by Candace Robb
Kate owned a pair of properties on High Petergate, near the minster, two houses side by side. One she operated as a guesthouse, managed by her late husband’s former factor, Clement, and his wife, Griselde. The other house had been empty for a while and was now leased to a knight, Sir Alan Bennet, who was sharing it with some of the other well-to-do knights arriving in the city.
“They will be watching for any trouble that might suggest Duke Henry has spies in the city,” Berend continued. “They will have men watching the rivers and the gates. They might have seen or heard something last night.”
Kate disliked the current use of the house, but the enterprising knight who had leased it to accommodate his fellows, at a fee, of course, had laid down a handsome deposit against damage and assured her that he would say nothing to anyone of the comings and goings next door at her guesthouse. The truth was, with Edmund of York’s call to arms, the house would have been requisitioned had she not made her own, undoubtedly more lucrative, arrangement, and perhaps the guesthouse as well, robbing her of income and the worthies of York of a venue for distraction from their mounting anxiety. “You’re quite right, Berend. I will pay them a call.”
“Or if Brigida comes for the little ones, I might do it myself,” he said. “The men might be more likely to talk to me.”
“Or they will be too busy recruiting you,” said Jennet.
Berend was laughingly assuring them that was not his purpose when out the window Kate saw Thomas Holme, her neighbor and business partner, come out of his house, glance toward hers, then hasten down the adjoining alley toward Castlegate. He had dressed with care, in the sort of attire he wore as alderman, or for guild events.
Guild events. “I almost forgot the guild meeting called for this morning.” Collecting Jennet, Kate hastened across the garden to the hall and up to her bedchamber to dress for the occasion.
It bothered her that Thomas had glanced this way but hurried on. It was their custom to walk to the guildhall on Fossgate together. More cause for unease on a morning when Kate’s world was tumbling down around her.
“I shall go directly from the meeting to High Petergate.” Kate cursed as they discovered a tear in the hem of the dress she wished to wear.
“Quickly mended.” Jennet helped her step out of the gown so she might work on it.
“We know so little about any of this. My mother and her cursed secretiveness.”
“She is skilled in dancing far from the point,” Jennet muttered as she worked.
“They say that mothers and daughters are always in conflict. Did you and your mother agree?”
“I never knew her.”
Kate felt herself blush. Jennet had been abandoned as an infant. “Forgive me.”
“It was an honest mistake, on a morning when you have much on your mind, Dame Katherine. Ready.” She held the gown up for inspection.
“You are a wonder.”
A pleased shrug as Jennet helped her with the small silver buttons. “Your mother would approve of this one.”
“She would find some fault with it, you can be sure.”
Jennet stepped back with a satisfied nod. “It should not take long to discover whether or not Nan has been sitting with an ailing mother. What else might I do while you are at the meeting?”
Kate thought while Jennet brushed out the tangles in her hair. “It would be good to know with whom Dina has had contact. Who has brought sewing to her. Women sometimes forget that a sempster has ears, or, in Dina’s case, knowing her troubles with our speech, they might have spoken freely in her presence thinking she would not understand. Too freely. About something that must not be repeated.”
“Do you think it likely a customer sent a man to silence a sempster?”
“Now that I hear it in your words, no. But we cannot dismiss any ideas, however unlikely. I want to know the names of her clients.”
“I will snoop,” Jennet agreed. “Though we might already know the answers to many of our questions if only you and Dame Eleanor were able to talk.”
“We would, I know. But life is never so simple.”
“No.” Jennet finished tucking Kate’s hair into a silver crispinette and gave her an encouraging hug. “We will find out what happened in that room last night. And Dame Eleanor need never know it was us. Her man Griffin can take all the credit.”
“That would require our working together—Griffin and our household.”
“It would make sense, would it not?”
“Of what use is he? He knows York little more than do the sisters.”
