A Murdered Peace

by Candace Robb

  He growled.

  She laughed. “So do we have an agreement?”

  “The Earl of Westmoreland is so concerned?”

  Kate leaned forward, making certain she had William’s attention. “I tell you this in confidence—Lionel Neville found himself caught up in this trouble. Sir Ralph’s kinsman. It seems he was with Merek when the man was attacked. He went to his aid and was wounded for his troubles.” She tilted her head, raised an eyebrow.

  “Lionel intervened? Astonishing. But, Christ’s blood, the man has a penchant for sticking his nose in the wrong feed bags.”

  “So. Will you do this?”

  “I must think.” He rested his head back against the chair. “The groom part is simple. Tib has a brother, Cuddy. He’s a good lad, clever—as far as Isabella is concerned, too clever. She washed his mouth with soap one too many times and they mutually agreed to part ways. I liked the lad and promised to find a place for him.” William opened one eye and smiled at Kate. “He would suit your unusual household.”

  “Send him by, the sooner the better.” She waited, but he closed his eye once more and seemed to nod off. “William, do we have an agreement?”

  William grunted. “My cunning cousin.” He sat upright, frowning. “How can you be so certain Berend is innocent?”

  “We believe in him.”

  “We?”

  “Sir Elric, Bess Merchet, and me.”

  “You delight in unlikely pairings, cousin. As if all life is a merry jest. I take it Sir Elric will come directly from the castle to report to you?”

  “I don’t know. Much depends on whether or not the sheriffs will agree to his taking responsibility for Berend.” And Berend agreeing to it, she thought.

  “You will send word to Griselde about what Sir Elric learned at the castle? I can check with her in the morning as I depart the guesthouse.”

  “It would be much more efficient for me to send Matt to your house. Mid morning. And then he can return with his new helper, Cuddy. That is, if you are able to arrange that so quickly?”

  “Of course. I am glad to find work for the lad. Matt will tell me all?”

  “Yes.”

  William nodded. “Agreed.”

  In the kitchen, the contents of the pot Marie and Petra were taking turns stirring now gave off a spicy aroma that made Kate’s stomach grumble. It had been a very long day with too little food and too much wine.

  “Is Master William going to help Berend?” Marie asked.

  “In his own way, yes, he will,” said Kate. “As is Sir Elric.” She motioned Matt and Jennet to step outside, and told the girls she would be back in a moment.

  She told them that the king’s men were in the city, staying with William. “We need to warn Sir Elric of all this. It might help him. Which of you will go to York Castle?”

  Matt straightened up, excited, but then deferred to Jennet.

  Jennet shook her head. “Better for you to go. With your long legs, you will be swifter. But stay a moment. I have something you might need.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Sir Peter Angle and Captain Crawford—Elric might know these men,” said Kate. “He can use their respect for Westmoreland to influence them. And, Matt, you will soon have a lad to help out—Cuddy, from the Frost household.”

  By the beatific smile she could tell that Matt believed this day to be one of his finest.

  “I will be fleet of foot, Dame Katherine.”

  Jennet rejoined them, holding out a leather traveling pack. “If Elric succeeds in releasing Berend into his custody, our friend might need a disguise.”

  “A disguise for Berend?” Kate asked.

  Jennet shrugged. “Yes. Take it, Matt. But do not leave it behind. It’s good cloth.”

  Matt promised to return it, either on Berend or in the pack.

  “You are armed?” Kate asked.

  “Both daggers.”

  “Good. Godspeed.”

  As they watched him lope away, pulling his hastily donned cloak closer round him, they both whispered prayers that Elric would be successful in arguing for Berend’s release.

  “I never would have believed that haughty knight would use his earl’s influence to help us,” said Jennet.

  “He respects Berend.”

  Jennet turned and looked Kate in the eyes. “And you, Dame Katherine. This may not work out as he hopes, yet he risks his lord discovering how he used his name. He would not take that risk for Berend alone.”

  “He might soon regret that.”

  “Not if he is the man I believe him to be.”

