The Cross Legged Knight (Owen Archer Book 8)

by Candace Robb

  ‘I cannot make the sign of the cross,’ he whispered.

  Thoresby felt the comment deep in his chest. Such a simple gift for which man never gives thanks until it is taken from him. ‘It matters not, my son. May the Lord bless you, and may His peace embrace you.’

  ‘Bless me, Father. I … do not know whether … I am guilty of the sin … of which they accuse me … with their eyes.’ So little speech, yet Poins lay back, fighting for breath.

  Thoresby eased down on to a chair that had been placed to the left of the bed, where the infirm man might hear and be heard with ease. An infirmarian had once told him that the dying straddle two worlds, that of the spirit and that of the flesh, and that holding their hands or merely touching their arms often draws them more firmly back into this world. In Queen Philippa’s last illness she had often reached for Thoresby’s hand, seeming to find comfort in his touch. He touched Poins’s forearm.

  The man seemed to straighten a little, his eyes focusing on Thoresby.

  ‘Father, I fear … I am dying. I cannot bear … the stench … of my own flesh. I… do not know myself.’ He paused for breath. ‘The Riverwoman said … I must fight if … I wish to live –’ His breath trembled on the exhale.

  Thoresby took his hand.

  ‘For what should I … live, Father? What work … might I do?’

  Even the gestures of prayer were lost to him. He was unlettered, too scarred to seek a wife. Thoresby could say only, ‘Despair is a sin, my son. It is not for us to choose our passing. God will take you when it is your time.’

  ‘God.’ Poins almost spat the word. ‘My arm is gone … and still … He gives me pain. Have I not … suffered enough? Should I … fight to live … so I might … beg on the streets?’ Poins clutched Thoresby’s hand, and though his chest heaved with sobs, his eyes were fierce.

  ‘We cannot know God’s intentions,’ Thoresby said.

  Poins groaned and lay back again on his pillows, closed his eyes and struggled for breath.

  In the long silence, Thoresby jumped at a tell-tale creak up above and began murmuring prayers.

  At last Poins said, ‘May must not be … blamed for the fire, Father … or for Cisotta’s death.’

  ‘Are you to blame, then?’

  ‘Bless me, Father … for I have sinned.’

  Thoresby bowed his head and listened.

  Alfred and those guards not on duty were sitting round a table in the barracks finishing their supper when Owen joined them. On his walk over he had sought a way to impress on the men the importance of defending Wykeham the following day, but it was difficult when he was not convinced of the danger. Lancaster’s hatred of Wykeham was the key. Yet since the fire, all had been quiet.

  Owen need not have worried – the eyes that looked up from the ale cups were all grave with the knowledge that tomorrow they might face a powerful enemy.

  ‘Captain.’ Alfred came forward. ‘I am right glad you are here. The men have questions, and some suggestions for the morrow.’

  This part did not require Owen’s conviction, only his experience. He leaned against one of the aisle pillars and set his mind to strategy.

  Thoresby had stepped back to bless and absolve Poins.

  With his one good hand, Poins pulled up the edge of the blanket and mopped the sweat dripping into his left eye. The bandage across his forehead was soaked. The stench was enough for Thoresby at last to lift the scented cloth to his nose, inhaling shallowly so as to receive only the perfume, not the odour that permeated the room.

  ‘For your penance, my son, you must repeat all that you have told me to Captain Archer.’

  ‘I am tired, Father.’

  ‘I cannot divulge what you have told me in confession. If you wish to clear the maid’s name you must tell your story openly.’

  Poins closed his eyes. ‘I’ll sleep now.’

  Thoresby was exhausted. He wanted wine, fresh air. ‘You must tell Captain Archer.’

  Poins’s head sank to the right, his breathing deepened.

  Sleep. It was the only pleasure left to the man.

  Magda Digby rose as Thoresby came out from behind the screens.

  ‘Does he yet live, Thy Grace?’

  ‘Yes, though for how long only God can say.’

  ‘He grows weary of the struggle. Magda can only do so much.’

  She glanced over to the doorway into the hall, where May stood with her head strained forward, her eyelids fluttering. Weighed down by Poins’s despair, Thoresby sought the evening garden.

  ‘Your Grace.’

