The Guilt of Innocents (Owen Archer Book 9)

by Candace Robb

  ‘Magda never had cause to talk to him, though after some thought she put a name to him.’

  ‘Well then at least he wasn’t bedding with young women who needed your assistance to rid themselves of bastards,’ said Hempe.

  ‘Folk come to me for other reasons,’ the Riverwoman said, clearly angry.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Hempe quickly said, not wishing to antagonise her. ‘I am certain they come to you for healing far more often –’

  ‘Magda is weary.’ She stretched her arms to the sides, her clothing shimmering in the darkness. ‘Magda bids thee good evening, now. She has much work to do on the morrow.’

  Hempe gave her a little bow and wished her peaceful sleep, but that thought led him to thoughts of her lonely house. To Alfred he said, ‘The murderer might try to silence the Riverwoman, believing that Nigel betrayed him to her.’

  Alfred cursed under his breath. ‘You want me to watch over her tonight, am I right, Hempe?’ He made it sound as if Hempe were sending him to his doom.

  ‘I’ll send someone to take the later guard,’ said Hempe.

  ‘Why not you?’

  ‘I do not know her. I sense that you do, at least a little.’

  ‘She’ll not be pleased,’ Alfred grumbled. He looked over at where she was preparing her coracle for the crossing. ‘But she’s a good woman and a friend to the captain and his lady. Perhaps I’ll earn grace for watching over her. God knows that many folk need her.’

  Alfred turned and went to join her.

  As Hempe was weighing whether to begin talking to taverners or Master Edward, the goldsmith, he heard a strange barking sound. Glancing over his shoulder he guessed it was the Riverwoman laughing. He shivered and crossed himself.

  A full belly and the warmth of the hall made Jasper drowsy, but the captain was counting on him to listen and remember, so he fought sleep, wanting to hear all that Sir Baldwin said. There was so much to remember – that was his challenge today. Yesterday’s challenge had been the ride; Jasper had not ridden far in a while, so his thighs had been burning by mid-morning. When he’d dismounted at midday his legs had wobbled for the first few steps and he’d been grateful that no one was looking his way. Today’s ride had not been easy either, but it had not been as bad as he’d feared this morning when he’d awakened so stiff he’d worried he’d be unable to stand. But he’d managed to stand, and walk, and mount, and after awhile he’d gone numb, for which he’d thanked God.

  He had also been trusted to tell Hubert and his mother about Drogo’s murder. For a moment he’d been irritated that the captain had not warned him, but in the end he was proud to have done it. He would tell Alisoun how the captain had trusted him, indeed counted on him for a firsthand account. He wondered what she thought of his going off with the captain and his men. Edric could not boast of anything similar. He did not like to think of Alisoun and Edric together back in York, but he hoped that she was irritating him by imagining aloud what Jasper was doing. He often wondered whether she knew she was voicing things people would prefer not to hear, or whether she had missed being taught that before her parents died. Sometimes she seemed surprised by people’s reactions to what she said, but sometimes she seemed to be expecting a reaction. Jasper’s mother had always shaken her head and put a finger to her lips when he was blurting out what he should have kept to himself, and it had become part of how he thought. He sensed now when she would be shaking her head, and he’d stop.

  Alisoun. Jasper sighed through the knot in his shoulders. She was so smart, so pretty, and she had the singing voice of an angel. Strange how different it was from her speaking voice. But she wasn’t delicate like so many girls. She was strong, and that’s how she could be as skilled with the longbow as she was. She would have been fine on this journey.

  When he’d heard he would be accompanying the captain Jasper had been excited, but he had not given much thought to the long ride, the wind, the snow, the mud, and then the strangers’ houses they would be entering, interrupting their lives, asking questions that could be embarrassing. He had in the past imagined the captain chasing down murderers and sitting in faraway taverns telling strangers about his days as captain of archers for the Duke of Lancaster, maybe singing one of his sad Welsh songs while accompanying himself on a borrowed lute. But what Jasper had seen so far was nothing like what he’d imagined. He saw how much the captain disliked intruding on people to ask questions that made them uncomfortable. He could tell when the captain was reviewing the interrogations – there was a tension in his shoulders and his jaw, and his mouth twisted into a little snarl. Jasper found his father’s work decidedly unpleasant. He had felt unwelcome at Hubert’s home, despite Dame Ysenda’s courtesy, or maybe because of it. When she’d forgotten herself and spoken coldly to Hubert, who was very upset, Jasper had seen through her guise. She had been very careful about what she said and she’d seemed too pleasant in the circumstances, having been beaten by her husband and then deserted. Jasper was certain that both mother and son were hiding something.

