The Guilt of Innocents

Seven

While Kate instructed Gwenllian and Hugh in some kitchen chores and Phillippa napped by the fire, Magda tried to engage Alisoun, just home from school and rosy-cheeked from the cold, in a discussion about her future.

‘I never wished to be a nursemaid,’ said Alisoun, her pouting face above her thin neck giving her the look of an indignant bird. ‘I’ll be relieved to quit this house.’

Magda could tell by the girl’s jagged breath that it was not so, but she did not intend to argue with her.

‘Kate’s cousin Maud needs the warmth and healing of this household, so Magda is glad thou hast no desire to remain here. Thou needst not worry about thy schooling — it will not be interrupted unless thou shouldst choose to journey with Magda when the floods begin.’

Alisoun sat a little straighter, subtly fluffing her feathers. ‘You’d let me come with you?’

Magda nodded. ‘Unless thou art needed in the city. Thou needst a lodging, so it is thy choice whether to bide with Magda or accept another post. Magda thinks thou couldst do much for an ailing young woman, the daughter of a shipman. Thou wouldst get much practice in healing by attending her.’

Conflict shone in Alisoun’s eyes. ‘You would teach me how to care for her?’ she asked.

‘Aye. Her healing requires both physicks and a supportive presence, a listening friend. Wouldst thou have the patience for that?’

‘I want to be a healer, not a friend.’ Alisoun almost growled the last words.

Now she reminded Magda not so much of a chick as a small, testy dog. ‘Thou hast much to learn about what a healer does. When Maud is ready to come here, Magda will take thee to meet the young woman and thou canst decide for thyself.’

‘And if I don’t choose to take care of her?’ Alisoun barked.

‘The city and the countryside overflow with people in need, young Alisoun. Thou shalt not lack for work if thou art willing.’

The question remained in Magda’s heart — was the girl willing? She must be patient, for only time would provide the answer to that troubling question.

* * *

Her lower back aching and her ankles swollen after a full day of sitting on the high stool in the shop, Lucie was glad to accept Edric’s offer of his arm for support as they crossed the garden to the hall. Frost softened the winter twilight, and where the lamplight spilling from the hall window illuminated the wisps of air and the stark winter garden, Lucie felt as if she’d stepped into another world, one more magical, with different standards of beauty. She mentioned this to Edric and he paused to look around.

‘It is wondrous,’ he said in a reverent whisper. ‘The world must be so beautiful seen from your eyes, Dame Lucie.’

Sometimes it was difficult for Lucie to remember that he was older than Jasper, he seemed so artless in his youthful infatuation.

‘I was so caught up in how cold I am that I had not noticed how the fog swirls,’ he said.

Lucie had noticed that he seldom seemed aware of his surroundings. ‘Your apprenticeship is a time for learning how to live a good life in your mystery as well as how to mix physicks, Edric. You will be a better apothecary by knowing life.’ She stopped herself. This was not the moment for such a discussion. ‘And you are right, it is cold out here.’ Lucie picked up her pace, still with her hand in the crook of Edric’s arm.

As soon as they entered the hall, Lucie noticed Alisoun’s eyes fastened on her hand on Edric’s arm. She dropped it, irritated by how guilty the girl made her feel with that look.

Magda’s multicoloured gown caught Lucie’s eye as the healer approached her, and she thought how fortunate she was in her friend. She noticed Magda glancing over at Alisoun with a thoughtful expression, but then she was smiling at Lucie as she guided her to a high-backed chair by the fire.

‘How dost thou?’ Magda asked as Lucie settled. Lifting Lucie’s hem Magda shook her head at her swollen ankles.

‘I’m aware of those,’ said Lucie. ‘My back aches as well. I am truly toswollen. It all seemed easier when I was younger.’

‘It was,’ said Magda, ‘but thou wilt soon feel better.’ She went over to the fire and stirred something in a small pot.

Gwenllian pushed a low stool under Lucie’s feet and then knelt next to her. Lucie reached down to stroke her raven curls.

‘You are my angel,’ she said.

Gwenllian gingerly bent over to rest an ear on Lucie’s belly. ‘Baby is sleeping?’ she asked.

‘Your brother or sister has been dancing a jig all the long day, so I think he or she is tired. I am, too!’ But at this moment Lucie felt content.

Straightening, Gwenllian leaned on the arm of Lucie’s chair, trying to look her in the eyes. ‘Aunt Pippa was confused today. She was worried about someone named Amélie. Who was she?’