  May had come to him. She stood with head bowed.

  ‘He wants your name cleared of all blame,’ he told her before she asked.

  She lifted her face to his, her chin trembling. ‘Then he has confessed?’

  ‘He has made his confession and that is all I may tell you. To be absolved he must tell Captain Archer all he has told me.’

  ‘My Lord Archbishop cannot absolve him otherwise?’

  ‘I will not. And you should tell Archer of your actions that night.’

  ‘I have, Your Grace.’

  What? What else is Archer holding back?

  ‘Your Grace?’

  ‘Then you have cleared yourself.’

  ‘I am partly to blame. I called Cisotta to the house, Your Grace,’ May whispered.

  ‘Did you?’ And so did Poins. Thoresby sighed. ‘Who tells the truth here?’ He shook his head and crossed the kitchen, waving a quick blessing as he passed Maeve and her assistant. He glanced back once as he reached the door, saw May step through the screens and Magda emerge, returning to the bench on which she had awaited him.

  Who is lying, Thoresby wondered as he breathed in the night air. It revived him, perhaps too well. The desire to hear what Poins and May said to one another suddenly seized Thoresby like a fist in his gut. He wanted access to the room above that part of the kitchen. But he was a stranger in his own palace. With little cause to spend time in the kitchen wing, he did not know where the steps that led upstairs might be. He crossed back through the kitchen and opened the one door in the passageway to the hall. It was the buttery. It must be outside, then. He strode back through the kitchen, not bothering to acknowledge anyone, and almost collided with Michaelo in the garden.

  ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘Take me to your listening place. The maid is with Poins and I will hear what they say.’

  Lucie started awake as Kate crept into her chamber, the lamp she carried lighting the room.

  It was not Kate’s custom to enter without knocking. ‘What is amiss?’ Lucie winced as she put pressure on her injured hand and rolled to the other side to raise herself up. As Kate approached, Lucie smelled the laundry lye on her clothes.

  ‘There is a man to see you,’ Kate whispered. ‘Edgar of Skipton, he says, sent by Mistress Ferriby. He begs you to see him.’

  ‘Is it very late?’

  ‘I was still tidying the kitchen, Mistress. And Jasper has not yet retired.’

  Lucie wondered why Emma had sent the tutor here tonight when she would be at the house in the afternoon. Perhaps Emma doubted Lucie would follow through with her plan.

  By now Lucie was fully awake. ‘Help me dress. I cannot manage by myself with this bandage.’

  Jasper stood outside the door when they emerged. He peered over Lucie’s shoulder into the chamber beyond. ‘The Captain has not returned?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Are you armed?’

  ‘Jasper, our visitor is only Edgar, the Ferribys’ tutor.’

  ‘Why should you trust someone who comes in the evening, unexpected?’

  ‘Because I asked Emma to speak with him about her mother’s steward Matthew.’

  ‘Then someone is worried what he might tell you. There is someone in the garden.’

  Lucie caught her breath. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘I sensed them as I came from the shop.’

  ‘Thank God you were not attacked. Did you call o
ut?’

  ‘I thought it best to fetch my dagger.’ Jasper patted his right forearm. ‘Do you want me in the garden, or in the hall with you?’

  Perhaps Edgar had been followed, or had brought a companion. ‘Stay with me until I have a sense of him.’

  ‘Merciful Mother,’ Kate muttered as she lit the way with the lamp.

  Satisfied that his men were ready for the worst on the morrow, Owen crossed the garden towards the palace to assure Wykeham it was so. The guard at the rear door of the great hall stepped aside as Owen approached.

  ‘Have you noted anything out of joint?’ Owen asked.

  ‘No, Captain. All is quiet.’

  ‘Good. Pray the peace continues.’

  In the hall he found the Fitzbaldrics, Wykeham and Alain discussing the whereabouts of Thoresby and Michaelo. It seemed they had not appeared for dinner.

  Sitting just outside the pool of light that a lamp threw on the benches near the brazier, Edgar, in his dark clerk’s gown, seemed determined to blend into the shadows.

  He rose as Lucie approached. ‘Forgive me for waking you, Mistress Wilton. Mistress Ferriby sent me to tell you what I know about the night of the fire. And the behaviour of Lady Pagnell’s steward since then.’ Sweat beaded the stocky man’s forehead.

