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A careful man, the chancellor. Owen learned little more, and left before his impatience became obvious. His lack of sleep threatened to impair his tact. He rose so abruptly that Michaelo looked up from his work, startled. He had almost forgotten the monk’s presence, he had been so quiet. He wondered whether it was an art Michaelo had perfected as a child, his ability to disappear in full sight, or come upon one with no warning, or whether it was something he had learned in Thoresby’s service.

Before continuing on to the shops of the gold- and silversmiths whose work had been included in Ronan’s hoard, Owen told Michaelo he wished to stop at home to make his request to Kate regarding her twin siblings.

‘If you do not require my services for this, I will withdraw to Jehannes’s house for an hour of prayer,’ said Michaelo.

‘Of course.’

At the bottom of Stonegate, Owen noticed that a line had formed in front of the apothecary, common at this time of year in the morning and early evening, but not so soon after midday. He avoided notice by using the garden gate off Davygate and hurried to the workroom behind the shop to see whether anything had happened, a fresh outbreak of the pestilence or some other illness rushing through the city.

Jasper bent over the long worktable in the middle, crushing precious stones.

‘Your favorite task,’ Owen noted.

A dramatic groan. Jasper displayed reddened hands. ‘I do it only to spare Mother’s hands and arms.’

Owen flicked at a gray powder on the hank of fair hair falling over Jasper’s eyes. ‘Why such a long line at this time of day?’

‘I closed for a while, to hear what Dame Magda had to say. When I opened up to sweep the entrance, folk poured in. They come for the gossip.’

‘And the stones?’ Owen had never known them to be in such immediate demand to warrant attention at a busy time.

‘Red Timothy asked me whether it was true that precious stones were good protection from fever. I should have said nothing, but it was something I know about and I started talking about the protective properties of some jewels, pearls, other stones …’ Jasper screwed up his face. ‘And then everyone wanted stone powder in their physicks. Now I pay for it.’

‘As do they. Raises the price.’

Jasper grinned. ‘That it does.’

‘Have you overheard any helpful rumors?’

‘No. Except that Tucker’s been injured. That’s a fact, not a rumor. We made up a salve for him, and Dame Magda went to see to him.’

‘Tucker the fiddler?’

Jasper nodded. ‘He lodged Ambrose, didn’t he? And the woman.’

‘He did,’ said Owen. ‘Who came to the shop for the salve? What sort of injury?’

‘His wife, Dame Judith. Says when she returned from market the door was swinging open and Tucker lying on the floor groaning, pressing a cut on his forehead to stop the bleeding. But it’s his back that’s bad. He fell backward over a bench. Now he cannot straighten to walk.’

‘Can he talk?’

‘Sounds like it.’

‘And Magda is with him now?’

Jasper nodded. ‘It seems a lot of trouble for two minstrels.’

‘Ah. Magda told you how Ambrose came to be here.’

‘She did. But – how much trouble could he cause the king of France with his story?’

‘Quite a lot if the prince’s brothers decide to blame King Charles’s men for his long illness and the loss of so much of the Aquitaine.’

‘But without Prince Edward to lead them in battle …’

‘Even so, son. I will talk to Tucker.’ Owen began to head into the shop to see how Lucie fared.

‘I would not go out there if I were you,’ said Jasper. ‘They will fall upon you with their questions.’

Which would do nothing to help Lucie and Jasper manage the crowd. ‘What do you hear of our guest?’

‘Deep in a fever sleep. Not pestilence.’ A shrug. ‘I’ve yet to meet her.’

‘Do not let Alisoun know you are so eager,’ Owen teased.

Jasper rolled his eyes.

Owen thanked his son and left. Out in the garden he paused. This morning’s serene blanket of snow now dripped and puddled, revealing leafless stalks and muddy paths. As he stood there the kitchen door opened.

‘Da! I’m baking!’ Gwen’s dark curls were dusted with flour.

‘That you are, my beauty,’ said Owen, picking her up and twirling her around. She might be eight years old, but she was still his baby and his darling, and he felt his heart might burst with the joy of seeing her well. She giggled and screeched until he reminded her of her brother and sister in the nursery, and their guest. As he lowered her to the threshold he put a finger to her lips, and was rewarded with a peck on his cheek and a throaty giggle.

Kate took his cloak and hung it near the fire. ‘Have you taken time for dinner, Captain? Most everyone’s already eaten, but there is plenty.’

‘I am hungry.’ Despite the bread and cheese with Jehannes. ‘Would you join me? I would have a word with you about the twins.’ He glanced at Gwen, considering how she might react to what he had to say, but she had returned to work, standing on a stool to reach the bowl of dough she appeared to be kneading to death, and humming as she did so.

Over a savory pie washed down with Tom Merchet’s ale, Owen explained what he needed of Kate’s siblings, Rose and Rob.

‘Of course they will agree,’ Kate said. ‘They itch to work for you again.’

‘Will your mother permit it?’

‘She will be glad to have them out of the house. Too wild to be of much use to her, except when she needs strong arms and backs.’

‘Should I speak with your mother, or would a message from you suffice?’

‘You have work to do. I will pass the word, and they will find you, never worry.’

As Owen rose to leave, Kate mentioned that Magda had arranged for Alisoun to continue to bide with them to look after the children and their guest.

‘She is not to attend Muriel Swann’s lying in?’ Owen knew Alisoun to be proud of the widow’s confidence in her skills.

‘Dame Muriel will not be neglected. Dame Magda will be there in Alisoun’s stead.’

That was not the issue. Alisoun could make the family’s life a penance if she resented the arrangement. Owen prayed she had chosen to stay of her own free will.

Gwen ran over to him as he sat to pull on his boots. ‘The angel sings like the sisters at St Clement’s,’ she said. ‘Is she a nun?’

‘She is awake?’

‘Mistress Alisoun said not to peek, but I heard her singing.’

‘What do you mean she sings like the sisters?’ Owen asked. Lucie had been educated at St Clement’s, and occasionally provided physics their infirmarian needed. She had on occasion taken Gwen with her to see the gardens.

Deus in something intende,’ she chanted. ‘Then Domine …’ She gave a solemn bow.

‘Well done, Gwen. Sing that for your mother. She might know what it is,’ he said. Convent-trained indeed.

‘Shall I spy on her?’

‘No, my love. She is a guest in our home and deserves our respect.’

Gwen rose on her toes and spun around. ‘I could dance for her and she might talk to me to keep me with her.’

Fighting a smile, Owen pretended to frown as he considered. ‘You might ask Alisoun whether in her opinion such a dance would be soothing for our guest when she wakes.’ He believed he knew what Alisoun would say to that. He kissed her. ‘And now I must be away.’ He thanked Kate for the food, and for giving Gwen a task.

Kate glanced up from her work. ‘She lifts my– Brother Michaelo! I did not see you step in.’

The monk stood in the doorway with a thoughtful expression. ‘I believe she was singing the beginning of the hours, Captain.’ He chanted the entire phrase. ‘I know how difficult it is to complete one’s daily prayers when not in community.’