‘Holy Mother of God.’
‘What do you know of Sir John’s troubles?’ Owen asked.
Houghton took off his embroidered cap, ran a hand through his damp hair. The pale strands caught the setting sun. ‘What do I know? Certes we all know about the death of John de Reine, and now the flight of Mistress Lascelles.’ He set the cap lightly on his head. ‘And that Sir John pursues his wife.’
‘And we pursue him,’ Owen said. ‘But how has the news reached you here?’
‘By the man himself.’
‘Sweet Jesus, he is here?’ Owen sprang up.
The bishop raised a hand to halt him. ‘He arrived early this morning and departed before midday.’
Owen yet stood. ‘We might have caught him had we stayed on the road.’
‘You might have indeed. But what you gain from stopping here the night will be of value to you. Both parties have had much to say of their troubles.’
‘You have news of Mistress Lascelles as well?’ Geoffrey asked as Owen eased himself down, most unwillingly.
The bishop gazed at Geoffrey for a moment, his eyes friendly but remote, as if choosing his words. ‘More than that,’ he said at last. ‘I know precisely where she is, for I sent her there. With that cunning vicar.’ A twig dropped in the bishop’s lap. He picked it up, twirled it between his beringed fingers, studying it. ‘I knew when Brother Dyfrig and the Archdeacon of Cardigan recommended Edern for a vicar choral that I should have made inquiries. But my mind was on other matters. How we come to regret such sluggishness.’ He shook his head. ‘Edern is a sly one. Too sly for me.’
Sluggishness indeed. Owen wished the bishop’s tongue were more sluggish. ‘What has Father Edern done?’
Houghton tossed the twig, shook his head at Owen as if chiding him. ‘But you know. He has assisted Mistress Lascelles in escaping from her husband. Though why she trusted such a rogue as Edern I cannot imagine. Such a beauty! One can see why Sir John is so desperate to win her back. He will not. I do not see it happening. He will not win her heart.’
‘Because of the child?’ Geoffrey asked. Owen had told him about Hedyn and the misunderstanding between Tangwystl and Sir John regarding the boy’s status.
‘Certes the child is a tragedy, but more so are her feelings for the lad’s father. I blame that schemer, Gruffydd ap Goronwy. Sir John swears he had no idea that the young woman apparently considered herself married to the young man, and I accept his word on that — he is not the sort of fool to pursue a woman who cannot possibly pledge her heart to him. He believed she had been abandoned by the young man. And surely Gruffydd had cause to let him think so.’ Houghton paused, dropped his head, seemed to withdraw into his thoughts for a moment. ‘And yet when I said to Sir John that he was better off without his Welsh wife, that considering the rumours surrounding her father it had been a most unsuitable marriage for him, and that now he might remedy it by acknowledging that they had wed when she was already bound to another, he refused to hear of it. Foolish, stubborn man. “I will have her!” he shouted.’
‘What is to be done?’ Geoffrey asked. ‘If Sir John is determined to keep her, who is to dissuade him?’
‘In truth, when our friend the Duke informed me of your coming, I was surprised that you were not carrying letters to Sir John and myself ordering that the marriage be annulled. It was a dangerous choice, the daughter of a traitor, for such a key man in the Duke’s Marches. I do not understand Lancaster’s hesitation.’
Owen did. ‘Until now the Duke had no cause to question Sir John’s loyalty. He thought to wait until he had our report.’
‘I fear neither Sir John nor his lady will wait for that,’ Geoffrey said.
Houghton slapped his thighs. ‘It is in the hands of the Church now. It must be.’
Owen asked what he proposed.
‘If we find that Mistress Tangwystl (for that is how she wishes to be known) was bound to the father of her son by law — any law — we shall dissolve Sir John’s marriage. And then there is the letter Father Francis signed.’
‘And Gladys was called to witness,’ Geoffrey whispered to Owen.
Houghton frowned. ‘Gladys?’
‘It is nothing,’ Owen said. ‘Can you tell us what the letter said?’
‘You may read it if you like.’ Houghton drew a rolled document from his sleeve. ‘Mistress Tangwystl carries the copy I had my secretary make. I planned to send this original with my own comments to William Baldwin, Archdeacon of Carmarthen.’
It was as Owen had guessed, Tangwystl claimed the right to separate from her husband after finding him thrice bedding Gladys, and Father Francis had signed as a witness. Shortly before he died, if Gladys’s story was true, and so far Owen had found no cause to doubt her.
Geoffrey, reading over Owen’s shoulder, asked, ‘What of Mistress Tangwystl’s family? Was not the purpose of the marriage to save her family? Did she not win them a home through it?’
Houghton took back the document, rolled it up and stuck it back up his sleeve. ‘Sir John has been a fool all round, it seems.’
‘My lord,’ Geoffrey began, ‘the maid Gladys-’
‘-is a woman of considerable charms,’ Owen said. He smiled at Geoffrey’s irritated look. It was not the time to distract the bishop with details of Tangwystl’s scheme.
‘Mistress Tangwystl is also a woman of considerable charms,’ Houghton said. ‘And Sir John’s wife. He should have looked to home.’ He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them for a moment, frowning down at the ground, which was now dark beneath the trees that caught the twilight in their branches. ‘God will be the judge of Gruffydd ap Goronwy. Perhaps we already see God’s hand in this trouble.’
Owen thought of Eleri and Awena. What would become of them?
‘I do not expect Sir John’s family to be troubled by an annulment,’ Houghton said. ‘I should think they are far more troubled by the marriage itself. He has not taken his wife to England to meet any of his kin — did you know? Yes, I can see that you did.’
‘You said that you sent Mistress Tangwystl somewhere,’ Owen said.
‘To St David’s. By now I should think she is safely quartered in the palace.’
‘Why is Father Edern helping her in this?’ Geoffrey asked.
Houghton glanced up as the light disappeared, creating a sudden chill. ‘Father Edern, Edern ap Llywelyn, is the uncle of Mistress Tangwystl’s child.’
Sly creature, dissembling fox. Owen must clutch the bench to stay there and listen to the bishop’s meandering tale. He wanted action. He wanted Edern.
But why had the vicar chosen this moment to take Tangwystl from Cydweli? What had the letter and her flight to do with the chaplain’s beating?
‘As they have all come to me I mean to settle this matter,’ Houghton was saying. ‘The Archdeacon of Carmarthen shall hear their stories, their pleas, and judge the case, Cydweli being in the archdeaconry of Carmarthen. And yet there is a problem — the father of Tangwystl’s child must also attend to this matter, but he is missing. He was there, you know, at St David’s, had come with a petition to see me, and then he vanished.’
‘The young man who left his belongings at the palace,’ Owen said. ‘Does Edern know where to find him?’
‘No.’
A scenario came to Owen. What else might have distracted John de Reine from his meeting with Owen and Geoffrey but a greater challenge to his father’s honour? A motive so personal it had confounded Owen, who had looked for political causes.
‘Perhaps we know why he disappeared,’ said Owen. ‘Suppose this young man, Rhys ap Llywelyn, and John de Reine met on Whitesands to test the honour of their two households — in combat.’
The bishop’s eyes were sad. ‘If you are right, I fear we have a tragedy on our hands. Rhys ap Llywelyn is the victor, but in law he is a murderer. He must answer for that at the tourn of his lordship, which would be Pembroke, unless Hastings’ chief steward agreed to allow him to be tried by Lancaster’s great court — at which John Lascelles resides. Either way, I do not see the possibility of his buying a redemptio vitae.’ Houghton had folded his hands in his lap as he spoke, and now dropped his head, as if praying.