The Cross Legged Knight (Owen Archer Book 8)

by Candace Robb

  ‘I offered Cisotta … my mistress’s cast-off gloves … but she wanted more … to come to the house.’ Owen did not interrupt Poins’s pause for breath. ‘She asked for hides … I promised her some … if she would come that night.’ He took a deep breath.

  ‘Why did you do this?’

  ‘May was patient with our … difficult mistress … She made it … easier … for Bolton and me. I wanted to … make it up to her.’ Sweat soaked Poins’s bandages.

  ‘Where were the hides?’

  ‘Just inside the undercroft door. I left it unlocked. Told Cisotta to … take them … as she left.’

  Owen helped Poins sip the water.

  ‘And what happened?’ he asked when Poins’s breathing seemed easier.

  ‘I heard something … Too long after Cisotta left … Went down to check … lock the door. There was smoke.’ He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly when Owen offered him water. ‘Inside there was a fire … not big yet … I saw … her golden hair …’ – his voice broke – ‘near the flames … fanned out.’ He closed his eyes and shivered. ‘A man pushed me aside … pulled the barrel down on me.’ Poins gave a rough sob. ‘I screamed… Flames licked at her … She never moved … never a sound … Beautiful Cisotta.’ He wept.

  Owen leaned close, whispered, ‘Tell me what you see, Poins.’

  ‘For a moment – something. A figure.’

  ‘Clerk’s gown? Something shorter?’

  Poins coughed, shook his head. ‘Water.’

  Owen helped him again, then asked, ‘Is that all you can remember?’

  Poins slowly nodded. ‘I said nothing because … I did not want … May blamed.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Did it work? Can she see now?’

  Owen could not bring himself to tell Poins how little all his suffering had helped May. ‘More clearly. You must rest.’

  ‘I could not move,’ Poins sobbed. ‘I could not save her.’

  ‘She was dead before you reached the undercroft, Poins. There was nothing you could have done.’

  ‘I should have … taken the hides … to her … I was frightened. If I did not … hand them to her … I could say I knew … nothing … of them.’

  Owen thanked Poins and left his side, feeling his own breath shallow and ragged. So much suffering for so little. Such good intentions ended in horror. He crossed himself as he left the room and prayed for understanding. It seemed a brutal punishment for such insignificant transgressions.

  Alisoun withdrew to the table and began to unstring her bow.

  John Ferriby stood in the centre of the hall, his eyes searching for something other than Lucie to light on. One of his leggings pooled round his ankle, the flushed, dimpled knee like that of a baby. ‘I meant no harm,’ he said.

  ‘Gwenllian woke and saw him creeping along the wall,’ Alisoun said in a matter-of-fact tone, not taking her eyes off the string she was winding.

  ‘Go up to her and tell her it was nothing,’ Lucie said.

  ‘But I’m –’

  ‘Now.’

  Alisoun gathered her bow and quiver and withdrew.

  Tomorrow Lucie must talk to the girl about her duties, how to comfort children in the night without hurting anyone. Lucie crouched down to help John with his leggings, then left him warming himself by the brazier while she went to fix him a calming drink. She sent Kate off to bed, assuring her that there was no danger in crossing the garden to her room above the shop. Too late she remembered that having but one functional hand slowed her. She called John into the kitchen to talk with her while the camomile and balm steeped. The boy relaxed in the warmth and told her without prodding how he had overheard his mother’s conversation with Edgar and resolved to follow his tutor to see whether he was false or true. But he grew silent when Lucie asked why he would distrust Edgar.

  ‘Could I stay here?’ John asked after a while. The drink had him yawning.

  ‘Your parents would be beside themselves with worry. Are they very angry about the lady chapel?’

  ‘It’s not them, it’s Matthew. I don’t want to go home until he’s gone.’

  Hearing the fear in the boy’s voice, she asked gently, ‘What has he done?’

  But the boy had jumped up at the sound of voices in the hall.

  ‘It is Jasper and Edgar,’ she told him, silently cursing them for returning just as John was confiding in her. ‘Come, we’ll join them in the hall.’