“Not entirely true,” said Jennet. “It is said he has family both in the city and a day’s ride from here. He was away visiting them in the countryside for almost a week. Just returned. And he has explored the city.”
“You have been following him?”
Jennet grinned. “Asking about him, that is all.”
Kate was very curious about the man. As Ulrich Smit’s retainer, he must know something of her mother’s experiences in Strasbourg. And he might know, or at least guess, why she left in such haste upon Ulrich’s death. “You have a point. Family in York, you say? But he sounds Welsh.”
“I know nothing more.”
“I will talk to him at the first opportunity. How will you approach Nan’s mother?”
“I shall take her a gift of Berend’s bread.”
“You are inspired! Who would not be grateful for that?”
Jennet stepped back. “Dressed!”
Kate spun round. “Am I all that a merchant of York must be?”
“That and more.” Jennet smiled.
Rushing down the steps and out into the garden, Kate almost collided with Sister Brigida. The beguine gave a startled cry, then apologized for lurking so close to the door. Kate had glimpsed a frown on Brigida’s expressive face before she had cried out and stepped aside.
“Has something happened?” she asked.
Brigida’s pale eyes lit up with a warm smile. “No, Dame Katherine. Sister Clara has set Sister Agnes and Nan to work on cleaning the blood from Sister Dina’s room and the kitchen, and Dame Eleanor is resting. I thought the best use of my time would be to distract Marie and Petra.”
Kate thanked her. “I told them they will take their lessons here in my house until we feel certain the danger is over. Will that suit you?”
“Of course.”
The relief on the faces of Jennet and Berend said it all. They wished to head out into the city and learn what they might about the intruder. Now they were free to do so. Matt would stay to watch the property.
“I think it best you know that Sister Dina sleeps with a dagger under her pillow,” said Brigida. “But I did not see it in the room as Sister Agnes and Nan began to clean it.”
“A dagger?” Berend looked surprised.
“An elegant one. We have never talked about it. She did not offer a story or a reason, and I did not feel it my place to ask. But I fear—”
Kate kissed Brigida’s cheek. “Bless you for telling us this. It is a help.”
3
A CITY ON THE EDGE
The master began the guild meeting with a reading of the orders from Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, who was governing the realm on behalf of his nephew King Richard, while he was away on the Irish campaign. There was much repetition of “for the common good” and an emphasis on the importance of the city of York in the north. An influx of knights and armed men was not to anyone’s liking, yet their presence and the fortification of the walls provided a sense of control in such troubled times, so the merchants in the hall were largely quiet during the reading. But Lille and Ghent, sitting at Kate’s feet, stayed alert, sensing tension in the hall. And, though Kate realized the events of the morning had heightened her feeling of impending danger, the widespread frowns, guarded glances at neighbors, and postures gave witness to the growing agitation in the room. Once the clerk had read the orders, the guild master invited suggestions as to how the guild might support the defense
efforts.
Kate had purposely taken a seat beside her neighbor Thomas Holme at the very end of a row of current and former aldermen. More unusual behavior—his custom was to sit toward the front of the room and never with this group. She might have been worried that she’d somehow offended him, but he’d greeted her with courtesy, asking about the barking of the dogs in the night. She’d hoped that he might have noticed something, but he had not.
“Poor Sister Dina,” he said. “I am glad that she sought safety at our parish church. I am not surprised that Magistra Matilda has stepped forward to help. As I told you, she grew fond of Dina in the short time the sisters lived at the maison dieu. Matilda fussed over the young woman, seeing how she jumped at every noise and avoided attention.” Thomas had founded the maison dieu beside the parish church on Castlegate years ago, and it had been at his generous invitation that the sisters had resided there for a brief time after arriving in York.
“I wish I knew whether Dina has cause to be so wary, or whether it is simply her nature,” said Kate.
“That was one of Magistra Matilda’s concerns,” said Thomas. “She asked whether Dame Eleanor knew the backgrounds of the three women, whether she had ensured they were appropriately devout or simply escaping unhappy or unsatisfying lives. Or worse.”