Lucie glanced over at her aunt as she smoothed her daughter’s hair. ‘She was my mother, your grandmother from Normandy, remember? Aunt Phillippa must have dreamt about her and woke confused.’

Gwenllian shrugged and sighed. ‘I don’t like that she thinks grandma is still alive. I don’t like when Aunt Pippa’s confused.’

‘Neither does she, my love.’

Magda brought a cup of steaming liquid from the pot on the fire, and now thrust it into Lucie’s hands, startling her. ‘For the swelling and the backache,’ she said. ‘Now, drink.’

Gwenllian ran back to Hugh and Alisoun. Lucie watched as her two children began a tag game around Alisoun’s chair.

‘Thou art blessed with healthy bairns,’ said Magda. She’d pulled a stool up to join Lucie.

Edric made a move to join them.

‘The bailiff George Hempe came to Master Nicholas’s school today, Edric,’ said Alisoun.

He changed his direction and sat down near her, but not so near as to become part of the tag game. ‘What was wrong?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. He asked to speak to Master Nicholas in the alleyway. After that, Master Nicholas kept forgetting what he’d been saying.’

‘It’s no wonder that the controversy about his school and the gossip about what happened when he prayed over Drogo has shaken him,’ said Lucie.

‘I did not mean to disturb your rest, Dame Lucie, I was speaking to Edric.’ Alisoun spoke in a tone far too familiar for a nursemaid.

Lucie would not tolerate such disrespect from the girl. ‘Take the children to the kitchen, Alisoun, and calm them with supper. You might eat with them this evening.’ She used a firm though not unfriendly tone.

‘But Kate feeds them,’ Alisoun said, her colour high.

Edric studied his shoes.

‘Not this evening,’ said Lucie. ‘She will be up late in case the captain and Jasper return. You are apparently at ease, so it is no inconvenience to you to feed the children.’

Alisoun rose and snapped her skirts.

‘Have a care,’ said Magda. ‘Thou hast fire in thy eyes, Alisoun, and it is blinding thee.’

Bobbing her head to Lucie and glaring at Magda, Alisoun rounded up her charges and led them out of the hall. Lucie let her breath out only when the door closed behind them.

Magda looked disgusted. ‘Where is the healer in her soul?’ she muttered as she rose to give the fire a poke.

‘Did I cause trouble for Alisoun?’ asked Edric.

He looked abandoned, and Lucie felt for him. It would take a sturdier man than he would ever be to carry the burden of Alisoun’s affections.

‘It was nothing you did, Edric,’ she assured him. ‘I think she is bored with her duties here. It is well that a wet nurse will soon come to take her place.’

‘What will she do then?’ he asked.

‘We will continue to support her schooling,’ said Lucie, ‘and Dame Magda is arranging a post for her.’

‘Magda spoke with Alisoun earlier.’ She settled back down. ‘Do not fret, lad, for she is surrounded by those who wish her well. Enough of that girl.’ She turned to Lucie. ‘Magda also talked with George Hempe, the hawk himself. He called here, and Magda told him about Master Nicholas’s queer behaviour. That is why he sought out the man. And a tanner’s wife came to tell the captain of a pair on the riverbank yesterday who might have been the goldsmith’s lad and his murderer. But then thou knowest she was here. She did come to thee?’

Poor Alice, pregnant again. ‘Yes. She has all that she needs for a while, and I was glad to give it to her. She is a sweet woman, too sweet.’ Lucie knew Magda would divine her meaning.

‘Aye, she should not have — ’ Magda glanced up at Edric’s eager expression and fussed with Lucie to finish the cup of herbs. ‘Magda will not be here tomorrow, but she will leave more of this beverage for thee.’

‘Where will you be?’ Lucie had slept so soundly the previous night and believed that Magda’s mere presence had provided such a gift, a night of unbroken sleep that was such a rare blessing when pregnant. ‘You are not safe at home.’

‘That is thy opinion, but Magda won’t be at home. She has a thought that a baby who is due is about to proclaim her arrival.’

‘Then it’s true what they say,’ said Edric in a hushed tone of wonder, ‘you can see the future.’

Lucie knew to expect Magda’s barking laughter, but Edric looked startled and confused.

‘Thou hast leaped from a thought that it is time for the baby to wondrous powers of divination,’ Magda said. ‘Thou hast honoured Magda, but she cannot accept thy praise.’

Edric could not help but smile in response to Magda’s gleeful expression, her clear blue eyes twinkling. Lucie was glad that he was able to laugh at his mistake, but she worried about how easily the young man was befooled. He would be prey to tricksters if he did not learn to discern what was probable and what was not.

