‘Gladys, why did your mistress ask you to lie with her husband? And I would be grateful if you would speak so that Master Chaucer might understand.’
Gladys put down her cup, wiped her mouth with her sleeve. ‘To prove to him she had not put a curse on his manhood.’
‘Why would he believe such a thing?’
‘Because he could not lie with her as he does with me. He never could. He says she put hawthorn leaves in the bed.’
‘Hawthorn is used in weddings to bring fertility,’ Geoffrey said.
‘It is,’ said Owen, ‘but the leaves are also used just in that way to safeguard a young maid’s virtue when temptation is near.’
‘I forget you have apprenticed in an apothecary.’
‘My wife would say such things are not the business of an apothecary, but folk will ask. And they pay good coin for the leaves.’ Yet Owen could not imagine Lascelles pulling up his mattress, much less recognising hawthorn leaves that had been crushed beneath it. He needed to drop back further. Why was the marriage so unhappy? He had a thought. ‘Is your mistress in love with another man?’
Gladys dropped her eyes to her hands. ‘I do not know.’
‘Why else would she continue to push her husband to your bed?’ Owen asked.
Gladys did not lift her head. ‘It is not my place to wonder such things.’
Owen shook his head as if to a child who had told an obvious, though harmless, lie. ‘You could not help but wonder, surely.’
Gladys silently examined her toes.
Geoffrey looked from one to the other, exasperated. ‘More to the point, considering he has been murdered, why did your mistress make Father Francis spy on you with Sir John?’ Owen had not told him his theory; he doubted Geoffrey would have credited it till now.
‘She called him her witness.’
‘Witness for whom?’
Gladys looked up, her bottom lip trembling. ‘I do not know such things, Master Chaucer. I am but a servant!’
Geoffrey threw up his hands. ‘None of this makes any sense, and none of it is benefiting the garrison.’ He rose. ‘The porter offered to show me round the south gatehouse this morning.’
Owen thought Geoffrey had chosen an odd time to remember his official business.
Owen was of two minds. He was here on the Duke’s business; the discord in Lascelles’s household was not part of that business. On the other hand, he could not swear that none of the trouble involved the mysterious Lawgoch, nor could Geoffrey be assured of the castle’s readiness if Lawgoch had supporters here. Indeed, even if the troubles had nothing to do with the Welshman, chaos in the castle jeopardised its military readiness.
And though Geoffrey could not support his suspicion that all the troubles were connected, he might very well be right.
Promising Gladys that he would consider what must be done, Owen took his leave of her and walked out into the courtyard of the inner ward. He was just in time to see two Benedictine monks enter the ward, led by a servant. Heads bowed, they moved without curiosity through the ward to the hall and disappeared through the door. So Father Francis’s requiem Mass was to be said this morning. Owen guessed that it also meant Father Edern had not returned.
Owen fought to order his thoughts. Tangwystl and Edern. How might they have bonded together? He remembered his puzzlement when Tangwystl neglected to include the priest at their table. ‘Father Edern of St David’s?’ she had asked. She knew him. So did her father. It had been clear that Gruffydd disliked Edern; but Owen had been unable to judge his daughter’s feelings.
And what of Edern? As Geoffrey had pointed out, Edern had come forward to offer himself as John de Reine’s escort. What was their connection?
The time had come to put the skills to work that Owen had learned in Thoresby’s service. Nothing would be accomplished while the castle was in chaos. But first he must do something about Gladys.
Thirteen
Owen’s pacing took him through the inner ward and towards the practice yard. Divine inspiration it must have been, for Harold and Simwnt were loading several empty barrels into a cart cushioned with a good mound of hay.
‘Are you going far?’ Owen asked, interrupting an argument about whose clumsiness had caused a barrel to drop out of the cart on to Harold’s foot.
Simwnt turned round at the sound of Owen’s voice, his face brightening. ‘Captain Archer! God go with you, Captain. We are on a mission for you, truth be told.’
Harold made a great show of leaning against the cart, yanking off his left boot, and rubbing his foot. ‘I will not hold you responsible, Captain,’ he muttered.
Owen laughed, recognising a friendly quarrel. ‘I am glad of that, for I know nothing of your mission.’
‘No?’ Harold eased his boot back on. ‘We are after the bows for your recruits.’
‘Aye,’ Simwnt agreed. ‘The constable is in a foul mood about the bowyer who is late with the bows we ordered. Turns out the bows are ready but the bowyer’s cart is missing a wheel. He will not be paid if he is much later, and being kin, I thought to give him a hand. He is a good man and a fine bowyer.’
‘And you enjoy riding out into the countryside,’ Owen added.
‘It is not such a pleasure as you may think,’ Harold said. ‘But with matters as they are here-’ He dropped his voice, shook his head. ‘The castle is a place to be clear of.’
‘There is a search?’
‘Aye,’ said Simwnt. ‘They have searched for the vicar, now the maid Gladys. No one saw her leave the castle, you see.’
‘She being one the porter would remember seeing,’ Harold said with a wink.
Owen was pleased to find them playing into his hands. ‘Would you welcome a companion on your journey?’ he asked.
‘You feel the gloom as well,’ Harold said.
‘I would not call it gloom.’ Owen motioned for both to step round to the far side of the cart. ‘Would two companions burden you? Myself riding alongside the cart and one snug in the hay?’
Simwnt frowned down at the ground. ‘You are proposing trouble, Captain.’
Owen could not deny that. ‘I am wrong to ask such a thing of you.’ He began to walk away.
‘Stay a moment,’ Simwnt said. ‘Would the other companion be the fair Gladys?’
Owen slowed, turned. ‘It might.’
‘She is one enjoys a nice bit of hay,’ Harold said, nudging Simwnt.
‘I wish to take her to safety,’ Owen said, ‘not toss her into your lustful arms.’
‘Why would you be sneaking her out?’ Simwnt asked. ‘You are not of the mind she was the murderer? It took strength to do so much damage.’
‘It is for her protection. More than that I cannot say.’
Simwnt and Harold exchanged glances. ‘How far would you be going?’ Harold asked.
‘Not far.’ Owen described the valley in which his brother lived.
Simwnt nodded. ‘We shall bring the cart round to the guesthouse shortly.’
Gladys threw her arms round Owen. She smelled of sweat and the morning’s ale. ‘I shall work hard for them, make them glad they have taken me in.’
Owen winced. Now that the first flush of a brilliant idea had faded, he was feeling less optimistic about her welcome in Morgan’s home. While not in her presence he was able to imagine it, but now, watching her suggestive movements, her pouting expressions, the flutter of her lashes. Sweet Jesu, how could he fool his brother? ‘We do not know that my brother will agree to this. If you are right about your danger, my brother may think it is too much of a risk to ask of him. His first duty is to his family.’
Head tilted, hip thrust to the side — in another woman such gestures suggested far less — Gladys pouted, then quickly smiled. ‘How could your brother be less Christian than you? Did you not suckle at the same breast?’
Owen felt his face grow hot at the last word. ‘Morgan goes his own way, Gladys. I do warn you of that.’