‘Alisoun and Jasper?’
‘Magda tells me that while I opened the shop, giving Jasper some time with Alisoun this morning, Ned came to call. With flowers from the Fenton garden.’
‘Ned?’
‘I knew nothing of what had happened, but when Jasper stormed into the shop to begin his day, tossing his jacket with such force I rushed to save a jar from crashing to the floor, I ordered him to sit down in the workroom and say ten Hail Marys before coming back into the shop.’
‘Did he confide in you?’
‘He spoke of how he wished to model his life after his beloved Brother Wulfstan.’
After the infirmarian of St Mary’s Abbey sacrificed his life to tend plague victims, Jasper had talked of taking vows. It was a recurring theme, especially when their son questioned his feelings for Alisoun.
‘It will pass,’ said Owen.
‘If Wren has anything to say about it, he will have an alternative.’
‘God protect him.’
‘Olyf Tirwhit has asked her to return to their house.’
‘Will she accept?’
‘Muriel has also expressed interest.’
‘I begin to distrust Muriel’s intent.’
Lucie sighed. ‘As do I.’ She turned to Owen. ‘So? What have you decided about your future?’
16
Diplomacy
In the early morning, Owen called on Hempe at his home, eager to report to the Braithwaites and the Pooles and then move on with his day.
‘It’s been good to partner with you again,’ said Hempe. ‘Will we be working together in future?’
‘You had best say yes, or he will hound you forever,’ his wife Lotta teased.
‘If the prince’s emissary is amenable to my proposal, yes.’
Hempe slapped Owen on the back. ‘You’ve given me hope, my friend.’
‘Bless you, Captain,’ said Lotta.
‘Shall we go?’ said Owen. ‘Get the unpleasantness out of the way?’
As Hempe lived so close to Crispin, they stopped there first to assure him he need no longer worry about a repeat attack.
He was looking haggard. ‘Olyf seems unable to stay away, plying my mother with unwanted remedies. My mother suspects she means to poison her.’
Owen saw an opportunity. ‘Is Dame Olyf here now?’
A curse and a nod.
Excusing himself, Owen went in search of the woman. Finding her seated beside a sleeping Euphemia, he asked her to step out into the garden, where he told her of Paul’s death, and how all the recent violence stemmed from his long-ago crime, the murder of Gerta.
‘Paul – may God be merciful.’ She slumped down onto a bench against the back wall of the house, bowing her head.
‘You were there, I think. You witnessed what he did to her.’
She reared up, such a tall woman she almost looked him in the eye.
He took a step backward.
‘Paul told you, didn’t he? I knew he blamed me. Claimed I’d been the one who insisted he make sure she was dead. That I gave him the stone, helped him drag her to the water. Is that what he said?’
Owen slowly shook his head. ‘No. We never spoke of it.’
A cough. Olyf spun round and beheld George Hempe and Crispin Poole standing in the doorway.
She turned back to Owen. ‘Well, good, then. Because I never did any of that. I begged him to leave her alone.’
‘Get out of my house,’ said Crispin, in a quiet voice. ‘And stay away.’
‘I will oblige you with that,’ said Hempe, stepping forward to take Olyf’s arm. ‘She will come with me to the castle.’
‘I will not,’ Olyf declared.
But Hempe’s grip was strong.
So it was that Owen went alone to report to the Braithwaites, heart heavy. Janet suggested that they not disturb John. She would pass on the news to him when he was stronger. Owen agreed that was best.
She listened with bowed head, occasionally murmuring a prayer, and wept to hear of Olyf’s part in Gerta’s murder. ‘I cannot help but think Hoban was the one made to suffer for her sin. He was such a gentle soul. So unlike Olyf … and my Paul. Muriel always said they were two of a kind. I do not even want to know whether my daughter knew of any of this.’
‘From what she told my wife, I doubt it,’ said Owen.
‘Do you think Cilla witnessed all of it?’
‘Perhaps. It would explain the brutality of their attacks on Hoban and Bartolf.’
‘But why was Olyf spared?’
‘Was she?’
Janet crossed herself. ‘I should send a messenger to Elaine.’
Owen was not home long before Geoffrey appeared with a message from Antony, his fellow emissary. ‘He awaits your pleasure in St Mary’s hospitium. He will expect your decision, you know, whether you will accept the prince’s commission.’
‘That is likely his purpose, I agree,’ said Owen.
‘And? What will you tell him?’
After the activities of the morning Owen prayed he had the presence of mind to argue his case with Antony.
‘I will share my thoughts with you in exchange for a favor.’
Owen caught Lucie’s smile as she slipped past them on her way to the apothecary. ‘No misgivings on my part,’ she whispered.
He had confided his heart’s desire to her as they sat before the fire the night before, and she had given him her support. They had agreed that if they woke without misgivings, his choice was made. Now he must convince Antony of the wisdom of his proposal.
‘Come, walk with me,’ he told Geoffrey. ‘I will collect Brother Michaelo. He will await my invitation to come in after Antony and I have spoken. I would like Dom Leufrid to arrive while Michaelo is waiting. Such a summons would be best coming from you. Would you escort him to the abbey?’
‘What if we are delayed?’
‘Antony and I are old friends. We have much to talk about. Knock thrice on the door when all are assembled. I count on your powers of diplomacy to keep both Leufrid and Michaelo in the same room.’ He told him of the relationship.
‘You have set me quite the challenge, Owen.’
‘Do I ask too much of you?’
Geoffrey laughed. ‘On the contrary. I welcome the opportunity to prove myself up to the task.’
Owen counted on that.
Brother Oswald, hospitaller of St Mary’s Abbey, greeted Owen warmly. ‘We are honored that Prince Edward’s emissary chooses to bide within our walls on this visit.’ The monk smiled as if to thank Owen for his patronage and escorted him to a room off the main hall of the guest house, knocking at the door, then withdrawing.
‘Enter.’
Owen grinned at the deep, resonant voice, which had been so effective in a room filled with arguing captains and commanders, and easy to hear at noisy feasts. Opening the door, he found Antony standing with his back to him, gazing out a window that faced the river. It was a small room furnished with several high-backed chairs and a table on which stood a flagon of wine and two mazers.
Antony turned round, his expression wary. ‘Owen?’
‘Have I changed so much?’
‘Forgive me, I think of you as you looked out in the field. I’d forgotten the scar, the patch.’ A grin. ‘Though now I recall how the ladies flocked round you – the scar and patch made you mysterious. Dangerous.’
The men embraced, stepped apart, studied each other.
Antony was a striking man, taller even than Owen, with dark olive skin, tightly curling black hair, deep-set eyes – much like Thoresby’s but tawny, and though he was a scholar of warfare rather than a participant, he had the posture of a soldier. In the past, he’d favored dark robes, undecorated, almost monk-like. But today he wore a tawny velvet houpelande to match his eyes, embroidered with exotic birds, decorated with pearls. His hat was a velvet turban of the sort much favored by merchants on the Continent, the color red.