by Candace Robb
“My men will track down the Lancastrians,” said Elric.
“I wish them luck,” Jennet muttered.
Elric glanced at her with surprise, but she merely shrugged. “What about Lionel?” he asked. “Someone should talk to him.”
Kate smiled. “I would not mind paying a visit to his wife. I have not been to see Winifrith and baby Simon in weeks. If she won’t confide in me, her daughter Maud might.”
“That would be helpful.” Elric looked round the table. “So Berend is in the city? You have seen him?” He turned to Kate. “Spoken to him?” When Kate said nothing, he added, “It would help to know where he has been and why, and his reason for returning to the city when he knows those seeking him will search here. If I’m to defend him I need to understand.”
Kate wanted so much to believe Elric was her ally. But to speak of her meeting with Berend felt like a betrayal. “I do not know where he has been, nor do I know why he would endanger himself by coming here.”
Elric looked away, clearly disappointed. “I mean to help. If you learn anything, I pray you trust me with it.” He sat back and lifted his bowl of ale. “Most welcome.” He took a drink.
“What did the baker Trimlow see?” Kate asked.
Elric emptied the bowl, set it aside. “He claims to have seen Berend and Merek near the market square. He said Berend pushed Merek and blocked his hand when he lifted it to strike back. Merek cursed him and turned to walk off, but Berend grabbed him by the shoulder, said something, then shook him and let him go.”
Such detail. Kate would like to talk to the baker.
“Once the sheriffs were involved it was impossible to keep it quiet,” said Elric. “So Berend will find it difficult to stay hidden, and the sheriffs will be eager to lock him in the castle.”
Kate closed her eyes against the image, but that only made it more vivid.
“I pointed out to the sheriffs that Merek seems to have fought, his knife and hand, even his wrist were bloody as if he’d gotten in at least one serious thrust. So if Berend is not wounded . . .” Elric shrugged. “It is all I can argue at the moment.”
“What can I do?” asked Jennet.
Kate opened her eyes in time to see Elric consider her freckle-faced maidservant.
“I understand you are as well informed about what goes on in the city as Bess Merchet. Keep all ears pricked for information. Even the smallest detail might help. The sheriffs want to calm the city. They will listen.”
Jennet looked doubtful, but she nodded as if agreeing.
Elric glanced round the table. “If Berend is apprehended, leave him to me. I can use the earl’s influence to keep him safe until we can prove his innocence.” He turned to Kate. “He has spent years seeking absolution for his sins. I do not believe he would suddenly commit such an act.”
Nor could she. But others would look at Berend’s bulk, the scars that bore witness to his violent past—why would they trust him? And what, in the end, did she really know of him? Kate looked aside to hide her confusion. “Thank you,” she said as she fought for composure. As if sensing her distress, Ghent came and rested his head on her shoulder. She stroked his back and took a deep breath. “I will call on my cousin William to put his authority behind you as well.”
Elric frowned. “William Frost is hardly the man to defy the king’s men. Not when he owes so much to Henry’s favor.”
She could not deny that. “And you?”
“My lord the earl is also the king’s man, it’s true. But I know Berend and Lady Margery, and I never had cause to doubt their honor.”
“I am in your debt, Sir Elric.” She bowed her head to him.
“How times change,” he remarked as he rose, thanking her for the hospitality and reminding Jennet where he was lodging.
“About that,” said Jennet, as Kate rose to walk out with Elric. “Why the York Tavern? One of the abbeys would gladly accommodate you.”
He laughed. “Best ale in the shire, and Bess Merchet—if I can win her friendship, I’ll not need my men in the city. I can just ride in once a fortnight, drink some fine ale, and hear all that has transpired. Who has visited, who has left, who has secrets my lord would like to hear.”
When Kate and Elric were out in the yard he turned to her, serious once more. “About your cousin William Frost. His election was strongly influenced by the earl and the king himself, letters recommending him as a peacekeeper in the city.”
