by Candace Robb
‘He would not know what to fetch.’
Eleanor set down the cup and bent to Clarice to check Alisoun’s report, nodding as she straightened. ‘She is feverish, poor woman.’ She stepped close to Alisoun, looked straight into her eyes. ‘You will not gossip about what I’ve told Dame Clarice?’
In normal circumstances, Alisoun would be insulted, but she understood why Eleanor did not wish her to repeat what she’d heard. Others would easily read into the recitation the possibility of her being involved in Dom Lambert’s death. ‘I have already assured you that I am not a gossip, my lady.’ To report to the captain was not gossiping.
Eleanor nodded. ‘I shall stay with Dame Clarice until you return.’
Alisoun stepped out of the room and into the arms of Captain Archer. She almost cried out, but smothered her impulse with a hand to her mouth.
‘I would go in,’ he whispered.
‘Dame Clarice is dressed and presentable, Captain.’ She kept her voice as low as possible as well, though it was difficult to judge the volume over the loud pounding of her heart. She’d initially merely been startled, but the grim expression on his scarred face now frightened her. ‘What has happened?’
‘See to the fever powder,’ he said. She realised he must have been listening. ‘I am moving Dame Clarice to Princess Joan’s chamber. Bring the physick there.’ He let her go. She hurried away.
As Alisoun reached the stairway, she realised that the main meal of the day was being served in the hall. She’d not noticed that the morning had already passed. To her dismay, Sir John Holand was standing in a small group at the edge of the hall and straightened with a grin as he noticed her. She’d had a disturbing dream about him the previous night and now, seeing him, she could feel the heat rising in her face. She hurried to Thoresby’s chamber. She was surprised to find Magda there, sitting by the great bed, her hands folded on her lap, watching His Grace with a faint smile as he softly spoke. Alisoun thought she heard the words ‘Clarice’ and ‘daughter’. So he knew. Magda rose when Brother Michaelo ushered Alisoun in, and assisted her in choosing the appropriate powder. She suggested that Alisoun also take some sprigs of rosemary to scent the water for a cool compress for Clarice’s forehead.
When Alisoun stepped out into the corridor once more, she experienced a frisson of fear that it was deserted. She chided herself for making much of nothing, for surely Sir John would not approach her again. But suddenly he was there, and, in a few strides, he was beside her.
‘Shall we walk in the garden, Mistress Alisoun?’ He slid his arm across the small of her back and pulled her close.
‘I cannot, Sir,’ she whispered, finding little air for speech. ‘I must attend Dame Clarice. I’ve just fetched a powder for her fever.’ She glanced around, desperate to catch someone’s eye, but they were alone in the corridor.
He grabbed her free hand and kissed the back of it. He smelled of leather, horses and wine, a not unpleasant medley of scents, and he had his mother’s beautiful blue-grey eyes with thick lashes, but Alisoun could not breathe, for she could not believe that he meant her no harm. As if he’d read her mind, he tightened his grip.
Alisoun gasped. ‘Why do you want to hurt me?’
It was not what she’d intended to say, but it caught him off guard and he eased his grip round her waist just enough for her to spin away and pull out the dagger that Captain Archer had given her. She pointed it at Sir John’s face as she backed towards the hall.
Throwing up his hands, Sir John asked with a laugh, ‘What is this?’
‘It is my protection, Sir.’
He laughed again. ‘Why not just scream?’
‘I did not wish to embarrass you or myself.’
‘Embarrass you? You dim-witted, ungrateful girl. You should be honoured by my attention.’
Alisoun turned and fled up the stairs, sheathing the dagger as she reached the top. When the guard admitted her to Princess Joan’s chamber, she stood for a moment, uncertain which way to turn.
‘Child, what has happened?’ asked Ravenser, who stood near the high-backed chair on which the princess was seated.
Alisoun humiliated herself by bursting into tears.
With the assistance of Dame Katherine, Ravenser had moved Clarice to the princess’s chamber. Now Owen faced Eleanor alone in the small room, which was now so quiet that he noticed how loudly his heart was beating and wondered how Eleanor did not comment on it. She was a study in the beauty of earth tones and woodland sunlight, her deep gold gown, dark green surcoat, and delicate deep gold veil rich against her dark hair and pale, luminescent skin. With a whisper of silk, she stepped so close he could smell the rosewater in her hair.
