Owen’s long strides got him to the infirmary before Wulfstan, where he discovered Alfred napping beside the outer door. ‘Idiot!’ he muttered, kicking him.
Alfred woke with a sputter, his eyes puffy with stolen sleep. He jumped up at the sight of Owen.
Wulfstan, who had just arrived, repeated the story of the intruder in the guest house.
But Owen was already doubting Wulfstan’s fears. ‘If it was Jack, why would he be eavesdropping in the guest house? Would he not have taken the opportunity to attack Edmund in the infirmary, knowing you were away?’
Wulfstan frowned. ‘Alfred was out here, guarding this door.’
‘Counting on you being in there, guarding the door from within.’ Owen tried to keep his voice neutral.
Wulfstan looked stricken. ‘Sweet Jesu, I had not thought of that. I should have alerted Brother Henry.’
They rushed into the infirmary.
‘Dear Lord, let not the poor man pay for my foolishness,’ Wulfstan prayed.
But they found an empty cot.
Wulfstan spun round to Owen, wild-eyed. ‘What can we do?’
Owen made a slow circuit of the room, his eye wandering up and down, then examined the inner door. From his crouch by the door he turned to say, ‘What made you think the intruder in the guest house was Jack?’
Wulfstan spread his hands. ‘Who else?’
Owen stood up. ‘Edmund himself.’
‘But why?’
‘To hear what Joanna had to say, no doubt. Brother Oswald came for you here?’
Wulfstan bowed his head. ‘Yes.’
Owen nodded. ‘Edmund is set on finding Stefan. He believes Joanna knows where he is.’
Wulfstan sat down on Edmund’s deserted cot and rubbed his eyes. ‘What was it Oswald said? Not a monk.’ He looked up hopefully. ‘It is possible you are right. Thanks be to God.’
‘We know nothing for sure. And now that Edmund is out and unguarded, what was not true may come true. What did he hear?’
‘I cannot reveal her confession.’
‘Brother Wulfstan, for pity’s sake — ’
‘Perhaps. .’ Wulfstan frowned, thought a moment. ‘Perhaps I might tell you what Dame Joanna told me of others. That is not her confession.’
Owen nodded excitedly. ‘Surely there would be no harm in that.’
Wulfstan took a deep breath, crossed himself. ‘Edmund might have heard that Hugh Calverley murdered Will Longford, Stefan murdered Hugh, and then, well, someone led Stefan to his death.’
Owen took a moment to digest the news. Someone was Joanna? Had all these weeks of effort been resolved in one confession? ‘What does that mean, “led him to his death”?’
Wulfstan’s expression was apologetic. ‘I do not know. She became hysterical.’
Owen paced, thinking what Edmund might do. ‘He will be after a mount.’
Wulfstan’s face lit up. ‘Shall I come help you search?’
Owen shook his head. ‘No need.’
Wulfstan sadly nodded. ‘I would slow your progress.’
Owen saw his disappointment. Old age was a humiliation that took much prayer to bear. ‘You have helped a great deal, Brother Wulfstan.’
‘Pray God forgive me for interpreting the rules to suit my purpose.’
The guard at the postern gate gave Edmund a curious look. ‘’Tis a busy morning. I’ve not seen you before, eh?’ His hand hovered over his sword hilt.
‘I am Edmund of Whitby. Captain Archer brought me here yesterday to visit Joanna Calverley. She scratched me for my troubles.’ Edmund stepped closer, lifted his face to the guard to display his wounds.
The guard grimaced, nodded. ‘Those nuns are worse than nursing she-cats. Brother Wulfstan took care of you, eh?’
‘Aye. ’Twas much uglier yesterday. Not that my face had much beauty to destroy.’
The two men chuckled companionably.
‘You’re not waiting for Captain Archer to finish his business this morning?’
‘Finish his business?’ Edmund frowned at the guard.
‘He came this way not long ago. Did you see him?’
Edmund wondered why Owen would be here, but he certainly did not wish to see him. ‘Nay. He is on other business.’
