‘Have pity, Geoffrey. Two people have been murdered, and I’m desperate for even a hint of a cause that might connect their deaths.’
‘Other than blood? Perhaps you might look to their friends. Speaking of which, our friendship feels brittle of late. You are keeping things from me.’
‘As you are from me. How do I know we’re not working at cross-purposes?’
‘Owen! You know me better than that. How could you think I would undermine your efforts to find the murderers before more harm is done?’
He did know him better than to think that. For the most part. He had decided to trust Geoffrey when Princess Joan brought trouble to the archbishop’s palace of Bishopthorpe, and his trust had been rewarded. Yet there was ever a strange friction between them, and Owen found it difficult to relax with the man. Still, he had never, to Owen’s knowledge, worked against him. In apology, Owen told Geoffrey what Lucie had learned from Muriel, the ‘circle’, the secrets, their unease upon Poole’s return. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘Your friend the Austin canon–’
‘Erkenwald?’ A former soldier, he had put aside his weapons and taken up the cross, serving for some years now at St Leonard’s Hospital. Owen had once coaxed him into action to save Alisoun Ffulford when she ran away from the hospital’s orphanage and straight into trouble.
Geoffrey grinned. ‘Such a stout name.’ He sat back, arms crossed over his belly, ready to tell a tale. ‘Before Erkenwald took his final vows he accompanied an elder canon to Avignon. There he encountered Poole, a one-armed merchant catering to the English bearing petitions to the Holy See. The story there was that Poole had been felled in battle by a mace to his remarkably thick skull. He woke to find himself trapped beneath a mortally wounded destrier that was crushing his arm as it thrashed in its death agony.’
‘Beneath a great beast and he lost only the arm?’ said Owen. ‘Most fortunate of men.’
‘I sensed that the canon doubted it happened quite that way. But it is the story Poole tells. However he lost the arm, he seemed a merchant of some account.’
‘He must have had a patron,’ Owen noted.
‘If he did, Erkenwald did not say. But what I know is that he has friends at court. And among influential merchants in the North, such as John Gisburne, who furnished him with letters of introduction to his guild members here in York.’
‘A merchant with friends at court – I can see why Crispin Poole would win John Gisburne’s support. Poole did mention the letters of introduction, but it appears Gisburne did that and no more. His family has ignored Poole.’ Owen remembered the man’s clenched jaw. He’d felt the slight. To Owen’s mind, Poole was better off without him. But Gisburne’s influence would be invaluable to a merchant. He was currently in Westminster sitting on the king’s commission on the wool market, having once been in charge of the wool staple in York. It was said he kept the outlaws he called household guards with him there, no doubt enriching Gisburne with thievery and crooked business transactions while he concocted ways to cheat the king. Owen knew firsthand the man’s ruthlessness. ‘So Poole has a patron of some influence at court?’
‘Talk to Erkenwald. I’m certain he knows more.’
‘Why did you approach him about Poole? Does this have to do with your mission here?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know whether it does or no, but I saw Poole leaving the grounds of St Leonard’s Hospital, turning to nod to Dom Erkenwald.’
So Geoffrey was following him. Owen tucked that away. ‘When did you witness this?’
‘The day I arrived, then departed for Freythorpe Hadden.’
So quickly noted. To Owen that meant Geoffrey had known of Crispin Poole before his arrival in York.
‘I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to help, not hinder your investigation of the murders of these good men,’ said Geoffrey.
‘Crispin Poole’s friends at court – that’s your interest, eh? You are to uncover what it is he’s doing for them, this one-armed merchant?’ Owen believed he’d hit the mark, though Geoffrey’s flinch was subtle. Was it Alexander Neville? As Owen could not guess whether Prince Edward favored the new archbishop or considered him as a threat, he thought it best not to mention him. Not yet. ‘So as long as my discoveries do not inconvenience either the king or his heir, you’ll allow me to bring the murderers to justice?’
‘Allow? I’ve no such power over you, my friend.’
They exchanged smiles, saluted each other with their tankards, then drained them.
‘Thank you, my friend.’ Owen pushed back from the table. He would rise early and catch Erkenwald at the beginning of his day. ‘One more thing. Have you ever seen Poole with a dog?’
‘Ah. Back to the murders.’ Geoffrey shook his head. ‘I’ve seen no dog with him.’ He nodded toward the door. ‘The lad’s been watching us for a while.’
Ned sat at a table near the door with Alfred.
Owen thanked Geoffrey and crossed the room to his men. Catching sight of him, Alfred rose, just raking a hand across his bald pate as if to smooth back his long-vanished hair, a nervous habit. Nothing of use to tell him, Owen guessed. Ned looked more sanguine, rising slightly and bobbing his head.
‘Come to the house with me, I would have my wife hear your news as well,’ Owen said, leading them out the door and through the garden gate.
Lucie rose from the window-seat where she and Jasper had been talking.
‘Any news?’ she asked, motioning the men to the table. Kate hurried out with a pitcher of ale, blushing at Ned’s greeting. The young man was far too generous in his attention to young women.
‘I’ve none to offer. Learned nothing of use,’ said Alfred as he settled on a bench. ‘Braithwaite’s manservant Galbot was reluctant to talk.’ Bringing Ned up to date, he described the dog Paul Braithwaite had brought to guard his parents’ home.
‘A man lacking tact,’ Ned noted.
‘It would seem,’ said Owen. ‘Everyone copes with loss in their own way. And with such violent deaths, fear competes with their grief. Paul Braithwaite might feel this is how he might contribute to the protection of his family. He looked to Olyf Tirwhit, Bartolf’s daughter, for approval, which puzzled me.’ He glanced over at Lucie, who nodded, interested. ‘I am hoping to have news about the dog and his handler.’ He looked to Ned.
‘I found Galbot and the dog in the kitchen, and the cook complained they’d been there a while. Not the pair I’d seen.’
‘A coincidence that Galbot took Tempest off guard when another dog was in the area?’ Owen wondered aloud as Ned drained his bowl and set it aside.
The young man sat forward. ‘I did talk to someone on the street, asked if he’d seen a man with a large dog. He had not, but he mentioned a cart sitting in front of the Fentons’ house for a time. He’d wondered whether the family had returned, but when he came out of his house it was gone.’
‘He moves the dog about in a cart?’ Lucie wondered.
‘Clever,’ said Jasper. ‘Folk might not even notice the dog in a cart.’
‘Was George Hempe in the tavern?’ Lucie asked. ‘Does he know about tomorrow’s service in St Helen’s?’
‘No.’ Owen looked to Alfred.
‘I will tell him we’ll need men at the two houses, and the church,’ said Alfred. ‘Will they bury them in St Helen’s churchyard?’
‘She did not say,’ said Owen.
‘Several of her ancestors are buried beneath the church,’ said Lucie.
They spoke of Crispin Poole and of Cilla’s disappearance, Jasper muttering something about a fool’s errand to the minster yard, Michaelo merely seeking attention. Owen was left feeling frustrated when Ned and Alfred rose to leave and Jasper headed for his bed over the shop.