by Candace Robb
Emma was nodding. ‘I pray the Gamylls are not taking Chancellor Thomas’s side against Nicholas’s school?’
‘I’ve no idea. I am merely curious. His Grace is preparing a letter introducing me to Sir Baldwin.’
‘Oh. That should be helpful.’ Emma looked relieved. ‘As I recall Sir Baldwin’s new wife was not moving to the manor until he returned. She must be a happy woman.’
Owen was glad to leave Lucie and Emma to their cloth samples, having many people to talk to before he returned to prepare for the journey. But at the door he turned, remembering that he’d not wished to disturb Jasper in the shop.
‘I’ve not told Jasper about Weston. The shop was busy.’
‘He will be told,’ said Lucie. ‘I shall enjoy giving him such news – he’ll be delighted. Though I can feel my own worries rising.’
‘I’ll bring him safely home, my love.’
Lucie blew him a kiss.
A biting wind caught Owen’s breath at the street corners, but the snow had not resumed. He thought it wise to pray for a few days of still, mild weather, though November in the North was seldom favoured with such days. At the statue of the Virgin by St Mary’s gates he paused, bowing his head to pray for Drogo’s soul. He noticed that the man beside him wore the abbey livery.
‘Did you know Drogo?’ Owen asked.
‘Aye, and you?’
‘No. Abbot Campian has asked that I try to discover what really happened last night.’
‘Good. That is good. I’m Hal. You’re Captain Archer, aren’t you?’
‘I am. Did you know him well?’
‘As well as any of us on the barges did. He wasn’t much of a talker until he was drinking, and when he was drinking I wanted no part of his company.’
‘Drogo was an angry man in his cups?’
The man nodded. ‘Violent sometimes, which you’ve no doubt already heard.’
Nodding, Owen said, ‘I would like to talk to your fellows on the barges. Would you accompany me?’
‘With pleasure, Captain.’
They were watched with curiosity by the men on the staithe, almost all of whom wore the abbey livery. Hal introduced Owen, and once they understood what he wanted they seemed eager to answer Owen’s questions. Unfortunately they were able to provide little new information. No one recalled seeing Drogo and Master Nicholas together.
‘But he was secretive about many of the trips that took him away down the river,’ said the man who did most of the talking for the group.
Several nodded.
‘Drogo was often away?’ Owen asked, happy to sense in the group an eagerness to talk.
‘Oh, aye,’ said the spokesman. ‘We sometimes wondered why he wore the abbey livery. There are other pilots in the city, but none work as much as he did.’
‘Pilots are paid well, you see, and abbey bargemen live tolerably well,’ said an older man who had been whittling while listening to the others.
Another man said, ‘Yet his wife and daughters wear rags and eat no meat.’
‘Aye, he’s right about that,’ said Hal.
‘He drank his earnings,’ said the spokesman.
The whittler vigorously shook his head. ‘He’d never make it out of bed if he drank so much as that. And the wife and girls are not ragged.’
‘What do you suppose he did with the money?’ Owen let his eye rest on each man in turn, but he saw no sparks of insight. The spokesman merely shrugged. Owen tried another approach. ‘You said he was secretive about many of the trips. Why was that, do you suppose?’
‘He’d talk in riddles,’ said the spokesman.
‘Aye. I stopped asking him,’ said another man. ‘He made no sense.’
‘Smuggling,’ said another, ‘that is what I thought he was about.’
‘Then why not spend the coin?’ asked the spokesman of the others.
‘Mayhap he had another family downriver,’ the whittler suggested with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
‘Not him, Sly Pete,’ said the man sitting next to him. ‘He was the ugliest among us!’
That raised some hearty laughs, though the spokesman remained grim-faced.
‘We have no proof of another family,’ he said.
Owen left them with a plea to come to him or to leave word in the shop about anything they might recall about Drogo, assuring them that anything might be useful.
He could still hear them arguing as he entered the abbey gate. It was quiet once inside, and he was soon in the abbot’s house, comfortably seated in the abbot’s parlour.
