A Vigil of Spies (Owen Archer Book 10)

by Candace Robb

  Tom climbed into the tree with a knife to cut the rope, while Owen and a third guard grasped Lambert’s legs to ease his pull on the rope and prevent him from swinging. When Tom had finally severed the noose, he held the rope as Gilbert, Owen and the other guard lowered Lambert’s body onto the waiting horse. Owen was trying to decide whether to wait or to lead the horse back to the stables when Jehannes and Walter arrived, accompanied by Alfred.

  ‘What a cursed mission,’ said the physician, as he dismounted and joined Owen. He was so short that, as he stood next to Dom Lambert’s body sprawled over the horse, his head was level with the corpse’s.

  ‘Brother Michaelo?’ Jehannes crouched beside the archbishop’s secretary. ‘What are you doing out here? His Grace has been asking for you.’ When his presence and his words did not rouse Michaelo from his trance-like prayer, Jehannes looked to Owen. ‘How does he come to be here? What has happened to him? His robes are damp and smell of the woods.’

  ‘We found him curled up beneath Dom Lambert, as if in a deep sleep from which we cannot wake him,’ said Owen, half-expecting Jehannes to laugh at such an absurd story.

  But the archdeacon nodded with a gravity that reassured Owen. ‘Hence your grim visage.’ Jehannes blessed Michaelo and then rose and went to Lambert. He proceeded to administer the last rites to him.

  ‘I’ll see to Brother Michaelo in a moment,’ said Walter, studying the corpse as Jehannes prayed over it. ‘Dom Lambert’s neck is broken, of course. He looks as one might expect from strangulation and then—’ The physician turned away, shaking his head. ‘It is a horrible sight.’

  ‘When we bring him to the barracks, I would have you examine his body for other injuries,’ Owen quietly commented, for Walter’s ears only.

  The tiny physician made a show of distaste as he regarded the body. ‘Do you think someone had already wounded him? That this was simply the final act? Scourge, crown of thorns, lance through the side, then hanging?’

  Owen found his sacrilegious use of the imagery of Christ’s execution offensive. ‘I’m implying nothing so crass, Master Walter. I simply meant that I need to know as much as possible about Dom Lambert’s last hours. His corpse might have much to tell.’

  ‘Or nothing more than that he hanged himself and the weight of his body pulling at the rope did the rest. I don’t like to examine him further,’ said Walter, both his throat and his face seeming to tighten against the prospect. ‘This is not what I came to Bishopthorpe to do.’

  ‘I did not expect you to find it pleasing, Master Walter. It is a duty, not a pastime.’

  Jehannes motioned Owen aside, his expression not merely grieved but troubled.

  ‘Dom Lambert was to share my bed last night,’ he said, speaking as quietly as possible, ‘but, as far as I can tell, I slept alone. My servant, who was seeing to Dom Lambert as well, is quite certain I slept alone.’ The palace was crowded and all must share beds or chambers. Jehannes searched Owen’s face for his reaction, then nodded at his distress. ‘I pray Dom Lambert did not lie with Brother Michaelo. I noticed how they spoke, how they looked at one another.’

  ‘I did as well.’

  ‘Not that I believe that Michaelo would do this.’ Jehannes’s eyes begged Owen to reassure him. ‘He would have tried to dissuade him from taking his life, not encourage him.’

  ‘I pray you are right. I’d hoped that years of penance and service to the archbishop had changed Michaelo, purged him of his sinful passion.’ Later Owen would confide in Jehannes, for he trusted him above most men, but, for now, he thought it best to express suspicion. Indeed, it was possible he misinterpreted Michaelo’s injury. ‘Still, they say once one has murdered – or attempted murder – the barrier is far more easily crossed. He did try to poison Brother Wulfstan many years ago.’

  Jehannes was shaking his head. ‘He had been under the influence of an evil man.’

  Owen rubbed beneath his patch, his scar prickling as it did when he was deeply troubled. ‘I agree. It was a different time, he was young, and Archdeacon Anselm had poisoned his mind. But, if he has sinned, I worry how that might again poison his mind. He would be so ashamed. Listen to his prayers.’ Owen cursed under his breath. ‘His Grace needs Michaelo here and whole. The household needs him as well. There will be confusion and disorder enough when the company learns of what we’ve found here.’