The guard nodded, swung open the oak door, and stepped back to let Edmund pass. ‘I trust you’ll stay clear of nuns from now on.’
Edmund hurried off towards Bootham Bar, where a large party of well-dressed church-goers crowded. He fell in with them and was through the Bar and hurrying down Petergate before the gatekeeper blinked. But his way was blocked by an overturned cart, summer apples spilling across the street and the farmer shouting at two men who lazily discussed how they might right the wagon. A sad reminder — Stefan had loved summer apples. Edmund turned with a shrug into Lop Lane. Lucky the spill had not occurred before the intersection.
Lop Lane was narrower and darker than Petergate. Better for his purposes of moving in secrecy. But it reminded him of that other dark lane, where he and Jack and their men had turned and attacked Colin and Alfred. Ever since Joanna had come into his life, Edmund had been on a precipitous path to Hell.
Owen and Alfred made for the abbey’s postern gate. ‘Has a man come through here? Scratched face?’
The guard grinned. ‘Aye. He showed me the nun’s handiwork.’
Alfred snickered, but Owen did not laugh. ‘How long ago?’
The guard stood to attention. ‘Just moments.’
‘Alone?’
‘Aye. Unless he was trying to catch up with the three who came through earlier.’
‘What three?’
The guard shrugged. ‘Said they were your men, coming to report on the nun.’
Damn it, Edmund was walking right into a trap. ‘Armed?’
The guard dropped his head, rubbed his chin. ‘Aye. Daggers and swords.’
‘One of them fair-haired, thin, with crooked teeth?’
The guard nodded.
Owen and Alfred hurried out of the gate, Alfred muttering that it was proof Edmund had murdered Colin and was using his friends once more to escape his punishment.
As they came through Bootham Bar, Owen spun round and snapped, ‘Stop judging him before you know the facts! You talk like a simpleton sometimes. I despair of you.’
Silenced and sullen, Alfred trudged down Petergate behind Owen. But he perked up when Owen slowed and whispered, ‘Trouble ahead.’
Two men were piling apples into a lopsided cart just past Lop Lane. Owen noted their clothing — the subtle livery of Captain Sebastian. He glanced down Lop Lane, wondering if they had tricked Edmund into heading that way. But the overturned cart was an old trick that Edmund should not have fallen for.
The men from the cart saw Owen’s patch and froze, then leaped over the apples and came for him and Alfred. The four circled each other, daggers ready; but when the Bootham gatekeeper spied the trouble and came running, Sebastian’s men tried to bolt down Lop Lane. Owen and Alfred gave chase, and by the time the gatekeeper reached them they had wrestled the men to the ground and were busy binding their hands.
‘Where’s Jack?’ Owen demanded of one.
Despite his bound hands and Owen’s dagger at his throat, the man sneered, his resistance unwavering.
Owen swore and sheathed his dagger. ‘We waste time, Alfred. Come along.’ They left the men in the custody of the gatekeeper and turned down Lop Lane. In the dark, Owen paused, listened. He heard the grunts of wrestlers up ahead. Signalling Alfred to stay right behind him, Owen crept forward, his dagger drawn. At the Blake Street crossing two figures struggled, daggers flashing. Owen flattened himself against the corner building, shadowed by the second storey overhang, and watched the two men.
As one of them twisted away from his opponent with a cry of pain, Owen recognised Edmund. The other man had firm hold of Edmund’s arm and bent it behind him to pull him back, then throw him down on the ground. It was Jack, ugly Jack from Scarborough, little Maddy’s murderer.
As Jack stomped on Edmund’s back and tossed his dagger aside to grab his sword, Alfred started. ‘The scabbard at that bastard’s waist,’ he hissed in Owen’s ear. ‘Matches the dagger I had off Colin’s murderer.’ Before Owen could hold him back, Alfred leaped out, his sword drawn, and with a blood-chilling cry charged Jack, who spun round to face his attacker. Alfred chopped down on the murderer’s unshielded shoulder just as Jack sliced into Alfred’s side.