by Candace Robb
Berend glanced up, wary.
“Yes, Katherine found it with the help of her fine hounds. If I did not know you, I would think the sheriffs were right in confining you here. The contents of the chest would seem proof that you at the very least helped Salisbury and Lady Kirkby, both accused of treason.”
Berend averted his eyes, but not before Elric saw his confusion. Was it possible he had not been aware of the contents?
“You escorted Lady Kirkby to York,” said Elric, “of that I have no doubt.”
A mumbled curse. Berend resettled with his back to the light, resting his head in his scarred hands.
“Do you want time to think? Or would this help?” Elric drew a wineskin from beneath his jacket, tapped it against Berend’s arm. “Bess Merchet’s best brandywine.”
Berend took the wineskin, held it for a moment, then drew out the stopper and tilted back his head. Not a long drink, but more than a sip. He closed his eyes and almost smiled as the heat moved down his throat. After a pause, he replaced the stopper and lay the wineskin in his lap, turning round to face Elric. “There are things I would not have you share with Dame Katherine.”
“Then we have no agreement.” Elric retrieved the wineskin and rose.
Berend caught his arm. By the rood the man was strong. “It is not that I wish to deceive her. But there are things she does not know, and, hearing them now, so late, I fear they will cause her pain.”
“As would your execution.”
“I might be powerless to prevent that. But I saw how it went to learn from you about the land bequeathed me by my late lord. She might have been glad for me if I had been the one to tell her.”
Elric was sorry for that. “If you help me so that I can convince the sheriffs to entrust you to my custody, you will be able to tell her all this yourself. In your own way, however much you judge necessary. But I warn you, Salisbury’s crest and his signet ring, and the pouch holding Lady Kirkby’s jewels—she means to find out how you came to possess them. Every moment you hesitate causes her suffering.”
He watched the man’s struggle, the shake of the head, how he clenched his hands, worked his jaw. Who was he protecting? Whatever the reason Montagu lost him, he had been a fool. Elric would give half his men for the one before him. Strength with such a strong sense of honor.
“I’d no time to examine the contents of the chest.”
“Well, Katherine has.”
A muttered curse.
“Do you think we are looking for one murderer? Or two?” Elric asked, hoping to ease Berend into telling him more. “Can anyone vouch for you after you left Lionel? That you came back to the warehouse for the night?”
“The night watchman at the warehouse seemed asleep when I returned,” said Berend. “As to Horner’s murder—I would say someone wanted to silence him. But I would have thought that person would be Merek. Horner attacked him—” A perplexed lift of the hands. “Merek killed Horner and then was murdered?”
“No.” Elric eased back down on the bench, placing the wineskin between them. “Katherine says that Horner had not been long dead when she found him. Merek died the previous night.”
“Perhaps Horner was coerced to attack. And then was silenced . . .”
Elric considered that. “By whom?”
Berend shook his head. “I hardly knew the man.” He studied the floor. “What if the sheriffs refuse to release me after hearing my tale, they hear my story and still doubt my innocence, and she hears my tale from the city gossips?” His eyes were mournful, his posture weary. “It is easier to prove a lie than it is to prove the truth, you know that.”
He was right to be cautious. “We can discuss how much I tell them.”
Berend was reaching for the wineskin when a commotion outside the door interrupted him. “Here for my hanging already?” he said.
Elric went to the door, listened. The bailiff to whom he had spoken was giving the jailer hurried instructions, too muffled to understand. Another voice interrupted. Familiar . . . A knock.
“Mistress Clifford has sent her man with information for you, Sir Elric,” the jailer called out.
Matt. It was Matt’s voice Elric had recognized.
“Let him in.”
As the door swung open, the bailiff stepped forward and bowed to Sir Elric, this time with due deference. “My lord sheriff sends his greetings, and wishes to know what you have discovered regarding the prisoner’s injuries.”
“He has no fresh wounds, which tells me that you are holding the wrong man,” said Elric. “The murderer is still at large. Tell the lord sheriff that I want Berend released into my charge. I believe he can help me with the search.”