  Jehannes crossed himself. ‘I know. I’ve ordered my servant to keep his tongue about Dom Lambert’s absence, which he will.’

  ‘It will be more difficult for him once he hears of this.’

  ‘I trust him, Owen. He will not fail me.’

  ‘Impress upon him the grave danger we all face here.’

  Jehannes nodded.

  Working to compose his mind for the work at hand, Owen thanked Jehannes for telling him of Lambert’s not having slept in his bed that night. ‘And thank you for riding out. Has the hunting party returned to the palace?’

  ‘Yes. The princess wishes to talk to you as soon as that is possible. She understands that you cannot predict when you might go to her, but she will wait for you. Her son began to protest, but she silenced him with a look.’

  Master Walter knelt down beside Michaelo, who had curled himself up once more and grown quiet. He sniffed his breath, lifted a hand and felt his pulse, probed along his back and his stomach, lifted an eyelid. Sitting back on his heels, he considered the man for a few moments, and then startled Owen by suddenly clapping several times.

  ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God!’ Michaelo cried out, struggling to sit up. He blinked rapidly, as if having difficulty keeping his eyelids up, and his movements were erratic, uncontrolled, unbalanced.

  Owen stepped forward, but Jehannes was quicker, crouch ing down and taking Michaelo’s hands, stroking his head.

  ‘Peace, Michaelo. You are among friends.’

  Michaelo looked at Jehannes, then all around, shaking his head. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, speaking barely loud enough for them to hear, his voice hoarse. ‘What is this place? Why am I here?’

  Owen crouched down beside him. ‘What do you remember?’

  Michaelo closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest, hiding his face. He began to mutter a prayer.

  ‘You will have time for prayer after you talk to me, Michaelo.’

  Though he did not intend to thoroughly question him here, Owen wanted to make a good show of it. He thrust a fist beneath the monk’s chin to lift his head, and, when Michaelo tried to turn away, he slapped him. Holding his burning cheek Michaelo glared at Owen.

  ‘At last. What happened here, Brother Michaelo?’

  ‘Why—’ Michaelo paused to clear his throat, wrinkling his nose at the state of his sleeve.

  ‘I found you lying in a faint beneath Dom Lambert’s body,’ said Owen.

  ‘Deus juva me,’ Michaelo whispered, fear widening his eyes, constricting his throat. ‘Hanged? It was not a dream?’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  Michaelo shook his head and then pressed his hands to his face.

  Owen leaned close and whispered, ‘Say nothing to anyone but me.’ Then he pretended to attempt to pry Michaelo’s hand from his face.

  Michaelo sank to the ground, moving his hands to the back of his head and pressing them there with such strength they could not be pulled away without injuring him.

  ‘Damn Wykeham,’ Owen hissed. He glanced up at Jehannes, who had looked on with sorrow. ‘Will you take Brother Michaelo in hand if Master Walter says he can be moved?’

  ‘Take him away,’ said Walter. ‘I believe his wounds are better tended by a priest.’

  Jehannes nodded.

  ‘If he is guilty, he must face his judgement. If he witnessed something, he may be in danger,’ Owen said to Jehannes, ‘and so might you.’

  ‘I am not afraid, my friend. This I gladly do for you.’

  Owen pressed his shoulder. ‘God go with you.’ He thanked God for a man so trustworthy as Jehannes.

  H
e called Tom over to bring a horse for Michaelo and Jehannes and to assist the former in mounting, and then left them to join Alfred where he stood beside the hanging tree.

  ‘I cannot explain how this could happen. You should hang me where he was swinging.’ Alfred’s hands, fisted, were pressed to his gut as if he would eviscerate himself.

  ‘I can’t spare you at the moment,’ said Owen. ‘You will have to bide your time for penance.’ He slapped Alfred on the back. ‘I pray we suffer no other such losses.’

  ‘The ladder – he hanged himself?’ Alfred finally brought himself to face Owen.

