by Candace Robb
“I do not know that both incidents are connected, Uncle. The city is teeming with restless soldiers. That is why I need information.”
“You spoke of conflict among the merchants, Dame Katherine.” Scrope nodded to the dean. “We have been discussing that very issue, have we not, Richard? It is time to share what we have heard.”
The dean frowned at the archbishop as if questioning his judgment, but Scrope merely motioned for him to speak.
The dean cleared his throat. “William Frost and his colleagues have sent a messenger to Duke Henry at Knaresborough carrying a sum of money to assist him in his efforts to reclaim his inheritance.” Her uncle’s face was now a study in quiet. Kate guessed that he was as yet unsure with whom his own loyalty lay. “In their message they said nothing of Henry’s shifting intention—to take the crown from his cousin and place it on his own noble head. But such have been the reports.”
“The promises he is making only a king has the power to fulfill,” she said.
Scrope sat up. “You heard that at the meeting?”
“I did, Your Grace.”
“Hm. Yes, it does appear that he has been persuaded by the Lancastrian forces to reach higher than he had set out to do.”
“Or than he had dared admit even to himself,” the dean said softly. “It appears that we’ve no need to fortify the city. The Lancastrian army is headed westward.”
God be thanked! Her mood lifted. For a moment. “Who will tell the men gathered on Toft Green, hungry for a fight?” Kate asked. Which reminded her of the question she’d meant to ask her uncle. “Sir Alan Bennet. How did he approach you about leasing my house, Uncle?” He’d asked about the abbey, had his men watching Elric.
“How?” He bowed his head as if to hide his reaction, allow himself a moment to craft his response. A shrug, a slight frown. “I told you. He asked about lodgings, I thought of your empty house for lease. Why? Is he unsatisfactory?”
“I am not sure. What do you know about him?”
“I know little, to be honest. A mutual friend provided him with a letter of introduction. Staunch king’s man. Should I have a word with him?”
Kate shook her head. “No. I hoped for some further background, that is all. Duke Henry’s heightened ambition—is it more than gossip? How are people receiving it?”
“I do not believe it is widely known yet,” said the dean. “But Frost’s friends sitting together at the meeting today, and joining him afterwards—that would suggest they fear the word has spread.”
“How did you know that William joined Holme and the others?” Kate asked.
The archbishop smiled. “You miss nothing, Dame Katherine. My secretary passed them near the council offices on Ouse Bridge.”
So they had moved on to a meeting of the council. Kate stared at the floor, digesting all she had heard, wondering whether Hans died because he worked for Thomas Holme, one of her cousin’s associates, not because he had come to York in her mother’s party. But why had Isabella sent Friar Adam sniffing around her mother’s household?
Scrope was nodding and speaking. Kate forced herself back to the room. “We have an agreement. In exchange, you will provide an account to us of all you learn concerning the events in your mother’s and your neighbor’s household.”
Your neighbors to either side . . . Geoff whispered.
I know.
“What do you know of your mother’s late husband, Ulrich Smit?” her uncle asked.
Kate stared at him for a moment, the question was so unexpected. “Ulrich? Very little, except what he told us when he was our guest in Northumberland. Mother has said nothing about him since her return.”
“Where are her loyalties—with the king or with the duke?” asked the archbishop.
Ulrich. Hans. The beguines. Something they brought with them? Or her mother brought with her? Something connected to the conflict between the royal cousins? Now that was a nasty thought, though Kate could not imagine what the connection might be. “We have not spoken of it, Your Grace.”
“If you should have such a conversation, I wish to hear about it,” said Scrope, softening the demand with a warm smile. “Forgive me. I hear myself lacking all courtesy. That is not my intention.”
Kate inclined her head toward him in acceptance of his odd apology.
“I do not know how long I will be in York,” he continued. “So we must rely on trusted messengers. Who shall be our go-between here, Clifford? Your secretary, Alf?”
“Alf? Your Grace, I keep him quite busy . . .”
“I will provide the deanery with any news,” said Kate. “I leave it to the dean to pass it on to you. Will that suffice, Your Grace? Uncle?”
The archbishop nodded. Her uncle looked relieved, calmer now. Kate rose to help herself to some pie. As she ate, she listened to the two men discuss the leanings of the Dominican Prior of St. Mary Magdalene and the Benedictine Abbot of St. Mary’s. Prior Norbert had been known to criticize King Richard in his sermons, whereas Abbot Thomas had little to say about the crown or court but was devoted to the archbishop “for some small favors I had it in my power to confer, to the good of the abbey and the poor of the city.” St. Mary’s was one of several abbeys and friaries in the city that fed the poor.