The bailiff looked doubtful, but when Elric barked, “Go deliver my request!” the man bowed out of the room and rushed off.
Matt took his place, the jailer bowing to Elric and shutting the door behind the new arrival.
Sweat glistened on the young man’s face. “I’ve come as quickly as I might, Sir Elric.” He beamed at Berend. “It is good to see you.”
Berend nodded to him.
“Dame Katherine has news from William Frost that she says you need to hear, Sir Elric.”
“Come, take a seat.” He indicated the bench.
Matt settled down, shaking his head when Berend held out the wineskin. “The lord sheriff took pity on me—I was that out of breath—and he gave me a cup of ale.” He quickly delivered his news. “Dame Katherine hopes that this will be of use.”
Elric watched Berend as Matt spoke. About the king’s men he seemed concerned, asking whether they had proof that Lady Kirkby was in the city, looking relieved when Matt shook his head. Elric knew Sir Peter, and thought the “captain” accompanying him might be his household retainer, given a more impressive title in order to add prestige to the team. That the king had sent an elderly knight more renowned for his piety and his ability to bend with the wind rather than for his military prowess suggested to Elric that King Henry’s men were spread so thin he had been reduced to sending someone not up to the task.
When Berend flinched at the mention of Pontefract Castle, Elric interrupted Matt to ask, “You were unaware you had been seen?”
“I must have been careless,” said Berend, making a noise in his throat like a growl. “God help me, did I lead the king’s men to the gathering in Oxford? Am I to blame for so many deaths?” He bowed his head.
“It was not the king’s men who killed most of the rebels but the townsfolk, incensed by the fire the rebels set to draw away the folk surrounding the inn, so they might escape.”
“So they say.”
“You dispute it?”
“I did not linger to find out.”
Berend looked so aggrieved, Elric thought to give him a moment. He asked Matt if he had any more news. But the lad had nothing more.
“Did Dame Katherine wish you to wait for a reply?”
The young man glanced at Berend, back to Elric. “She did not say. Her concern was that you should know what she had learned as soon as might be.”
Elric looked to Berend. “Do you mind if Matt stays and hears your tale?”
Berend rubbed his bald pate with both hands, looked sidewise at the messenger. “It is not that I doubt you, Matt. I would trust you with my life. But there are things I must tell Sir Elric that—we must consider how to relate them to Dame Katherine.”
To his credit, the young man gave a nod. “I understand. Shall I step outside and wait? Or would you prefer me to go back across the city?” Sitting back, Matt doffed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, still damp from his race here, as he turned to Elric. “And you, what would you have me do, Sir Elric?”
He knew precisely what he wished Matt to do, but looked to Berend, who shrugged and said, “Whether or not Matt awaits you without is not my concern.”
Elric nodded. “I would have you stay without, Matt, keeping your ears pricked for any other visitors. I am concerned that the king’s men might be too curious about our business
. If you hear anything of that nature, rap on the door.”
Matt bobbed his head, replaced his hat, and rose. “I am at your service.”
“I will rest easier knowing you are on guard, alert for trouble.” Elric knocked on the door, and, as the jailer opened it, explained that Matt would be waiting with him.
“Glad of his company,” said the jailer as Matt joined him.
When the door had closed again, Elric settled back on the bench. Berend stretched out his legs with a groan. The burden of guilt he now carried was a heavy weight for a man, that he might have led the king’s men to the plotters in Oxford. No matter that what they had intended was abhorrent, to die without a chance for confession, absolution, was nothing any Christian wished on another. To ease Berend’s burden was not in Elric’s nor any man’s power. But he might ease his physical circumstances.
“The cold and damp on that injured leg—I hope to get you to a warm space before a new day dawns,” said Elric. “Why don’t we begin with the casket of jewels?”
“Are they safe?”
“They are.”
Berend seemed to consider, examining a spot on the far wall, shaking his head. “To understand you must know what came before.”