“William a peacekeeper?” Kate shook her head at the concept. In the past, her cousin’s strategy in uniting the majority of the citizens of York had been to use the minority who opposed his idea as the enemy. Indeed, the rumor that King Henry had pushed for William’s election as mayor had grown out of people’s disbelief. He was not a popular man.
“I question it as well,” said Elric, “not because of any flaw in him but rather that he is such a part of this community, personally involved—such a man cannot truly keep the peace. But as he has been chosen, I need to know him better. Establish a connection.”
A sinking feeling. Here was the truth of Elric’s recent warmth—he needed her influence with William. “And that is how I can be of help to you?” Kate asked.
Do not be so quick to jump to that, Kate, Geoff urged.
“I hesitate to ask it of you,” said Elric, in a chastened tone.
“We will discuss this further,” she said, her tone dismissive.
He flinched.
“Is that true, what you just said?” she asked to change the subject. “Is Bess Merchet so well informed?”
“About the city over all, yes.” He lifted one of her hands, then bent to kiss it. “You are more selective. And I am not so confident that you will ever let me so close to you that I could be sure you were telling me all you knew.” His eyes teased.
Oh, Heavenly Mother, if he could read her mind . . . Kate forced a smile. “Time will tell.” She deemed it wise to offer something. It was not her purpose to alienate him. “You should know that I have spoken to Berend. He came here, to the house. But he was careful to tell me nothing.”
Elric said nothing for a moment, but the warmth was gone from his eyes. “He loves you. He will never act on it, but he loves you.”
Of all the responses she might have imagined, that was the last thing she had expected him to say. “I am his employer.”
“Is that all that stops you?”
Damn him. She could feel the warmth in her face. This was all wrong, their duplicity with each other. She delighted in his touch, in the warmth of his regard. She did not believe she’d merely imagined the mutual attraction. Yet she could not let herself trust him with her heart. She tilted her head and smiled up at him. “You forget yourself, Sir Elric.” With a little laugh, she wished him a good day. And silently cursed herself for the awkward attempt at flirting.
But it seemed she’d succeeded in confounding him, clear in the questioning look he gave her before bowing and taking his leave.
No more than her own treacherous heart confounded her.
Jennet and Matt had their heads together when Kate finally returned to the table. As she settled back in her chair, they considered her with grave expressions.
“Come, my darlings,” Kate whispered to Lille and Ghent. The hounds eagerly joined her, settling at her feet.
“Multiple stab wounds.” Jennet shook her head. “Berend would not be so clumsy.”
“The slit throat, that could be him,” said Matt, “meaning to put a dying man out of his misery. But who is Merek to him?”
Kate had not yet told them of Berend’s connection with the spice seller. In truth, she had said little about the exchange, too shaken to speak of it. “I am not certain,” was all she said now.
“Shall I find the spot where he was murdered, examine it?” asked Jennet.
Kate should have thought of that herself. “Yes, do. I am going to take the hounds and find out who the customer was who was so irked when Merek hurried away in the market. And then I’m g
oing to call on Jon Horner.”
“What about the body that might be Carl?” asked Jennet.
“I said I would see to that,” said Kate. “But proving Berend innocent of Merek’s murder is our priority now.”
Griselde and Clement greeted Kate with solemn voices and worried expressions. Already the news of Merek’s murder and Berend’s danger had reached them. It was all Kate could do to wave off their questions. She needed information so that she might discover the real murderer, and she needed it now.
Clement nodded. “Of course. I pray you, forgive us our questions, but we cannot believe—”
“Talk to Old Cob, the eel man,” said Griselde, interrupting her husband. “He has the stall next to Merek’s at the market. His little shop is near the river.” She described the place, on Skeldergate, close to the Old Baile. “Tell him—No, of course not, you do not want to be bothered with my messages. God go with you, Mistress Clifford. Come tell us the news when you have a moment.”
“Mary is proving satisfactory?” she asked.
