by Candace Robb
As he stepped through the abbey gate, Berend felt a surge of relief. For a moment he forgot his mission and said a prayer of gratitude that there was such a place so near the city, a haven of peace, a sanctuary in which he might lay down his burden of worry. Brothers and servants moved about their chores in silence, their pace much slower than out in the city, as if they had all the time in the world. Berend slowed his own steps, and as he made his way to the infirmary he allowed his gaze to rest gently on the elegant buildings and the lovingly tended gardens. One could forget for a moment the gathering of armed men to defend the city, the sense of imminent danger. He had missed his visits to Brother Martin. The apothecary had indeed provided the same unguent, but her shop was no refuge from his cares.
He rapped gently on the door of the infirmary, drawing his mind back to his purpose. Today the abbey was more than a retreat from the world; it was a source of information. Here he hoped he might discover whose blood stained Sister Dina’s gown.
A dark-eyed, chubby novice opened the infirmary door.
“I have come to speak with Brother Martin.”
The novice gazed up at Berend in startled silence for a moment, then seemed to hear his request. “Oh. I pray you forgive me. It is not every day I discover a stranger at the door.”
And today, at least two? Berend wondered.
“Brother Martin is in the herb garden. Is he expecting you?”
“No. But he will remember me.” Berend slipped off his simple felt hat and tilted his head to display the scar where once was an ear. “That it has healed so well is thanks to his skill.”
A slight frown and a subtle drawing back suggested the novice was not sure he would consider it healed. But he quickly recovered, and, bowing, said, “I will escort you, Master . . . ?”
“Berend.”
Another bow, and the novice stepped out the door, shutting it behind him, and led Berend round the building.
He smelled the herbs before he saw the garden—spicy, sweet, aromatic. And now he beheld the serene order of the beds, heard the murmur of bees and other winged gardeners. Eden. Paradise.
A black-robed form bent over a hedge of lavender.
“Brother Martin?”
The figure straightened, pushing back a wide-brimmed hat that had half fallen over his eyes. “Yes, Andrew, what—Oh, Master Berend.” He came forward, brushing off his gloves, then removing one to take Berend’s hand. “What a pleasure to see you. It has been so long. How is the ear?” His cheer seemed forced.
“Healed, as far as is possible, thanks to your care, Brother Martin.”
“I hear that you are now a cook. Are you here to beg some unusual herbs?”
“I would not say nay to anything you might offer. What dishes I might concoct with such variety! But I’ve come on less sanguine business.”
“An illness in the household?”
“No, God be thanked. Might we sit somewhere quiet? Here in the garden, if you please.” Berend gestured toward a bench shaded by an old linden.
A little shrug, a nod to young Andrew and a gesture releasing him to return to the infirmary. “A moment in the shade would be welcome, Master Berend.”
“Just Berend. I am no man’s master.”
A surprised laugh. “You sounded like my father just then.” As the monk settled on the bench he removed his hat and pushed back imaginary hair—he had so little hair he’d scant need for a tonsure. An old habit then, from before he’d taken vows. Berend tried to imagine what he might have looked like in youth. Thin, long-limbed, and, judging by his brows and lashes, fair-haired. He would have been a comely lad, even-featured, with large, expressive eyes. Eyes that now returned his gaze with a wariness they’d not held when they last met.
“I will not trifle with you by circling round my purpose, Brother. One of the Earl of Westmoreland’s knights, Sir Elric, came to the abbey this morning asking to be directed to the abbot’s lodgings and the infirmary.”
A shrug. “Many come to the gate, for blessings, in hope of healing.” The monk coolly met his gaze. “Abbot Thomas rarely sends them on to me. You touched him. That is why he welcomed you when you first came to York, your quest for absolution, redemption. Have you found it in service to Dean Richard’s niece?”
Clever how he diverted the questions to Berend himself. And well informed. “I am on the path, as is my purpose in coming to you. A young woman was accosted by an intruder in Dame Eleanor Clifford’s house of poor sisters last night. I have cause to think the young woman, Sister Dina, might have injured her attacker. I wondered whether he had found his way here.”
