might help him think. ‘It was passed among the women of this parish as a charm for an easy childbirth. It was my first wife’s belief that it had helped her through difficult deliveries of our son and daughter, and she’d loaned it to our tenants’ wives, and then the villagers, until it became custom.’ He dropped his hand and for a moment the soldierly posture sagged. ‘She felt so sure of its grace. Few believe with such ferocity as she did.’

Jasper could almost see the memories passing before the faraway eyes.

Sir Baldwin straightened. ‘Perhaps Ysenda was with child when we left, and lost the child while we were away? But she should have returned the cross then, or passed it on. You say the boy found it among her things?’

The captain nodded. ‘This complicates matters, that it is your property that Hubert lost.’

‘Probably mine. Most likely. How did Ysenda react to his confession?’

Sir Baldwin grunted at the captain’s description of how she was first confused, then angry with her son.

‘She claimed Aubrey had given it to her before your departure,’ said the captain.

‘Unlikely.’ Baldwin took a few steps, as if he needed motion. ‘Were it anyone else — ’ He curled his hands into fists and then, seeming to remember he wasn’t alone, he relaxed them. ‘This is most puzzling. I find myself annoyed, though I can imagine how it might happen, the lad sees a trinket, the purpose of which his mother would not have explained to him. The women of this parish will be unhappy about her carelessness, and they’ve no love for her as it is.’

‘Why is that?’ asked the captain.

Jasper was surprised by Rafe’s chuckling comment, ‘You’ve only to look at her, Captain. Pretty and willing. Teasing. Flirting with any man who comes along.’ He shook his head. It was the longest speech Jasper had ever heard him make. He was a quiet man, strong, not as quick as Gilbert. He usually let Gilbert do the talking.

The captain grinned. ‘Oh aye, I saw that. But why would the women dislike her?’

Everyone laughed at that, but it was short-lived laughter. Jasper thought that he’d been right to be uneasy in Ysenda’s presence.

The captain was already back to thinking through what had happened. ‘I would like to know how Dame Ysenda obtained the cross,’ he said, ‘and whether another woman had requested it and was told Ysenda had it. Well, it seems not since the priest had come for it. How long before the birth do they usually ask for the cross? The lad took it at harvest time, and you and Aubrey left when? In spring? Did Aubrey mention her being with child?’

‘We departed in late winter. No, he said nothing of a babe, and he would have.’

‘Seven, eight months,’ said the captain. ‘I suppose she might not have told him yet.’

Jasper was confused for a moment, then realised the captain was counting forward.

‘Your wife was not here while you were gone, but what of your son Osmund?’

Sir Baldwin’s expression became unreadable to Jasper. ‘Yes, Osmund was here — in the sense that he’s ever here. But Father Nicholas would have come to the house for the cross. The women do not come on their own behalf. Modesty.’

‘I cannot think how the dead man would have heard of the cross, or known that young Hubert had it.’ The captain sat with his forearms on his knees, a faraway look in his eyes.

Sir Baldwin shook his head. ‘You said he was a bargeman and pilot. I never engage barges. For my wool shipments I have my steward use merchants in York. They know about those things.’

Jasper was still wondering what their host meant about Osmund. ‘Does your son conduct business?’ he wondered, then realised by the faces turned towards him that he’d said it aloud. ‘Forgive me.’

‘No need,’ said the captain. ‘That is a good question.’

‘He doesn’t,’ said Sir Baldwin. ‘He pretends to be dull-witted about running the estate so that nothing is expected of him, though he’s a clever young man — too clever, perhaps. My steward saw to everything while I was away. No, I can think of no way the theft of the cross might involve anyone in my household.’

‘I would still like to talk to your son about estate matters while you were away,’ said the captain.

‘He’s not here. In York, I believe. As is Father Nicholas. He’s seldom here. More than a little negligent of the souls in his care.’

‘Has Osmund business in York?’

Baldwin shrugged. ‘You’ll think this strange, but I let my son go about his life as he will. I suspect he’s up to something reckless, but I would not venture to guess what it might be.’

Jasper could see that the captain was disappointed, but he quickly moved beyond that topic. ‘Is it possible that Aubrey de Weston is somewhere on your land, Sir Baldwin? Does he perhaps come here when he’s fought with his wife?’

‘There are a few men he drinks with,’ Sir Baldwin said. ‘It is possible.’ He did not sound very hopeful.