“Why worse?”
“It is her nature. Magistra Matilda is a formidable interrogator when considering a fresh recruit. She suspects that your mother simply stepped into one of the beguine communities, clapped her hands, and asked if anyone would like to accompany her to York.”
Though it was an apt depiction of her mother’s tendency to make hasty, careless decisions, Kate said, “It is my understanding that the sisters had undergone careful scrutiny in order to be accepted in their beguinage in Strasbourg.”
“To be sure. But Magistra Matilda does not approve of beguines. She has heard that the sisters might leave at any time to marry, and that some are permitted to return after having children—apostates in Magistra Matilda’s opinion. You recall how she insisted that Sister Brigida be accompanied by one of the other sisters when escorting your wards to the Frost household for lessons. Her lay order observes stricter rules.” He shrugged. “I believe her dislike of beguines arises from her dislike of anything never encountered in York.”
“Sister Clara says Matilda referred to them as the Saxon Lollards.”
Thomas gave a surprised laugh. “I’ve no doubt.”
“They follow the teachings of Meister Eckhart, I am told.” A Dominican scholar and philosopher who had taught in Strasbourg. “From what I have heard, his interpretation of Christ’s message lacks the darkness and asceticism of Magistra Matilda’s religion.”
“If they shared that with Magistra Matilda, it is no wonder she did not trust their devotion. Eckhart was denounced as a heretic.”
“I rather like what I’ve heard.”
“Never say that in the presence of Magistra Matilda.” He shook his head. “So what did Sister Dina have to say about her ordeal?”
“Nothing. Whatever happened, it has silenced her.” For the moment. Kate prayed that might be only temporary.
Each in the crowd seemed to have their own purpose in attending—to share unease about the growing military presence, to gossip, to complain. One guild member after another stood to recite stories of ships sighted in the mists along the coast of the North Sea and gangs of armed men on the roads, all heading north. There were those who believed Ravenspur had been the obvious landing place. No, no, more likely Bridlington. Ravenspur had no quay, the town had been largely abandoned as the sea encroached on the land. It must be Bridlington. More came round to that conclusion as their fellows listed the salient amenities: no castle to guard it, a quay at which to disembark and unload, and a town in which horses and men might find food and shelter as they awaited their exiled leader’s arrival from France.
“Dull-pated asses. Ravenspur or Bridlington, Bridlington or Ravenspur,” Thomas Holme muttered. “What matters is he’s landed in the north and he’s”—a glance at Kate, a cough—“too close to allow us to remain neutral. We know his ships paused at Cromer in Norfolk to take on supplies and more men. That is what we know.”
They knew now. There had been rumors of a landing in the southeast, at Pevensey, Sussex. Edmund, Duke of York, had gone to its defense only to discover there was no need, and that some of Henry’s ships had instead landed at Cromer, a Lancastrian estate in Norfolk, to take on supplies. The Lancastrian supporters had cleverly spread a misleading rumor.
Someone reported rumors that soldiers were heading west from Bridlington. Down the row, someone whispered, “Knaresborough. They have heard?”
Knaresborough. Had Henry of Lancaster already come so far inland? Kate was paying close attention to who spoke up, who kept a guarded silence, ordering them in her mind as to who was likely to side with King Richard or Henry of Lancaster—for that was the other matter stealing into the sharing, whether the city was wise to side with the king. “The king has not been so friendly of late.” That sent a ripple of consent down the row. Were the worthies of York secretly supporting the duke rather than the king?
All were agreed about who had landed, and most seemed quite certain as to Henry of Lancaster’s intention. Even before the arrival of the royal messenger, no one had doubted that he had come to claim the Lancastrian inheritance that his cousin, King Richard, had declared forfeit. The orders from Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, to raise troops and make repairs to the city defenses in preparation for war had merely verified the rumors.
