The Cross Legged Knight (Owen Archer Book 8)

by Candace Robb

  ‘Remember,’ Lucie said to Emma, ‘we are searching for something he did not dispose of that might prove he had been near the fire, or anything that might reveal his intentions – stolen documents, money, a note from your mother…’

  ‘She would not be so stupid as to write to him,’ Emma said as she lifted the lid – Edgar had already proved useful in picking the lock.

  Lucie hesitated at the sight of the first layer, a comb, worn leggings, a pair of riding boots oiled and wrapped in a cloth. Matthew had no home of his own. This chest contained all his property. She was invading it for what had seemed good cause, but now she felt a trespasser. Emma appeared to have no such reservations about the task. She had already laid aside the top items and a mended shirt as well, beneath which she had uncovered some letters carrying the royal seal.

  ‘What is this?’ Emma breathed, sitting back on her heels and opening one of the letters.

  ‘Put it away!’ Edgar cried from the doorway. ‘Matthew is crossing the courtyard!’

  Lucie snatched up all the items and placed them in the trunk, but Emma shook her head and slipped the letters beneath a box sitting beside her. There was no time to argue. Lucie dropped the lid and clicked the lock into place as Edgar exclaimed loudly over Matthew’s early return.

  But the steward’s eyes had gone straight to the chest, then to Lucie and Emma standing near it.

  ‘I forgot a document. My lady awaits me at the palace.’ He was moving towards Lucie and Emma when John exploded from behind them, throwing himself at Matthew, a dagger in his right hand.

  ‘John! No!’ Emma cried.

  Matthew crashed backwards. As the two hit the tile floor, Matthew howled in pain.

  Edgar and Emma plucked at John as he and Matthew rolled over and over, leaving a trail of blood behind them. When Edgar and Emma finally succeeded in lifting the boy between them, Lucie bent to help Matthew move out of the way of the boy’s kicks – he was bleeding freely from one forearm and his chin – but he snapped his arm out of Lucie’s grasp and rolled towards his attacker, grabbing him by the ankles.

  ‘You think you’re a man, do you?’ Matthew shouted at John, who was struggling to free himself from his tutor and his mother.

  ‘Stop this!’ Emma shouted. By now several clerks from the shop had joined them and the five managed to pull John and Matthew apart.

  ‘Leave him alone, he’s just a boy,’ Emma said to Matthew, who lay sprawled on the floor.

  The steward struggled to sit up a little, trying to support himself on his elbows, but his wounded arm failed him and he moaned as he fell back to the floor. Lucie knelt behind him. This time he did not push her away. With her hands beneath his arms she hoisted, then pushed his upper body into a seated position. From there he was able to use his legs to help her drag him to the wall, which would support his back. Lucie’s hand throbbed.

  ‘I threatened him and so he hates me,’ Matthew said to no one in particular.

  ‘Murderer!’ John cried. ‘Thief and murderer!’ He strained to escape the firm grasps of Edgar and Emma. His voice trembled and yet trilled with defiance.

  ‘A murderer? A thief? What are you talking about?’ Matthew demanded.

  Seeing that her friend was preoccupied with her son, Lucie began a litany of the evidence on which the boy based his accusations. The shop clerks and Matthew stared at her in disbelief. She faltered as she began to doubt all that she thought she had known.

  Lady Pagnell rose and curtsied to Wykeham as he approached the table. Alain walked beside a servant who carried a writing desk.

  ‘What is this?’ Wykeham said, looking around at those already seated. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of Stephen Pagnell.

  ‘Representing my father, who could not attend,’ Stephen said, visibly enjoying Wykeham’s discomfort.

  ‘He is Ranulf’s heir,’ Lady Pagnell said, a challenge in her eyes.

  ‘I pray you, be seated,’ Thoresby murmured to Wykeham. Everyone at the table seemed to be holding their breaths. ‘Sit,’ Thoresby repeated.

  As Wykeham finally settled, Thoresby enquired after Guy, who had not accompanied him.

  Wykeham leaned close and whispered, ‘While at the garderobe he tried to slip away. He will be escorted in when we are ready for him.’

  Thoresby had expected Guy to prove a coward, lacking honour, but he was not gratified to be right.