“I should like to speak with Abbot Thomas as soon as may be,” said Kate. “Prior Norbert as well.”
“I shall summon my man from the kitchen and have him write an introduction while we talk,” said Scrope.
The dean rose and opened the door, speaking quietly to the clerk who sat at the ready. When he returned, he was grinning. “I am enjoying the image of Dame Eleanor rounding on Friar Adam, while he sniffs and chuffs.”
“The situation does not incline me to smile,” said Scrope. “Adam is a dangerous one for Dame Eleanor and her beguines. He is of the opinion that Meister Eckhart, the theologian whom the beguines revere, was as much a heretic as their own Marguerite Porete. That Eckhart was a fellow Dominican makes it all the more personal for him. Does he mean to condemn them, make an example of them? In a city armed for war? No, I do not like this at all.”
If publicly condemned, they would be shunned, unable to support themselves. Kate could well imagine the rumors that might arise in a city already awash in suspicion. How would her mother cope with such a crisis? “I know nothing about the teachers the sisters from Strasbourg revere,” she said. “If I might ask, Your Grace, why would you assume my mother’s companions claim Eckhart and Porete as their teachers? Did Magistra Matilda tell you this? She certainly did not share it with me, nor did any of the others.”
“We are merely pointing to a possible danger, Katherine,” the dean said with a warning look.
“If we are to work together, we must be honest with each other, hold nothing back that might be of use,” said Kate. “I need to know who else is providing you with information so that I know who else is interested in what has happened.” The archbishop seemed to be giving her argument some thought when someone knocked, then entered. Scrope’s clerk. “I hope to speak of this later,” Kate said.
“I am afraid I must soon be away. Your choice is the letters or more conversation,” said the archbishop.
Kate considered. “The letters, thank you, Your Grace.”
She sat back to finish the remarkable pie and attempted to engage her uncle with news of the children.
But he rose and began to fuss with a pile of documents on a table by the window, and Kate lapsed into hurt silence.
In the kitchen, Kate found Berend had come to meet her, as agreed. It was a peaceful scene, Berend kneading dough, his arms dusted in flour, while Helen stirred chopped vegetables into a large pot, and Lille and Ghent slept near a door opened onto the garden. The two cooks were discussing various herbs and spices that might improve the broth. When Kate cleared her throat, Helen glanced up with a worried expression.
“You are unscathed?”
“At moments I did not recognize my own uncle, but I found an ally in His Gra
ce.” Kate held up two scrolled letters bearing the seal of the Archbishop of York. “He has written to both Abbot Thomas and Prior Norbert telling them to cooperate with me.”
“What did you give them in exchange?” asked Berend, wiping his hands and arms.
“I will keep them both informed of what we learn as we proceed.”
Berend nodded. “Seems fair enough.”
Helen was beaming. “You have prevailed, dear Katherine. I am so relieved.”
As they walked to the abbey to speak to Abbot Thomas, Kate told Berend all that she had learned. “My uncle knows so little about Sir Alan. Why would he send him to me?”
“As I said before, you might have done much worse. What most troubles me is the prospect of all those soldiers told to pack up and leave with nothing to show for their time here.”
Kate heard the concern in his voice and crossed herself. “Aye. We will do much praying before it is over, I fear. But what to make of my uncle’s comments about the Frost family? They were never fond. He clearly felt his youngest brother might have made a better marriage. But I’ve never heard him speak so harshly about Mother, indeed all the Frost family and those in her company.”
They grew quiet as they approached Bootham Bar. Kate sensed that Berend was on high alert, watching all who looked their way. When for the third time he’d stepped in her path as if to take an arrow for her, she demanded to know what trouble he anticipated. He reminded her of the men who had followed her, speaking of her war dogs.
“I’ve seen no soldiers arriving,” she noted, though gently, moved by his concern.
They were through the gate now, and turning toward the abbey.
Berend paused to look back, studying the crowd. “An ordinary market day, it would seem. Perhaps word has gotten round that the threat of a siege is past? Let’s pray the soldiers choose to move north and west, following the duke. Friend or foe, where he is, there will the battle be.”
9
THIEVES AND MONSTERS
Having read the letter, Abbot Thomas glanced up at Kate. “I am advised to give you my complete cooperation.” He did not hesitate but told the novice to fetch Brother Martin from the infirmary. “Forgive our earlier silence, Dame Katherine, but in such times . . .”
