‘You would not tell me if you had,’ said Owen. ‘Whom do you serve?’ A yank.
Pit cursed. ‘Sir John Neville.’
‘Why is he interested in the minstrels?’
‘He thinks them spies.’
‘And your orders?’
‘What do you think?’
Yet he was confessing to Owen. ‘Why are you here now? Did you suspect the men lying on those slabs were the minstrels?’
‘No. I come to claim my friend.’
‘Which one might he be?’ Owen released him.
Nursing his arm, Pit moved to the drowned man, the one Edwin might have recognized. One of Neville’s men. That made sense.
‘Gareth was following one of the minstrels, the older man. We were fools to move about without lanterns in the winter dark.’
‘You say he was following one of the minstrels. Where were you?’
‘We’d argued about which one to follow. I tracked one to the chancellor’s house. As he entered and took off his hat I saw he might be wearing the cloak, but he was balding.’ A deepening frown. ‘Gareth chose the other for the way he walked.’ His voice had gone gruff.
‘What did you do then?’
‘Went looking for the other minstrel, the younger one. He’d gone into the minster, but I thought by then he might have returned to his lodgings. No sign of him. Downed a few tankards at an alehouse and stumbled to my bed. Gareth still wasn’t back when I woke. Thought he might be waiting for me in the minster yard. Didn’t really think he’d be so daft but I had to do something. Someone was pacing back and forth in front of the chancellor’s house.’
‘Could you identify him?’
‘No. Still dark. And snowing.’
‘How did you know it wasn’t Gareth?’
‘Didn’t move like him. So I gave up. Reached the hovels on the north side when I heard a cry. Ran back.’
‘What did you see?’
‘I heard a shout up above, on the chapter-house roof, I thought. Sounded like a scuffle. Then a sound nearer to hand, where the one had paced. Moved toward it and a body hit the ground. Just missed me. God help him.’ A pause. Cleared his throat. ‘Thought I’d best disappear or I’d be caught up in it.’
‘Would you recognize the voice calling from the roof?’
‘Shouts are shouts. I could see nothing but shadowy shapes. Even the man who fell, could not really see him. Just the snow darkening.’ He glanced over at the corpse and crossed himself. ‘Is that him?’
‘It is. Have you seen him before?’
A nervous swallow, a shake of the head.
‘Take a close look.’
He did so, lingering on the ruined face. ‘No.’
Owen sensed a lie. ‘You were to follow the two minstrels and then what?’
‘See who they met.’
‘Why?’
‘My lord did not say. Only to return to report where they are, who took them in.’
‘Not kill them?’
The man crossed his arms over his chest and averted his eyes.
‘They lodged with Tucker for several days,’ said Owen. ‘Yet you stayed.’
‘An old friend who would take him in for some coin. But he was not what drew them to York. I reckoned the old one, his clothing so fine, he would have important friends. I waited for him to go to them. Find out who might have sent him spying on my lord.’
‘That was why you followed him last night.’
‘Lost him at the minster. Did someone else make my mistake? Was the murdered vicar the one wearing the fine cloak? It’s what I thought I saw. A glimmer of the white lining when he turned.’
‘He was.’
‘Someone meant to kill the old minstrel and killed a vicar?’
‘It would seem,’ said Owen, seeing no need to provide more information.
‘Poor fool. I hear the old minstrel went to the Riverwoman, so Gareth must have been on the right path when the river took him.’ Cleared his throat again. ‘They say the Riverwoman has power. Did she know Gareth was coming and bade the river stop him?’ He crossed himself.
Magda would enjoy that tale. ‘And if the old minstrel did meet with someone of importance to your lord, what then?’
‘I would tell Sir John.’
‘No more.’
Silence.
As Owen had thought. ‘Have a moment with Gareth, but he stays in my custody until we know what happened here.’
‘My lord will not like that.’
‘What would you do with him? Drag him back to Cawood? Pay for his burial?’
‘Don’t know. I’d not thought so far.’
He pretended to be far simpler than he was. Owen stepped away while he considered what to do with Pit. He’d been sent to silence a pair of spies. And he’d failed. Sir John would not take that kindly. Seemed to Owen that Pit had two choices – either go to his lord, confess his failure, and accept whatever insult his lord felt appropriate, or disappear. Yet now that he was in Owen’s hands he confessed his mission – a third option? Submit to Owen, seek his protection? Perhaps, but he was clearly lying about much, or at least holding back information. He either underestimated Owen or – what? He thought to hold onto something with which he might bargain?
When Pit turned from his orisons Owen kicked the door and called out to Alfred to come within, he had a man to escort to the castle.
‘I told you what I know!’ Pit protested as Alfred stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder and standing in the way of his escape.
‘Do you count me such a fool as to set you free to finish your work?’ Owen told Rose and Rob to wait there until someone relieved them.
‘Shall I come?’ Michaelo asked.
‘I have no time to spend with this liar this evening. If you would send a messenger to Hempe’s home in case he’s there, tell him to meet us at the castle. Then go about your other business.’
Michaelo bowed and folded up his wax tablet. Rising, he whispered, ‘May God watch over you.’
8
Sandrine
Lighting a second lamp to brighten the entrance of the apothecary, Lucie asked again whether Jasper would like her to stay. Such a long day. He moved slowly, and his hands were not as steady as usual. ‘Grinding stones,’ he said when she noted it. ‘You need the rest, Ma. I will close the shop during the next lull.’
Lucie doubted he would turn anyone away who caught him shutting the door, but she thanked him, kissed his cheek, and withdrew to the workroom. Though she was eager to cross the garden and check that all was well with the children, she took the time to tidy the workspace. Her legs ached from hours of standing, and her arms complained as she lifted a heavy jar to a shelf above her head. But it was the satisfying weariness at the end of a busy day, not the strained, frightened, agonized weariness of the fortnight past, as she sat vigil with her feverish babies. She bowed her head at the memory, feeling again the terror, seeing the haunted look in Owen’s eye as she relieved him, having tossed and turned and pretended to believe she might sleep. She depended on her husband’s quiet strength. It anchored her. But even that eluded her when their children were threatened by disease, the invisible enemy he could not vanquish.
Lucie removed her apron and blew out all but one lamp. Stepping out into the garden she braced herself against a damp wind that shook the remaining snow from the branches above and created a second snowfall, brightening the twilight, stinging her skin. Glancing up at the heavens she watched tendrils of cloud and mist dance beneath the early evening star field. The moment of peace seemed a benediction. She glanced up as someone entered the garden through the gate from the York Tavern yard.
‘Dame Lucie.’
‘Alisoun?’ Lucie caught herself before asking who was with the children. Alisoun was sensitive to any suggestion of irresponsibility.
‘I went to the Swann home. I thought I should be the one to ask Dame Muriel whether Magda might take my place at her lying-in.’ The crackle in Alisoun’s voice suggested the conversation had been challenging.