  ‘Where is the steward?’ Wykeham asked.

  Thoresby explained curtly, not wishing to prolong the whispered conference. Lady Pagnell already grew curious. Owen’s plan to seize the Pagnell steward seemed to be failing before it was ever put into play.

  As Owen crossed Hosier Lane to the Ferriby house he was hailed by George Hempe, who strode towards him from Pavement.

  ‘I thought I might expect you. I noticed your wife waiting here earlier. What’s afoot?’

  ‘Have you seen the Pagnell steward?’

  Hempe nodded. ‘He arrived a little while ago. I’ve found the thief’s murderer, Archer.’ He caught Owen’s arm as he continued towards the house. ‘Don’t you want to know who it was? A fellow thief, after your wife’s purse.’

  That was it? Merely thieves fighting among themselves? Owen cursed and hurried past him. He heard Hempe following.

  Twenty-two

  RESOLUTIONS

  The door to the Ferriby house was open, but no sound met Owen in the courtyard. His heart was pounding when he stepped across the threshold into the dimly lit hall.

  The tableau before him was not at all what he had expected. In a far corner of the room, Matthew sat against the wall, pressing a cloth to his head. His right sleeve was empty, hanging from his shoulder on some laces. Lucie knelt beside him, wrapping his bare forearm in a bandage that was already blooming with blood. Emma sat on a bench cradling John’s head against her shoulder – he was crying, his entire body shaken by the sobs. His younger brother sat on the floor near him, clinging to his mother’s skirt, looking confused but uninjured. Edgar and two unfamiliar men stood a little to one side. Edgar spoke quietly to the others, who glanced now and then towards the wounded man.

  Hempe strode past Owen and demanded, ‘What has happened here?’

  ‘Lucie, I pray you,’ Emma said, ‘tell them what fools we have been.’

  John straightened as his mother shifted on the bench. The boy’s face was swollen, not only from his tears but from what appeared to be a broken nose, a bloody cloth pressed to it and one eye already darkening. John lifted his chin to slow the bleeding and gulped air, then held it, trying to quiet hiccups.

  ‘Edgar, see that Tom and Paul shut the shop and wait for my husband to return,’ Emma said. A corner of her starched wimple was bloodstained where the boy had rested his head.

  Owen crouched down by Lucie as Edgar escorted the clerks towards the shop.

  ‘Are John and Matthew the only wounded?’

  ‘I have some bruises, I am sure, as I am certain Emma and Edgar do.’

  Owen touched a bloodstain on the bandage round her hand. ‘Did you open the wound?’

  ‘No. I used my hand too much, but the blood is Matthew’s, not mine.’

  Hempe had settled on a bench nearby. ‘Mistress Wilton, I pray you, speak up so that I might hear your account.’

  ‘Why is he here?’ Emma asked Owen.

  ‘It was plain to him that something was afoot, so he joined me,’ Owen said, trying to ignore his feelings. ‘You must begin with Emma’s identification of the strap,’ he said to Lucie, ‘or the bailiff will not understand what this is about.’

  Lucie began as requested.

  Hempe listened without comment, and when the tale was complete he said only, ‘I see.’

  Owen regarded Matthew, organizing the questions not yet answered. The one uppermost in his mind he asked first. ‘What made you return to the house today?’

  Matthew closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall, as if too weary to speak. His upper lip was swollen. But without openin
g his eyes, he said in a voice just above a mumble, ‘I watched my lady as we walked to the palace, her chin up, her eyes set on the unpleasant matter ahead, swallowing her pride to protect her family from more gossip. And I felt ashamed.’ He drew up his knees, wrapped his good arm round them. ‘I came back for some letters. Ones in the hand of the bishop’s clerk, Guy. The ones acknowledging to my lady the receipt of the ransom money. The bishop has only to see the amounts on the letters to realize that they do not agree with the copies he holds in Winchester. I am certain of it.’

  Owen was sorry Hempe had heard this, but the man was determined to learn all.

  ‘May I see them?’ Owen asked.

  ‘They are in my trunk.’ Matthew drew out a key.

  ‘There is no need for that,’ said Emma. ‘Here they are.’ She handed Owen a pair of documents bearing royal chancery seals.