After dinner, Edric went off to his chamber above the shop and Phillippa went off to her own bed, still fretting about the dead who yet lived in her confused mind. Alisoun had apparently chosen to remain in the solar after putting the children to bed for the night.

Lucie, Magda, and Kate sat in the kitchen, and Magda announced Maud’s imminent arrival, which delighted Lucie. As Kate had been in the household long enough to be trusted as family, Lucie and Magda were free to continue, talking of Alice Tanner’s overabundance of children, George Hempe’s visit, the possible connections between Nigel and Drogo, and most of all Alisoun’s feelings about Edric and his for Lucie.

It was quite late when they heard Owen’s and Jasper’s voices in the hall. Kate hurried out of the kitchen to see to their comfort while Lucie and Magda followed more sedately.

Seeing the midwife with Lucie, Owen jumped to the wrong conclusion. ‘What is amiss? Is the baby all right?’

‘Our baby is healthy, my love, and the most active one I’ve carried. Magda had the trouble, not I.’

‘The second murder, aye,’ said Owen, rubbing the scar beneath his eye patch, which Lucie took as a sign of his concern over the ‘coincidence’ of two men knifed and then drowned. ‘Alfred just explained why he was guarding the house. He’s a good man. And this young man,’ Owen put a hand on Jasper’s shoulder, ‘is a fine spy in training. He has been a great help to me.’

‘Da’s work is nothing like I’ve imagined it,’ Jasper said. Lucie saw that the boy was exhausted but excited to tell all. ‘We found Hubert, but he wouldn’t return with us. I’m hungry, Kate.’

‘So am I,’ said Owen. ‘But first things first.’ He swept Lucie up in his arms. ‘I am so glad to see you looking so well, my love. Now to bed with you. It’s late for you to be down here. You need your rest.’

She gladly accepted the ride up the stairs. ‘I missed you,’ she said as he gently lowered her to the bed. ‘But Magda was a peaceful bed mate,’ she teased.

‘You shared our bed with Magda?’ Owen looked incredulous. ‘Does she mutter charms in her sleep?’

They laughed together, a moment of intimacy that Lucie extended by pulling him down beside her.

‘I’m filthy from travel, my love,’ Owen protested.

‘When did I ever mind that?’ she whispered into his thick dark hair. Christ but she loved him.

They kissed long and tenderly.

‘So, does she mutter charms in her sleep?’ Owen asked when they paused to breathe, his breath tickling her face.

‘You know she has no truck with charms,’ Lucie said, laughing. It was so good to have him in her arms. ‘Do you think Hempe was right to worry about her after she’d fished Nigel from the Ouse?’ Unfortunate question, she realised at once.

Reminded of his work, Owen sat up, moving a little away from her. ‘I do, and I’m glad that Magda agreed to have a care. A goldsmith’s journeyman.’ He shook his head. ‘I wonder whether Drogo asked him the value of the cross and he coveted it. But such a small piece.’ He explained what it was that Hubert had lost.

‘A birthing cross,’ Lucie said, feeling sorry for the women who had been deprived of a good luck piece for their lying ins. ‘The poor lad. Where is the cross now?’

Seeing the frustration in the set of his jaw and his shoulders she knew his response before he gave it. ‘I wish I knew,’ he said. ‘I hope that George Hempe has spoken to Edward Munkton about Nigel.’

‘Hempe was here today,’ said Lucie. ‘Magda spoke to him.’ A yawn escaped her and she realised how sleepy she was. ‘Now go have some food and ale, and Magda will tell you about all that has happened while you’ve been away. I look forward to hearing about it all in the morning.’

As Owen was about to leave Lucie said, ‘Jasper looks happy.’

Owen’s smile bespoke his own happiness. ‘Aye. We both are. Now sleep, my love. I can see that your eyelids are ready to close.’

‘God be praised for bringing you both home safely.’ She loved them so fiercely at this moment.

Owen crossed himself. ‘God be praised for keeping my family safe while I was away. Now rest, Lucie my love.’ He closed the door behind him.

She lay in bed turning over what Owen had said about his inquiry in order to quiet her emotions. A gold cross belonging to Ysenda’s lord. Drogo finding it in the scrip, perhaps going to Nigel for advice on what it was worth. She’d heard from Julia Dale that the goldsmith’s journeyman was unpleasant, and suspected of theft. As Lucie drifted towards sleep, she floated between concern over Edric’s gullibility and wonder about whether Drogo had been equally gullible, to have shown his spoils to Nigel, a man of such negative reputation.