  ‘I found him crossing the market square,’ Jasper announced, raking back his hair and blotting his sweaty brow with his sleeve.

  ‘In the time you were gone you might have run all the way to Hosier Lane and back,’ Lucie noted, her voice sharper than she had intended. ‘What kept you so long?’

  ‘One of the Ferriby servants was out calling for John. So we hid until he passed by.’ Jasper looked pleased with himself. ‘There will be explanations asked, and I thought it best if everyone thought Edgar and John had gone out together.’

  Edgar went to John, who sat huddled on a chair. ‘What were you thinking, Master John? Lady Pagnell will blame me, no matter what your mother says.’

  John glanced over at Lucie as if asking for her help.

  ‘He fears Matthew as much as you do, Edgar,’ Lucie said, joining them, crouching to hold the boy’s hands.

  ‘But he lacks only patience with you and Ivo,’ Edgar said.

  John was shaking his head. ‘He caught me following him. He wants to kill me.’

  ‘John, you cannot mean that,’ Lucie said.

  ‘It’s true. He was selling the tunic he wore the night of the fire to a dubber. He said he’d kill me if I told anyone.’

  ‘Dear God.’ Lucie rose and tried to think what to do. ‘Jasper, go to the palace. Fetch Owen. He must know all this.’

  But John and Edgar must return to the Ferriby house or Matthew would know something was up. It took much reassuring to convince John to go home with Edgar.

  ‘Speak only with your mistress,’ Lucie coached the tutor. ‘Neither Matthew nor Lady Pagnell nor any of the servants must know that you came to see me.’

  Edgar put on a brave front for the boy.

  Owen had settled on a garden bench away from the doorway torches, glad of the long grey shadows, the low clouds that hid the stars. He prayed that God would release Poins from his suffering. The flesh beneath the man’s bandages was rotting away, even Magda Digby could not save him from terrible disfigurement. And his heart appeared unbearably heavy with grief and self-recrimination. Life seemed the worst of prisons for him. May, too, needed his prayers, but he thought she would gradually settle back into life. Magda might even improve her lot.

  Something pressed against him, then grappled up his leg. He caught the purring ball of fur and settled it in his lap. It must be from the stable cat’s litter that Brother Michaelo had complained about. Owen had forgotten the tale till now.

  The others were dining when Owen returned to the hall. Michaelo left his place to enquire whether Owen wished to join them.

  ‘No. But stay a moment. Have you ever met the Pagnell steward?’

  ‘Matthew? Only once that I recall. His arrogance did not befit his station.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘The day before Sir Ranulf’s funeral. He had been sent to request that Wykeham not attend.’

  ‘What of the time you saw Guy arguing with someone in the Pagnell livery?’

  ‘It might have been him …’ Michaelo closed his eyes. ‘They were in the shadow of the yew hedge and I was coming from the stables.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I was not close enough to see the face of the one in livery.’

  ‘What day was it?’

  ‘The day of the fire – I remember that well. His Grace and the bishop were to dine alone that evening and I wished everything to be peaceful, no kittens mewing outside the windows.’

  ‘Morning or afternoon?’

  ‘Late in the day, for I was concerned about moving them all before I had to inst
ruct the servants in setting their places in the hall.’

  If Alain had delivered the property documents to the Ferriby house that morning as Owen had been informed, it seemed rather soon for Lady Pagnell to send a messenger to the palace in the afternoon. But perhaps a document had gone missing, or there were questions that required a meeting in the records room.

  ‘Where is Guy?’ Owen asked.

  ‘Alain says he is lying on the floor of the chapel in prayer. Have you heard that he has asked to be excused from the meeting tomorrow?’

  A servant joined them. ‘Captain, Jasper de Melton begs to speak with you.’

  ‘Shall I fetch the holy clerk?’ Michaelo asked.

  ‘No. Let him pray,’ Owen said. Nodding to Michaelo, he followed the servant to the hall door, fighting the desire to send word that he was too busy to be bothered by troubles at home. Jasper paced on the hall porch. When he looked up at Owen it was plain the movement kept sleep at bay.

  ‘You look tired, lad. It must be important.’