‘How everyone obeys you here,’ she said with a teasing smile as she reached up and touched his scarred cheek. ‘But is this not too bold, even for you? There will be talk about us, my love. What if your apothecary wife should hear of our being alone together in a bedchamber?’
‘My lady, to my regret, I come to you on official duty, not to make love to you.’
Her lips separated a little as she took a deep breath that sent a shiver through her, and she closed her eyes. ‘I’ve thought of you so often, Owen.’ She looked up at him and again touched his cheek. ‘Why did we not leave Kenilworth together? Why didn’t you save me?’ Her dark eyes searched his face.
He was taken aback by the questions. ‘Eleanor, you were never mine to save. We knew each other but one afternoon.’
‘I meant nothing to you?’
‘So much has happened since then.’
She turned away from him, and, in a cold voice, said, ‘I don’t know why I thought you different from the other men I’ve loved, why I thought you would be true.’
‘Loved? You cannot mean that, Eleanor.’ He began to wonder whether she was a little mad.
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘In truth, you have no choice in the matter, my lady.’
She turned to him, her cheeks flushed. ‘What did that midwife’s apprentice tell you?’
‘Was there something to tell?’
‘You play with me, Owen, like a cat with its prey.’
‘I have no time to play with you, Lady Eleanor.’ He took her by the forearm. ‘You will come with me. We will both be more comfortable in His Grace’s chamber.’
‘His Grace’s? Why?’ She tried to shrug out of his grasp, but he held tight. ‘You are hurting me.’
‘I would not need to if you will accompany me without argument.’
‘Why? What is this about?’
‘You know full well what this is about, Eleanor.’
She stared at him for a moment, then bowed her head and ceased struggling. ‘As you wish.’
As they passed the hall, Owen noticed Richard Ravenser quietly talking to Sir John, whose crossed arms and flushed face threatened an angry outburst. He hurried Eleanor to His Grace’s chamber, not wishing to add the arrogant Holand to the already volatile mix.
Brother Michaelo’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed at the sight of Lady Eleanor. ‘His Grace is resting, Archer.’
‘He will rest much better after seeing us, Michaelo,’ Owen said, loudly enough for His Grace to hear.
But it was Magda Digby who called out to him to enter.
He felt Eleanor begin to step away, and, firmly taking her arm, he guided her into the room.
‘Michaelo, bring some wine,’ he said. ‘Your Grace, I present you with Lady Eleanor. She has been named by several as being likely to know something about the theft of Wykeham’s documents and the death of his emissary.’
Eleanor gasped. ‘Rumours, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘I call on your mercy.’ She bowed her head to him.
‘If deserved, you shall have it, Lady Eleanor,’ said Thoresby. He indicated that she should sit on the far side of him, opposite Magda. ‘I would have you stay, if you will, Dame Magda,’ he said. ‘I prefer having another female present, and, as ever, welcome your counsel.’
&
nbsp; ‘I would prefer a woman of the princess’s household,’ said Eleanor.
‘No doubt you would,’ said Thoresby, dismissing her.
Michaelo directed a servant to arrange chairs and pour wine, all the while watching Eleanor with curiosity. But he was called away as someone knocked on the door. It was Lewis Clifford, leading Owen’s second lieutenant, Gilbert, whose hands were tied behind his back. Richard Ravenser followed.
‘This is a sickroom,’ Michaelo protested when Owen joined him at the door.
‘I would have you go see to Lady Eleanor’s comfort and arrange three more seats, Brother Michaelo,’ said Owen, in a quiet voice. ‘I believe that you will find some satisfaction in what you are about to witness.’
When Michaelo moved away, Gilbert said, ‘God forgive me, Captain, I never meant to harm anyone in this household.’ He did not meet Owen’s gaze, but kept his eyes on the tiled floor.
‘But it sounds as if you did, Gilbert. What were you offered? Captain of Neville’s guard?’
Gilbert lifted eyes filled with remorse and fear. ‘Yes.’
‘Fool.’ Owen turned to Sir Lewis. ‘Where are Geoffrey and Alfred?’
‘They hope to deliver Lady Eleanor’s accomplice to you,’ said Lewis. ‘Your man has directed them to him.’