‘Could you have someone escort my men around, just to make sure he isn’t right under our noses?’

Sir Baldwin rose. ‘I will. And you must stay the night, all of you. There is room in this hall for you, and you are most welcome.’

Jasper silently said a prayer of thanks.

Though it was the end of twilight, Hempe walked along the waterfront towards the castle on the chance that he might cross paths with someone who had seen Nigel that afternoon. He stumbled when he picked up speed, and the waterfront was so far mostly deserted, so he spent the time arguing with himself about why he was bothering. In the daylight he would find many people gossiping here. To walk here in the morning was much more likely to be useful than this stroll in the freezing dark.

The river sucked at the mud and the wind sighed around him. He noticed those sounds more than the steady rush of the river; they were more human, more intimate sounds. He could not recall the last time he’d been so alone, surrounded by a veil of darkness, with little to hear over the river and the wind. The Riverwoman chose to live in such isolation. He wondered how long it would take to become accustomed to such a silence; it turned him in on himself. It felt like the time to pray. He prayed for the souls of Drogo and Nigel, and for Drogo’s family.

As he walked along the friary wall his prayers changed, focusing on himself and Owen Archer. He had learned a great deal from Archer. He found it comfortable working with him again. It gave him a confidence that made no sense, but felt good. He was glad there were men like Archer in the kingdom, who put the skills they’d honed in war to a peaceful purpose that benefited the people, not the nobles. Too few cared about the people.

He smiled at himself — a philosopher of a sudden — and decided to give up for the night. Turning upriver once more, he almost tripped over something that by its squawk he discovered was a lad. He caught hold of cloth as the boy tried to flee.

‘Who are you?’ Hempe demanded.

‘No one, sir. No one to you.’ The boy tried to make his voice reedy and frightened, but it rang falsely.

‘What is a lad doing on the staithe in the dark?’

‘Just walking, sir.’

Hempe wished his eyes would adjust to the dark so that he could make something of the lad he held. Why had he not noticed him before? Had he been that lost in his thoughts, or had the lad been stealthy?

‘Were you set to follow me?’

A weak laughter. ‘In the dark?’ the lad asked, elongating the last word. He kicked at Hempe and broke his hold. Hempe reached with both hands, but the lad was gone. He could hear him splashing in the tidal mud, but he could not catch him.

‘A curse on you!’ he shouted, for no reason but that it spilled from his open mouth.

Cursing himself he headed for the nearest tavern.

The balding guard seemed disturbed by the whisper of the river that filled in the silences between the fire’s pops or the occasional conversation.

‘I should go without,’ he said, beginning to untangle his legs.

Magda and Alfred were sitting close to her fire circle on low stools, sharing a fish stew.

‘Thou needst not. Magda will notice sounds out of place.’ But she nodded as Alfred mumbled an excuse, understanding that he was not in the habit of trusting the ears of the elderly. She had been surprised by the hawk-like bailiff’s concern for her safety. It did not matter that it was unnecessary. But something was nagging at the back of her mind, a worry that she hoped would come forward.

When Alfred returned to his stool, apparently having found nothing amiss outside, he asked, ‘Do you never feel too alone here, when the river rises round you?’

‘Nay, then the Ouse is Magda’s protector,’ she said, ‘and her ears can rest easy.’

‘Why do you live here?’

‘It is home,’ she said. ‘Magda can no more explain that than thou couldst explain why thou art so loyal to Captain Archer.’ Ah. That is what bothered her, Owen’s household was unprotected with him away.

‘He’s an honourable man, and he has taught me to be a better soldier,’ said Alfred.

She was not interested in what he thought were his reasons. ‘Magda is worried about Dame Lucie and her household tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘Captain Archer and young Jasper are gone. Dame Lucie is alone with only women, children, and gentle Edric.’

‘But the captain is often away. The Merchets look out for Dame Lucie and the children. And Alisoun Ffulford is skilled with a bow. You would know that.’

She knew all of that, but she was still uneasy, and she’d learned long ago to heed such a gut-deep feeling. ‘Magda thinks they might be in danger. If it was the same man who injured the goldsmith’s apprentice and poisoned Drogo, he might wish to end the captain’s questions about the pilot, and he might hie to the captain’s house not knowing that he is away. Dost thou see?’

‘Why do you connect the two?’

