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.’
‘The cold is unkind to aging bones, Captain.’ A stiff smile. ‘Shall we move inside?’
The precentor had been shifting from foot to foot and huddling deeper into his cloak. ‘Bless you, Thomas, it is cold out here.’
Little came of the talk in the chancellor’s hall, where they huddled round a brazier to warm themselves. The chancellor and the precentor seemed most keen to lay the trouble at each other’s feet. Thomas did not seem to connect the ‘Frenchman’ with anyone in particular, but Owen sensed the chancellor knew who might want Ronan dead.
Taking his leave of him for now, Owen reviewed with Michaelo all that he had noticed about the body so that the monk might record it when he returned to his lodgings. The stab wound, the injuries on the face suggesting a broken nose, the ice on the front of the hat. As if he had been pushed face down in the snow, then rolled over and stabbed. Whoever stabbed him knew how to do it, and where.
‘I cannot think of anyone in the minster liberty likely to be experienced with stabbing a man through the heart,’ said Michaelo. ‘Perhaps a guard?’
Owen approached the precentor, who was talking with Hempe. ‘Any former soldiers among the vicars? Or in service here in the liberty?’
‘One or two guards,’ said the precentor. ‘But I cannot think why any of them would attack Ronan.’
Master Adam led them to the deanery garden, where the other body had been laid out in a storage shed behind the kitchen. Looking at the damage to the head, Owen guessed the man’s neck had snapped on impact, killing him at once. A blessing of a sort. The man was short but muscular, younger than Owen, mid- to late twenties. His hands were calloused and scarred, his nails jagged, dirty. Yet he seemed a tidy man, his thatch of brown hair trimmed with care, face shaved, his clothing well made, a leather jerkin beneath a padded jacket and heavy wool cloak, good boots, with wear from chafing caused by riding. No marks of livery, but when Owen pulled up the shirt, the scars on the torso were those of a soldier or guard. This was no traveling merchant. All this he shared with Michaelo, Hempe leaning close to catch it.
‘I don’t like the look of him,’ said Hempe.
‘Nor I,’ said Owen. ‘He would have had the strength to be Ronan’s murderer. But the timing troubles me.’ He handled the man’s dagger, testing the balance, appreciating the quality. ‘Well crafted. He fell with his weapon sheathed. No time to draw it,’ he noted to Michaelo. It was not his dagger Michaelo had taken from the young woman. Glancing up at the precentor, who had been drawn aside by the servants guarding the body, ‘Now the blood’s washed off his face, do you know him?’
Adam sent his clerks off and returned his attention to Owen, his expression markedly less officious. ‘Know him? No, Captain. Nor can I guess what business he had in the chapter house. Or how he gained access.’
‘So the door would have been locked.’
‘The clerk assigned to the evening rounds yesterday says he found the door unlocked and rectified that. We have warned the masons time and again to ensure that they have locked the door behind them.’ The stonemasons at work on the Lady Chapel used some of the chambers above the chapter house to store tools and sketch plans.
‘When would the evening check occur? Shortly after the sun set?’ Which was about the time Michaelo recalled witnessing the exchange of cloaks.
‘An hour or two after that. Sunset is so very early in Advent.’
‘What about Theo? Had he locked the south door behind him when he came to investigate the singing?’
‘Forgive me. I did not think to ask. But I will.’
Thanking him, Owen turned to Hempe. ‘After I walk through their spaces up above, I would have some of them look to see if they find anything amiss. Care to join me?’
‘Of course.’
Turning back to the body, Owen opened the man’s mouth – gingerly, one side of the jaw crushed – and sniffed for any telltale scent of poison. Trouble breathing of a sudden, rushing up to the roof for air, becoming dizzy, falling … But he smelled nothing untoward.
‘Services have begun for the day,’ the precentor said at his back. ‘You will not disturb them?’
Owen turned. ‘You sent the lad to me, then went to the mayor to request my help. Have you changed your mind?’
With an apologetic shake of the head, Adam blessed them and asked God to guide them in their search.
‘Remember the list of those who worked with Ronan,’ said Owen. ‘And whether Theo locked the door behind him.’
‘Of course.’
As they left the dean’s garden, Owen asked Michaelo for his impression of Master Adam.
‘Risen above his capabilities, and therefore unbending in the rules as he understands them. Desperate for your help yet fearful lest you wrest control of his charges. He will do what he can, but with much complaint.’
Hempe chuckled.
‘And the chancellor?’ Owen asked.
‘He fears what you will learn about him in regard to Ronan. I hesitate to say this–’
‘I want to hear all that came to mind, Michaelo.’
‘I sensed no surprise about Ronan meeting a violent death.’
‘Do you think he might provide names?’
‘I believe he knows far more than he is willing to share.’
Hempe grunted. ‘Shall I collect him?’
‘On what grounds?’ asked Owen. ‘That we sense there is much he is not telling us?’
Brother Michaelo bowed. ‘I will deliver my report this evening, Captain.’
‘Tomorrow. You need sleep.’
The monk bowed again and took his leave.
Watching him gliding away through the melting snow, Hempe said, ‘I would never have believed you would accept his opinion on anything.’
‘Nor would I.’
‘So what changed your mind?’
‘Realizing that what I took as Thoresby’s insight benefited from his secretary’s keen observation. Better to have it working for me.’