  ‘It is so important that you come at night? Surely if you have waited this long …’

  ‘My mistress believed Captain Archer might wish to hear my tale before Lady Pagnell goes to the palace with Matthew on the morrow.’ Edgar glanced towards the windows.

  ‘Does something worry you?’

  ‘Matthew has ways of hearing things. I thought – but it was the echo of my footsteps as I hurried here.’ He blew a strand of hair from his brow.

  ‘Sit down, I pray you.’

  Again Edgar chose a spot just beyond the light.

  ‘Tell me about Matthew. I know you share a bed in the hall.’

  ‘Matthew was out all the night of the fire. Just before dawn he crept in with his shoes in his hands and slipped into bed. He smelled of sweat – I thought he had been with a woman – and he was stripped to his shift. He had worn a tunic when he departed the evening before. I have not seen that tunic since. But I believe it is among his things – he has been uneasy about me going near the chest in which he keeps his belongings.’

  ‘Why did you not mention this before?’

  ‘I am a coward, I have no other excuse, God knows. I told myself that I did not wish to cause more strife between my mistress and her mother. Lady Pagnell already blames me for Ivo’s and John’s accident at the lady chapel. She says I have not given the boys sufficient moral training. Mistress Ferriby has defended me.’ He pressed his temples as if the situation gave him a headache. ‘But in truth, fear kept me silent.’

  Lucie excused herself a moment to confer with Jasper, who sat in the shadows seemingly with one eye on Edgar and one on the windows.

  ‘Have you seen anything?’

  ‘It is quarter moon and cloudy, so it is even more difficult than usual to see from within. But something woke Melisende. Look.’

  The cat lay on a cushioned chair, her ear cocked, one eye opened slightly.

  ‘Pretend you are crossing the garden to the shop. Try to do it exactly as you are wont to do. If you sense anyone out there, go through the shop and out to the tavern. Fetch Tom.’

  Jasper nodded solemnly and began to move away.

  Lucie feared she was asking more of him than she should of a lad but fourteen. She caught his forearm. When he met her eyes, his gaze was calm, confident.

  ‘Remember all that Owen has taught you,’ Lucie said. ‘And God go with you.’

  Jasper bobbed his head. ‘Make a racket if he proves false.’ He departed by the door that led to the passageway from house to kitchen.

  ‘Where is he going?’ Edgar asked.

  ‘To the York Tavern, for help. You were uncomfortable walking here alone, were you not?’

  ‘I feel a fool for even mentioning it.’

  Lucie hoped her smile was reassuring. She thanked God she had not taken the tonic with the sleepwort and valerian.

  At first Thoresby found it impossible to hear anything over the clatter of Maeve and her maid, the creaks in the floorboards, the grumbling in his stomach, even his own breath. But as he calmed, he distinguished the sound of a woman weeping.

  ‘I am in hell … and all for you,’ Poins said, straining his voice to a hoarse shout, ‘and you point the finger … at me, accusing me … of murdering Cisotta? Then damn you. Damn you!’

  ‘No, no, I never spoke! I said nothing,’ May sobbed.

  ‘All night … I see her lying there … in the flames … beautiful Cisotta. I could do nothing.’

  Other things were murmured but Thoresby could not make them out. He motioned for Michaelo to kneel at the knot hole.

  ‘My hearing is not what it was,’ Thoresby whispered.

  Michaelo lowered himself until he was lying prone on the floor, his ear to the hole.

  Thoresby fought the urge to pace and held himself motionless.

  Wykeham had stepped aside with Owen, listening with attention to the plans for the defence of the palace. When he had exhausted his questions, he motioned to Alain. ‘Fetch Guy. We must discuss our strategy for tomorrow’s meeting.’ As the clerk departed, Wykeham said, ‘I do not understand what has come over Guy of late. I cannot depend upon him as I have in the past.’

  ‘How well do you know your clerks, My Lord?’

  Wykeham cocked his head. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘The deeds of the properties Lady Pagnell is considering –’ Owen was distracted by the sight of Thoresby rushing into the hall from the kitchen corridor, his elegant gown, the colour of lapis lazuli, flapping in the breeze of his passage. His long, bony face was pink with exertion, his eyes anxious.