“But Edmund of Langley is fond of his nephew Henry. If it comes to choosing sides . . .” Thomas Graa muttered with a shake of his head. Kate was glad of his low, easily distinguished voice. One of the wealthiest merchants in York, Graa knew the royal family, and his opinion mattered in the city. He had served the city as mayor, councilman, and, most recently, chamberlain, as well as representing York as a member of Parliament.
The guild master attempted to move on from what he clearly considered unnecessary chatter, reminding the guild members that he’d summoned them in order to discuss tactics for defense. Regardless of whether or not one welcomed Henry of Lancaster’s return, civil war was bad news for merchants, dangerous for both land and sea commerce, potentially destroying long-held trade agreements, indeed all manner of treaties. If the conflict resolved quickly, it would be a mere inconvenience. But it was anyone’s guess how King Richard would respond, his changeable moods and emotional outbursts impossible to predict. Experience had taught them to step warily with the king’s representatives. Many in the crowd would find any slowdown in trade particularly difficult to endure because of heavy fines levied on select guild members in recent years; King Richard’s tax collectors coyly referred to them as loans, but they were plainly punitive measures for those merchants targeted for their support of the barons critical of the king. Considering the circumstances, Kate regarded the king’s recent levies as poorly timed now that he needed the support of the realm against the returning exile.
The meeting dragged on, everyone with any opinion whatsoever determined to have his say. Though they had begun in the cool of early morning, the sun had now risen over the rooftops and the hall grew hot enough to ripen the crowd, who had dressed to impress rather than accommodate the July heat. They grew restless and querulous. Kate herself fought drowsiness, her mind wandering back to the morning’s events and her ever-growing list of questions.
“Nonsense,” Holme muttered, pulling Kate’s mind back to the guildhall.
One of the younger guild members was defending his theory that King Richard had not actually set sail for Ireland but was using the story to lure Henry of Lancaster into a trap. His pronouncement was greeted by shrugs, shakes of the head, raised brows, whispers. A few wondered aloud whether “the lad had lost his wits.”
Kate considered the idea. It would be a clever move. Subtle. Too subtle for the king? The consensus seemed to be that King Richard di
d not listen to others, that he was far too confident, believing that God protected the anointed sovereign from all who would challenge his right to rule.
Was that Duke Henry’s intention? To remove his cousin and be crowned King Henry in his stead? If anyone might succeed in such an effort, it would be him. The Lancastrian inheritance, when added to his wealth as Duke of Hereford, would make him the most powerful baron by far—that is, if he could wrest those lands and coffers back from the hands of the king’s favorites. It all depended on how many stewards and retainers had shifted their loyalty from Lancaster to the king.
The present discussion predictably fell apart as soon as the guild master broached the subject of actively helping to arm and defend the city. Few members of the merchant guild had ever ridden to war, and their experience with weaponry was limited to hunting or defending themselves in dark alleyways. Kate occasionally joined them on St. George’s Field to practice at the butts and knew how few of their arrows ever hit the mark. The city’s defense was quickly deemed the business of the sheriffs and the knights and esquires already summoned, and the discussion dissolved into a despairing account of how many able bodies the king had taken with him to Ireland—or wherever he lay in wait for his cousin. And the influx of armed strangers into the city, men no one might personally vouch for. If they caused trouble, to whom did the citizens take their complaint?
“It is our misfortune that Duke Henry’s power lies in the north,” Thomas Holme grumbled as he and Kate stepped out into the bright July morning. “We will bear the brunt of this, while our London colleagues will hardly be inconvenienced.”
Kate agreed and silently cursed her luck. She was so close to digging out from beneath Simon’s heavy debts—a few more shiploads of precious spices, added to a lease agreement her cousin William Frost was negotiating for her on the family property she had inherited in Northumberland, and she would be clear of that burden. But if her ships were seized, or if William’s lawyer met trouble on the road north and failed to complete the negotiations, the liberation she so yearned for would be delayed.