  Being in their house had brought back strong memories of his life with his mother after his father died. He had wanted to protect her. He’d loved her doubly for being his only parent. He had disliked her being out of his sight. He would have done anything for her, given his life for her. He could see that Hubert felt that way about his mother. But Ysenda was nothing like Jasper’s mother, who had been soft-spoken, gentle, always loving, and had a beauty that was less striking but more compelling, he thought. Hubert’s mother had a prettiness that made him uneasy somehow. As if she would be trouble. Alisoun would be trouble, but in different ways – she chafed at the restrictions of being a girl, not at being loyal or honest. Sometimes she was a bit too honest. Maybe it wasn’t Ysenda’s prettiness, but something else.

  Sir Baldwin seemed an honourable man with a heart. Jasper liked him. Right now he sat by the fire, the scarred knight who’d fought bravely for his king, with a beautiful, large black cat curled up on his lap, gently stroking it as he talked to his guests.

  ‘Did you learn what the lad had lost?’ he had just asked. ‘What this pilot had taken?’

  When the captain described it, Sir Baldwin’s demeanour changed. ‘Where might Dame Ysenda –’ He gave the cat a pat on the bottom. Once the cat was down, Sir Baldwin headed towards the screened end of the hall, saying he wanted to check something, that they should all be at ease. Jasper leaned over to entice the cat his way, but straightened as Lady Gamyll joined them.

  ‘Where is my husband?’ she asked, looking round.

  Her face was not pretty, but she moved and spoke with such grace that she seemed beautiful. Jasper would rather a woman like Lady Gamyll any day to one like Ysenda de Weston. He was glad that Sir Baldwin had such a wife.

  After the captain explained Sir Baldwin’s absence, he said, ‘This is a beautiful hall. You must be proud of it.’

  ‘I shall be,’ she said with a shy smile. ‘I’ve only lived here for a few days, so it is still a little strange to me. I’ll feel more at home when my tapestries have been hung.’

  ‘You are newly wed?’ asked the captain.

  Jasper thought that a bold question, but Lady Gamyll did not seem to mind.

  ‘We’ve been wed for almost a year, but my husband thought it was best I remained with my family until he completed his mission for the king.’ She kept her eyes lowered as she spoke. ‘I am blessed that God granted his safe return.’

  As she spoke the last few words Sir Baldwin strode out from behind screens at the far end of the hall looking even more agitated than when he’d left.

  ‘The birthing cross is gone,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘I must ask Father Nicholas who last had it.’

  ‘Is there a problem, husband?’ asked Lady Gamyll. ‘Did you mention the birthing cross?’

  He looked at her and his expression changed, lightened. He must love her, Jasper thought, pleased with that. The captain looked at Dame Lucie like that, as if being with her made everyth
ing all right, worth every struggle, every effort. Just as with Sir Baldwin’s scarred face, the captain’s would soften and the scars would fade a little.

  ‘Yes, my love – have you heard of it? I’m sure I’ve not thought to mention it – yet.’

  Lady Gamyll blushed. ‘The servants mentioned it. They told me that when Father Nicholas sought it for a woman’s lying in they could not find it. I would have mentioned it, but I did not think you needed that worry just yet.’

  Jasper guessed the cross was a charm against trouble in childbirth.

  Sir Baldwin bowed to his wife. ‘That is most helpful. And now, my love, this is unpleasant business. I do not want you troubled with this.’

  Lady Gamyll needed no more signal, but rose and excused herself, withdrawing in the direction in which Sir Baldwin had just come. Jasper was sorry for that, but excited that there was something troubling their host that he would speak of.

