The Apothecary Rose

'What you're saying is that both you and the Archdeacon think this Fitzwilliam was murdered, and that I'm here to find the murderer. You hope I find him, but the Archdeacon doesn't. Is that right?'

Digby grinned.

'Odd that you would work at cross purposes to your employer.'

Digby looked down at his tankard. 'I don't feel good about it.'

'Why are you so interested?'

Digby frowned at Owen as if he couldn't believe the question. 'I'm a Summoner. Tis my duty to bring sinners to justice. Someone commited a murder on hallowed ground. I mean to find out who.'

'But the Archdeacon doesn't care?'

'He's protecting someone.'

'Who?'

Digby looked away. 'Don't know enough to make an accusation. Don't know the connection.' He met Owen's eye with a solemn resolve. 'But let me give you something to think on. They talk of two deaths. Nay. Two murders.' He lingered on the last word.

Owen considered it. 'You mean the first one, with no name?'

Digby winked. 'Think on't. Honest men don't refuse to give their names. Involved in one of Fitzwilliam's shady deals, I suspect.'

'This gets interesting. But what's to make me believe it was murder? What do you know?'

Digby drank down the rest of his ale. 'Thirsty work, this talk.'

Owen caught Bess's eye. She poured another drink for the Summoner. 'Put it on my bill, Bess.'

She grinned. 'Takes more than a drink to bribe the Summoner, Master Archer.'

Digby bristled.

'It's just to afford me his company for a while longer,' Owen said.

Bess shrugged and moved away among the tables.

Owen noted Digby's irritation. 'I thought you had a thick skin.'

'I don't mind them resenting me for snooping. That's natural. But I'm not corrupt. The Archdeacon wouldn't keep me if I were.'

'You speak well of him. But you think he's covering up for a murderer. Make up your mind.'

'Everyone has a weakness. Something or someone that they'd risk everything for.'

'And his is?'

Digby glanced around, leaned closer. 'Nicholas Wilton.'

Owen did not like that answer. 'What do you mean?'

'Old friends. Went to school together.'

'The abbey school?'

'Aye. You know the sort. Always in trouble together. Each quick to come to the other's defence. But they fought over something ten years ago. Didn't speak to each other all that time. And then, the day after Wilton collapsed, the Archdeacon showed up at the shop. A regular visitor now. You'll see him now you're apprenticed there.' There was a funny light in Digby's eyes.

Owen ignored it. 'And the Archdeacon sends you to check in on his friend when he's not able to?'

Digby shook his head. 'He knows naught of my visits. Nor should he. I'm being honest with you.'

Their eyes met. Owen nodded. 'I believe you are. What's your game, that's what I'm wondering. Why do you visit the shop?'

Digby grinned. 'To see if Mistress Wilton's nervous to see me.'

'Anyone would be.'

'I mean more nervous than usual.'

'And is she?'

'I make the lovely Mistress Wilton very uneasy indeed.'

Owen wanted to wipe the sly smile off Digby's face with his fist, but he controlled himself.

'You said the Archdeacon was covering up for someone, implying Nicholas Wilton. And Mistress Wilton knows something, too. So you think Nicholas Wilton killed the two men?'

Digby shrugged. 'It all adds up to that, hard though it be to believe. You see, I was there, wasn't I, the night Nicholas Wilton took the physick to the abbey.'

Owen sat up. Took the physick?'

Digby preened with the attention. 'For the first pilgrim. He had camp fever. Everyone knows Nicholas Wilton has a secret concoction that is particularly effective for it. Brother Wulfstan went for some. I met him on the way. He returned without it. Wilton was bringing it later, he said. Had to make it up special.'

'You believe he poisoned the pilgrim?'

That's what I'm saying.'

'Why?'

Digby sighed. 'I don't know. Wilton's not the sort to make trouble. So I reckon there's something we don't know, something the stranger did to him, say. Not knowing who the man was, I can't figure it.' He leaned even closer. 'But I'll tell you this. I saw Wilton come from the abbey that night. Man looked like he was caving in, that's what he looked like. Then he began to twitch and jerk, and then he fell down in a faint.'

'What did you do?'

'Hurried to the infirmary for Brother Wulfstan, but he had his hands full with the pilgrim. Man was flailing around and yelling. So I went back out to see to Wilton. I couldn't rouse him, even with snow on his neck. Hailed a farmer passing on a donkey cart and took Wilton home in it.'

Owen looked long at the man. 'So what is your weakness?'

Digby grinned. 'I'm no fool to tell that, Master Archer.' He took a drink. Sat back. 'Told you more than you dreamed I knew, didn't I? Seems you owe me something in return.'

Here it came. 'What do you want?'

'As I said, I want to make sure a sinner confesses and does penance.'

Owen wondered why it was so difficult to believe the man took his position seriously. Took pride in ferreting out sinners. His appearance was against him, for certain. But so was Owen's, Odd thing was, having met the man's mother, Owen wanted to trust Potter Digby. Maybe it was time to trust his instincts. Thinking had not got him far. 'How about the first pilgrim's name? If I tell you that, will you tell me what you find out with the information?'

Digby's face lit up. 'I swear.'

They both leaned forward. 'His name was Sir Geoffrey Montaigne.'

'Montaigne’ Digby whispered. 'Geoffrey Montaigne. Now that stirs a memory somewhere.'

'I hoped it might.'

Owen had also hoped Digby would leave with the information, but instead he sat there frowning into his ale.

Oh, well. Owen settled back to consider what Digby had told him. Nicholas Wilton had mixed a physick for Montaigne, then fallen ill himself. Digby was witness to that. Owen sat up.

'What was your business at the abbey that night?'

Digby's eyes slid to Owen's, then away. I'm Summoner. My business is everywhere.'

Owen could tell Digby was lying. It was encouraging that he could tell. So maybe the rest was true. 'A clever answer. What are you hiding?'

'I've offered you my help.'

'Then you should tell me all you know.'

'I don't want you getting the wrong ideas.'

'You were there for suspect reasons?'

'I was waiting for the Archdeacon. I had to speak with him.'

'He was at the abbey?'

'He dined with the Abbot that night.'

'The night Nicholas Wilton, the Archdeacon's old friend, collapsed outside the abbey? The night before he resumed his friendship with Nicholas Wilton?'

Digby looked worried. 'It's not how it sounds. I'm sure of it.' He shook his head. 'Montaigne. Geoffrey Montaigne.' He grew quiet again.

If Owen believed Digby, he might have the answer to why he had not got far. He'd been looking at it all wrong, focusing on Fitzwilliam and what he'd been up to right before his death. But if the trouble had begun with Montaigne's death, not Fitzwilliam's. . Perhaps there was something much more intriguing being hidden than the death of the Archbishop's ward. And the pilgrim Montaigne was the key to it, not Fitzwilliam. Could that be?

What did he know about the man? Montaigne, considered a virtuous, chivalrous knight by all who knew him, had come to York to atone for a past sin, and the journey brought on a recurrence of camp fever. Such fever can kill, and the long ride had opened a recent wound, which had weakened him, making it even likelier that the fever would kill him. The Infirmarian thought Montaigne had known he might die at the abbey.

But Brother Wulfstan was uncomfortable. He might feel responsible for Montaigne's dying in his infirmary, but Owen did not think so. The monk would not have survived as Infirmarian if he blamed himself for every death in the abbey, no more than a captain could function if he blamed himself for the loss of men in battle. You taught them what you knew, and then it was up to them and God. Wulfstan would have done all he could.