After he recounted to Abbot Campian his conversation with the bargemen Owen asked, ‘Why did you maintain him in the livery if he was so often gone? Did you not know about his absences?’
The abbot had listened without apparent interest. Now he frowned a little. ‘I knew. But the others did not complain, and more importantly he was an excellent pilot so he’d been of use to me. When we ship our wool we want it safe.’
It seemed to Owen the abbey was wasting riches better used elsewhere if it retained a pilot/ bargeman who was seldom at his station, but he kept that thought to himself. He was about to take his leave when George Hempe was announced.
Campian glanced at Owen. ‘Would you care to stay?’
‘I would,’ said Owen, curious whether Hempe had learned anything new. He resumed his seat.
Hempe removed his hat as he entered the room, exposing his bald head, which, with his hawk-like nose and dark, beady eyes made him look like a bird of prey. ‘My lord abbot,’ Hempe said in a deep, inflectionless voice as he bowed. Catching sight of Owen as he rose, he said, ‘Archer.’
Owen nodded to him.
‘I am curious what business a city bailiff has with me,’ said the abbot, motioning Hempe to take a seat.
‘The dead man’s wife claims that her home was searched while she and her daughters were at the abbey last night, my lord. I’d hoped you might know whether that was a likely claim.’
Abbot Campian turned to Owen. ‘What say you, Captain?’
Owen was, of course, very interested in this bit of news. ‘How does she know it was searched?’
Hempe almost smiled. ‘So you think it is likely to be true.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Things were moved about, more than a stray animal wandering in might do. A jar was knocked off a high shelf. And the clothes in a chest were in disarray. There was also lamp oil on the floor where there’d been none.’
‘I would guess someone is looking for the contents of young Hubert de Weston’s scrip,’ said Owen.
‘I thought the same.’ Hempe looked down at his feet, then up at the abbot. ‘My lord, was Nicholas Ferriby in the abbey grounds all evening?’
‘Master Nicholas?’ Owen said before the abbot could respond. ‘Drogo’s mates don’t believe he knew the schoolmaster.’
‘He was here all evening,’ said the abbot. ‘He slept here because of the mood of the crowd when he kindly stopped to pray over a dying man.’ The usually impeccably composed Campian flushed a little. ‘Do you suspect a grammar master of ransacking the dead man’s home? What foolishness is this?’ Campian stared at Hempe until the bailiff looked away.
The abbot’s emotion surprised Owen. George Hempe had a rough way about him, but he was respected in the city. Campian must be quite upset about Drogo’s death.
Hempe rose. ‘Forgive me, my lord abbot, I meant no discourtesy. I will call upon Captain Archer with any further questions.’
Campian also rose, slowly shaking his head. ‘It is I who must apologise. I was not aware how disturbed I was by the witless crowd last night. You have had only rumours with which to work. Now the captain can supply you with more accurate details.’ He bowed to both of them. ‘I pray you, go about your good work and return peace to this abbey.’
Owen followed Hempe out of the abbot’s parlour. ‘I’ve never seen the abbot in such a temper,’ said Owen as they walked out into the cold afternoon.
‘No matter.’ Hempe paused and waited unti
l Owen looked at him. ‘What was in the lad’s scrip, Owen?’
‘I still don’t know. But if God wills it, I’ll know soon.’ He told him his plan.
Hempe rubbed his head and then covered it with his felt hat. ‘I don’t like the smell of this, I’ll tell you that. And I’ll tell you something else – I didn’t ask you about Ferriby only because of some gossip trying to excite people. As I left Drogo’s house a lad told me he’d seen the man at Master Nicholas’s school.’ He waited for Owen’s reaction.
Owen cursed. ‘Who was the lad?’
‘Jenkin, Will Carter’s son. To hear Will talk, his son is a wizard and it’s the dean and chancellor’s loss that they did not accept him into the minster grammar school, and Nicholas Ferriby’s good fortune. The lad did seem quick.’
‘Not quick enough to realise he was harming his master by speaking up,’ said Owen. ‘But we must be grateful for his unwitting help. I will want to talk to the lad when I return.’
‘I thought you would.’