  ‘The cross the boy lost – I think it almost certain it was the one that belonged to my first wife.’ Sir Baldwin remained standing. ‘I cannot imagine where Ysenda might get something so like it. They have little wealth. Aubrey has no true skill for farming. He’s a fighting man, not good for much else.’

  ‘You called it a birthing cross,’ said the captain. ‘What is that?’

  Sir Baldwin closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose as if it might help him think. ‘It was passed among the women of this parish as a charm for an easy childbirth. It was my first wife’s belief that it had helped her through difficult deliveries of our son and daughter, and she’d loaned it to our tenants’ wives, and then the villagers, until it became custom.’ He dropped his hand and for a moment the soldierly posture sagged. ‘She felt so sure of its grace. Few believe with such ferocity as she did.’

  Jasper could almost see the memories passing before the faraway eyes.

  Sir Baldwin straightened. ‘Perhaps Ysenda was with child when we left, and lost the child while we were away? But she should have returned the cross then, or passed it on. You say the boy found it among her things?’

  The captain nodded. ‘This complicates matters, that it is your property that Hubert lost.’

  ‘Probably mine. Most likely. How did Ysenda react to his confession?’

  Sir Baldwin grunted at the captain’s description of how she was first confused, then angry with her son.

  ‘She claimed Aubrey had given it to her before your departure,’ said the captain.

  ‘Unlikely.’ Baldwin took a few steps, as if he needed motion. ‘Were it anyone else –’ He curled his hands into fists and then, seeming to remember he wasn’t alone, he relaxed them. ‘This is most puzzling. I find myself annoyed, though I can imagine how it might happen, the lad sees a trinket, the purpose of which his mother would not have explained to him. The women of this parish will be unhappy about her carelessness, and they’ve no love for her as it is.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked the captain.

  Jasper was surprised by Rafe’s chuckling comment, ‘You’ve only to look at her, Captain. Pretty and willing. Teasing. Flirting with any man who comes along.’ He shook his head. It was the longest speech Jasper had ever heard him make. He was a quiet man, strong, not as quick as Gilbert. He usually let Gilbert do the talking.

  The captain grinned. ‘Oh aye, I saw that. But why would the women dislike her?’

  Everyone laughed at that, but it was short-lived laughter. Jasper thought that he’d been right to be uneasy in Ysenda’s presence.

  The captain was already back to thinking through what had happened. ‘I would like to know how Dame Ysenda obtained the cross,’ he said, ‘and whether another woman had requested it and was told Ysenda had it. Well, it seems not since the priest had come for it. How long before the birth do they usually ask for the cross? The lad took it at harvest time, and you and Aubrey left when? In spring? Did Aubrey mention her being with child?’

  ‘We departed in late winter. No, he said nothing of a babe, and he would have.’

  ‘Seven, eight months,’ said the captain. ‘I suppose she might not have told him yet.’

  Jasper was confused for a moment, then realised the captain was counting forward.

  ‘Your wife was not here while you were gone, but what of your son Osmund?’

  Sir Baldwin’s expression became unreadable to Jasper. ‘Yes, Osmund was here – in the sense that he’s ever here. But Father Nicholas would have come to the house for the cross. The women do not come on their own behalf. Modesty.’

  ‘I cannot think how the dead man would have heard of the cross, or known that young Hubert had it.’ The captain sat with his forearms on his knees, a faraway look in his eyes.

  Sir Baldwin shook his head. ‘You said he was a bargeman and pilot. I never engage barges. For my wool shipments I have my steward use merchants in York. They know about those things.’

  Jasper was still wondering what their host meant about Osmund. ‘Does your son conduct business?’ he wondered, then realised by the faces turned towards him that he’d said it aloud. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘No need,’ said the captain. ‘That is a good question.’

  ‘He doesn’t,’ said Sir Baldwin. ‘He pretends to be dull-witted about running the estate so that nothing is expected of him, though he’s a clever young man – too clever, perhaps. My steward saw to everything while I was away. No, I can think of no way the theft of the cross might involve anyone in my household.’

