by Candace Robb
‘How is my beloved?’ Owen crouched down and held out his arms to Gwen.
She came shuffling over and hugged him tightly. ‘Has she come to take Hugh to heaven?’
Lucie knelt to them, a protective hand on her daughter’s back. ‘No, my love, Hugh is out of danger.’
How could she be so certain? Owen prayed Lucie was right, but he still feared for his son, for all three of them.
‘He is sleeping off his victory over the fever,’ Lucie said. ‘You shall see. The woman is our guest.’ She leaned over to Owen, kissed his cheek. ‘Have faith in the healers in your household, my love.’
‘Forgive me. My mind believes, but my heart fears.’
She touched his scarred cheek. ‘I know. But Hugh’s forehead is cool, and his breathing is quiet. I am confident.’
He kissed her. ‘We have visitors. Hempe and Master Adam, the precentor of the minster chapter.’
‘Then you must go now,’ she said. ‘Find out what George and the precentor have come to ask of you.’
‘Will you come down?’
‘I will.’ Lucie took Gwen’s hand, and, with a kiss, commanded her back to bed.
‘Mistress Alisoun will sing to me?’ Gwen asked.
‘I will indeed, Mistress Gwenllian,’ said Alisoun, nodding to the two on the landing as she closed the door.
FOUR
Deaths on a Snowy Morn
‘I pray you forgive this early call, Archer.’ Hempe was stomping the snow from his boots on the stone step outside the door. ‘There are two bodies in the minster yard, and Master Adam has requested your help. The mayor has approved.’
The precentor had perched on the bench inside the door, struggling with his boots while casting a doleful eye at Kate, who was filling a jug with ale. An important man in the chapter, responsible for the vicars choral and for the liturgy, Adam was keen on being respected in the city. Of course all here would be respectful and hospitable, but in this household a man removed his own boots unless he was unable to do so himself.
Lucie pressed Owen’s hand. ‘Your first official assignment as captain of bailiffs,’ she whispered.
‘I was not so eager as this.’
‘Nor I. We may regret your decision.’
‘I pray you, take my seat near the fire,’ Michaelo suggested as Adam padded toward the hearth in his stockinged feet.
The precentor thanked him and sat down with a grunt. ‘You are good to receive us, Captain, Dame Lucie. Brother Michaelo was just telling us of your children’s illness. It is difficult to watch the little ones suffer. I will pray for them.’
‘I believe we are past the worst of it, God be thanked,’ said Lucie, ‘but your prayers are most welcome.’ She took a seat across from him.
Michaelo asked whether Theo had found anyone in the chambers above the chapter house.
‘It seems he frightened someone away,’ said Adam. ‘They knocked him over rushing from the chapter house. Theo had no time to move out of the way. Nor did he see who it was, though he had an impression of a large man. He is in some pain – a lump on his head and a sprained arm – but he will recover. I will send one of the clerks to your apothecary for anything you would recommend, Dame Lucie.’
She asked for more information about Theo’s injuries.
While they were talking, Owen joined Hempe where he stood warming his backside at the hearth.
‘Not a morning I want to be abroad in the city,’ said Hempe. ‘Why do murderers choose the most cursed weather?’
‘With the archbishop’s enthronement so near …’ The precentor paused to ensure he was heard.
‘Is this about the man who fell from the chapter-house roof and a murdered vicar?’ asked Owen.
‘You have heard of that?’ Adam glanced at Michaelo, who had moved to a bench a little away from the fire. ‘Yes, of course.’ His nose quivered as he closed his eyes and began again. ‘The fallen stranger is now removed to the shed behind the deanery. But the other soul – it has been a fell night for us, Captain – Ronan, one of my vicars …’
‘May God have mercy on his soul.’ Michaelo’s voice broke as he lowered his head in prayer.
‘A fell night indeed,’ Owen said. ‘And you believe he was murdered, Master Adam?’
‘There is some blood, though we did not investigate. We have left him lying in the snow, awaiting your study,’ said Adam. ‘The coroner should be there by now, but I wanted all left as it was until you have seen him. Will you come?’