Griselde and Clement exchanged a wry look.
“She finds it difficult?” Kate guessed.
“We all do. But we are managing. Do not concern yourself with us.”
Lille and Ghent enjoyed the pace Kate set over the bridge, bustling with shoppers and aldermen gathering outside the guildhall before a meeting. Though a chill wind came off the river, reaching out to her in between the clustered buildings as she hurried along, even stronger down along Skeldergate, she was quite warm by the time she saw Old Cob standing outside his shop front chatting with a customer. To interrupt or not? To do so would call attention to her mission, but . . . Her dilemma was made moot by Old Cob’s exclamation upon seeing her.
“Mistress Clifford! It is an honor to see you here. Has Sir Elric requested more eels?”
The expression on the face of the woman who had been chatting with him was one of eagerness to hurry away and spread gossip about Katherine Clifford and her knight. For once, Kate was glad of the rumors, she needed the privacy.
Old Cob looked crestfallen when she explained her mission, but quickly cheered. “I do recall the incident, and I remember the customer. The blacksmith Ben Coffey, you know him, I am certain.”
“His smithy is just outside Micklegate Bar.”
Cob nodded.
A convenience. She would ask Coffey whether he had heard of a body. “I did not recognize him.”
“He dropped four stone or more while grieving his beloved wife.”
That would explain it.
“He’s an odd customer for a spice seller,” Cob continued, “but Merek, God rest his soul, I mean no disrespect for the dead, but he made quite a profit as a bit of an apothecary, or a healer.” He nodded at Kate’s frown. “Oh, yes. Why the vintners guild did nothing I cannot say, but he is—was licensed as a spice seller, nothing more. Most of us in the market knew of his extra trade.”
“You are speaking of potions?”
He nodded. “Especially for men getting on in years. He promised to revive, stimulate. And attract, that was the big one.” He wagged his scruffy brows.
“So Ben Coffey, the blacksmith—”
“Recently widowed, and well, God help me I should not listen to others’ conversations, but when the morning is slow . . .”
“Yes?”
“Coffey was there for a love potion. And a bit more. He worried that he had been unmanned by his wife’s death and his long mourning.”
“So that he might be unable to pleasure a bride?” Kate asked, then apologized for her bluntness as Old Cob turned a dangerous shade of red. “You have been a great help,” she added. “Bless you.”
“I am glad to be of help. Your Berend did not do it, Mistress Clifford. I would stake my reputation on it.”
Kate called softly to the hounds. “If I see him, I will tell him you said so.”
Micklegate was abustle in late morning, and Kate kept the hounds on a short lead as she pushed through the crowd heading toward the river and the city center. She and the dogs were in the minority heading out toward the countryside. At the Bar the gatekeeper fussed over Lille and Ghent, “gray beauties,” and wished her well, then grew serious, advising her that he had been commanded to look for Berend and hold him for the sheriffs. Chilled about Berend’s deepening danger, she nodded her thanks and continued on out the gate, past the hovels piled up against the walls, cook fires smelling of onions and grease, past a few small but more substantial houses. As she arrived at the wide gate opening onto the blacksmith’s yard she took a deep breath and forced her worries to the back of her mind. She needed to be sharp for this conversation, learn all she could. That, and not worry, would help Berend.
Inside the tidy yard she paused to let Lille and Ghent commune with a plow horse waiting to be shoed by one of Ben Coffey’s workers, the mare curious about them. Did she imagine they were colts, Kate wondered. Beneath a one-walled shed a man stroked the back of a nervous palfrey and made soothing sounds while lifting a blood-encrusted hind leg to examine the hoof.
A boy left the bellows he’d been working to see to Kate, asking whether the hounds wanted shoeing.
Laughing, she told him she wished to speak with his master.
“Round back. In his workshop.” He shook his head at Lille and Ghent. “I’ll bet they never feel the cold.”
It seemed an odd comment from a lad who worked the bellows. But, remembering the hovels near the wall, she thought perhaps his home was among them.