  ‘I would still like to talk to your son about estate matters while you were away,’ said the captain.

  ‘He’s not here. In York, I believe. As is Father Nicholas. He’s seldom here. More than a little negligent of the souls in his care.’

  ‘Has Osmund business in York?’

  Baldwin shrugged. ‘You’ll think this strange, but I let my son go about his life as he will. I suspect he’s up to something reckless, but I would not venture to guess what it might be.’

  Jasper could see that the captain was disappointed, but he quickly moved beyond that topic. ‘Is it possible that Aubrey de Weston is somewhere on your land, Sir Baldwin? Does he perhaps come here when he’s fought with his wife?’

  ‘There are a few men he drinks with,’ Sir Baldwin said. ‘It is possible.’ He did not sound very hopeful.

  ‘Could you have someone escort my men around, just to make sure he isn’t right under our noses?’

  Sir Baldwin rose. ‘I will. And you must stay the night, all of you. There is room in this hall for you, and you are most welcome.’

  Jasper silently said a prayer of thanks.

  Though it was the end of twilight, Hempe walked along the waterfront towards the castle on the chance that he might cross paths with someone who had seen Nigel that afternoon. He stumbled when he picked up speed, and the waterfront was so far mostly deserted, so he spent the time arguing with himself about why he was bothering. In the daylight he would find many people gossiping here. To walk here in the morning was much more likely to be useful than this stroll in the freezing dark.

  The river sucked at the mud and the wind sighed around him. He noticed those sounds more than the steady rush of the river; they were more human, more intimate sounds. He could not recall the last time he’d been so alone, surrounded by a veil of darkness, with little to hear over the river and the wind. The Riverwoman chose to live in such isolation. He wondered how long it would take to become accustomed to such a silence; it turned him in on himself. It felt like the time to pray. He prayed for the souls of Drogo and Nigel, and for Drogo’s family.

  As he walked along the friary wall his prayers changed, focusing on himself and Owen Archer. He had learned a great deal from Archer. He found it comfortable working with him again. It gave him a confidence that made no sense, but felt good. He was glad there were men like Archer in the kingdom, who put the skills they’d honed in war to a peaceful purpose that benefited the people, not the nobles. Too few cared about the people.

  He smiled at himself – a
philosopher of a sudden – and decided to give up for the night. Turning upriver once more, he almost tripped over something that by its squawk he discovered was a lad. He caught hold of cloth as the boy tried to flee.

  ‘Who are you?’ Hempe demanded.

  ‘No one, sir. No one to you.’ The boy tried to make his voice reedy and frightened, but it rang falsely.

  ‘What is a lad doing on the staithe in the dark?’

  ‘Just walking, sir.’

  Hempe wished his eyes would adjust to the dark so that he could make something of the lad he held. Why had he not noticed him before? Had he been that lost in his thoughts, or had the lad been stealthy?

  ‘Were you set to follow me?’

  A weak laughter. ‘In the dark?’ the lad asked, elongating the last word. He kicked at Hempe and broke his hold. Hempe reached with both hands, but the lad was gone. He could hear him splashing in the tidal mud, but he could not catch him.

  ‘A curse on you!’ he shouted, for no reason but that it spilled from his open mouth.

  Cursing himself he headed for the nearest tavern.

  The balding guard seemed disturbed by the whisper of the river that filled in the silences between the fire’s pops or the occasional conversation.

  ‘I should go without,’ he said, beginning to untangle his legs.

  Magda and Alfred were sitting close to her fire circle on low stools, sharing a fish stew.

  ‘Thou needst not. Magda will notice sounds out of place.’ But she nodded as Alfred mumbled an excuse, understanding that he was not in the habit of trusting the ears of the elderly. She had been surprised by the hawk-like bailiff’s concern for her safety. It did not matter that it was unnecessary. But something was nagging at the back of her mind, a worry that she hoped would come forward.

  When Alfred returned to his stool, apparently having found nothing amiss outside, he asked, ‘Do you never feel too alone here, when the river rises round you?’

  ‘Nay, then the Ouse is Magda’s protector,’ she said, ‘and her ears can rest easy.’