  ‘Mistress Lucie has much to tell you, Captain.’

  ‘Can it wait?’

  Jasper grabbed his forearm. ‘Come. You need to hear this.’

  The urgency in the gesture moved Owen to give one of the guards instructions to pass round the word that Guy must not be allowed out of the palace precinct until further notice. Then Owen hurried off with Jasper. They found Lucie in her chamber with Gwenllian tucked in beside her.

  A finger to her lips, Lucie drew them out to the landing. ‘Alisoun has much to learn,’ she whispered. She led them back down the stairs, to the still-warm kitchen. What Owen heard convinced him that he must return to the palace and question Guy. Lucie agreed that the argument between Guy and Matthew might be the key to all that had happened on that fateful day.

  Two lamps flickered in the drafts of the chapel, animating the body lying prone before the altar with the illusion of unnatural movement. For a moment Owen feared Guy had escaped in a more permanent way than running. He knelt, reached out to touch the clerk’s neck. Guy jerked. Owen withdrew just in time. Guy rolled over and up into a crouch. He was more agile than he looked.

  Owen whispered a prayer of thanksgiving that the clerk was alive. ‘I did not mean to frighten you.’

  ‘You came upon me with such stealth.’

  ‘You were so deep in prayer you did not hear me.’

  Guy’s eyes looked wild in the flickering light. He huddled into himself.

  ‘The stone floor is a cold place to lie,’ Owen said.

  Guy began to rise.

  ‘Stay a little,’ Owen said.

  ‘I am cold,’ Guy said. ‘I need some mulled wine …’

  ‘I have just a few questions.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘What business did you have with Matthew, the Pagnell steward, the afternoon of the fire?’

  Guy frowned and looked aside as if searching his memory, then shook his head. ‘I had none. Alain took the papers to him …’

  ‘… in the morning,’ Owen said. ‘Brother Michaelo recalls seeing you with Matthew in the garden that afternoon.’

  ‘He must be mistaken.’

  ‘Perhaps Lady Pagnell had some questions?’

  Guy shook his head. ‘If she did, I do not recall.’

  ‘Michaelo said it was not a cordial meeting.’

  ‘If there was such a meeting, it was likely unpleasant. There is much ill feeling between the Pagnell household and the bishop’s.’

  ‘What was the issue on that particular day?’

  ‘I tell you I don’t know what you are talking about and I am cold.’ Guy made a swift move for the door.

  Owen grabbed him, wrenching back one of his arms.

  Guy let out a scream. Owen pressed a hand over his mouth and half carried, half dragged the clerk to the pair of chairs behind the prie-dieu, spun him forward and shoved him into one. Guy clutched the armrests, his face a mask of fear.

  Owen leaned down and set his hands on Guy’s forearms, forcing them down. ‘What did Matthew say to you that afternoon?’

  ‘I tell you you’re mistaken.’

  ‘You’ve been playing the gentle soul with Poins, sitting with him – you mean to be there when he remembers that night, don’t you?’

  ‘You are mad!’

  ‘I’ve come to tell you that you missed your chance. This evening Poins told me of your presence in the undercroft that night.’ It was all Owen had, his strong suspicion.

  ‘Christus,’ Guy whispered.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I did not strangle Cisotta. In God’s name I am innocent of that.’

  ‘But guilty of other things?’

  Guy shrank from Owen’s eye, dropped his chin to his chest. ‘Nothing so terrible as that. Matthew noticed changes in one of the property deeds.’

  ‘What kind of changes?’

  Guy fidgeted, muttering about bruises.

  Owen gave him no additional space, just waited, ignoring the complaints, the sourness of the heavy man’s sweat.

  ‘It had stated a certain rent,’ Guy said at last. ‘I lessened the amount so that I might keep some of the money the tenant believed he owed. I took the money only for a few years, while my lord came regularly to the north and I was in charge of the rents.’

  ‘You had debts?’

  Again, Guy lapsed into silence.

  ‘So Matthew threatened to expose you?’

  ‘Yes. I begged him to let me have the document. He agreed, for a small payment.’

  ‘So you came to this agreement the afternoon of the fire?’