When Hubert heard the horse he groaned to think Captain Archer and Jasper had returned, but he soon saw that it was worse than that.

‘Ma, it’s Master Osmund.’

She had been chopping roots at a table in the far corner and now paused, the knife in mid-air, glancing over her shoulder towards the door with a worried expression. Her reaction was not at all what he’d expected. ‘Stay close to me, Hubert. I would not be alone with him.’

‘But you always want to be alone with him.’ It had been her custom to shoo him out of the house when Osmund appeared. In fact Hubert had believed his mother to be in love with their lord’s son though her behaviour was usually more anxious than delighted. Osmund had spent much of the past summer in their home. Hubert suspected that Osmund had spent even more time there while he was at school. They’d been lovers — he was almost certain of that. But now the expression on his mother’s beautiful face was fear. ‘What has frightened you? Has he hurt you? Does it have to do with the cross?’

‘No!’ his mother said. ‘I would not have your father walk in on us, just the two of us. You know how he makes up his own story of what is happening. He might hurt someone.’

Hubert did not respond. Aubrey’s ‘own story’ would be accurate. She thought Hubert didn’t know. It hurt that she could think he did not have a good idea that Osmund was her lover, that she could think she had fooled him. Osmund had so far shown none of the virtues of Sir Baldwin. He hadn’t even run the estate while his father was gone. Hubert did not trust him, and he’d heard enough gossip about others feeling likewise, including Aubrey, that he felt he was right not to. But his mother had not seemed to see that in him at all. Had something newly opened her eyes? He wondered whether Osmund had given her the birthing cross, but pushed that thought aside, not wanting to believe his mother would have accepted it knowing that the women of the village and the manor might need it.

Osmund knocked on the door.

‘See him in,’ said Hubert’s mother, staying by the table.

Hubert opened the door and stepped back. ‘Master Osmund,’ he muttered with the slightest bow he could manage. He found himself wondering where Aubrey was, wishing he would appear.

‘Young Hubert! I did not think to find you here. When did you return from school? Are you ill?’ Osmund Gamyll surprised Hubert by sounding and looking sincerely concerned.

‘He was worried about me,’ said Ysenda, ‘working the farm without his father. He had not heard that Aubrey has returned — ’ She did not move from her corner.

Osmund handed his hat, gloves and cloak to Hubert. ‘Take care of these, and then find some occupation elsewhere.’

‘No, son. Stay here with us. You might tell Master Osmund how you like school. What you have learned, and how comfortable it is at the Clee.’

Hubert grumbled to himself as he carefully put the gloves in the hat and hung it over the cloak.

‘Will you not leave your work to welcome me home, Ysenda?’ said Master Osmund.

His mother had left her corner and stood at the far end of the fire, brushing the roots off her hands and her sleeves and skirt. ‘I am so untidy. I had not expected you.’

‘Where is Aubrey?’

Hubert hoped she would tell him the truth, for Osmund probably already knew from Sir Baldwin that Aubrey had disappeared.

‘I wish I knew,’ said his mother.

‘What happened?’

Ysenda sank down on a bench, looking weary, one hand to her forehead. ‘We argued and he walked out the door. It’s been several days since he left. I cannot think where he might be.’ She looked truly worried, and sounded tearful. Hubert wondered whether this was a ruse to get Osmund’s sympathy, or whether she had changed her mind about Aubrey.

‘Have you looked for him?’

She had not, as far as Hubert knew, and neither had he, nor had they asked the men who worked the fields. One of them should have.

‘I was angry at first,’ she said to Osmund. ‘Now I’m worried. It’s best that you go.’

Osmund took a seat instead, reaching his hands out to warm them at the fire, playing the lord. ‘When does Hubert return to school?’

‘Not until Aubrey is home.’ She rose and went around the fire to Osmund, cocking her head and giving him an uncertain smile. ‘He will go back to school. He’s doing very well, aren’t you, son?’

Hubert shrugged.

Osmund sat back and nodded to Hubert to sit. He reluctantly did so, but stayed close to the door, in case he needed to escape.

‘I heard that you’d lost something in the city, lad, and that it caused trouble,’ said Osmund. ‘I’m curious about it. What was it that the bargeman kept from you?’

Hubert searched for a lie though he knew Osmund would learn the truth soon enough, if he did not already know. He could not bring himself to tell him now, in the house, with his mother already frightened. He could not look at her face, he must think. ‘A badge I’d won in school. The first thing I’d ever won,’ he said, hating how breathless he sounded.