Thoresby would not be pleased with this possible connection. Nor was Owen. Nicholas had denied knowing Drogo.
By now they were out on the street just without Bootham Bar. A couple with a cartload of goods and a pair of wealthy merchants on fine horses were waiting to pass through the gate. Owen and Hempe joined the line.
‘I’m relieved that this is in your hands,’ Hempe said.
‘I pray that feeling is justified,’ said Owen, not at all sure himself. He’d spent the better part of a day talking to people but had learned precious little.
He parted with Hempe once through the gate. It was about the time at which Drogo had gone into the river the previous day. How quickly the lives of the pilot’s family had changed. How suddenly life had lost its certainty for them.
In the early hours, with a dusting of snow falling on frozen ground already thinly covered, Jasper shivered and stomped as he waited for Kate to fetch the food she had packed for them.
‘Perhaps you need more clothing,’ Owen said.
Jasper grunted and shook his head. ‘I’m like this in the morning. I cannot get warm, and then when I truly wake I’m comfortable. I’ve always been this way.’
Owen did not recall that about Jasper, but by questioning him he might undo all the good he was accomplishing by taking him along to Weston. They’d had too many arguments of late, the lad being far more sensitive to any perceived slight than he’d been in the past. Owen did not feel safe suggesting anything or asking for assistance in any task – Jasper would take it as a complaint, or criticism. Lucie said he was suffering growing pains, but Owen wondered whether the troublesome Alisoun had something to do with it. He was hoping that this journey might rekindle the old camaraderie he sorely missed with Jasper. In the past they’d enjoyed archery and gardening together, both skills that Owen had taught him – he’d been an enthusiastic student. He missed their comfortable conversations, the delight of being sought out for advice.
They headed for the palace stables, where Rafe and Gilbert were to meet them. Once in the stables Jasper did appear comfortable, though that might have more to do with the warmth from the horses than his clothing. Owen had taught Jasper to ride when they travelled between York and Lucie’s manor of Freythorpe Hadden, and he’d taken to it quite well. But this was a longer ride, and the weather increasingly unpleasant. Owen wondered whether he’d been premature in bringing Jasper. He laughed at himself and resolved to stop fussing about Jasper’s comfort. It appeared that the lad considered himself in good company. He and Rafe, one of Owen’s youngest men and sometimes a bit too gregarious, were discussing the merits of various saddles, and Gilbert had already managed to compliment Jasper, inspiring a proud smile. Owen relaxed. Jasper had been through more in his fourteen years than Owen had been through when he became an archer for the Duke of Lancaster.
Two grooms had been instructed to escort them, leading the horses from the stables and through the city, across the Ouse Bridge and out Micklegate.
Owen walked beside Jasper, who gazed around as if seeing the city for the first time. The bridge particularly seemed to delight him.
‘You’ve crossed the Ouse many times,’ said Owen.
‘I cannot believe I’m here with you, Captain,’ Jasper said, his smile radiant for a moment, after which he self-consciously straightened his mouth and affected a bored expression.
Seven years? Eight? He still called Owen ‘Captain’, never ‘Da’. But neither did he call Lucie ‘Ma’. Perhaps that was asking too much of him, for the lad had deeply loved both his parents, and still mourned them.
‘Sometimes I cannot believe how you’ve grown,’ said Owen. ‘I must remember to take advantage of you while you’re still in the household.’
Out in the countryside the snow brightened the ground, providing contrast with shapely limbs and dark junipers, stone walls and houses. But it also dampened the riders and Owen’s companions all expressed relief when he decided they would stay in Wetherby for the night so that they might reach Hubert’s home in daylight.
While Gilbert and Rafe flirted with the innkeeper’s pretty daughter, Owen and Jasper sat in a corner near a crackling fire and discussed the changes that might occur with the new baby, and whether it made a difference whether it was a boy or girl. Having exhausted that subject, Owen took the opportunity to review with Jasper what he knew about Hubert, Drogo, and Nicholas so far.
‘You think Master Nicholas is lying, don’t you?’ Jasper commented when Owen paused. ‘Do you think it has to do with his school?’