  “Betrayal undermines the strongest relationship. I would not blame him for shunning me ever after.” Kate slumped against the doorframe, weary to the bone. “But at the moment my mind is on the guesthouse. Pray God Griselde has the sense to keep Margery quiet tonight. William and Drusilla know her well. They know her voice, how she moves. May God watch over Margery this night.”

  “It is not like you to leave it to God,” Jennet noted.

  Kate bestirred herself. “No, it is not. Stay with the girls. I will leave the hounds as well. If Elric comes, keep him here until I return.”

  11

  A LIE, HOWEVER WELL MEANT

  After the meeting with Katherine and Bess at the York Tavern, Elric welcomed the late afternoon chill. It cleared his head as he turned onto Stonegate. Walking down this street beside Katherine was fresh in his mind, flanked by her noble hounds, her movements graceful, with a rhythmic quality not unlike dance. Beauty and strength in motion. And, considering her keen mind and martial skill, he was glad to be on her side. More than glad. If he succeeded in freeing Berend and proving his innocence, would she . . . ? Might they . . . ? Pah. This was not the time for such dreams. Nor could he shrug off the feeling that she was up to her usual tricks, telling him partial truths.

  Shaking his head at himself he turned down Davygate. Not so busy as earlier, the shops closing, people hurrying home to the warmth of their fires. As he approached Jon Horner’s house he slowed his pace, seeing in the dusky light that Kevin was in conversation with a handsome woman who seemed vaguely familiar. He did not wish to interrupt, but the cold and his mission made him keen to reach the castle.

  Kevin happened to glance his way, raising his hand in greeting, and the woman turned to see who approached.

  “Sir Elric, if I might introduce the widow Wheeldon,” said Kevin.

  Ah, the widow Wheeldon, yes, he remembered now. She was in the company of a maidservant who stood at a slight distance, staring down at her feet, looking far more grief-stricken than did the widow. But then, Wheeldon had not struck him as a woman who would spend much time grieving anyone.

  Elric had first met—Cecily, that was her Christian name, yes. He’d met her a few years earlier, at Raby Castle, when her husband, a man of considerable wealth and apparently thwarted ambition, was still alive. Earl Ralph had approached him for the wherewithal for a venture. Eager to oblige, Wheeldon’s price was simply an invitation to Christmas at Raby Castle. The earl complied, giving Elric the task of escorting the couple north. The old man and his young wife were annoying travelers, ridiculously surprised by the unpleasantness of a winter journey. But once ensconced at Raby, they enjoyed the festivities, the old man hobnobbing with the nobles and fellow merchants of influence, though he had little of that except for his wealth. No widow then, though she behaved as one, Dame Cecily teased the men with her low-cut gowns, locking her eyes on them, inviting them to her side. Elric danced with her, finding her a graceful partner, but too hungry for gossip about her host. He had not danced with her a second time.

  “Sir Elric,” she held out her hand, her face sliding from a smile into a mask of grief.

  He touched her hand as he bowed to her. “Mistress Wheeldon.”

  “I was explaining that I cannot permit her inside the house,” said Kevin.

  “You wished to enter?” Elric asked her. “To what purpose?”

  “I was concerned about
Goodwife Tibby, Jon Horner’s housekeeper,” said the widow. “I thought to offer her solace.”

  “As I explained, she has gone to her sister’s house,” said Kevin.

  “Yes, so you did.” Suddenly Cecily Wheeldon seemed not to care for all the attention, averting her eyes, motioning to her maidservant that they should move on, it was near curfew.

  Unable to decide whether his hackles were raised for good cause or simply because of his dislike of the woman, Elric proposed to escort her home.

  “Oh, no, I pray you, you need not, Sir Elric.”

  “But your home is on my way. You would not deny me your company?”

  She blanched. And it was not simply from the cold, he was certain. Whatever she had intended to do next, it was not heading straight home. And that she did not argue that she had errands confirmed for him his instinct that something was not quite right about her sudden concern for Horner’s housekeeper.

