The Apothecary Rose

Michaelo. A link. 'A pretty young man, you say?'

Campian sighed. 'I suspect that Anselm has failed in his resolve to give that up.'

'I never believed he would give it up, Campian. I did not choose him for his virtue.' Thoresby rose. 'I am increasingly uncomfortable about all this. I must consider what to do.'

Campian rose also. 'I will leave you to it, Your Grace. If I can be of any assistance, please let me know.'

'Meanwhile, allow Archer to question Brother Wulfstan.'

Abbot Campian bowed, said, 'Your Grace,' and took his leave.

For a long while Thoresby stood at his window trying various connections. Then he summoned Jehannes. 'It is time to invite Archer for a cup of wine. Tonight, Jehannes. Before I dine.'

Owen was halfway to the apothecary when the messenger from St. Mary's caught up with him.

'God be with you.' The boy pressed his palms together and bobbed his head, then peered up at Owen. 'Captain Archer?'

'A fair guess. How many one-eyed men are there in York?'

The boy screwed up his face, reckoning. 'Seven I know of. Nay. Cowley lacks both. But — '

Owen waved him quiet. ' Tis no matter. What is your message?'

The Abbot says you may speak with Brother Wulfstan this morning, Captain.'

Abbot Campian greeted Owen solemnly. 'His Grace tells me to trust you. I have encouraged Brother Wulfstan to confide in you. You may go to him.'

Owen thanked him. 'One question. Does Brother Wulfstan know the identity of the first pilgrim?'

Campian nodded. 'I told him after the Summoner left. I thought that might be what Archdeacon Anselm had sent Digby to find out. I told Brother Wulfstan to tell the Archdeacon his name.'

Owen groaned. 'And did he?'

'No.' The Abbot's expression was bemused. 'Brother Wulfstan disobeyed me. Not that he lied to the Archdeacon. Wulfstan is incapable of lying. He has always been so. The Archdeacon did not ask him the name directly.'

'God be thanked,' Owen said, and headed for the infirmary, tucking that bit of information away. Wulfstan was a bad liar, but not above misdirection. And another interesting fact. Wulfstan had known the pilgrim's name by the time he spoke with Lucie Wilton, but he had evaded her questions also. Even Lucie Wilton. They shared a secret. But not all secrets.

The novice Henry sat at a table, studying a manuscript. Brother Wulfstan dozed by the fire.

'He is tired,' Henry whispered when Owen entered. 'Can you see him another day?'

'No, I cannot.'

Henry went over and woke Wulfstan with a gentleness that Owen found touching.

Wulfstan's sleepy eyes slowly focused on Owen. 'Oh. Yes. Abbot Campian said you were to come.'

'Could we speak alone?'

Henry looked at Wulfstan, who nodded. 'Go meditate on what you have read this morning. We will discuss it this afternoon.'

The young man rolled up the manuscript and tucked it away, then left.

'He is a good boy.'

Owen sat down across from the old monk. 'Forgive me for being abrupt, but you must know why I am here, so I see no point in games.'

Wulfstan assumed a cool, almost hostile expression. 'It is you who have played with me. You are the Archbishop's man. You might have said so.'

'I hoped I need not say anything. Did your Abbot warn you to keep your silence about this?'

'I need no warning.'

The old monk's hostility disappointed Owen, but he could not blame Wulfstan. He would feel the same. Best to get the worst behind him. 'The matter is this. I believe that Geoffrey Montaigne was poisoned. And perhaps Sir Oswald Fitzwilliam.'

Wulfstan looked down at his sandals, but Owen could see the sweat on his forehead.

'I am not accusing you, Brother Wulfstan. I believe someone used you. I suspect that you discovered the treachery and are worried that someone will blame you.'

Wulfstan said nothing.

'If you tell me what you know, it may save St. Mary's from more disruption’

The Infirmarian looked up with frightened eyes. 'What sort of disruption?'

'Exhuming Montaigne's body.'

'No. Sweet Heaven, no. Please. Do not disturb Geoffrey.'

'I would rather not. Will you tell me what you know?'

'I thought the Archbishop wanted to know about Fitzwilliam's death.'

1 think the two deaths are connected.'

Wulfstan sighed and gazed down at his hands.

'Who are you trying to protect?'

The old monk got up and poked at the fire. 'My Abbot wishes me to co-operate. But it is hard.' He fussed with the fire. 'Who is to know what you learn?'

'That would depend on what I uncover, eh? Perhaps I need tell no one but His Grace.'

'And you will not disturb Geoffrey?'

'No’

Wulfstan returned to his seat. He clasped his hands tight and bowed his head. 'I am certain that it was an accident.'

'What was?'

'I did not discover it until after Fitzwilliam — I had no idea that the physick was deadly.' He lifted frightened eyes to Owen. 'He was already ill, you see. He must have been.'

'Nicholas Wilton?'

Wulfstan closed his eyes. Nodded once.

'Tell me exactly what happened.'

With much wringing of hands, Wulfstan told him the story. Most of the story. He did not mention Nicholas's odd questions when Wulfstan had gone for the medicine. Nor did he mention having spoken with Lucie Wilton about his discovery.

What Owen did hear was a revelation to him. 'You thought nothing when Montaigne called him a murderer?'

'He was delirious with fever. I am accustomed to discounting things said in such a state.'

Owen got up and paced for a few minutes, thinking about what he had learned. Wulfstan sat with his hands in his sleeves, gazing at the fire. His face betrayed him, sweaty, flushed. He had not told all he knew. Owen was not surprised. He had not expected it to be easy.

'What did you do when you discovered how much aconite was in the physick?'

'I disposed of it.'

'Where?'

'I — ' Wulfstan closed his eyes. Obviously he searched for a safe response. 'I had it burned’

'You had your novice burn it?'

'I — No.' The monk could not lie. Owen counted on that. He just had to be patient.

'Then who?'

'A friend’

'So someone else knows of this?'

'They will speak to no one’

'You are still playing games with me’

The flush deepened. 'You know that you need not exhume Geoffrey. You know what killed him. Is that not enough?'

'Are you certain that the dose of aconite in the physick was an accident?'

'How could it have been otherwise? I did not know the pilgrim's name then, so I could not have told Nicholas Wilton’ But Nicholas asked those questions. He knew for whom he prepared it. 'He had not been to the abbey while Geoffrey was here, so how could he know? And why would he poison a stranger?' Sweat dripped down Wulfstan's back, making him squirm. What if he protected a murderer? What about that? Lucie Wilton was innocent. He must protect her. But what of Nicholas's questions? And the palsy. Might it have been brought on by the shock of seeing his victim, the weight of his intended sin pressing on his heart?

'I asked if you were certain that it was an accident, Brother Wulfstan.'

Wulfstan dabbed his forehead. Shifted on the bench. Closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. Owen could hear him murmuring to himself. The arrow had struck the target, he was certain.

At last Wulfstan sat up and looked Owen in the eye. Owen read fear in his flushed face. 'One cannot see into another's heart. I have always found Nicholas an excellent apothecary and a good man. But I confess I do not know what to think about that day. He asked questions about the patient, questions that I did not think' — he frowned, searching for just the right word — 'that had nothing to do with diagnosing the man's condition’