“I’m listening.”
“Merek came to York with a message for me from the Earl of Salisbury. I was to undertake a mission for him, to Pontefract Castle. He called it a debt I owed to his father, for abandoning my post and betraying his trust.”
Elric would have told the man he owed no such debt. He guessed Berend did as well. But he asked only, “When precisely did Merek arrive in York?”
Berend shook himself, as if casting out a demon. “Several weeks before Christmas. I was to travel to Oxford, where they were assembling. He assured me I would be back in York by Christmas. The earl presumed I would agree, no questions. Arrogant bastard.” Berend muttered a curse.
“You did not go to him at once.”
“No. I had no intention of answering such a summons.” Berend paused, leaning back, pressing his hands to his face for a moment, then sat up, hands on thighs. “So Merek invoked the name of Rosamund Lacy, Salisbury’s mistress.”
Ah. She of the posey ring? Something about the way Berend spoke the name, soft, sorrowful, prompted Elric to ask who she was to him.
“We were lovers, once.”
“This is what you do not know how to tell Katherine, about Rosamund Lacy?”
“Part of it. God help me, I am not the man she believes me to be.”
“You met Rosamund in Montagu’s household?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me how you came to be in his service.”
“There is little to tell. My parents ran a tavern, expected me to continue working for them, but I ran away to war. I knew my way around knives, hunting bows, axes. My strength and speed came to the attention of my captains. Baron Montagu noticed me. One of his men suggested me for his household.” He glanced up at Elric. “I was grateful I had landed somewhere. It was a modest household. He came to know me, liked to talk to me.”
Much the same as Elric’s rise in the earl’s household. Westmoreland had found him a good listener. And discrete. “And you met Rosamund?”
Berend took a swig of the brandywine. “She was a servingmaid for Montagu’s daughters. Bold, she made a point of being near when I was alone. We talked, kissed, became lovers. It seemed to be her intention, but I—Did I love her? I never stopped to ask myself.” He paused, head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I wanted her. Simple as that.” He looked at Elric. “I did not have her long. She caught the eye of my lord’s son. When Montagu saw how it was between his son and Rosamund, he offered me land so that I might wed her and take her away. It was for me to ask her. I did. With half a heart. She refused me, saying she wanted to stay in the noble household, not be a farmer’s wife. Montagu thanked me for trying, assured me there was no honor lost and the land was mine in any case. But—I was disgusted with myself. He had such faith in me and I had failed him. Was relieved to have failed him. I fell into a darkness—drank, fought—and when I saw the disappointment in my lord’s eyes, I ran away in the night.”
“That was the last contact with the family?”
“No. Years later, when I was at my lowest, Montagu’s man found me. He offered me a task. Clean in comparison with what I’d been doing. If I managed this, I would be deeded the land he’d once offered me. He was dying, and he felt he had failed me. Failed me. For his repentance, he must give me a chance to right myself, to be the person I might have been had he not sullied my honor with such a request, to wed a woman to save his son. I will never know why he had such faith in me.”
“You agreed?”
A nod. “Fulfilled my end of the bargain and the land was mine.”
“And now, years later, Merek hoped to persuade you to do something for Rosamund?”
“He told me that her life—and that of her son—was in my hands. If I would not help, she would have no protection from his enemies. If I agreed to help, they would be safe, whether or not Salisbury succeeded in his plan to restore Richard and his good name. When I’d completed my mission to Pontefract I would be free to return to York, I was needed only for the planning.”
“Why you?”
“I once succeeded in extracting someone from the castle who’d been held under close guard.”
“Your favor to Montagu?”
“Yes. I rescued his—kinsman.”
“But you did not love Rosamund, nor do you now, I presume.”
“No. I told Merek that Salisbury was mistaken about my feelings for her. And then, as I stormed away, righteously cursing Salisbury for his callous use of another of God’s creatures—my own body rebelled. Bile rose in my throat. Callous cur! Who was I to judge Salisbury when I’d so used Rosamund? And after that, my work as an assassin. No mercy. Coldly playing God. I choked on my own sins. What in the name of all that is holy had Montagu seen in me? What had Katherine seen in me? What if someone used Petra or Marie as I’d used Rosamund?”