‘You’re a scholar at St Peter’s. Have you any guess what might have been in Hubert’s scrip?’
Jasper, sitting forward with forearms on his thighs, trying to be subtle about stretching his sore muscles, shook his head. ‘Coins, perhaps? I don’t know. What could he have to do with Master Nicholas’s school?’
‘The grammar master is Hubert’s parish priest,’ Owen noted.
Jasper looked up at him. ‘Do you think it was something belonging to Master Nicholas? Something that the dean and chancellor might find helpful, something that would help them close his grammar school?’
This conversation was proving more useful than Owen had anticipated. ‘That might explain why the lad kept it so close to him,’ he said, ‘but what about Drogo? Why would he want it?’
Frowning down at the rushes, Jasper was quiet for a while. Owen went over to his men to remind them that they had a long ride on the morrow, and they might wish to stop drinking now. Gilbert nodded and pushed aside his tankard, but Rafe stared down into his and sighed.
When Owen returned to the snug corner, Jasper was shaking his head.
‘We’ve nothing to suggest what it might have been, do we?’ he asked. ‘Nor why Drogo wanted it.’
Owen agreed. ‘I think it might be best if we forget what we think we know and listen well to whatever Hubert and his mother might have to say. What sounds at first unimportant might be the very detail that will lead us to the truth.’
‘I’ll watch their faces, too,’ said Jasper.
Owen was proud of him. ‘Speaking of faces, it seems to me your face has been saying you’re not fond of Edric. Is he dull witted?’
Jasper ducked his head and mumbled, ‘He’ll do.’
‘I am not chiding you. Just talking. He has said little to me, so I don’t know him well at all.’
‘He works hard and means well,’ said Jasper, ‘but –’ He sighed.
Owen poked his head close to Jasper’s. ‘Tell me.’
‘We laugh at different things. Have fun different ways. I wouldn’t choose him for a friend.’ He shrugged, and made a face as if certain what he’d said made little sense.
‘I see. He’s not making you unhappy, he’s just not much fun.’
Jasper screwed up his face. ‘I think the worst part is that he tries to be fun.’
Owen laughed. ‘For me, the one who annoys me is Alisoun. She is such a brown, brittle young woman.’
; Jasper had straightened and now looked into the fire as he spoke. ‘Hugh and Gwenllian love her.’ His voice was a little tight.
So this was where his trouble lay. Owen and Lucie had wondered whether it might be so. ‘I think you like her as well.’
Jasper shrugged. ‘She can’t be bothered with me since Edric came. We’ve not gone together to St George’s Field to practise at the butts since then, have you noticed?’
Alisoun was a skilled archer, as was Jasper. It was their shared interest that had made possible their friendship. At another time Owen might be relieved to hear that the friendship had soured, both of them needing more maturity, but he heard in Jasper’s voice and saw on his face the distress that he felt. Owen did not wish that on Jasper.
‘Alisoun will soon return to Magda Digby’s service. Edric will have no cause to go there, but you might.’ Owen grinned.
Jasper said nothing. Owen decided he’d pried deep enough and said all that needed to be said.
Four
FLOATER
For Lucie it was always so. No matter how often Owen left the city, on his first day away she felt a vague unease and tried to devise work that would so occupy her that by the time she was finished a few days would have passed. But that did not help the nights, unless the work was both physical and mental and she could fall into bed exhausted. In summer a garden project might suffice. The apothecary garden planted by her first husband was extensive, supplied much of what she sold in the shop, and she enjoyed working in it. But in November, in late pregnancy, gardening was out of the question. She was mentally and physically uncomfortable at night. She often treated the children to a night in her bed, but in her stage of pregnancy it was infeasible, for she would keep them awake with her fidgeting about in bed, her pacing, and her occasional tears.
So she was out of sorts after Owen and Jasper’s departure, until she remembered that Edric would need her in the shop most of the day. Once Alisoun departed for her classes and Aunt Phillippa seemed settled with the children, Lucie asked Kate to walk through the garden to the apothecary shop with her. As they passed through the workshop she pointed out a high stool for Kate to carry into the shop.