“A poor sister was accosted?”
Choosing his words with a care to accuracy yet a sense of the horror of Sister Dina’s ordeal and her frightened silence, Berend took the monk through the events of the night and early morning. “My employer, Katherine Clifford, is determined to find out what happened. I ask in the hope that Sir Elric possibly heard something of the incident from one of his men in the city?”
“May God watch over Sister Dina,” Brother Martin whispered, crossing himself. “And all in her household.” The monk sat for a moment, folding his hands in his lap—work-roughened hands, despite the gloves he had tucked in his rope girdle.
Berend tried to quiet his own mind, allow anything to arise that pointed to something he might have missed in the telling. “I understand that I am casting a wide net,” he added quietly.
A little smile as Brother Martin shifted on the bench, facing Berend. “I am not a stranger to the investigation of a crime. My father—foster father—”
“He who was master to no man?”
A nod. “I sometimes assisted him in solving crimes in the city. So my mind has gone straight down that disused path, calling up questions so that I might sort them. It seems you have many unanswered questions. Why choose to come to me? The city is filled with armed men at present. Strangers.”
“With such a background you will understand why I must consider all avenues that might help resolve this as soon as possible. Before someone else is threatened. Did Sir Elric come to you? Is an injured man lying in your infirmary? One of his men?”
“Perhaps if you spoke to my abbot, you—” The monk paused as the novice Andrew came round the corner of the infirmary in some haste.
“Brother Henry says you must come at once, Brother Martin.” Andrew glanced at Berend, bit his lip, looked down, bowed, and made a hurried retreat.
Brother Martin crossed himself and rose with a deep sigh.
“I can return,” Berend said.
“Go with God,” Brother Martin murmured as he tucked his hands up his sleeves and hurried after the novice.
5
REMORSE
After their long rest in the guesthouse kitchen, Lille and Ghent fairly trotted alongside Kate, happily sniffing at passersby, far calmer than earlier in the day. Kate, on the other hand, forced herself to the brisk pace in an attempt to combat the creeping weariness of early afternoon in high summer. The air felt thick, heavy, and her shoulders ached with the tensions of the day, yet she felt restless. Some time at the archery butt, or practicing with her battle-axe, that is what she needed.
Lille’s rumbling growl caught her attention.
Danger! Geoff shouted in Kate’s mind.
As Kate drew her dagger, she and the hounds turned as one, startling two armed men who were much too close. One carried a rope. Kate pointed the dagger at one, then the other, and warned them that she was about to order the dogs to attack. The men backed away, disappearing down an alleyway. Her mother’s man, Griffin, appearing from nowhere, chased after them, but he returned in a moment, shaking his head.
“I’ve lost them.”
Kate considered the Welshman, who had spent years in the Holy Roman Empire, judging by his accent. Crusading? As a mercenary? Just as she’d not bothered to investigate Agnes Dell, she’d ignored Griffin.
Ghent stepped between them, ready to protect Kate.
Holding u
p his empty hands, Griffin had the good sense to take a few steps back. “My mistake, Dame Katherine. I thought you might need assistance.”
“You see me through Dame Eleanor’s eyes.” Kate rubbed the hounds’ ears, caught up their leads, and turned to continue on her way, more disturbed by the encounter than she wished Griffin to guess, but also oddly satisfied, all weariness gone. “What is your business on Coney Street?”
“Searching for you. Dame Eleanor said it was urgent.”
“She sent you as well as Jennet?”
“Patience is not her virtue?”
“No, it is not. Jennet did not know what the urgent matter might be. Do you?”
“No.”
God help her. What had her mother done now? Noticing with annoyance that Griffin kept pace slightly behind her, she motioned for him to walk beside Ghent. “He shakes off his response to danger faster than his sister,” she said when he hesitated.
He did as she wished. “Berend is right, you’ve a rare connection with your hounds.”
So he’d been discussing her with Berend?
Interesting, Geoff said in her head. But I wouldn’t hold it against him.