‘A fair question, but Magda cannot satisfy thee with facts. She fears this. Strongly fears this.’

Alfred was on his feet. ‘That is good enough for me. I should warn them. But I told Hempe I’d stay with you.’ He cursed beneath his breath and looked not a little angry.

He would be like that all night. Magda had no appetite for such company. She considered the situation, and found an appealing solution.

‘Fret not. Magda will come with thee to Dame Lucie’s home.’

‘You will?’

Magda laughed at his relief. ‘Thou’rt such a boy. Come. Help Magda gather her things.’

As they passed Marygate, Magda slowed, noticing the crowd near the statue of the Virgin Mary. Hypocrites, most of them. She doubted many of them had known Nigel, and few of those who did would have welcomed him at their fires, yet they all congregated to pray over him. It was their fear of death that they prayed about, not the goldsmith’s apprentice.

‘Did you wish to join them, Dame Magda?’ asked Alfred.

‘Thou couldst leave these things with Magda and see whether the man yet lives,’ she suggested.

He did so without further ado. Alfred had surprised her with his considerate manner, which she had not expected from him — this was a reminder to her not to judge hastily. A few folk clustered round him, proudly sharing what they knew. His head was slightly bowed, his walk slower as he returned, and she knew that her catch had died. Patting Alfred on the shoulder, Magda thanked him. He did not seem to notice that they’d not exchanged a word.

She was sorry the man had died without the chance to name his murderer. There was boldness in this murderer, and she feared that he would be smart enough to keep track of Owen Archer’s movements. She’d told Alfred that she feared for Lucie because the killer might be after Owen, but what if he’d chosen to strike when Owen was away? He might decide to take a hostage from his household, distracting him once he’d returned.

Bootham Bar was busy with folk coming and going. It took time to get through, and Magda was almost trotting by the time they reached Stonegate, the street of the goldsmiths. A few folk stood in front of the goldsmith Edward Munkton’s house and shop, their heads together, gossiping about his apprentice’s death, Magda had no doubt. Folk enjoyed nothing so much as someone else’s trouble except perhaps talking of things they knew nothing about. Magda was relieved to see Lucie’s home at the corner of St Helen’s Square. She was anxious to be proved wrong in her worry.

The maid Kate opened the door just a crack to ask their names. When they identified themselves she flung it open while announcing them at the top of her voice, which was considerable.

‘Do not rise, Lucie,’ Magda said as she entered. ‘Magda can find thee.’

She remembered shifting herself at Lucie’s stage of pregnancy.

‘I am glad to see you,’ Lucie said as Magda settled beside her near the fire.

Magda was pleased to see the healthy glow in Lucie’s skin and no darkness around her eyes.

Lucie leaned close to ask quietly, ‘Have you brought news of a wet nurse?’

‘That is not why Magda has come.’ She spoke as softly, not wishing to provoke Alisoun. ‘But she does have one for thee. She will come a fortnight hence.’

‘Will that be soon enough?’ Lucie asked.

‘Aye.’

‘You sound quite certain.’

‘Magda is.’

Lucie glanced over to where Alisoun sat with the children. ‘She will soon take them to bed and we can talk more freely.’

Magda nodded. ‘Hast thou heard of Magda’s catch today?’

‘How could I help but hear about it in the shop?’ At Magda’s frown Lucie added, ‘I sat on a stool and let Edric fetch and carry for me.’

She silently chided herself for worrying that Lucie might take risks, knowing as she did how desperately she wanted this child.

‘Is that why Alfred is here with you?’ Lucie asked. ‘Because of the injured man? I don’t quite see — ’

‘Hempe the hawk told him to watch over Magda tonight, in case the murderer thought the poor man had told her aught.’

‘Oh, then he is dead?’ asked Phillippa.

Magda nodded. She had thought Lucie’s elderly aunt was asleep.

‘Thou art sharp this evening, my friend.’ She had known Phillippa a long while and was glad when the veil of her illness lifted.

‘Will you stay the night?’ Lucie asked.

‘Aye, that is what Magda hopes.’

Phillippa rose. ‘I must prepare a bed for you.’

Lucie touched her aunt’s arm. ‘There is no need. Magda can share my bed. Do you mind?’

‘That will be most agreeable,’ said Magda. ‘Now. Let Magda repay thee for thy hospitality by telling thee the tale.’

