Owen shook his head as he descended to the street. Aylward’s account and his behaviour stank of deceit. But who would benefit?
‘You look disappointed, Captain.’ A man stepped from the shadows, leading Owen’s horse. One of Burley’s men, crook nosed and sinewy with large hands and a bald pate. Duncan.
‘It is good of you to bring my horse to me, Duncan,’ Owen said.
A gap-toothed grin. ‘Did you learn what you wished from Master Aylward?’ Duncan patted Owen’s horse.
‘Aye, that I did. He knew my parents well. But surely you did not come down from the castle to ask about my family?’
‘Sir John rode out this morning and has not returned. The town porter said your horse was in a froth when you came to the gate. We hoped you might have news of the steward.’
Owen groaned. ‘Another worry to distract the garrison? I shall never complete my mission.’ His complaint rang hollow in his ears.
‘Whence did you ride in such haste?’
Owen grabbed a partial lie from the air, one that might not be discovered too soon. ‘From Gruffydd ap Goronwy’s. I rode out to escort Mistress Lascelles and the priest back to Cydweli. But I found they had never been at the farm. I thought the steward should know as soon as possible.’
‘Sir John sent you?’
‘He had suggested it last night.’
‘Odd.’ Duncan handed Owen the reins. ‘He sent someone else this morning.’
‘Then I have spent my steed for nothing.’
‘Aye. That you have.’ Duncan motioned for Owen to go first.
Folk moved out of their way as they walked along Castle Street to the south gate of the castle. The townsfolk feared Burley’s men, that was plain. Owen wondered why Burley’s man had awaited him outside Aylward’s house. Had Burley been warned of Owen’s visit? Was that the cause of Owen’s long wait without?
Had Owen been trailed by Burley, perhaps since he left the castle this morning with Gladys? Duncan’s boots and leggings were not travel stained, but that told Owen nothing.
What nagged at him more was the theft of the exchequer. As he walked, he thought back over Aylward’s story. Nothing rang true about it — the receiver’s rehearsed tale, his pretence of being bedridden, the implausible trail on which Burley had dispatched his men without a clear description of the attacker. And now Burley’s man awaiting Owen outside the receiver’s house — why?
‘The constable wants to see you,’ Duncan said.
‘I thought he might.’ And Owen wished to see him once he had more time to think all this through. An idea was slowly forming. And if he did not come to some understanding with the constable he would be tripping over him whenever he took a backward step. It was not a time for accidents. It was time to talk. ‘Tell him I shall be with him by and by, once I have seen to my horse and my muddy boots.’
On a long bench in the practice yard, Burley sat with feet propped on a barrel. His fair hair was dark with sweat, his tunic muddy. Duncan leaned down to speak quietly, no doubt reporting his brief conversation with Owen. Burley nodded, waved Duncan away, smiled at Owen. ‘I am glad to see you, Captain Archer. I feared that you, too, had deserted us.’
‘It is good to see a constable who keeps himself ever ready for battle,’ Owen said. ‘But surely you might have asked the Duke for the funds needed for the garrison instead of feigning a theft from the exchequer?’
Showing no emotion, Burley ordered the waiting servant to disappear. ‘Leave the ale,’ he barked. The servant set a pitcher and bowl down on the bench beside Burley and hurried off. Burley poured, drank, belched. ‘Better.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘It had nothing to do with the garrison.’
‘I thought not.’
‘What do you intend to do with your discovery?’
‘Nothing. It does not concern me or my mission here.’
‘What about Master Chaucer?’
‘I cannot swear for him, but I would say that you would do better to worry about his impression of Cydweli’s defences. Convince him that the garrison is fit and ready to defend the Duke’s interests against the French or the Welsh pretender, and you will enjoy a long and profitable constableship.’
‘And you? What do I have to fear from you?’
‘If the theft is the worst sin on your conscience, nothing. But I am curious why you and the wealthy receiver found it necessary to steal from the treasury.’
‘An unfortunate investment. A foolhardy venture. .’ Burley looked at his muddy boots. ‘Never trust a merchant. He swore the risk was slight when he coaxed me into investing, and after the ship sank he swore it was as much a shock and disaster for him as it was for me. I had my revenge, though.’ Burley’s eyes crinkled with pleasure.
‘The tooth?’
Burley glanced up and burst into laughter. ‘And he cannot say a word about it, vain, pompous, stupid man.’ He picked up a cloth and proceeded to dry his hair. The sky had once more clouded over, bringing a chill to the air.
Owen pitied Roger Aylward. He seemed a man who had taken few bad risks. And this one might have been easily dismissed if he had not brought Burley into it. ‘Had John de Reine anything to do with it?’
‘Nothing. And I had no idea he was off to St David’s when I sent my men out — that was your next question, eh?’
Owen laughed. ‘Aye.’
‘He was on his way to Carreg Cennen, that is what we all thought. My men must have picked up his trail by accident. God’s blood but I wish I knew where they were now.’
‘I should think you might commend their enterprise.’
Burley snorted. ‘Bumbling asses, they are.’
Owen was disappointed, but there it was. He had solved one mystery only to discover it had nothing to do with the important one. ‘John Lascelles. Is it possible he supports Owain Lawgoch?’
Burley snorted. ‘You Welshmen are obsessed with the French King’s puppet. Do you know how many of your countrymen are over there fighting for the ugly Du Guesclin? As many as could fit in the ship.’
‘It is one way to escape the stench of the English invaders.’
‘So that is it,’ Burley said quietly. ‘I thought it odd, a Welshman recruiting archers. You are really here to meet with Gruffydd ap Goronwy. That was your purpose in riding to his farm.’
‘I would be a fool if that were true. I know the Duke of Lancaster well enough to fear what he would do to a traitor in his household. Or a thief.’
Burley’s expression was most gratifying. But he was not one to take a hit on the jaw without striking back. ‘Your championing of a certain woman surprised me, Captain. I misjudged you at first. I thought you were of the steward’s persuasion — ambition does not stumble on charity.’
So he had followed him. Owen straddled the bench, forcing Burley to abandon the barrel so that he might look him in the eye. ‘And what woman was that?’
‘Gladys, the castle whore.’
‘I cannot take all the credit. She sought me out. Then I found it difficult to deny her.’
‘Oh, aye. Many do.’
‘Her sanctuary will not be disturbed?’
Burley shook his head. ‘Only Duncan and I know of it. And of course Harold and Simwnt. I shall send those two for her when the chaplain’s murderer is found.’
‘Any luck with that?’
‘You dined in the steward’s rooms last night, you and Master Chaucer. What was his temper?’
‘Melancholy. Not a mood that often turns to murder.’
‘To my mind, it was him, his lady, or the Welsh vicar who beat the chaplain. Or in the lady’s case, had him beaten.’
‘What if I told you I know where all three have gone?’
Burley poured himself more ale, looked at Owen through half-closed eyes as he drank down the bowl. ‘Of course. This is the sort of thing you do, smoke out murderers. But you came to recruit archers. What are those three to you?’
‘Perhaps nothing.’
Burley nodded, as if he had made a discovery. ‘The Duke has heard of Sir John’s questionable marriage. You are here to observe him. But he is not a Welshman. Why would he support Lawgoch?’