‘How odd that a bargeman would want such a thing.’ Osmund’s tone was mocking, as if he did not believe Hubert but meant to play along with him until he slipped.

‘He hoped I had money, Master Osmund. He probably threw away the badge.’

‘Tell him what the badge was for, Hubert,’ said his mother.

They both turned to look at Hubert, and he felt himself getting warm with anger. He looked from one to the other. She wanted him to lie even more. She’d never before even wanted him in the house when Osmund came, but suddenly he was expected to be the entertainment and also her saviour. He rushed for the door and was out of the house before either of them had a chance to say a word.

After sunset, when it was too cold to remain wandering in the fields, Hubert returned home. His mother cursed him for his discourtesy to Master Osmund despite Osmund’s having been clear about wanting Hubert out of the house, and then sat by the fire and proceeded to drink bowl after bowl of cider until she grew sloppily drunk and cruel. Hubert had witnessed her attacks on Aubrey before, but it was his first experience being her target, her butt. She droned on and on about how he’d embarrassed and humiliated her.

‘Are you afraid of Master Osmund?’ he asked.

For a moment there was a glint in her eyes, a softening in her face that made him think he’d guessed the truth, but then she changed. ‘I’m afraid of what he’ll think of us.’

‘Why do you care, Ma? Master Osmund might never be your lord. Sir Baldwin’s new wife will keep him healthy for a long while, you said so. And if Master Osmund does become your lord someday, he’d have forgotten my running out of the house by then — though I don’t believe he minded at all.’ Hubert rarely made such speeches to her, but she was not making sense and he hoped to reach her. He hated to see her drunk. It made her ugly. She frightened him.

‘Why do I care?’ she shouted. ‘Why do I care, you ask me.’ She contorted her face as if she were being tortured. ‘Because Osmund Gamyll sponsored you at St Peter’s this year, you ungrateful wretch, and you’ve made him think that was a mistake.’

That washed over him like icy water. ‘I thought St Mary’s Abbey sponsored me.’

‘No, you fool. What would they care about you?’

Hubert felt sick to his stomach. ‘Did he say I couldn’t go back?’

‘Not yet. But he will. You stupid boy.’

There was worse to come. Once she’d begun her attack, she became infatuated with her power to inflict pain.

‘Do you want to know why your da never smiles? Do you know what he’s gnawing on like an old bone that he sucked dry long ago? The pestilence took his two children and not you. You were spared, the bairn that wasn’t his, the one I used to trick him into wedding me.’ She sat back with her hands to her hips, her head cocked to one side, a sickening grin on her sweaty face. ‘There. How do you like that?’

Not at all. He did not like that at all. He felt alone, unloved. He snapped with her taunting attitude and, picking up a pot, he rushed at her, lifting the pot to bash in her head and be done with her.

‘How dare you threaten your mother?’ she shouted, throwing up her arms to deflect the blow.

Her shout brought Hubert to his senses. He might have killed her. ‘You’re drunk!’ he shouted as he dropped the pot, just let it drop and bounce on the earthen floor thinly covered with rushes.

He covered his ears, but she tore his hands away. Her breath smelled foul, her face was red and swollen, her eyes wild, and in that moment he hated her with all the fervour with which he’d loved her before.

‘So who’s bastard am I?’ he shouted.

She slapped him on the cheek. ‘Don’t use that word in my presence.’

‘You’re the one who made me a bastard, aren’t you?’ He was crying, blubbering, and hated himself for it.

‘You don’t deserve to know who your father is, you with your foul mouth.’

How he could have adored the slovenly woman before him, stinking of sweat and cider, her hem filthy, her cap crumpled, spewing such hateful words, he could not now understand.

‘I’ve learned foul words from you when you use them on Aubrey,’ he said.

She slapped him again. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed, but she was strong and broke away.

‘You ruined all my hopes when you stole the cross, you snivelling sneak.’ She stopped for a moment, her head turned slightly away and her gaze towards the floor, as if trying to catch a faint sound. With a little cry, she took an oil lamp and knelt before the chest in which she kept her clothes and little treasures. Opening it and precariously balancing her lamp on a corner she began digging through her things. She rose to lean over farther and the lamp fell, fortunately out and onto the floor. Hubert rushed over to shove the rushes away and stamp on the ones already caught. He took the lamp back to the fire, but hurried back to lift his mother’s skirts from the pooling oil.

‘Look what you’re doing. You might have burned down the house.’ He was weeping again, frightened by this woman he’d called mother. He clawed at her, trying to pull her up. He didn’t understand what he’d done for her to turn on him so. He would never have thought the cross could mean so much to her.