The girls, but not Katherine herself. Of course. She would slit the gut of anyone who attempted to seduce her. “So you agreed to go to Pontefract—why?”
Berend looked him in the eyes. “Knowing a woman and child might die if you refused a summons, what would you do?”
Those eyes, burning into Elric. He knew what he wanted to say, but was it true? “I don’t know.”
Berend thanked him for his honesty. “I thought it would be easy to say no. And, knowing Merek, he might be using the ghost of Rosamund and the hint that the boy was mine. She might be years in the grave. The boy as well. But I couldn’t sleep. The child knew.”
“I’m confused. Rosamund’s son knew what?”
“Not the boy, Petra, Katherine’s niece. She sensed something. She kept taking my hand, assuring me that I am a good man.” He looked away.
Elric could believe that. The child had a way about her, as if she saw into one’s soul. “This boy. He might be your son? Was Rosamund with child when you left? Your child?”
“I don’t know. It is possible. And how could I refuse to help my son? What would Katherine—” He pressed his hands to his eyes. “Look how she loves and protects children who are not even hers. Marie and Phillip—no one can prove Simon Neville was their father, yet Katherine took them in. Without question. Can I not do as much for a child who might be mine?”
Elric understood. This was what Berend could not bring himself to confess to Katherine, and who could blame him?
“So I went to Pontefract. Not for Rosamund, but for the boy. And to prove to myself once and for all that I was worthy of Montagu’s faith in me.”
“But this summons had nothing to do with Montagu.”
“I did not promise to make sense. Only to recount what I did.”
Elric took a swig of the brandywine while he considered his next question. “Did you discover where Richard is kept?”
A nod.
“And then
you went to Oxford.”
Berend eased his legs in and resettled on the bench. “On the way I had time to think, and I reckoned they were planning far more than the rescue of Richard.”
“Tell me how it went in Oxford. Who was there?” This might be information to barter with the sheriffs.
“I knew three of them. Salisbury of course, his manservant, and the Earl of Kent—Thomas Holland, the former king’s nephew. He was none too keen to speak with me. Another sign that there was more to the plot.”
“Was Ralph Lumley there?”
“I heard his name, but I kept my head down, avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. I went straight to my business, showing Salisbury my drawing of the castle. He wanted me to stay while one of his men reconciled their larger map with what I’d drawn. When I’d told Salisbury and his man all I knew and thought to leave, he said not so hasty. Handed me a map of Windsor Castle and ordered me to draw a route to the royal apartments that would have the fewest guards. I refused. He threatened. I said I had fulfilled my part of the agreement, now I wanted his assurance that Rosamund and the boy were safe.”
“Windsor Castle. You knew it well from your days as an assassin?”
A nod.
Elric had not guessed that Berend had done such work for the highest nobles in the land. Did Salisbury understand the danger in antagonizing him?
“You must have many powerful men who would come to your aid rather than have you reveal their secrets. Why have you not called on them?”
“Why would they come to my aid when they would not come to their sovereign’s?”
Elric rose to ease a cramp in his leg. “What did Salisbury say to your refusal?”
“Only if I completed the map for Windsor would Rosamund be spared. I demanded to know what they meant to do with it. He said that Duke Henry had sworn that he did not mean harm to King Richard, that he merely wanted the inheritance that was his by right. To Salisbury’s mind, when he broke that oath and took the throne he forfeited the honor of his family. Salisbury and his fellows meant to kill King Henry and his sons.”
“He did not intend to let you go.”
“No. I told him his father would have wept. He told me his father would have understood that with Henry on the throne, or any of his sons, his own family was doomed. As were the men who remained loyal to him. He said it was the same for all those loyal to King Richard.” Berend rubbed his injured knee. “For all I know, Rosamund is dead.”