  ‘Yes. He came to the palace to press for payment.’ Guy closed his eyes.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I knew the Fitzbaldrics were to be out that evening, and my lord bishop had some coin stored in the records room. Dear God, one little theft and I could not stop it.’

  ‘So you met in the undercroft.’

  ‘Yes. He took all the coin, more than I had intended. We argued. He told me he knew far worse of me, that I had stolen the ransom money and he could prove it.’

  ‘You stole the Pagnell ransom money?’

  Guy dropped his eyes.

  ‘What debts do you have that were worth the life of Sir Ranulf?’

  The sour odour increased. ‘How could I know the old man would die?’

  Owen fought the urge to strike the clerk. ‘Surely Bishop William gives you all you need.’

  ‘I … have a sister. She was not so fortunate in her household. The money helped her.’

  ‘You could not ask the bishop for help?’

  ‘He has so many in his care.’

  ‘He thinks of you as his son.’

  Guy looked Owen in the eye. ‘I have been a great fool.’ His gaze was too steady. Owen saw no emotion on the sweating, swinish face.

  ‘Bastard,’ Owen growled, giving the chair a good shake, making Guy gasp. ‘Go on, tell me the rest.’ His grasp on the arms of the chair was so tight that his wrists ached. He could not let go.

  Guy took a moment to collect himself. ‘He bragged of his power over Lady Pagnell, how he meant to have her, she was smitten with him. He had the strap in his hand, playing with it, wrapping the ends round his hands, tugging it tightly. That is when I began to fear him.’ He paused, breathing hard. ‘Deus juva me.’

  Owen relaxed his grip, moved the other chair to face Guy, sat down, leaning forward, ready to block any attempt at escape. ‘What then?’

  ‘Something moved outside the record room. I told him there were some well-fed rats down there, but he grabbed the lamp and left me in the dark. I followed, hearing a woman’s cry. She stood next to a barrel with some hides piled on it, one hand on the hides, one out before her like one does when calming a dog. She said she had just come from above and wondered at the light in the undercroft. I blurted out that she could not have seen it. “You were listening,” Matthew said. He set down the lamp and grabbed her. I did not wait to see what he did. I ran. Dear Lord I ran for my life
.’

  ‘And left her in his hands.’

  Guy crossed himself. Only now did he look up, his face contorted with sorrow and shame. ‘He is evil. I knew it that night. But I swear I never thought he would kill her. Frighten her, perhaps –’ he looked away – ‘other things. But not strangle her with the strap.’

  ‘Who told you how she died?’

  ‘My master.’

  ‘You have let a murderer walk the streets, live with a family who trust him.’

  ‘For my part in it I’ll lose everything I have worked for.’

  ‘Do you deserve better?’

  Guy shook his head. ‘I was frightened. I did not understand why he didn’t come for me.’

  ‘Did he return the property document with the altered rent to you?’

  ‘I left it there. I stopped for nothing.’

  Owen rose to pace and think.

  Guy did not move for a long while. Then he asked in a choked voice, ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘We’ll say nothing. Matthew will be here in the afternoon, the palace will be surrounded by guards, and we’ll take him.’

  ‘I cannot see him.’

  ‘Stand up,’ Owen commanded. ‘If he is not abed, the bishop should hear your story.’

  Guy moved with the hesitant steps of one going to his execution. Owen felt no pity for him. He had thought only of himself that night, fearful lest his master learn that he had stolen from him, the man who thought of him as a son, who had trained him and given him a calling. Guy might have saved Cisotta. Matthew had flourished no weapon, only a strap.

  In the chapel corridor, a dark figure caused Guy to cry out and press himself back against Owen.

  ‘It is very late, Captain,’ said Brother Michaelo, moving so that he no longer blocked the light from the torch. ‘His Grace has suggested that you sleep in the palace tonight.’

  ‘Has the Bishop of Winchester retired?’

  ‘No. He is closed in the archbishop’s parlour with His Grace.’

  ‘Good. Will you announce us?’

  Michaelo glanced back and forth between Owen and Guy, then nodded and turned to escort them.