Only now did he ask for Owen’s help, long after sending the young woman to him. ‘If the mayor has agreed, of course,’ said Owen, uninterested in forcing an apology fraught with righteous nonsense. With the woman sleeping in the solar and his suspicion about ‘Master Ambrose’ he would not rest until he knew the truth of the night’s tragedy. ‘I would see both bodies.’ And then the chapter house. Owen regretted that his conversation with Magda must wait, but this was more urgent.
The precentor rose. ‘I am most grateful, Captain Archer.’ He paused, cleared his throat. ‘As long as Prince Edward would not object.’
The relief that Owen had taken on the role of captain of the city’s bailiffs had lasted only so long as it took for the news to spread that he was also now Prince Edward’s man. His friends knew that he straddled both worlds as a means of keeping safe all he held dear, but some saw it differently, that he had divided loyalties. ‘His Grace knows and approves of my position in the city. Though I should note that the minster liberty is not the city’s responsibility.’
‘Peace must be restored before the nobles and ranking churchmen arrive for the archbishop’s enthronement. The mayor agrees.’
‘Of course. When Prince Edward’s representatives arrive I will convey to them your concerns.’
‘The prince is sending … But of course. Yes. I— Yes, I pray you, express my thanks, and that of Dean John and all the chapter.’
Owen bent to kiss Lucie. ‘I will send Alfred to you,’ he whispered. Alfred had been his second in command when he was captain of Archbishop Thoresby’s household guard. Owen now retained him and several others to serve him in his dual role.
‘To guard our house?’ she asked.
‘As we know nothing of the woman, I think it best. If Ambrose should come here seeking shelter …’
He watched her consider. ‘Of course.’
Master Adam had turned to Michaelo. ‘You brought the youth? Where is he?’
Seeing a benefit in letting the precentor believe their guest was a male, Owen took the question. ‘He is asleep up in the solar.’
‘Ah. He did seem a delicate lad. Sick, was he?’
‘No stomach for excitement,’ said Michaelo with a sniff.
God be thanked Michaelo caught the omission. Not that Owen meant to keep the young woman a secret, but she was an unknown.
‘Do you think him capable of murder, Captain?’ Adam asked.
‘He was in a faint by the time Brother Michaelo appeared at my door, so I could not say. We will know more when he wakes.’
‘Ah. Of course.’
Sitting down to pull on his boots, Owen suggested the others do likewise. ‘You will not want Ronan lying in the snow so long.’
Michaelo perched beside him, reaching for his own boots. ‘I will accompany you.’
Quietly, for his ears only, Owen suggested Michaelo follow his lead in how much to share about what they already knew, or surmised. ‘I must see the bodies, hear the stories, see how it all might fit together.’
‘To begin with secrets seems a precarious foundation.’
‘Even so.’
‘I will do as you wish.’ Michaelo bent to his boots.
Hempe was giving Owen a look that said: you will explain this over an ale in the York Tavern this evening. God grant Owen had something to share by then.
In the garden their boots punctuated the early morning hush, crunching and squeaking in the wet snow. Owen noted the slight warming of the air, not his ally in studying t
racks in the snow, though better than a dry, frigid wind blowing what had fallen into drifts. Trees shed the weight of the night’s storm, branches creaking overhead, showering them with snow as they passed beneath. Michaelo had fetched the sledge from the tavern yard and dragged it behind him. Before fastening the latch of his garden gate, Owen gazed back at the snow-laden linden, a grand old tree, the children’s favorite. God grant my children long, fruitful lives.
Beyond St Helen’s churchyard the men were able to walk four abreast, the street almost deserted with the snow, cold, and the early hour. The light was just enough now to distinguish colors, though not subtleties. Owen enjoyed the chill, refreshing after his sickroom vigil.
He asked Master Adam what he knew so far.
‘Just before dawn a clerk stumbled over a body in the snow, in the shadow of the chapter house. As I was praying over him, a servant came upon Ronan lying in a drift by the gate of the chancellor’s house.’
‘Whose servant?’ Hempe asked.