She pushed him away, letting the lid of the chest drop with a dull thud, and then struggled onto her feet. Her expression had changed dramatically. Now she looked as if ready to weep, suffering a terrible sorrow.

‘The scrip also. The one — ’ Her voice caught and she stumbled to the bench on which she’d sat. She shook the jug, checking for more cider. ‘I should send you to town for more. You’ve done this to me. All this time, trusting you, feeding you.’ She dropped her head into her hands and wept. After a short while she cursed him and then curled up on the bench. Soon she was snoring.

He let her stay there, sleeping till the wee hours when her cries woke him — he didn’t know how he’d managed to fall asleep. She’d tumbled off and burned a hand on the smouldering fire. Experienced from years of tending her injuries he greased her hand with celandine and goat’s grease and wrapped it for her. She crawled to bed moaning about the pain in her head, whimpering that she needed water. He broke the ice on a bucket outside and brought in a bowl for her, sitting beside her to help her sip it. He tended her without feeling, without any of the tenderness he’d always felt for her, the comfort of being needed by her.

In his mind he felt as if he’d been looking at her upside down all his life, and suddenly he’d been righted and saw that she was the very opposite of all he’d believed her to be. He tried to retrieve his old love, but her smell, her cruelty, her lies kept crowding his head.

The morning dawned with a brittle sun, and Jasper suggested that he wait until the following day to return to school. But Owen would not hear of it.

‘I’ve kept you from your lessons long enough. I’ll walk there with you to tell your Master John that you’ve been away with me in the service of the archbishop.’ Owen could see that appealed to Jasper.

‘How much will you tell him?’ Jasper asked. ‘I would know what I can say.’

‘I don’t think I’ll tell him more than that we spoke to Hubert, and he intends to return after spending some time with his father. I’m considering whether to mention the cross — he might be able to help us if he knows what we seek. Do you agree?’

Jasper frowned a moment. ‘I doubt he could help you with the answers you still need, so I see no gain in telling him what was in the scrip or any more about the family.’

‘You’ve a good mind, son. I still might tell him about the cross, but we shall see.’ Owen noticed Lucie watching them with quiet joy. She knew how much he’d hoped this journey would bring them closer once more.

An icy wind tore at their cloaks as they walked down Stonegate. Jasper tried to speak but the wind forced him to cover his mouth with one hand. The few people who were out in the street were bundled and bent against the wind. A woman’s empty basket was suddenly lifted from her crooked arm and became airborne. Jasper leaped to catch it, handing it back with a mute nod to her thanks. Owen was glad to catch sight of St Peter’s School past the scaffolding around the minster’s lady chapel, and even happier once inside. The students who boarded in the Clee had not yet arrived, so Owen was able to take Master John aside to explain Jasper’s absence.

The schoolmaster nodded throughout Owen’s explanation. ‘I heard a rumour to that effect,’ he said in response. ‘His absence was for a good cause. God be praised that Hubert reached home safely. He is a good lad, and I can understand that he would want to spend time with his father. After all, he’d thought him dead. His homecoming must have been cause for great joy and thanksgiving.’

It had certainly not seemed so to Owen, but he smiled. ‘I do hope the abbey does not withdraw their support of the lad now that his father has returned. The farm does not appear prosperous. In fact, Sir Baldwin hinted at that.’

Master John glanced over at Jasper. ‘May we speak freely, Captain?’

‘Yes.’

‘Abbot Campian’s sponsorship is the public story. His mother did not wish Hubert to know of his benefactor, though I could not see why not, for he is their lord, after all, and Aubrey accompanied him to battle.’

This was an unexpected twist. ‘Sir Baldwin sponsored Hubert here?’

‘His son Osmund arranged it in his father’s name, yes, as his father had requested.’

Owen wondered whether that had something to do with his sense that Ysenda was not telling him everything. But the lad had also seemed secretive. ‘You are certain Hubert doesn’t know?’

‘We’ve taken care that he should not, Captain. Tell me, did you discover what the lad had in his scrip?’

Hesitating, Owen decided that the schoolmaster might have some insight, and he knew the man to be trustworthy.

‘It was a small gold cross, a pendant,’ said Owen, indicating that it was but a few inches long and one wide, small enough to cup in the palm of his hand. ‘Something belonging to his mother.’

‘That small?’ Master John shook his head. ‘But you saw the size of the scrip, it must be at least six times that size. Why had he worn that to carry something so small? He might have worn the cross round his neck on a chain or leather thong.’ He sighed. ‘But it is like a lad to not think things through. I see it all the time. Poor lad. His mother will not be happy to lose a piece of gold.’