We’ll see, Geoff. We’ll see.
They fell into easy laughter over the strangers’ apparent ignorance.
“He thought they would submit to his attempt to catch them with a rope?” Kate laughed.
“A plot conceived over one too many tankards of ale, I would guess,” said Griffin.
As they approached Kate’s house, Lille and Ghent pricked their ears. Across Castlegate, two men stood guard at the maison dieu. Kate changed direction, crossing toward them. “Sister Dina is there,” she said in answer to Griffin’s questioning expression.
“Did you order a guard?” he asked.
She shook her head, recognizing the two men. “Sir Elric’s.” His visit to the abbey and now this—it was clear that Elric had known about the intruder all along. Devious man, she was right not to trust him. “I will step inside, have a word with Magistra Matilda.”
“But Dame Eleanor . . .”
“I shall try her patience a while longer. This cannot wait.”
Griffin nodded. “I’m glad to wait with the hounds.”
Surprised by the offer, Kate held out her hand for his, then guided him to touch Lille’s back, then Ghent’s. She bent to rub their ears. “Be easy with him,” she whispered. “I won’t be long.” She greeted Elric’s men, who stood aside to allow her in. “Did you or your comrades witness anything last night?”
The men bowed to her but did not speak. Which suggested the answer was yes. But nothing more. Elric had trained them well.
In the dimness of the sisters’ hall, Kate was greeted by a servant who knew her, knew who she wished to see.
“Come this way, I pray you, Mistress Clifford.” She led Kate into a small room off the hall, warmed with a brazier even on this summer afternoon. Magistra Matilda sat at the side of a small cot, watching Sister Dina sleep. A crucifix on the wall, a small table beside the cot, a shuttered window. Bare essentials.
“Any change?” Kate asked.
“At last she sleeps a healing sleep,” said Matilda. “For a long while she lay watching the ceiling and moving her lips, but no sound, no sound.” She shook her head. “What terror does she revisit?”
“I have been too incurious about the beguines my mother collected.”
“She is not your responsibility, surely?”
“When did the Earl of Westmoreland’s men take up the guard here?”
Matilda shook her head. “I knew nothing of it until one of the sisters returned in tears, fearing that we were being put out of our house so that the soldiers might lodge here. The men say they were ordered to ensure Sister Dina’s safety until her attacker is found. I demanded to see their captain.”
Elric knew everything, damn him. “And have you spoken to him?”
“Not yet.” Her veil trembled with indignation. “But I have sent word to the sheriffs.”
Unhappy news. “Did your message mention the intruder last night?”
“Only that there was one. And I am concerned that the Earl of Westmoreland has overstepped his bounds.” A sniff of irritation.
Not as bad as Kate had feared, but still . . . Once the sheriffs knew of the intruder the story would spread quickly throughout York. Any scandal touching her was bad for business—lenders and customers became uneasy. And with all the soldiers, it was no time to stand out. “Had you mentioned an intruder to anyone before Sir Elric’s men arrived?”
“Do you accuse me—”
“No.” Kate raised her hands in surrender. “But I cannot understand how the knight knew to put guards here, can you?”
“I have said nothing to anyone outside this house. And I ordered all in my charge to say nothing.”
“Then someone else knows and told Sir Elric,” said Kate. She bowed to Matilda, thanked her for watching over Dina.
“I will send for you if there is any change,” Matilda assured her. “Or if the sheriff sends someone.”
Perhaps Berend’s visit to the abbey might reveal what Elric knew, what his night watch had witnessed. If not, Kate must think of a way to confront the knight without seeming to confront him.
Outside, the sun beat down. She was glad to see that Griffin had found a shady spot beneath a tree to rest with the hounds. As she approached, he rose with a fluidity that impressed her.
“How is Sister Dina?” he asked.
“Sleeping peacefully.” Kate smiled as Lille and Ghent joined them, nudging her hands for ear rubs. As she obliged them, she thanked Griffin for watching them.
“To be honest, it felt as if they were keeping me polite company,” he said.