  As he proffered her his arm, she put a good face on it, resting her hand on his forearm and bidding good day to Kevin. Even on the slushy street, she moved with remarkable grace. So why did he dislike her so?

  “Forgive me if I seemed abrupt,” he said as they continued down Davygate, the servant quietly following. “You have lost a friend to violence. I pray that you find solace.”

  “Friend?” the widow said the word as if tasting it. “He was, on occasion, my late husband’s trading partner, one of several, and we met a few times in regard to an outstanding contract. I considered him an acquaintance, hardly a friend. My concern was more for Goodwife Tibby, his housekeeper. A housekeeper for a widower is often regarded in an unkindly light. Gossips, you know. An unmarried woman living under the same roof—You see the problem.” She paused as they reached St. Sampson Square, looking to see his reaction.

  “Ah,” is all he said, with a knowing nod, while in truth he wondered why she had chosen to begin such a rumor. What was her purpose in maligning Goodwife Tibby?

  Apparently she did not find his reaction satisfying, for she withdrew into silence as they continued down Peasegate, except to greet passersby. No doubt she still enjoyed being on the arm of a knight in the service of the Earl of Westmoreland. He was glad when they reached her home at the foot of Castlegate. Bowing to her, he wished her a quiet evening.

  His first matter of business on reaching York Castle was to request that at least two armed men be placed at Jon Horner’s home on Davygate and another two at Merek’s lodgings.

  “But we have the murderer in custody,” said the bailiff on duty.

  “I very much doubt that you do,” said Elric. “Have you examined the prisoner? Is he wounded?”

  “The man’s head and hands have more scars than I can count.”

  “Fresh wounds on his arms or torso? So fresh they are still weeping?”

  The bailiff wrinkled his nose. “I did not undress him. Such a search is not my responsibility.”

  “I disagree,” said Elric. He reminded him about the bloody knife in Merek’s hand. “If Berend does not have any fresh wounds, the murderer is likely still abroad in the city. If you wish to retain your position you will arrange for men to be posted at Horner’s house, as well as Merek’s, if you have already removed them. Tonight. And, for good measure, at Thomas Graa’s warehouse at the corner of Castlegate and Hertergate.” He explained why.

  “I shall need permission from the sheriffs, sir,” the bailiff insisted, but it was clear that Elric had made his point.

  “Then get their permission. When I return from my meeting with your prisoner I expect to hear that you have dispatched men around the city.”

  Though he bristled, the bailiff did not argue, and, as Elric made his way to the stairs that led down beneath the street level, he heard the man loudly ordering someone to watch his station while he went to Sheriff Edmund Cottesbrok’s home.

  Through the iron-bound door Elric heard a chain rattling.

  “Pacing back and forth, back and forth. Has not stopped since I shut the door on him,” said the jailer as he put the key to the lock and called out, “Visitor, Master Berend!”

  Elric commended him on his courtesy.

  “He’s a fine man, Berend is. And if he did murder those men, I’ll warrant they deserved it.” The jailer opened the door and bowed Elric through, handing him an extra lantern and pushing a bench through the door. “Might as well be able to see each other, and to sit.”

  Attached to a heavy chain secured to an iron ring in the far wall, the iron bands around Berend’s ankles were linked together so that he could not stride, but must shuffle. Even so constrained, he had worn a path through the rushes laid on the packed earth floor. Elric could sense his frustration, this magnificent bull forced into a paddock far too small. It was enough to make Elric want to shout for an axe that could cut through the chain. He was glad when Berend paused, shielding his eyes against the light from the lantern he carried, so much brighter than the torch set in the wall just inside the door, out of the prisoner’s reach. Apologizing for the sudden glare, Elric set the lantern down where its light would be reflected from the wall, softening it.

  The cell was cold, damp, the air not yet fouled, though certainly neither sweet nor copious. Elric noticed the bastards had removed Berend’s shoes. Did they fear the chains and the iron-bound door would not hold him? That the snow would better deter him from escaping? Addlepated cowards, all of them. At least Berend showed no signs of rough handling. That was something.