‘No. They can ill afford to replace it.’

‘I’d wager Drogo hoped for a better catch than that,’ said Jasper.

Owen was glad he’d listened.

‘I wonder whether he even saw it in the scrip?’ Master John wondered, scratching his chin.

Master John’s comments about the size of the scrip and the size of the cross gave Owen pause. There had been an elaborate buckle on it — might the boy have thought it of value? Or perhaps there was a hidden pocket. ‘Where is the scrip now?’ he asked.

‘Why, here.’ The schoolmaster lifted a leather box from a high shelf and set it down on a bench. ‘I keep my scholars’ forgotten items in here.’ He eased off the tight-fitting lid and rummaged through a collection of scarves and gloves, then looked up, perplexed. ‘It isn’t here. I am certain this is where I put it.’

Owen bit back a curse. ‘You live in the chamber behind this hall, do you not?’ he asked.

John’s face flushed as he nodded.

‘Do you spend time in here in the evening?’

‘God help us.’ Master John removed his felt hat and mopped his head with a cloth. ‘I do spend some evenings in here, when I’m preparing lessons. I know what you’re thinking, I was a fool to leave it in an unguarded schoolroom. But I can’t imagine when someone might have felt sure they would not be caught. God’s blood, this is — I can’t believe — ’ His face crumpled.

‘Did anyone see you place it in the box?’

‘William Ferriby was here. We’d been discussing his brother’s stubborn insistence on keeping his school in this liberty, whether there was any way William might dissuade him. But none of the boys were here.’ He moaned. ‘I’ve been a fool. I’d brought the scrip from the Clee, thinking it would be safer here.’ He looked distraught. ‘This is terrible.’

‘I won’t deny that it worries me, Master John. Have a care when you first enter this room.’ He made certain that the schoolmaster met his eye, saw his concern. The other scholars had begun to file in. ‘I should leave you to your students.’ Walking past Jasper Owen patted him on the shoulder. As he stepped outside he heard the scholars asking Jasper whether he’d been helping the captain. It would be a good day for the lad, but not for his grammar master.

The wind almost pushed Owen into George Hempe, who awaited him outside the school.

‘I thought I’d find you here or with Archbishop Thoresby,’ Hempe said, hunching his shoulders to protect his neck from the icy wind.

‘I haven’t seen the archbishop yet.’ He weighed Thoresby’s anger at a delay in reporting to him against having more news for him, and decided that he might at least speak with the goldsmith. He needed to see William and Nicholas Ferriby as well, but he first wanted to consider how to approach them. ‘Before I talk to His Grace I would see Edward Munkton. Would you care to join me?’

‘I don’t know what use I would be to you,’ said Hempe. ‘I’ve been unable to connect the goldsmith’s journeyman with the bargeman.’

‘I’m surprised you’ve taken the time out of your responsibilities to continue to work on this.’

‘I cannot seem to let it go.’ Hempe gave an embarrassed laugh.

As they walked towards Petergate Hempe told Owen what he’d learned about Nigel.

‘You’re a good friend,’ Owen said. ‘I thank you.’ He told Hempe about the cross. ‘I believe the cross is how Nigel became involved with whatever is driving the murders.’

They were turning towards Stonegate when Hempe asked, ‘Why do you think Ysenda de Weston had kept the cross?’

Owen wished he knew. ‘Whatever her reason it was not so simple as a woman coveting a piece of gold jewellery, I’m certain of that. And now that the scrip the lad had carried it in is missing, I’m worried that there was more in it.’

‘Or the scrip itself was worth something?’

‘I wondered that, but I doubt it. As I recall it was good leather, not the best, with a brass clasp fashioned like a buckle. I cannot think that worth sneaking into St Peter’s School to steal.’

‘Nay.’ Hempe tucked in his chin and braced against the wind whistling down Stonegate.

Edward Munkton looked dismayed by yet another visit from Hempe, but was more civil to Owen, no doubt because he’d bought a mazer, a beautiful wooden drinking cup decorated with delicate gold filigree, from the goldsmith a few months earlier. He’d wanted something special to present to Lucie when she was brought to bed with the child. The visit was well worth it, for Munkton jerked to attention as soon as Owen described the cross.

‘Nigel, may he rest in peace, asked about such pendants a few days ago. He wondered about their worth and who made them. I sent him across to Robert Dale. He makes such pieces.’

That was good news to Owen, for Robert Dale was a friend.

‘Have you presented your wife with the mazer yet?’ Munkton asked.