  ‘I don’t know. He would have had to fetch a horse and ride out here – surely someone saw him – someone besides Michaelo. I’ve ordered Gilbert to question all those on guard last night. The ladder looks like something he might have found out here. God help us if none of the guards noticed anything, for that would paint yet another problem. No one is to leave the manor, Alfred, and none are to be admitted but Magda, Alisoun, and Sir Lewis Clifford’s men, who will be returning from Nun Appleton. See to it.’ He need not mention the messenger to Winchester – he prayed that, by his return, which would take a while, they’d know what had transpired. But he must send yet another messenger to report Lambert’s death to Wykeham. He mentioned that to Alfred.

  With a nod, Alfred went off to begin passing orders to the guards.

  Master Walter chose to walk back to the palace with Owen.

  ‘The walk will help me forget Dom Lambert’s face,’ he said.

  ‘And prepare you to see it again.’

  The physician shrugged. ‘A moment of peace is better than none, Captain. The air in the wood is fresh, cleansing.’

  ‘I’ll have no peace until I know what happened there.’

  ‘God grant Brother Michaelo the strength to tell you, and soon.’

  Something about the physician’s tone caught Owen’s attention. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I have never before seen a hanged man, Captain, so it may be my ignorance, but the bruises on Dom Lambert’s neck seemed too wide to be the result of the rope’s pressure.’ He lifted his own long-fingered hands to his neck and pressed his thumbs to his throat, raising his eyebrows as he met Owen’s gaze.

  ‘You think he was strangled?’

  Dropping his hands, Walter shrugged. ‘As I said, I have never before examined a hanged man.’

  ‘I will look more closely.’

  ‘Brother Michaelo seems to run the household. Has he been long in His Grace’s service?’

  ‘Almost ten years.’

  ‘I understand he fell under the influence of Dom Jehannes’s predecessor as Archdeacon of York.’

  ‘Anselm. Yes. But Brother Michaelo—’ Owen caught himself before he denied the possibility that the monk might be guilty. ‘It is difficult to accept that he might have strangled Dom Lambert.’

  ‘Perhaps he had fallen under the influence of another manipulative man.’ Walter tapped his teeth as he thought. ‘But, if there is truth to the rumour that Dom Lambert failed in his mission for the Bishop of Winchester, then I should think it more likely someone is trying to silence him.’

  Owen had been turning that over in his mind. It seemed possible that whoever stole the documents might not want Lambert to remember something that, in hindsight, seemed suspicious.

  ‘I pray Michaelo regains his wits,’ said Owen. ‘How did you choose the sisters you brought to assist you?’

  Master Walter made a surprised sound. ‘You don’t think either of them strangled Dom Lambert and then hanged him?’

  ‘We don’t know that only one person committed the crime.’

  ‘Would a crowd not be noticed?’

  ‘Would not two men and at least one horse be noticed?’

  Walter nodded. ‘I see your point. I’m afraid I can tell you little about the sisters. They had already been chosen, and I was simply told they would assist me if I had need of them. I had never met either of them.’

  The physician paused to stare up into a great oak, his hood falling back, his neck straining as he looked up, up. ‘Soon these colourful leaves will turn brown, drained of moisture, and what this morning is a soothing whisper will be a sorrowful rattle causing one to shiver and think of the grave.’ He lowered his head and took a breath that seemed to expand him for a moment. Then he shook his head, his eyes sad. ‘I see so much death, Captain. I have looked into the eyes of Princess Joan’s husband, the once magnificent warrior, Prince Edward, and I have seen that his death is very near. I was one of many physicians summoned to examine him. That is how Her Grace knew me.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me without my needing to ask.’

  Walter nodded. ‘I count myself fortunate that I have no acquaintance with the Bishop of Winchester. He seems a dangerous man to serve.’

  Owen had not expected the physician to be so talkative. ‘It was a great honour to be summoned by the Prince of Wales.’

  ‘I have served his brother, the Duke of Lancaster, when he is in the shire,’ said Walter, his voice less comfortable. ‘I also serve the Bishop of Lincoln from time to time, as well as his esteemed guests. I’ve travelled with him to York on occasion. In fact, I knew your wife’s late husband – Nicholas Wilton? You are married to Dame Lucie, are you not?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You are nothing like her first husband. I say that with no intention of judging your worth against his; I pray you do not take offence. I merely wished to express my delight that Dame Lucie, about whom Nicholas spoke with such love and admiration, was accepted by the guild. They can be harsh with widows, and it is so unfair when we know that husband and wife worked together as one.’