That was an unexpected boon.
‘Roger Neville,’ said Gilbert. ‘Lady Eleanor’s cousin and lover.’
‘A Neville.’ Owen nodded. ‘And you, Gilbert? What are you to my lady?’
Gilbert shook his head. ‘Naught but her pawn, Captain.’
‘Come,’ said Owen, to all three. ‘We will see what satisfaction we may have this day. Say nothing unless I address you, Gilbert.’
‘The nun is resting comfortably?’ Owen asked Ravenser.
‘She is.’
‘I saw you with Holand.’
Ravenser’s deep-set eyes seemed to sink farther into his skull and the set of his jaw spoke of a profound anger. ‘He had nothing to do with this, though he be a knave. More of that at another time.’
Owen gladly dropped that line of inquiry.
As Gilbert took his seat, Thoresby looked to Owen. ‘One of my guards? He has something to do with all this?’
Owen had watched Eleanor’s face as he invited the three men to approach the great bed, and he’d felt both sorrow and relief to see her blanch and drop her eyes to her hands. She’d been restlessly twisting the rings on her slender fingers, but now she grew still. Gilbert kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
‘Are we expecting more, Archer?’ Thoresby asked.
His face was drawn and slightly pinched, his voice bordering on breathless, Owen realised. He prayed that this would not prove too much for the ailing man, and yet surely he could not properly rest until the murders were resolved.
‘We may have several more to fit round your bed,’ said Owen. ‘Chaucer and my man Alfred are searching for Lady Eleanor’s cousin, Roger Neville.’
‘Roger?’ Eleanor whispered. All colour fled her beautiful face and she swayed.
In a swirl of confusing colours, Magda was beside her with a small cup of something she ordered the woman to inhale. With a sharp intake of breath, Eleanor began to cough. Magda held her shoulders until she breathed evenly. Then she handed her the cup of wine that Michaelo had set beside her.
‘Drink. Thou wilt not escape by inviting a faint, Lady Eleanor.’ Magda stood over the lady until she took several sips. Then, with a nod of satisfaction – Eleanor’s colour was quite noticeably improved – Magda returned to her seat.
‘Perhaps it would be advisable to begin at the beginning, Lady Eleanor,’ said Thoresby, nodding to Magda in thanks.
Eleanor seemed to collect herself, folding her hands on her lap, straightening. ‘My Lord Archbishop,’ she bowed her head to him. ‘As you have hooded me and hold my jesses, I have little choice.’ Despite her description of herself as a hooded and tied falcon, she used her quite uncovered eyes to include all in the chamber. ‘So be it. You shall hear my sad tale. And to begin, you should know that my husband is retained by Sir John Neville, Alexander’s father. I owe the Neville family my life, much to my husband’s displeasure.’ A tremor in her voice seemed to contradict her air of defiance, though it might be anger rather than fear.
‘His displeasure?’ said Thoresby. ‘And why is that?’
Owen admired Thoresby’s courteous tone and demeanour. Yes, this was how to approach Eleanor.
‘He believes that they have wronged him by supporting me, that they have proved ungrateful for his allegiance.’
‘In what way has their support offended your husband?’
‘Anything that eases my lot offends him,’ Eleanor said sharply, her eyes a little wild. But she caught herself. ‘Forgive me, Your Grace.’ She frowned down at her hands, shaking her head as if reminding herself what she meant to say. ‘To explain how I sold my soul is to ask you to reassure me that I had no choice. But that is a lie. I am finished with lies. I did have choices, and at each step I chose to go forward.’ Now she raised her eyes to his. ‘I stole Dom Lambert’s documents for the Neville family.’
The air seemed sucked away by all present, and the room became unnaturally still, so still that Owen heard the subtle rustle of silk from Eleanor’s now quite pronounced trembling.
‘How did you do this?’ asked Thoresby, in little more than a whisper.
‘I lay with him, God forgive me.’ She blushed and momentarily looked away. ‘Afterwards, as he slept, I studied the parchments so that my cousin who followed our company, a Neville kinsman, as you already know,’ she glanced at Gilbert, who blushed and looked away, ‘so that Roger might supply me with the number and size of replacements.’ She paused for breath, her hands breaking from the controlled grasp and clutching her elbows in an unconscious embrace. ‘Again I lay with Dom Lambert, and again he slept afterwards, helped by the wine I’d prepared for him, and I traded the blank parchments for the documents that the family was so keen to prevent His Grace from reading.’