  ‘Archer, come with me,’ Thoresby said breathlessly. He bowed to the gathered diners. ‘I have told Maeve to serve dinner. Do not wait for me. I shall come when I can.’

  Owen bowed to Wykeham and followed Thoresby, who had slowed his pace and was breathing hard. To Owen’s surprise the archbishop led him out into the garden at the rear of the hall. They were joined by Brother Michaelo.

  ‘Michaelo is to be our sentinel while we talk,’ Thoresby said. ‘You must go to Poins. I heard his confession, but I have told him that in order to be absolved he must tell you all he knows.’

  ‘The seal of confession.’

  Thoresby nodded. ‘May heard that I was with him. She went to him. When he understood that she feared him guilty, he cursed her.’

  ‘Did he confess to her? Can we learn the truth from her?’

  ‘From May we might learn her truth, but not his. Go to him. He kept silent to protect her. Perhaps now that he knows she believed him a murderer he will speak.’

  Or decide to slip away, succumb to the pain and, by succumbing, escape it. Owen crossed himself and prayed for God’s grace.

  Lucie offered Edgar a cup of ale, which he accepted with an embarrassed smile.

  ‘Is it Matthew you fear?’

  The mere mention of the man seemed to deepen the shadows beneath Edgar’s eyes. ‘I have not enjoyed a night of sleep while he has shared my bed for the nightmares his presence inspires. Even in slumber there is such an anger within him.’

  Lucie listened while thinking Jasper must be at the tavern by now. Perhaps he and Tom Merchet had returned to the yard.

  ‘Do you think Matthew capable of setting the fire? Or of murder?’

  Edgar put down his cup with a clatter. ‘That is for God to judge, Mistress Wilton. I know only what I have told you.’

  ‘Can you guess what so angers him?’

  ‘It would be easier to point out what does not. The smallest inconvenience puts him in a temper. He is critical of everything in my master and mistress’s household. His loyalty is with Lady Pagnell. He dislikes the Ferribys.’

  ‘Including the boys?’

  ‘Them most
of all.’ Edgar’s eyes widened and he jerked towards the window. ‘I heard a cry.’

  Lucie rose with care, her exhaustion dizzying. Blessed Mother, protect my family.

  Edgar hurried towards the front door. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Stay. You must have an escort.’

  Someone pushed open the door from which Jasper had departed as Edgar vanished out of the front door. Jasper led a dishevelled boy into the room. Alisoun followed them, bow in hand. Lucie had forgotten that the girl was a skilled archer. The boy lifted his head and Lucie cried out.

  ‘John Ferriby!’ She ran back to the front door. ‘Edgar! Wait!’ She turned to Jasper. ‘You must find Edgar.’

  Jasper was already at the door, running out into the night.

  Lucie sank down, cupping her face in her hands.

  Twenty

  COMPASSION AND

  GREED

  Magda was at the bedside, cradling Poins’s head in one hand, with the other helping him sip from a shallow cup. She saw Owen, but did not speak until she had settled Poins back on the pillow. ‘What he has drunk will keep him wakeful for a good while,’ she said, ‘though he wishes for nothing so much as sleep.’

  ‘Were you in here with him and May?’

  ‘Nay. Magda sat without, but she could hear him forcing his voice to shout at the maid. Hear him now if thou wilt, for tomorrow he’ll not be able to speak for the swelling in his throat. Thou shouldst prop him up with more cushions so that he has the breath for speech.’

  Poins groaned as Owen arranged cushions beneath his upper back, though he made no more complaint. When Owen settled beside the bed, Poins regarded him with keener eyes than he had the day before, and almost at once he spoke. ‘I meant to protect her,’ he rasped.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘May.’

  ‘We already know her part. She has told us of her failing sight, Cisotta’s remedy.’

  ‘And my part?’

  ‘Not yours. She said she did not know why you were in the undercroft.’

  Poins dropped his gaze to his swollen fingers, curling and uncurling them. Magda handed Owen some warm honeyed water to offer him. He took a sip and then lay back for a moment, catching his breath at the pressure against his blistered back, though only cushions touched it. Owen held the cup.