  It had been Archbishop Thoresby’s influence that had kept the apothecary in Lucie’s hands. ‘God has smiled on my family,’ Owen said.

  ‘As I recall, the evil Archdeacon Anselm who led to Brother Michaelo’s downfall had a part in Nicholas Wilton’s death.’

  Owen remembered Geoffrey’s warning about Walter being a gossip.

  ‘Anselm? Not that I can recall.’

  Though he did not look as if he believed Owen, Walter merely shrugged. ‘I am curious about this healer, the Riverwoman. I cannot think how His Grace came to know her. Does Dame Lucie know anything about her?’

  On another day, when his mind was less weighted with serious problems, Owen would have laughed at the physician’s transparent appetite. But today he merely found it burdensome, yet another hurdle to clear. ‘There was a time His Grace forbade Dame Magda to enter York,’ he said. ‘But he has since witnessed her skill. All who do come to respect her.’ He was uncomfortable with the direction in which the physician was going with his questions, and glad that they were approaching the stables, a scene of milling people calling to one another, horses being shifted, and supplies being moved. Alfred looked up from a conversation with Gilbert and caught sight of them, waving to make sure Owen saw him. Sir Lewis and one of his men stood nearby, watching the activity and talking.

  ‘But this Riverwoman is not a Christian,’ Master Walter was saying, apparently intent on pursuing the topic.

  ‘No, Dame Magda is not a Christian, but she would give her life for another’s if that is what she deemed necessary. Perhaps she does not need all the prayer that most of us require to teach us to love one another.’ He bowed to the physician, who frowned as if trying to decide whether he’d been insulted. The safety of the palace was Owen’s first priority, not the professional pride of the little physician. He joined Alfred.

  ‘Is there anything else Gilbert should ask about besides whether anyone had seen Dom Lambert or Brother Michaelo since the feast?’ asked Alfred.

  ‘Other riders last night – one or several. Someone carrying a ladder in the woods.’ Gilbert had a good mind and was liked by everyone. The men would talk to him if they would talk to anyone. ‘Come to me with anything you learn,’ he said to Gilbert, and then moved on to Sir Lewis and his man. As he reached them, he heard them disc
ussing Princess Joan’s wish to be kept informed of his progress in discovering how Lambert had died.

  Lewis glanced up. ‘Here he is.’

  ‘I pray you, assure Her Grace that I shall keep her informed,’ said Owen.

  Sir Lewis nodded. ‘Captain, what do you think? Was Dom Lambert murdered?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Owen.

  ‘By Brother Michaelo?’

  ‘I pray he is innocent.’

  ‘I understand there was a ladder?’

  ‘Yes. The murderer might have used it, or Dom Lambert might have hanged himself. Either way, he is dead and a messenger must be sent at once to Winchester.’ Yet another. He wondered whether Wykeham would regret his interference.

  ‘I had not thought of that. Forgive me for delaying you.’ Lewis seemed embarrassed.

  ‘Do you know where Archdeacon Jehannes has taken Brother Michaelo?’

  ‘To the monk’s bedchamber, I believe.’

  Owen thanked him but did not depart at once, mentally scanning the list of those in Princess Joan’s party to see whether he had any more questions for Lewis. There was someone about whom he was curious. ‘Lady Eleanor did not join the hunt this morning. Is that unusual?’

  ‘She is ill at ease around the hawks, Captain.’ And Sir Lewis was quite obviously ill at ease about the question, though perhaps he was merely still uncomfortable with Owen’s abruptness. ‘You cannot be thinking that she hanged Dom Lambert?’

  ‘I merely asked. Eventually I hope to be able to account for everyone’s movements last night and this morning. Have you known her to avoid hawks before?’

  ‘I don’t recall her presence on any hunt. No.’ Lewis shook his head. ‘I cannot remember ever seeing her with a hawk.’

  Owen nodded. ‘You have been most helpful, Sir Lewis.’ He noticed Richard Ravenser crossing the yard towards them. ‘Commend me to Her Grace. Meanwhile, I have commanded my men to allow no one to leave the manor.’ He bowed to Sir Lewis and his companion and then went to reassure the archbishop’s nephew that he was doing all that he could to ensure the safety of Princess Joan and Thoresby.