‘If they had the documents, why did they want Dom Lambert dead?’ Thoresby asked.
Michaelo’s little sob caught Owen’s attention, but the others were focused on Eleanor and paid no heed to the monk who stood at a distance, guarding the door. Michaelo bowed his head and crossed himself.
Eleanor shook her head and, regaining control of her hands, folded them once more on her lap. ‘They did not want him dead. I had assured them that Dom Lambert had no idea of the content of his pack.’
‘Such a naïve man,’ Ravenser murmured.
Eleanor nodded towards him, her tension rendering the movement uneven, almost sharp. ‘Yes, Sir Richard, he was. I had teased him that it was a simple matter to break a seal, but he would not be tempted. So I had completed my mission for the Nevilles.’
‘Does this mean that you do not know who murdered him?’ Thoresby asked, though he looked at Gilbert, who flicked his eyes towards Eleanor and nodded.
‘God help me, I know all too well. I became so afraid.’ Eleanor took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I lay awake at night thinking of Dom Lambert discovering the blank parchments.’ She looked around at her audience with a yearning air, as if hoping to see their eyes light with understanding. ‘I imagined him suffering humiliation before this man, the great John Thoresby, Archbishop of York. How could he bear such shame? I was certain he would think of me, of our time together, and would realise that it must have been I who had tricked him. Who else? He’d guarded that pack day and night. Except after lovemaking.’
‘He said nothing of you when he discovered the documents had been stolen,’ said Thoresby. ‘He never spoke your name.’
‘More worthy than the rest, God grant him peace,’ she murmured.
She bowed her head. That was the moment when Owen knew for certain that she had murdered Dom Lambert, and his heart felt as if some demon had reached up from hell and clutched it in its blazing, inhumanly strong claw and yanked it, trying to wrench it from his bod
y. That such a beautiful creature could so cold-bloodedly hunt a modest man who had approached an important mission with such simplicity of heart.
‘Tell me that you did nothing to him.’ When Eleanor glanced up at him, Owen realised he’d said it aloud.
Now she spoke to Owen. ‘I wanted to leave the company, run away, to a convent if that was what they wished.’ The pitch of her voice rose and she spoke almost too quickly to articulate. ‘But, through Roger, I was instructed to remain where I was, that, as long as I did nothing, I would not call attention to myself, and that was crucial because I must still watch what happened when Dom Lambert presented the blank parchments.’ She looked around at the others, as if hoping for understanding. ‘My fear did not matter. I was never aught but an unwitting tool.’ For a moment she seemed distracted, as if listening to something that the others could not hear. With her hands on her knees, she leaned slightly forward. Taking a breath, she said, ‘I see now that lack of sleep and – I was unwell. I needed a confessor.’ She moaned, then shook her head. ‘In faith, I don’t know what would have saved me. I was convinced he must die before we reached Bishopthorpe. I had hunted him, now I would bring him down.’ She nodded to herself and seemed to calm a little. ‘I devised a way to loosen his saddle and I tucked a flask of drugged wine in it. He did not fall the first day. Nor did he drink from that flask. But the next day – it had not occurred to me that he would switch horses and saddles with his servant when the horse grew restive. But, when he fell, I knew.’ She hugged herself. ‘I was furious! Not sorry, no, I felt only contempt for the man. He’d noticed something was amiss and left it to his servant.’
A loud voice in the corridor turned the attention towards Michaelo, who reluctantly opened the door once more.
‘Eleanor.’ A man in elegant though travel-stained clothing stood in the doorway between Geoffrey and Alfred. His features were sharply handsome, his eyes hot with pain.
‘No,’ Eleanor whispered.
There was a shuffling of chairs as room was made for the latest arrivals. Magda coaxed Thoresby to sip something she had been heating on the brazier. Owen ordered Alfred to keep his murderous look to himself or Gilbert might not speak up when they needed him. Michaelo splashed his face with some scented water. Sir Lewis moved towards the door, then changed his mind and returned to his seat.