‘Did he have particular friends?’
Adam wrinkled his brow as he stroked his chin with swollen fingers. Gout? ‘No one comes to mind.’
‘Were you friends with him?’
‘I preferred to keep my distance. His air of disdain, you see. Most vexing. I found him most vexing. As did many in the chapter. Not to the extent that they would wish him harm. We all prayed that he would learn humility. Unfortunately, with Alexander Neville’s elevation, and his previous preference for Ronan’s services over others, his arrogance only grew. I wondered what drew them together.’ A shrug. ‘But our feelings for the man are of no importance in this matter. What was done was wrong. Criminal. And with the archbishop expected at any time, Ronan’s murderer must be found and brought to justice.’
‘As Ronan was struck down in the minster liberty it will fall to the archbishop himself to mete out punishment,’ said Owen. ‘If his murderer proves to be a member of the chapter that is doubly true.’
‘Then you must find irrefutable proof, Captain.’
‘You do not trust a Neville investigation?’
Adam cleared his throat. ‘I meant exactly what I said, Captain.’
‘How do you propose I proceed?’
‘I might mention it at the chapter meeting this morning, that they should come to me if they know anything, if they have noticed anything that might help you find his murderer. In private, if they prefer.’
‘A good beginning.’
Adam rose. ‘And I shall prepare an ordered list of those with whom I am aware Ronan had cause to speak.’ Bristly. He had come to task Owen, not be tasked.
‘That would be most helpful. Would you like Brother Michaelo’s assistance?’
A sniff. ‘My clerks write a good hand. And know the names. Though I dare say Brother Michaelo has made a point of learning them. He seems keen to be of use in the city.’
Archdeacon Jehannes had put out the word that Brother Michaelo was available after the death of his patron, the late archbishop. The plan had been for Michaelo to return to Normandy, live out his days in a monastery near his home. But he had balked at the prospect, a man who had tasted the life of an archbishop’s aide, traveling, mixing with an array of worthies both religious and secular. For the most part the religious communities in the city shunned his services, though a few pastors and a sprinkling of Dominicans and, oddly, the prioress of St Clement’s requested his services from time to time. The communities knew the rumors about why the abbot of St Mary’s refused to take him back upon Thoresby’s death, a failed attempt on the life of the late infirmarian Brother Wulfstan, a beloved figure. Though the incident was years in the past, and, for the most part, Brother Michaelo’s behavior since had been above reproach, his reputation as both a poisoner and sodomite condemned him. An unfortunate incident the previous year had sealed Michaelo’s fate with many. It had done the opposite with Owen. Michaelo’s remorse had convinced Owen he was a changed man.
‘I have come to value Brother Michaelo’s talents,’ said Owen. ‘His Grace the archbishop trained him well, tested his skills, and expanded his assignments to his advantage. And now mine.’ He watched the precentor consider this revelation.
‘Perhaps I should reconsider. Dean John is challenged by the duties he is forced to shoulder as acting dean. With Brother Michaelo’s knowledge acquired in the archbishop’s service …’ He stroked his chin again, an odd gesture for a beardless man. ‘I will suggest he engage the monk, see whether he is of use to us. For now, God go with you, Captain. I will send word when the list is ready.’
Owen showed him out the front door.
As soon as the precentor left, Lucie ushered Jasper into the hall, watching Owen’s face as he listened to his son’s report. She was proud of Jasper’s calm, his detailed description of the men and their clothing. So was Owen.
‘You have a keen eye,’ he said. ‘Neither looked like the one you saw earlier?’
‘No. Different clothing, thicker limbs.’
‘From the garb I would guess them to be more of Neville’s men,’ said Owen. ‘Did Alisoun and Marian hear them?’
‘They did. I cautioned them to stay in my room, over the workroom, not the shop, and away from the windows.’
‘Good,’ said Owen. ‘I will see to that watch on the house and shop I spoke of. And we need to move both of them tonight, Marian to the priory and Ambrose – I need to–’
Someone pounded on the hall door. Owen thanked Jasper. ‘Best to open the shop before folk wonder.’
With a nod, Jasper left.
Lucie reluctantly climbed the steps to the nursery.
Muttering a curse, Owen went to answer. He was relieved to see Rose and Rob, interested by their report: trouble in Ronan’s chamber.
‘His neighbor heard unholy bumping and sliding above, and feared it was poor Master Ronan’s confused spirit,’ said Rose. ‘Something about how the murdered do not know they are dead until their murderer is found.’
‘Fool,’ Rob muttered.
‘How did you hear of it?’ Owen asked.
‘From our landlord,’ said Rose. ‘Ma provides his meals for part of the rent. He’s Ronan’s landlord as well. While he broke his fast he spoke of the trouble. He found the furniture all flung about. A gaping hole in one wall. And Beck, Master Ronan’s clerk, lying on the floor face down, the back of his head bloody.’
Beck. The weasel haunting Ronan’s lodging the previous day.
‘He said he righted the bed and laid him on it, then went to Master Adam, the precentor. It is to him they go if the residents of the Bedern cause trouble. But they told him Master Adam had called on you, so he sent us to fetch you.’
‘Did Beck wake? Did he know him?’
‘He opened his eyes. Said nothing. Will you come, Captain?’
‘I will be there as soon as possible.’
Their mission accomplished, the two were off before Owen closed the door.
Lucie stepped out onto the landing when Owen knocked, closing the door so the children would not hear, listening to the news with growing concern. ‘What of Marian and Alisoun?’
‘I will escort them back here. Neville’s men are less likely to walk into our home. If you are able to learn any more about Marian, I would be grateful.’
‘Of course.’
Once Owen escorted Alisoun and Marian back to the house, Lucie stood for a moment staring out of her bedroom window saying a silent prayer for the injured clerk. Owen had seemed relieved that something had happened, as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for it. But how he might cut through the maze of incidents …
Lucie crossed herself. God protect her family.
Three men dead – a cleric who had been Archbishop Alexander Neville’s vicar, murdered; one of Sir John Neville’s men, drowned; a man whose clothes suggested he, too, was a lord’s retainer fallen from a roof. The Nevilles had become one of the most powerful Northern families, whom Owen was to watch for the prince. Ambrose Coates had spied on the Nevilles while on a mission to alert Prince Edward that his French physician meant him harm, that he and his cohort had already weakened the prince with illness. He had come from the Neville gathering with Marian, who had been hiding as a boy in a traveling company of musicians and players. One of the dead men had watched Marian at Cawood. The man who had fallen from the roof. For whose death she claimed guilt. What had she done before? Why was she running? Why had she hidden her name even here? Surely if she were hiding from the Nevilles she would not have risked performing at Cawood. Yet someone knew her. So many questions.