Kate waited until they crossed into Hertergate to ask Griffin why her mother had sent him and not a servant to fetch her.
“Dame Eleanor grew anxious that Jennet might not have stressed the urgency of her summons. I set off to find you.”
A stroke of luck that he’d found her, then. “But you know nothing of what happened that she’s so keen to see me?”
“To see both of us. Devil if I know. Except that she had an unexpected visitor—Lionel Neville.”
That sent a shiver down Kate’s sweat-dampened back. “God help me. If Dame Eleanor and Lionel are in league—”
“No, no, I did not mean that. I assure you, she dislikes him as much as you do.”
“So she has told you all about us?”
“To be honest, I heard it on the street.”
Of course. Their bad blood would make good gossip. “I take no comfort in your empty assurance. She has not as much cause to dislike him as I do.” She led Lille and Ghent down the side of the Martha House and into the garden, finding a shady spot for them beneath the kitchen eaves. “A bowl of water?” she asked Griffin.
He fetched it from the kitchen without hesitation, and proffered a small plate of cold meats. “Not so rich as what they deserve.”
“But welcome for now.” She smiled, a peace offering.
“Dame Eleanor awaits us—” Griffin gestured not to the main house but the kitchen.
“In here?” As she stepped into the kitchen, Kate wrinkled her nose at the warring scents of damp earth and lye.
“The intruder bled enough to weaken a man,” Griffin noted.
“Yet he managed to elude us.”
Kate paused in the doorway to the small bedchamber, nodding to her mother, who had been sitting on the bed, hands folded. Now Eleanor rose and came to kiss Kate on the cheek. A surprising gesture.
“Bless you for finding her, Griffin.”
“She was already on her way, Dame Eleanor. I merely accompanied her from Coney Street.” He said no more.
Placing a cool hand on Kate’s arm, Eleanor leaned close to request that they adjourn to her house. “I would as lief not be overheard.”
Kate glanced around. It was only the three of them. What did her mother fear? “Of course. Berend is o
ut, so the kitchen should be quiet. I have some information for you as well.” She noticed shadows beneath her mother’s eyes, and a subtle bowing of her shoulders. “What did Lionel want?”
“At your house, daughter. Griffin, come along.”
The Welshman grinned good-naturedly and followed.
Kate called to Lille and Ghent as she moved through the garden to the gate in the hedgerow. In her own kitchen, Matt was piling wood and coals by the hearth. Changing her plan, Kate told Matt they’d be in the hall.
“But Sister Brigida and the girls . . .”
“The weather is so fine, they might enjoy taking their lessons out in the garden. Bring ale and some food to us, then wander down to the staithes, chat with the workers. Perhaps someone’s talking about trouble there in the early morning.”
Matt’s expression brightened. Kate knew he missed the bustle of High Petergate, where he’d supported Griselde and Clement.
Sister Brigida and her pupils greeted Kate’s idea with delight, the girls hurrying from the hall clutching their wax tablets and giggling as they attempted to express their happiness in elegant Parisian. Brigida followed at an only slightly more sedate pace, whispering to Kate, “They are such joys.”
In the ensuing silence, Griffin settled on a bench between the two windows. Taking off his felt hat, he leaned back and sighed with pleasure as the cross-draft ruffled his coppery curls.
Eleanor had been drawn to the vertical loom directly beneath the east window, touching the bright threads. “You’ve done some work on it.”
“Petra and I. It reminds her of happy times with Old Mapes, the healer who raised her.” Kate’s niece had quickly adapted to the sounds and rhythms of her household. The loss of a father she’d never known, and the two who had brought her up, still burdened her with sorrow, but as she discovered her deep similarities with Kate, and was shown over and over again by all in the household—even Marie, in her own way—that she was loved and appreciated, she found the strength to hold that sorrow. “We both take great pleasure in the time together.” Kate felt herself bracing for the much-remembered criticisms: “You are all thumbs. Your color pairings are no better than if a blind girl chose them. Do you call that a pattern?”