  ‘What?’ Matthew sat forward, looking from Emma to Lucie, his colour rising. ‘What right had you to search my trunk? And to remove those?’

  ‘What right had I?’ Emma raised her voice in disbelief. ‘They concern my father’s ransom. What of you? What are you doing with them among your personal belongings?’

  ‘I am steward.’

  ‘And what of the tunic you sold to a dubber? The one you wore the night of the fire?’

  Matthew pressed his hands to his head, his elbows to his thighs, and sat very still.

  ‘He may be innocent,’ Lucie whispered to Owen.

  At present that was not a comforting possibility. For if Matthew was not guilty, Guy was, and he would be desperate to escape.

  ‘Matthew is expected at the palace,’ Owen said to Hempe. ‘I propose we escort him there.’

  Now Matthew looked up. A bruise was developing beneath one eye. Little John had done much harm. ‘My lady does await me there.’ He rose with a groan, holding his wounded arm close to him.

  Lucie helped him into his torn sleeve.

  ‘I should like to come,’ she said to Owen.

  Owen could see from the smudges beneath her eyes and the way she moved that she was exhausted. ‘I will not have you walk into the middle of even a remote danger of attack.’

  ‘You will send word of what has happened?’ Lucie asked.

  ‘To both you and Emma, I swear. Have you the strength for the walk home?’

  ‘I shall rest here a while, then go.’

  Lady Pagnell had tired of waiting for her steward and begun the negotiation by proposing two of the properties to Wykeham, who had quietly said that was out of the question.

  ‘Alain and Guy considered the offerings with their customary care, My Lady, and each one is of equal value to the piece of land your husband forfeited. Your part in the decision is to choose which one your neighbour would prefer. I thought that had been explained.’

  Thoresby would usually enjoy such combat, but he was uneasy about Owen’s disappearance and the Pagnell steward’s absence. Guy had been brought in discreetly, although Stephen Pagnell had not missed the guards on either side, and Thoresby’s nod that they might return to their posts. It did not seem as if peace would settle on the palace this evening, as he had hoped. Perhaps it would have been just as well to begin with Guy’s confession to his forgery and embezzlement. Thoresby found himself watching the son more than the mother. Stephen stared at Wykeham with such intensity that Thoresby expected him to lunge at the bishop at any moment.

  Lady Pagnell’s voice startled him. ‘This property, then, and that’s an end to it.’ She shoved a deed across to Wykeham.

  The bishop sat back with the document in hand, nodding solemnly. Alain whispered something to him. Guy had been silent throughout the proceedings. Thoresby could not guess what he was feeling, but when Wykeham handed Alain the document to copy and present to Lady Pagnell before she left, Guy’s expression was clear – pure and simple jealousy. But he said nothing and dropped his head before most at the table caught the flash of emotion. Alain excused himself and retired to complete the transaction.

  Lady Pagnell began to rise.

  ‘There is another matter of business,’ Wykeham said.

  ‘I said that was an end to it.’ Lady Pagnell motioned for the servant who stood behind her.

  ‘Lady Pagnell, it is about the discrepancy in Sir Ranulf’s ransom money.’

  She turned back towards Wykeham, her face white. She looked ill. ‘What?’

  ‘I trust you will be pleased to hear that we have uncovered an embezzler who forged documents regarding your husband’s ransom.’

  Lady Pagnell swayed and Thoresby feared she might faint. But she propped her hands on the table and hissed, ‘Will you stop at nothing to deny your guilt in my husband’s death?’

  ‘I do nothing of the kind, Lady Pagnell. We have him in custody,’ Wykeham began.

  There was a commotion at the door, and suddenly Owen, Hempe, and Matthew entered the hall.

  Lady Pagnell sank down in her chair.

  ‘You have come in your own time, Matthew,’ Stephen said, using all the power in his voice, which was considerable for a man of his stature.

  Thoresby’s eyesight was unimpaired regarding distances and he noted at once the steward’s torn sleeve, his head wound, the thick lip.

  As Owen brought him forward, the others rose, no doubt as relieved as Thoresby to shake off the tension in the room, and exclaimed about the steward’s condition.

  ‘Have these men laid hands on you?’ Lady Pagnell cried. She had regained some of her colour.