Alisoun rather loudly commanded Gwenllian and Hugh to play quietly so that she might listen to their guest.

Magda noticed that Lucie seemed annoyed by her outburst, though she said nothing. Perhaps Alisoun had already outstayed her welcome in this household. She was a wilful orphan who had wearied all her kin in their attempts to help her. She’d come to Magda with the intention of becoming her apprentice. Magda had neither accepted nor desired an apprentice in all her years, which were considerable, but she was curious whether the girl’s dogged determination might surprise her. Alisoun had expected to follow her in her daily rounds. But Magda had wished to see how the girl behaved in service, so she had offered her as nurse to the Archer children after Lucie’s accident. Although Magda had reassured her that she might continue her studies and that a new position would be found for her, the girl was doubtless worried. Magda must talk with her again.

Ah well, to the matter at hand. She recounted all that had happened, speaking loudly enough so that Alisoun, Dame Phillippa, and Kate could hear her. All the women bowed their heads and prayed for Nigel’s soul when she had finished her account. Magda bowed her head as well, though her thoughts did not tend towards asking a god to welcome the young man into heaven. She hoped that he’d had no fear in the end, and that no one’s life would be cast into shadow by his passing.

It was much later, when Magda and Lucie were up in the solar preparing for bed and could not be overheard, that Lucie told her of Nicholas Ferriby’s discomfort in the shop that day. Magda found it troubling, and she saw that Lucie did as well.

‘I would ask George Hempe to talk to the grammar master, but I fear he might make the man even less inclined to talk,’ said Lucie.

‘The vicar of Weston is a soft man, my friend, easily frightened, easily swayed. Magda hopes that his tale is not the only way to the truth, for he may not find the courage again to tell thy husband.’

Owen lay in Sir Baldwin’s hall, the front of him that faced the fire wonderfully warm, his back cold and stiffening. He prayed that his host was right, that Ysenda would not punish her son for having taken and lost the cross. Her request that they return for Hubert in the morning had bothered him more and more as the afternoon turned to evening. He imagined her taking a whip to the boy’s back, though he had no reason to think she might behave so. Still, as she could not hope to ever be able to replace the piece, she might be frightened that they’d be turned out, and such fears often drove otherwise gentle parents to violence. But Sir Baldwin could not imagine her behaving in such wise, and Owen doubted the man would abandon Ysenda — or Aubrey for that matter, for he’d spoken well of him for the most part. Owen decided that Ysenda would not have asked him to return if she’d meant harm to the boy.

Aubrey was another matter. Rafe and Gilbert had found no sign of him; none of his friends had seen him in days. Baldwin did not think Ysenda would tell Aubrey about the cross. Owen was not so certain — a slip was always possible. But it had already been too dark to go walking about the countryside spying on Hubert’s family.

Owen slept fitfully, dreaming of his flame-haired son Hugh running from Ysenda who chased him with a multi-thong whip. Alisoun also figured in the dream, aiming arrows too close to Hugh for Owen’s comfort. He woke in a sweat and drowsed lightly for the rest of the night, having no desire to re-enter his dreams.

Jasper snored beside him, enjoying a sleep that Owen envied. He was proud of the boy, and impressed by his endurance and perspicacity. He intended to ask Jasper to keep an eye on Hubert when they were back in York. He would be far less conspicuous than Owen or one of his men.

As a greyness showed through the chinks in the shutters, Gilbert rose to relieve himself, waking Jasper.

‘You can’t sleep, Da?’ the boy asked, his eyes only half-opened.

If there ever was a reason to be grateful for having been awake at this moment, it was to hear Jasper call him ‘da’ for the second time.

‘No. I dreamt that your little brother was being chased by Ysenda and barely missed by Alisoun’s arrows. I did not wish to return to that!’

Jasper grinned. ‘Praise God she was missing him.’ He scratched himself and rubbed his eyes. ‘Is it time to rise?’

‘No, it’s too early. Go back to sleep.’

Jasper needed no more urging. He burrowed beneath the blankets and in a short time his breathing grew slow and even.

Owen had risen shortly, and he’d been sipping mulled wine by the fire as he exchanged pleasantries with his host and hostess for a little while when Jasper finally woke. Gilbert escorted him out into the frosty morning while Lady Gamyll called to a servant to bring ale for Jasper.