‘No. I’ve avoided temptation by hiding it.’ He’d taken it to Brother Michaelo for safekeeping, knowing that he would be able to retrieve it at once — there was not a better organised man in all York, in Owen’s opinion.

‘Admirable constraint, Captain,’ said Munkton with a conspiratorial wink as Owen and Hempe left the shop.

Across Stonegate, a servant showed them in to Robert Dale’s workshop to stay warm while he fetched his master. Several of the journeymen were working on a large piece and their hammering was deafening. The goldsmith soon joined them and, making a show of covering his ears and wincing, led them outside and up to his hall.

Swearing him to secrecy, Owen told Robert about the Gamyll cross. The goldsmith sat with his head down, nodding to indicate his attention, but he perked up at the name.

‘The Gamyll cross, did you say? Sir Baldwin Gamyll of Weston?’

‘Yes,’ said Owen, ‘did you make it for him?’

Robert trained his myopic gaze on Owen as he slowly nodded. ‘I did. And you are not the only one who has asked about it of late. Disturbing.’

‘Who else has mentioned it?’ asked Hempe.

‘Father Nicholas — the merchant Peter Ferriby’s brother — was inquiring about what quality of chalice he might purchase with money left to his church in Weston and mentioned in passing a birthing cross in his parish. I was curious about it, and he said it had been a gift to the late Lady Gamyll from Sir Baldwin. Is this the same cross?’

‘It is,’ said Owen. ‘Did he say anything else about it?’

Robert puckered up his face, thinking. ‘Oh yes. He asked how many such crosses he might purchase with the money, and then laughed. But then he asked again. I told him quite a few, that a chalice requires far more gold. He did not press me further.’

‘Master Edward said he’d sent his journeyman, Nigel, here when he’d asked about small gold crosses. Did he talk to you?’

‘He sent him here? That horrible man? God grant him peace, but he would not have been welcome in this house.’ Robert frowned. ‘He might have spoken to someone in the shop. Shall I inquire for you?’

Owen and Hempe were offered watered wine by a maid while they waited for the goldsmith to return.

‘Nicholas Ferriby,’ Hempe said, staring into his cup. ‘Now why would he have that cross on his mind?’

‘Perhaps he thought it lost and wondered whether he might replace it,’ said Owen. But he was bothered by Nicholas’s interest as well. He’d been in York the night Drogo died. Was there something to that, he wondered, something he wasn’t seeing? Then there was the missing scrip. Might Nicholas’s brother have mentioned seeing it at St Peter’s School?

Robert returned with an apprentice about Jasper’s age in tow, who hesitated just inside the doorway.

Robert gave him a little push. ‘Do not be afraid, Michael, you are not in trouble. In fact, this might earn you the day off you have asked for.’

The boy’s face lit up with that, and he quickly settled down on a stool by the fire. Owen noticed gold glitter on Michael’s simple hat.

‘Tell them about Nigel,’ Robert said.

‘We were standing in St Peter’s after Mass on Sunday last,’ said Michael, ‘and he asked me if we made gold crosses for ladies to wear as pendants round their necks. I told him we did, and some bore pretty sayings, or prayers — short ones.’ He looked to his master for approval, which he received as a smile and a nod.

‘Did he want to purchase one?’ Owen asked.

‘A journeyman?’ Michael laughed. ‘He asked if Sir Baldwin Gamyll had ever been in the shop, and I said yes, we had just made a delicate gold circlet for his new lady to secure her veil.’

‘Anything else?’ Owen coaxed.

‘He wondered whether Sir Baldwin and Master Robert spoke as if friends. I said as much as a merchant and a lord might be friendly, they were. After all, Master Robert knew that the circlet was for Sir Baldwin’s second wife, so he knew something of the family.’ Michael winced as he glanced at his master.

Robert nodded his approval and thanked him.

That was enough for Owen. Nigel had been asking about the Gamyll cross, there was no doubt of that.

Owen and Hempe were quiet as they walked out into Stonegate.

‘I’ll see His Grace now,’ said Owen. ‘We’ve matters to discuss.’

‘I’ll be at the York Tavern if you have need of me,’ said Hempe. He began to walk away, but paused and turned back to Owen. ‘They might have worked together, Drogo and Nigel. Stealing and selling downriver.’

That had crossed Owen’s mind. ‘But who caught them then?’

Hempe shrugged and continued on his way.

Owen almost changed his mind about seeing Thoresby before the Ferriby brothers, but he’d already delayed long enough that the archbishop would be in a fine fury.