  ‘No, My Lady,’ Matthew said, his words oddly shaped, his voice rasping, which was not as Thoresby remembered his speech at Sir Ranulf’s funeral. ‘Your grandson sought to punish me for my transgressions.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Might he be seated?’ Owen asked. ‘He is none too steady on his feet.’

  Michaelo showed Matthew to his seat beside Lady Pagnell, who called her servant over to see to him.

  As Thoresby resumed his seat and the others followed, he noted that Guy was last to settle, glancing round the room with a wild look in his eyes. Thoresby caught Owen observing the clerk as well. Their eyes met and Owen gave him a nod so slight that Thoresby wondered whether he had imagined it. But he whispered to Michaelo that all doors should be well secured against anyone attempting to flee. Michaelo slipped away to spread the word among the guards, Hempe and Stephen Pagnell straining to observe his circuit round the hall.

  ‘Are we to be enlightened as to the cause of the boy’s attack?’ Wykeham asked.

  ‘As to the immediate cause, it might be best left to another time, My Lord Bishop,’ Owen said. ‘But Matthew has come to take his place in this negotiation and to explain his part in the recent fire at your house.’

  Lady Pagnell turned in her seat to study her trusted steward. He cradled his wounded arm against his torso and kept his eyes on the table edge before him, avoiding the curious stares set on him from all angles.

  ‘We did not wait for you. We have settled on the land,’ said Lady Pagnell. ‘The clerk is copying the deed. What is this about, Matthew? Were you involved in that tragedy?’

  ‘If I might begin before the event,’ Matthew said. ‘On the morning of that day.’

  ‘Can’t this wait?’ Stephen demanded. He looked at Wykeham. ‘You spoke of my father’s ransom.’

  ‘This is part of the tale,’ Owen said.

  Stephen sat back. ‘Go on.’

  Matthew nodded. ‘My Lords, My Lady.’

  Thoresby motioned to a servant, ordered honey water for Matthew. He would not speak long with such a hoarseness.

  ‘As I examined the deeds to the properties you have just discussed, I noticed changes in one of them. Several numbers and other items concerning the rents had been scratched out and redone, and in several cases it was quite clear from the spacing that what had gone before had been of a different length. One might have been evidence merely of a scribal error, but three numbers and other items of rent were clearly evidence of intentional changes. I exa
mined the deed in different lights. The changes had been made with great care. But the lettering was not precisely the same. In fact, it looked familiar. I checked the letters regarding my lord’s ransoms, and there I saw the same hand. So I went to Guy.’

  ‘I have told them all this,’ Guy said.

  ‘I have not heard it,’ Lady Pagnell said coldly.

  ‘I pray you, let him speak,’ Thoresby said.

  ‘I told Guy I knew something he would rather keep quiet. He told me to meet him in the undercroft, that the bishop kept a coffer there from which he would pay me well.’

  ‘I trusted you!’ Lady Pagnell exclaimed.

  ‘My Lady, I meant to present you with the letters, the deed and the money as proof of the man’s guilt,’ Matthew said.

  ‘You fool,’ said Stephen Pagnell. ‘He would have taken the deed.’

  ‘But a woman appeared at the door as we were counting the coins,’ Matthew continued.

  ‘She did,’ Guy interrupted, ‘and it was plain he feared she had heard him bragging of his importance in the Pagnell household, of how it was but a matter of time before he won the widow. Her appearance put everything he had worked for in jeopardy.’

  ‘What do you mean, “won the widow”?’ Lady Pagnell murmured.

  ‘I did fear that, I will not deny it.’ Matthew raised his battered head. ‘But then I realized she was not paying attention to me, she was looking at him.’

  ‘That is not true,’ Guy said.

  ‘She said she had not known he was in York. He said he had not known she still abided here.’

  ‘I did not even know her,’ Guy protested.

  ‘She asked about his sister. I felt a great anger in him and fear in her, and I was afraid. I grabbed the documents, but he already had one of the straps in his hand and was moving towards her. I should have intervened, but the sounds coming from him – he was raving. God help me, I ran.’

  ‘Ran right for her,’ Guy interrupted. ‘He was desperate to silence her …’

  ‘Quiet!’ Thoresby roared. ‘You have told your version of the night, let Matthew tell his.’