‘We are grateful for your generosity,’ said Owen.

Lady Gamyll smiled. ‘You are my first guests. It has been my pleasure to see to your comfort.’

In a short while they were mounting their horses, waving their farewells. Owen had hoped Sir Baldwin would finally say whatever it was that Owen sensed he was holding back regarding Osmund, but he had not, and so he rode away disappointed, while the others were in good humour.

It was not a long ride to Ysenda’s house — they might have simply walked over to fetch Hubert, but then they would have wasted time, and Owen hoped to arrive in York in good time the following day. He wanted to discuss all he’d learned with Lucie, hear a wise woman’s view of it.

Jasper rode up beside him. ‘I’ve noticed that you don’t like Alisoun. Why not?’

‘What? Is she still on your mind?’ He chuckled at the boy’s earnest expression. ‘I find her sullen and unpleasant to be around.’ Owen thought it best to leave it there.

But obviously Jasper was not satisfied. ‘She’s been a good nursemaid.’

‘Yes. She has, son.’ Owen was glad to see Ysenda’s lonely house just ahead. ‘I think we’ll let Hubert ride with Rafe.’

They dismounted close to the house this time.

‘Rafe, Gilbert, wait out here. Watch the house. I would not like to be surprised by Aubrey’s return.’

‘And what if he’s in there?’ asked Gilbert.

‘Then I’ll have Jasper call you in.’

Both men nodded and moved to opposite sides of the door.

Jasper knocked and took a step back as Ysenda opened it. Owen stood right behind him and noticed Hubert hovering in the dimness just behind her. Ysenda’s smile seemed forced.

‘You came back,’ she said. ‘I half thought you might not.’

‘I’m a man of my word,’ said Owen. ‘May we come in?’ He reached over Jasper and put his hand on the door.

Ysenda did not miss the gesture. ‘Do come in.’ She stepped away from the door, her movement hesitant.

Inside the cottage the first thing Owen noticed was that Hubert was not dressed for travel. He was sullen in his greeting, as he’d been the previous day.

‘I have spoken with Sir Baldwin,’ Owen began, taking a seat by the fire.

‘Oh?’ Ysenda moved to stand behind Hubert, her hands on his shoulders. ‘I have changed my mind, Captain. Hubert does not wish to return to York just yet, and I won’t force him. In truth, I will be grateful to have him here for a while.’

‘Has your husband returned?’

She shook her head. ‘Hubert can help me.’

The boy seemed to relax a little, looking less sullen, and Owen was in part happy for him. But he wondered how the lad would feel about some of the matters he intended to discuss.

‘We must talk about something, Dame Ysenda. Something that might not be entirely comfortable for Hubert. Is there somewhere he might go?’

‘I want to hear whatever you have to say,’ said Hubert, puffing out his chest in a boyish way that reminded Owen of his own unwavering confidence in himself as an archer long, long ago.

Ysenda patted her son’s shoulders. ‘Then you shall, my young man.’

‘Will you sit?’ Owen invited them.

‘I’m comfortable as I am,’ said Ysenda. ‘I’m sorry I’ve no more cider to offer you.’

Either she’d consumed a great deal since they’d been there the previous day or she resented their presence of a sudden. ‘We are not thirsty.’ Owen dropped his head for a moment, weighing various approaches. Ysenda was either expecting a fight, but he did not know what about, or she was simply eager to see them on their way. In either instance, he decided that an abrupt approach was necessary in order to have any chance at all of discussing the origin of the cross with her.

‘While we dined with Sir Baldwin and his lady the subject of your son’s loss came up, and naturally our host was curious as to what had been so precious to Hubert that he wore his scrip at all times.’ He was irritated when Ysenda dropped her head so that he could not see her expression. ‘When I described the cross Sir Baldwin excused himself, and when he returned said that his late wife’s cross, which he would describe precisely as you did, was missing. He wondered if you’d perhaps been with child when he took Aubrey to France.’

‘Ma?’ Hubert turned around to look at Ysenda, who wore an indecipherable expression that Owen thought might be the result of warring impulses. ‘That wasn’t Lady Gamyll’s cross, was it?’ the boy asked, his voice slightly cracking with discomfort. ‘I didn’t lose hers?’