  Elric nodded to him. “I hoped we might talk, Berend.”

  The man shrugged his wide shoulders, as if to relieve a kink in his neck. “Did Dame Katherine send you?”

  “I come of my own accord, but I carry words of support from her. And Bess Merchet.”

  “Merchet? How does she come into it?”

  “Katherine sought her out, wanting information about Horner and Merek. In the process, she seems to have made a friend, one who is already your friend.” Elric moved the bench so that Berend could reach it without straining the chain. “Shall we sit?”

  Berend shook one of his feet, rattling the chain. “I am at your mercy, it seems. What is it you want?”

  “If you are innocent of the murders of Merek and Horner, I want to find the murderer before he kills again. For that I need your help.”

  “If I am innocent.” A sound that was almost a laugh. “I am hardly that. But I am innocent of their deaths.”

  “Then you won’t mind removing your jacket and shirt?”

  “To what end?”

  “Merek’s attacker was injured. If you have no fresh wounds, I have physical proof to offer the sheriffs.”

  “And your lord?”

  “A fair assessment,” Elric admitted. “Before I use the power of the Earl of Westmoreland’s name to convince the sheriffs to release you into my custody, I want proof of your innocence.”

  Berend lifted his bound hands. “This makes it difficult.”

  “I can remedy that.” Elric drew his dagger.

  “Why would you trust me?”

  “Katherine’s entire household trusts you, including the great hounds. Who am I to question their wisdom?”

  When Berend extended his arms, Elric noticed that the knot was sloppily done. In time, he might have freed himself. Friends in the castle? Elric sheathed his dagger and untied the rope. “Now if you would remove your jacket and shirt.”

  Berend’s expression relaxed. “Bring the lantern closer.” He went one better, rolling up his leggings as well, then turned as best he could, lifting his thick arms, twisting them this way and that, revealing a network of old scars like rivers and tributaries.

  Elric saw nothing that could account for the bloody knife. “Enough. I believe you.” Thank God for that. The last thing he wanted was to condemn Katherine’s good friend. “Dress yourself before you freeze to death,” he said. “Who took your shoes?”

  Berend rolled down his leggings and put on his shirt. “The bailiff.”

  “I’ve m
et him. Bloody fool, that man.”

  Berend shrugged on his jacket. “Took my cloak as well. I could use that in here.”

  “I do not intend for you to stay here tonight.”

  “No?” Elric felt the man’s eyes on him, sizing him up. “It is not your decision to make.”

  “As I said, I am invoking the power of my lord earl, whose power is at present second only to the king’s. Make use of me. Help me leave this place with you. I need your help.”

  “How are you so certain I can help?”

  Elric settled on one end of the bench, straddling it. “Come, sit down. I will tell you what I know, and you can decide for yourself.”

  Berend did not move. “I am listening.”

  “As you wish.”

  Elric began, doing his best to ignore the rattling chains as Berend resumed his pacing. Eventually, Lionel Neville’s account of the night of Merek’s murder brought Berend to perch on the opposite end of the bench. He rested his hands on his thighs and bowed his head. Elric told him all he knew, except what Katherine had told him of her conversation with Berend. He need not know she had shared that.

  He ended with a question. “Why did you not run when Paris discovered you? You know how to disappear quickly.”

  Berend shifted on the bench, the chains rattling. “You believe you can get them to release me?”

  Not an answer, but at least it was a sign of interest. “I cannot promise, but if you agree to help I will go to the sheriffs and do my best. It will help if you tell me something I might offer to them as proof you could be of help to me. Then they have every reason to release you into my custody.”

  Such piercing eyes. “I ask again, why? Why do you care about this? Why are you even in York?”

  “The earl charged me to keep the king’s peace in the city. Imprisoning an innocent man and concluding that the case is closed while the murderer is still at large is not in my interest, or my lord’s. Am I wasting my time? Are we foolish to trust you? You were seen arguing with Merek, and your possession of the casket of jewels—”