‘The chancellor’s. Master Thomas’s kitchen help.’
‘What else can you tell me about the body, besides some blood?’ Owen asked.
‘His face’ – Adam paused in the street, eyes wide with the memory – ‘such terror. Perhaps some bleeding at the nose? Some bruising?’ He shivered and resumed his pace. ‘I left two clerks to watch that no one disturbed the ground near Ronan, then went at once to the mayor to see about engaging you.’
‘You woke the mayor?’ Owen asked.
‘He is as keen as we are to make a good impression on the Nevilles. All Alexander’s kin will attend the enthronement, you can be sure. Neither the city nor the minster want them to hear rumors of a murderer loose in York.’
They would not be the only noble family descending on the city. This trouble might be but the first incident of many with a full complement of the powerful soon biding within the walls, a darksome prospect. He wondered which of the prince’s emissaries would attend. Geoffrey Chaucer? Perhaps. More likely Owen’s friend Dom Antony. Or Sir Lewis Clifford, a nobleman to deal with an ambitious clan.
‘I need a list of all those who represented our new archbishop when he was a canon here, who worked for him,’ said Owen.
‘He was seldom in residence,’ said Adam. ‘But I see your point, Ronan was Neville’s vicar. He would have had clerks advising him on matters that needed his attention. I will enquire.’
Owen debated whether or not it was time to divulge what he knew about Ronan’s encounter with the white-haired stranger. He would not share his idea about the stranger’s identity. If it was Ambrose Coates, he must know his purpose in returning to York from France before he could decide whether or not he was still someone who deserved his trust, whether or not he was a threat to the city or the realm. Ambrose’s longtime lover Martin Wirthir shifted his allegiances with ease, and had powerful enemies in the realm, including at the royal court. King Edward’s mistress Alice Perrers, for one. Owen must tread with care. ‘When did you last see Ronan?’
‘Master Thomas saw him last evening, in the minster nave, speaking with a stranger,’ said Adam. ‘French, from the style of his cloak, his long white hair. Ronan now wears that very cloak. Curious, is it not?’
‘How do you know that about the cloak?’ Owen asked.
‘Thomas came out to see what was amiss. Saw Ronan lying there. He recognized the cloak.’
‘What are we to make of that?’ Hempe muttered. ‘Chancellor sees him in the minster, then the man is murdered outside his gate in that cloak.’
What indeed. ‘An odd twist,’ said Owen. ‘I did not know Ronan. What can you tell me about him?’
‘Unlike most of our vicars, local men, many from St Peter’s School, Ronan came to us from Oxford,’ said the precentor. ‘Recommended to us by Alexander Neville.’ A shrug. ‘He held himself above his fellows.’
‘Resented?’ Hempe asked.
‘Not so much that his fellows would harm him, if that is what you are asking. But I did not often encounter him in the company of others.’
‘Which is why the chancellor noted seeing him with the Frenchman in the minster last night?’ asked Hempe.
‘Now that you mention it, yes.’
‘Did he live with the others in the Bedern?’ Owen asked. The vicars choral had their own compound in a section of the minster liberty, now boasting a sheltered cloister and a fine refectory.
‘He did. I can have someone escort you to his lodgings.’
Owen thanked him. ‘And what of our jurisdiction? Are the city bailiffs free to go about the minster liberty?’
‘As I sent for you I can hardly restrict you. Though if it is possible to limit the numbers, perhaps Hempe and whatever assistants you require, I would be grateful.’ Master Adam rubbed his arms, as if comforting himself. ‘Mourning our brother, preparing for Archbishop Neville’s enthronement – we are in danger of forgetting our purpose, our prayers.’
Prayers. That was the least of Master Adam’s problems in Owen’s opinion, but he agreed to limit the number of men involved. As did Hempe.
At the minster gate, the guard reported seeing no strangers come through.
‘What of other guards? None around the minster at night? Or near the homes?’ Hempe asked.
‘We’ve not seen the need to guard the minster at night,’ said the precentor. ‘Perhaps we have been unwise.’