Ysenda tilted her head, and shook it once. ‘Why Sir Baldwin would think to find it at home is a sign of how little he’s cared about the manor in recent years. The cross is passed around the tenants and villagers for an easy birth. It is seldom in his care.’ She did not speak in anger, but as if gently correcting her lord’s error.

‘I am relieved to hear that the cross Hubert lost was not Lady Gamyll’s. I’ll inform Sir Baldwin that he has only to check in the village and among his tenants for the one called the birthing cross.’

‘You will find that difficult,’ Ysenda said. ‘With Father Nicholas so often away there is no one — ’ She abruptly broke off and slipped down onto a bench, covering her face with her hands.

‘Ma?’ Hubert knelt on one knee trying to see her face. ‘Why are you crying?’

She pulled him to her and kissed the top of his head. ‘I am tired, so tired. I should have let you leave with them last night. Then you need never have known the value of what you lost.’ She lifted her face to the ceiling. ‘God in heaven, was it so wrong of me to want more time with my only son?’ She dissolved again in tears, holding onto the boy so hard that her knuckles paled.

Her inconsistencies were beginning to annoy Owen.

Hubert squirmed out of her clutch. ‘Ma, are you saying that the cross didn’t belong to you?’

She shook her head, still crumpled in on herself. ‘No,’ she whimpered. ‘I forgot to return it when I lost the baby.’

And had concocted a story for Owen about Aubrey having given it to her.

The boy sat down a little away from his mother. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘I did not think you would have had any idea what it was, Hubert,’ said Owen. ‘It’s not the sort of thing a mother tells a son about.’

‘I didn’t even know about the baby,’ Hubert whispered, hugging himself.

‘Your ma wanted to spare you the worry, I’d guess,’ said Jasper, yet again making Owen proud of him. ‘Mothers don’t always know how much we guess, or how strong we are. Sometimes they just make it all harder for us, don’t you think?’

Hubert nodded without looking up.

‘Aubrey’s been hopeful that his fighting skill had improved his standing with Sir Baldwin, that he might be honoured with more land, some of the richer land by the beck. That will never happen now. We can never hope to replace the cross even if we starved from now till the Last Judgement.’ Ysenda had given her moan to the fire, but suddenly glanced up at Owen. ‘What did the dead man do with the cross? Surely he wasn’t wearing it when he died? There is still hope. Have you gone to his house?’

This brightened Hubert. ‘I had not thought of it being found. What do you think, Captain?’

Owen thought that it was now time to leave them, now that they were buoyed with hope. He rose. ‘We will do all we can to find it and return it to Sir Baldwin,’ he said. ‘If Hubert came to York with us, he might be one of the first to know if it is found.’ He looked at the boy.

Hubert shook his head. ‘I’ll not come yet, Captain. I will stand by Ma if our lord makes much of this.’ He was not so confident as before, but Owen admired the boy’s spirit. He would grow up to be a fine lad, like Jasper.

Ysenda rose. ‘Have you asked the man’s family? Was there anyone else he might have given it to?’

‘That is what I must discover back in York,’ said Owen, ‘now that I know what was lost, what I’m looking for.’

They took their leave quickly, and were mounted and into the town of Weston before anyone might ride after them. Owen needed distance and time in which to ponder all he’d learned.

‘Did she mean to lie about the cross?’ Jasper asked when they stopped to warm themselves by a fire while enjoying the food and wine Lady Gamyll had ordered prepared for their journey.

‘Does your asking that question mean that you think she did?’ Owen asked.

‘That’s Dame Magda’s trick, answering a question with a question,’ Jasper said. He looked healthy and content, thought Owen. Lucie should be proud of the life she’d given the lad, an apprenticeship that had given him a sense of his own place until he’d felt part of the family.

‘I expected Dame Ysenda to lie, or to avoid directly answering us. Something warned her that she would regret that and she took back the lie. Or traded it for another.’

‘She’s canny,’ said Rafe. ‘I could see that yesterday.’

‘I feel sorry for her husband,’ said Gilbert. ‘I do not think she would be an easy woman to live with.’

‘Certainly not an easy woman to leave!’ said Rafe, slapping Gilbert on the thigh.

Perhaps that was what bothered Owen about Aubrey’s absence. ‘You heard what Sir Baldwin said, the man talked of his lovely wife all the while he was away from her. He is a most contradictory man to abandon her once he’s returned to her, don’t you think?’

All three of his companions nodded. Owen wondered what Aubrey was up to.