“There is a benefit to growing your own warm coat, to be sure,” she said. Thanking him, she softly called Lille and Ghent to attention and the three moved on.
Behind the more open smithy was a long shed, and beyond that a tidy house with some chickens pecking about. The door of the long shed was open, and she could see Ben Coffey standing within. She called out, but he did not turn. So she stepped inside.
He was alone, running a hand along a panel of intricately patterned ironwork. Feeling for flaws, she imagined.
“Might I have a word?” she said in a voice that he might hear but not so loud he would startle.
Now he glanced up. Soot and sweat streaked his pale face and the front of his linen shirt. Beneath the rim of a leather hat that hid his graying hair, his dark eyes moved to her, then the two hounds.
“Mistress Clifford?” he said with some uncertainty in his voice, lowering the panel and moving in front of it, as if trying to conceal what she had already seen. It was not the accepted work for a blacksmith. He was no doubt concerned that she might report him to the guild.
“Yes. Forgive me for intruding on you, but the lad—” she gestured back toward the smithy.
“Good boy but for his mouth.”
“I will tell no one what I saw,” she assured him. Brought up in the countryside, she did not understand the fuss about strict guild categories. A skilled craftsman should not be hindered by such rules. “I must say, it shows remarkable skill.”
With a crooked smile and a shrug he stepped aside and motioned for her to come closer.
She traced the swirling pattern with a gloved hand. “It flows,” she said.
“Yes,” he whispered, pleased.
“What is it for?”
“Grillwork for a tomb in the church in Galtres,” he said. “I’ve been working on it since Martinmas. This is the last panel.”
“Much more satisfying work than shoeing a horse.”
“In some ways, in others—I like knowing I’ve eased their burdens, the beasts.” A flicker of a smile at Lille and Ghent. “They are kinder than people. Closer to God than we can ever hope to be.”
Kate reached down to stroke her hounds’ ears. “I could not agree more.”
“But I am forgetting myself.” He tugged at his sleeves, straightened his hat. “You came to see about some work, Mistress Clifford?”
“No. Not today.” She explained the purpose of her visit.
The man’s genial expression darkened as
she spoke. “Ah. Merek, the bloody—” Coffey caught himself, made the sign of the cross. “I can tell you he did not want anyone to see whatever it was he pressed into Horner’s hand. It was a small object. I could not see anything but a bit of a glint—gold? No bigger than my thumb, I would say.” He held up a sizable digit, blackened by his work. “Maybe as big.” He squinted as if peering into his mind’s eye, reliving the incident. “Merek sent Horner off, and then he walked away himself. Walked away and left me standing there without the—What he’d promised that day.”
“Did you ever get it?”
Coffey shook his head and spat sideways. “Brings up the bile to think of it. I paid good coin for the potion and he died before handing it over. I say God rest his soul, for I am a God-fearing man, but he robbed me.”
“Do you happen to know where he lodged?” Kate asked.
A look of distrust. “You don’t think I went after him?”
“No. I hoped to see his lodgings. If you described to me what it was you had purchased, I might notify the sheriffs’ men.”
“Oh, it is no matter. Do not trouble yourself.” He directed her to a house near the Thursday Market and excused himself. “I am blessed with more work than I can manage, at present,” he muttered. He was a handsome man beneath the grime of days spent in hard labor. And prosperous. Some woman would snatch him up quickly, Kate was certain, and, with any luck, he would have no need of Merek’s potion.
“I am glad to hear your business is thriving.”
“I would be glad but for the fact that I’m benefitting from folks’ fear. In dangerous times they bring a smith all manner of old weapons for repair.”
“But the soldiers are long gone.”
“That might be more a curse than a blessing. Folk hear of the mobs taking down those who would bring back King Richard. The devil seeds lawlessness across the land. Here we’ve had the spice man’s murder two days after the man found in the ditch across the way, his throat slit . . . Folk are uneasy.”