‘At such a time, with the preparations for the enthronement, valuables being placed in the building, vigilance is essential,’ said Owen.
‘Yes, I do see,’ Adam murmured.
‘I will loan you some men for the nonce,’ Hempe offered. ‘Until we know what happened.’
‘More upheaval,’ the precentor sighed.
‘Not if we can prevent it,’ said Owen.
Adam cleared his throat, nodded brusquely. ‘Yes, of course. I would be grateful.’
As they passed the minster, morning prayers were in progress. Michaelo deposited the sledge where he had found it, at the door to the lady chapel.
‘Once you have shown me the body, feel free go to your prayers,’ said Owen. ‘I know it is your office.’
‘A kind offer, but no, I charged another with the task. I would see this through until Ronan can be removed to the Bedern.’
They cut behind the minster toward the chancellor’s house as the first rays of sunlight shone between the buildings of the Bedern. Almost at once, a fog began to rise from the freshly fallen snow as the light met the cold.
The vicar’s body had sunk into the bank of snow and was now only partially visible near the gate to the chancellor’s house. Owen sent the pair standing guard to find a plank onto which the body might be moved. As he had anticipated, the earlier blowing snow had covered any clues as to whether Ronan had been attacked here or elsewhere, and, if the latter, whether he’d been carried or dragged. Master Adam could not recall seeing any footprints or signs of dragging when he had viewed the body earlier.
‘I will have one of my men keep watch as the day warms,’ said Owen. ‘As the snow melts it might reveal lightly covered prints.’
‘I see why you are valued,’ said Adam.
Owen had learned that as a child in Wales, but he did not correct him. ‘Did you reach the man fallen from the chapter house soon after he fell?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Even in this cold he was still warm,’ said Adam.
‘And you were summoned here shortly after that?’
‘I had time to say but a few prayers over the fallen man. It could not have been long.’
‘So Ronan might have been the first to die,’ said Hempe. ‘Was he still warm as well?’
‘I removed my gloves to bless him and say prayers …’ The precentor frowned down at his feet. ‘Not so cold as to make me think he had been out in the snow for long, but not so warm as the other. I regret I cannot be more precise.’
‘Anything you noticed is helpful,’ Owen assured him.
When the men returned with a board Owen and Hemp
e helped them place Ronan’s body on it. In the process the cloak fell open. Blood soaked the squirrel lining over the chest. Owen crouched to examine the corresponding wound. He had been stabbed through the heart.
Once the body was settled, those gathered stood with heads bowed, their breath rising like smoke about their heads, as Master Adam said a prayer. Owen was about to give the order to take Ronan to the deanery when someone approached from the chancellor’s property.
It was Master Thomas himself, his long gown caught up in a belt so he might pick his way through the snow. The chancellor greeted all but the two clerks. ‘You are welcome to bring him into the house while we send for a cart to carry him to the chapel in the Bedern.’
After Owen and the precentor agreed to the plan, the chancellor stepped over to the body and bowed his head, whispering a prayer.
‘To look at him, one would guess he had lain down in the snow to sleep,’ Master Adam said as the chancellor turned away.
Hardly, thought Owen. Adam had been right about the bloodied nose, the bruising.
‘He would never be such a fool,’ said Thomas.
Spoken with some emotion. Was he Ronan’s friend, or more? Owen glanced at Michaelo, who was studying the chancellor with interest.
‘Had he cause to come to your home this morning?’ Owen asked.
‘At this hour?’ Thomas looked at him askance. ‘He would not be so bold.’
‘Unless he sought help,’ Hempe suggested. ‘Would he have felt confident you would open the door to him in need?’
The chancellor blinked. ‘I had not considered that. I would turn away no one in such a circumstance. He would know that. But your house is just beyond, Adam.’
Too eager to distance himself? Michaelo met Owen’s eye, raised a brow.
Hempe asked again whether he had been warm to the touch.
‘Touch him? No. And in any case I was wearing gloves.’
So he had not rushed out the door unprepared. ‘Were you on your way out?’ Owen asked.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘The gloves.’