The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Thirty-one

In the morning, Jasper apologised and begged to go to St Mary’s as he had planned. When Owen saw Lucie’s haunted eyes, he offered to escort the lad and entrust him to Abbot Campian until he returned from St Leonard’s. Lucie accepted.

When they arrived, they found the door to Abbot Campian’s house ajar.

‘Wait here, Jasper.’ Owen stepped into the hall, listened, heard nothing, made his way to the sickroom. Within, Abbot Campian knelt beside Wulfstan’s bed, head in hands, weeping. Owen withdrew. He had no need to tell Jasper of his loss; St Mary’s bell had already begun to toll for Brother Wulfstan.

‘We must go back, Jasper. Tell Lucie.’

Eyes wide to fight tears, Jasper nodded. His face was chalky beneath the dark freckles. ‘I should go to her. You go on to St Leonard’s. I promise to go straight to the apothecary, nowhere else.’

‘Your word is good enough for me.’

It did not make Jasper smile, but he stood a little taller as they made their way back to the postern gate.

*

When Owen arrived at Finn’s room in St Leonard’s gaol, the man was sitting up in a chair, drinking a cup of ale. Owen leaned against the door and stared at the man who had survived the pestilence. Why him and not Brother Wulfstan? God’s purpose in this was difficult for Owen to understand.

‘Perhaps God spared him so that we might know the truth,’ Don Cuthbert had suggested.

Owen thought it a paltry reason.

Finn began to fidget. ‘Why do you stare at me?’

‘Is it true Anneys is your mother?’

‘Is that why you refused me sanctuary?’

‘You murdered a man who had done you no harm.’

‘I am in minor orders; I demand benefit of clergy.’

‘And you shall no doubt be granted it if you can read a passage from the bible. But if you think the Church’s justice will be gentler than the King’s, you are a fool.’

‘At least I would live.’

‘Perhaps. And perhaps you will regret that. So. Is Anneys your mother?’

‘She is my mother in fact, though little in feeling.’

‘And yet you assisted her, did you not?’

‘What do you know?’

Owen prayed God would not punish his family for the lies he intended to tell. ‘Your mother is ill, so I did not force her to speak too long. I know that she came to York seeking Julian Taverner and Laurence de Warrene, and the goods she believed they had stolen from her. And that you assisted her in this, which led to the death of Walter de Hotter by your hands.’

‘That is all?’

‘That is your response? You feel no remorse?’

‘She told you naught else?’

‘What else is there to tell?’

‘What of the deaths of Taverner and Warrene?’

‘Pestilence and fire, she said. Is she lying for you?’

Finn spat on the floor. ‘The day she lies for me, for anyone- Oh, aye, she tells you of my mortal sin, but confesses neither of hers. Unnatural mother. She cares for no one.’

‘She searched the north for her daughter.’

‘That, Captain, was God’s doing, not my mother’s. She sought her treasures, not her daughter.’

‘Do you accuse her of murdering Taverner and Warrene?’

‘I have no need. God knows.’

‘The Master of St Leonard’s wishes to know. On the orders of His Grace the Archbishop.’

‘I can be loyal.’

‘You would have her look worse than you. But it is a fool’s lie. She had the goods, why would she need to murder them?’

‘She hated them is why. She did not arrive with that intention, but watching them living in such comfort. On her wealth. Matilda de Warrene never knew a hungry day and was pampered by those thieves. Worse was Taverner bragging of his saintly work among the sick, and all the riches he had given to the spital.’

‘Taverner thought he saw a man in Laurence’s burning house.’

‘Mother is tall for a woman, eh? I never set foot in the spital grounds till I left the monk’s bag with her. She cursed me for that.’

‘So it was she who stole the items and brought them to you?’

‘Aye.’

‘Then you took them to Judith Ffulford — all that you did not put aside for yourself. Did you not trust you would get your share?’

‘Share? I deserved half. How did Judith deserve aught? What did she do but try to hide it from us?’

‘She was your sister.’

‘She was but my half-sister, what did I know of her? She would stand there with the items, never moving until I departed, sneering at me. You need me, she liked to say. That child will be just like her.’

‘What would you do at St Mary’s? Spend your life feeding the hatred in your belly?’

‘I took minor orders.’

‘We shall see about that.’

Anneys lay propped up on pillows. Sweat glistened on her face. She stank of plague. Owen drew his scented sack from his belt, pressed it to his nose.

A lay sister gave Anneys a sip of wine. Much of it dribbled down her chin. ‘Her tongue and throat are swollen, Captain. She should not talk long.’

‘What does it matter?’

With a frown of disapproval, the young woman withdrew to a corner of the room. Owen sat down at Anneys’s bedside.

‘You condemn me before I am tried?’

‘I meant that you are dying.’

Anneys touched his hand. ‘Promise me that a new deed of gift is drawn up, that the treasures are returned to St Leonard’s in my name.’

‘I can promise you nothing.’ In truth, he did not know what Ravenser would do with the items. Nor did he care.

‘You give me no comfort on my death-bed?’

‘You? Who took two men’s lives because you lusted for the riches your lover had stolen?’

‘Who told you I took their lives?’

‘Finn.’

Anneys turned her head away. ‘God blessed me with such loyal children.’

‘Judith and Finn both helped you.’

‘Greed inspired them, not love. Finn ruined it all. Hiding the chess set in that man’s garden. But for that, no one would have questioned the deaths at the hospital.’

‘Why murder Julian and Laurence? You had what you wanted.’

‘Send Don Erkenwald to me. I would be shriven.’

‘I thought God had allowed you this vengeance.’

A shadow of uncertainty in the red eyes. ‘It was a sign from God that Judith was here.’ Anneys coughed, pressed her head back into the pillow. ‘Leave me.’ Her breath was ragged.

Owen bowed to her. ‘This death is far gentler than the execution you deserve.’

The lay sister, who had hurried over to give Anneys some wine, begged Owen to go.

He did so, gladly. Even on the battlefield one saw remorse in the faces of the enemy — but he had sensed none in either the woman or her son.

Don Erkenwald stood without, making a show of speaking with Topas. He quickly broke away from his conversation and joined Owen. ‘Did she confess?’

‘She wants you to hear her confession.’

‘But she is excommunicate. She murdered within the hospital.’

‘She does not seem to know that.’

‘I cannot reveal what she says.’

‘She is guilty, I have no doubt. A cold woman.’

‘You are weary of this.’

‘I am sick at heart. This is when I most miss soldiering. A practice yard is what I need. A straw man to attack until my arms give out.’

‘Have His Grace’s retainers no such place?’

‘They do. But Sir Richard awaits me.’

‘And His Grace.’

‘Jesu.’