‘It touches on Geoffrey Chaucer.’
Owen listened with interest as they walked. Geoffrey visiting a lodging in the Bedern that housed clerics used as messengers between the religious houses in York and Westminster, London, Canterbury, and elsewhere was interesting, but not unexpected.
‘And one thing more,’ said Michaelo. ‘Dom Jehannes had word of an important visitor biding at Holy Trinity Priory – the new archbishop’s secretary, Dom Leufrid. He arrived yesterday in the company of an emissary from Prince Edward, Antony of Egypt, who is biding at St Mary’s Abbey.’
Forgetting himself, Owen slapped Michaelo on the back. ‘So it is Antony.’ An African scholar and military genius, Antony and Owen had enjoyed each other’s company at Kenilworth when Owen was in Grosmont’s service.
‘This means you are pleased?’ Michaelo asked.
‘I am indeed.’
‘But I tell you nothing new.’
‘I was not certain it was him. All I knew is that Gisburne traveled with Leufrid and a Moor in Prince Edward’s service.’
‘A Moor?’ A shrug. ‘There is one more item. Dom Leufrid is my kinsman. The one who robbed me of the money my family had provided to buy me a position of responsibility in one of the large abbeys near London and Westminster, set me on the path to become a prior or abbot.’
‘This man you despise is our new archbishop’s secretary?’
‘As I was to John Thoresby, he is to Alexander Neville.’ Michaelo laid a hand on Owen’s forearm. ‘If you mean to protect York from this Neville, I would use all my knowledge, my connections, and my diplomatic skill to assist you. And I might dare say, I have been known to hold my own in a physical encounter.’
Owen had not forgotten how he did so on a dangerous journey long ago.
‘Whether you work for the prince or the city, I wish to serve you, Captain.’
Seizing the moment, Owen asked, ‘Might you find it in your power to shake off the penitential gloom, approach it with more mischievous glee?’ He grinned.
Michaelo removed his hand. ‘I offer you assistance and you insult me?’
Owen threw up his hands. ‘I mean it as no insult. I am in earnest.’
Michaelo sniffed. ‘I seek only to redeem myself in working for the community.’
‘You would not take delight in hindering the loathsome Leufrid?’
‘You are not listening to me. I seek to atone for my sins. Pride, ill-will – what you suggest, that way lies damnation.’
And who was Owen to push him from his path? ‘I meant only – your wit is refreshing. Laughter is a balm most welcome in my work.’
Michaelo gave him a long look down the length of his noble nose. ‘My expressions of scorn amuse you?’
‘Oddly, yes. I miss the Michaelo who scoffs at fools.’
‘Even when you are the target? You, the one on whose broad shoulders all would lay their burdens?’
‘Would it not be virtuous to tutor me in humility?’
A pause. ‘I will pray over the matter.’
Owen was glad to hear a lighter note in Michaelo’s voice for he might be quite an asset. It amused Owen that all the while he’d thought Thoresby kept Michaelo as a penance, he had in truth harbored a bloodhound.
‘So Antony of Egypt is your friend?’ asked Michaelo.
‘He was the old duke’s good friend. I knew him in the field. An expert on obscure weaponry. I suppose the prince finds him useful. Or did in Aquitaine. But what is he doing here?’
‘If Prince Edward knows of your friendship, I would guess Antony is here to improve on Chaucer’s efforts to recruit you.’
‘You don’t trust Chaucer.’
‘I trust few men, and even fewer women. Children, not at all.’
Owen chuckled, a gift on such a trying day.
‘I am pleased you are amused.’ Michaelo sniffed.
They had reached the Swann home.
‘If you learn anything I should hear at once, come to me at the Braithwaite home, two houses away,’ said Owen.
‘I know the place. Shall I drop a line in the water, see what bites?’
Already taking Owen’s request to heart? Owen told him about Wren’s apparent connection to Roger and his fellow attacker, how she had been seen talking to them. ‘It has me wondering about all the servants. Galbot – I will ask about him. See if you can learn when Joss and Cilla joined Bartolf’s household. And when the Tirwhits hired Wren.’
With a bow, Michaelo glided into the yard of the Swann home.
Skirting the hall, where John and Paul Braithwaite were loudly trading insults, Owen followed the servant to the garden, where Elaine Braithwaite sat beneath the graceful limbs of a young oak, straight-backed and bristling as she watched the house.
‘Captain?’ She began to rise, attempting to shake out the wrinkles in her costly gown, a futile effort that almost toppled her. She might just be drunk enough to speak freely.
‘Might I join you for a moment?’ Owen slipped onto the bench beside her and stretched out his legs with a sigh. ‘May we soon see an end to this troubling day,’ he muttered.
‘Has the widow Poole proved ungrateful for your interest?’ A slight slurring of words proved Owen correct about Elaine having availed herself of the fine wine at the feast. ‘Watch yourself with that one,’ she said. ‘People pity her, a widow, blind, her son returning a cripple, but she is sly, cruel.’
‘You consider Crispin Poole a cripple?’
‘Do I offend you? Surely you do not see yourself in him. The loss of one eye is a small thing – and that scar and patch only enhance your appearance.’ She reached toward him, as if to touch his cheek, then remembered herself. ‘But a hand, a useful arm.’ She touched Owen’s forearm. ‘Such strength. Your wife is most fortunate – I see how you regard her, the warmth in your eyes, how the two of you lean toward each other, sharing your thoughts, laughing at each other’s wit. Paul thinks only of his precious hounds. Heavenly Mother, what is it with some men and their hounds? I love my children, Captain, never doubt it, but Paul is the bane of my life.’
‘He is caught up in grief over the killing of Tempest?’
Elaine squeezed his arm. ‘You would think it had been his child the way he moans and tears up at the mere mention of the monster. But it’s only the latest.’
Only the latest. This is what he’d come to hear about. ‘Tempest was not the first to die?’
‘Oh, no. A fortnight past a pair of his prized mastiffs went missing. You would think–’ A shrug. ‘As I said, he regards them as his children.’
‘A pair went missing? Did he search for them?’
‘I am surprised he did not think to hire you – but you were – oh, forgive me, you have a recent loss. Dame Philippa. She was a kind, God-fearing woman.’
‘We do grieve her passing,’ said Owen. He let the silence fall. Patience. Then, ‘Has Galbot returned?’
‘Galbot.’ A snort. ‘He is almost as mad regarding the hounds as Paul, though it is his job. No. He is still on the loose.’
‘How long has he worked for your husband?’
‘A year? No longer than that. Ungrateful wretch. Paul hired him as a favor to Bartolf. He came with the dogs, you might say. You know that Paul recently bought a few dogs from the old man? Wolfhound bitches, Aphrodite and Circe. Such names!’
‘So they were not the pair that went missing?’
‘No. Not Bartolf’s beloveds. May his soul rest in God’s love.’ She crossed herself. ‘Bartolf had no need for a servant dedicated to the two dogs he had left. Galbot needed work. Paul hired him.’
‘How had Bartolf come to hire Galbot?’
‘The servant Cilla coaxed him to hire the man. I only know because Paul made such a fuss about him, how his previous master’s loss was Paul’s gain, the man was so good with hounds, how he wished to thank Cilla.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I know no more of him. I have nothing to do with the kennel.’