“Of course,” said Kate.
The abbot bent down to offer Lille and Ghent his hand for inspection.
“Such noble creatures, and courteous. So finely trained.” He shook his head as if in wonder, his round face lit by a smile of pure joy. “Bless you for bringing them. They are a benediction in a troubling day.”
Kate took the comment as a sign he wished to say more. Perhaps about the presence of two of Sir Elric’s men outside the gates? “I pray your troubles are not connected to the injured man in your infirmary.”
First Lille, then Ghent sniffed the abbot’s hand and approved his touch. He took a moment to stroke their heads, then sat back with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. “Our troubles are insignificant. Your prayers are better spent on a peaceful solution to the kingdom’s developing crisis. I cannot help but think that our patient’s suffering is connected to that. There is madness in the air. The soldiers, all the weaponry . . .”
Kate could not argue with that.
Abbot Thomas suddenly turned an ear toward the door. “Brother Martin is here. I will let him explain.”
Berend rose as a tall, fair monk ambled into the room, solemnly bowing to all of them, pausing over the dogs seated between Kate and the abbot. “Mistress Clifford’s magnificent wolfhounds.” He glanced at Kate. “May I touch them?”
“After they have taken your measure, Brother Martin. Too soon and they will not be at ease.”
He bowed to her and took his seat between Berend and the abbot. “Master?”
Thomas handed him the archbishop’s letter. Kate watched as the monk read. He did so quickly, moving his lips, but silent, then sat back with a frown. “I wish you had brought this yesterday, Berend. It might have avoided much pain on the part of the man in the infirmary.”
Kate breathed out, grateful to hear that the man was still there. “There has been trouble?” she asked.
“His friends returned for him in the early evening, saying their captain wished him taken to Sheriff Hutton Castle to be tended by their leech. I protested. Earlier, when I cleaned the pus from the man’s wound, the bleeding had resumed. I had covered it in a paste of comfrey leaf that staunched the flow and gave him some ease, but any movement would disturb it. Of equal concern was his fever, and the chills that required a fire in the brazier and—well, Berend is welcome to come see how we have managed to cover him but keep the weight of the blankets off his wound. Poor man. Kevin is his name. I suspect you already know that he belongs to a group of Westmoreland’s men stationed in the city.”
Kate nodded. Kevin. He was always polite when she encountered him on the street. A cut above the rest, in her mind. “I am sorry to hear it is him,” she said. “So his comrades came for him?”
“Yes. They were determined to move him.” Brother Martin passed a hand over his eyes. “One of them coaxed Kevin in his delirium to attempt to stand, and the wail of anguish startled the comrade so that he let go.” The monk’s face creased in remembrance of the scene. “God be thanked that the strength I gained from training long ago as an archer did not fail me. I caught him and eased him back onto the bed. He clung to me, begging me to keep him here.”
“His comrades complied?”
“Not happily. But I believe their affection for him won out over their fear of their captain’s anger. They withdrew but warned me that I would receive another visit from him.”
“Sir Elric.”
A bow. “He had come earlier in the day—” Martin glanced at his abbot. “It is more appropriate that Master Thomas tell you.”
The abbot cleared his throat. “Sir Elric, Westmoreland’s man”—a disapproving twist of his full upper lip—“commanded silence on the matter of Brother Martin’s patient. I am pleased that His Grace’s letter relieves me of that order.” A little smile. “It galled me to support the captain of that traitor to our good King Richard.”
“Why would he request your silence?”
“They are soldiers. Spies, more like, sneaking about the city watching the soldiers mustering in support of King Richard. I presumed Sir Elric considers his men vulnerable, liable to be attacked. With Kevin so weak, helpless . . .” The expressive brows rose. “I assured him that although St. Mary’s Abbey is not officially a sanctuary, most Christians put aside their weapons on abbey grounds, and thus Kevin is safer here than out in the city. But my argument did not convince him.”
“And he did not give you the courtesy of an explanation? Why no one must know Kevin was here? Why he wished to remove him?” Kate asked.
“No, he did not. He said that he would continue to check on his man, and move him as soon as possible.”
“We noticed at least two of his men standing guard outside the abbey gates and wondered why,” said Kate. “I will inform the archbishop of Sir Elric’s behavior.”
Abbot Thomas shook his head. “There is no need. When they appeared I sent a message to His Grace at once.”
Kate did not like that. “His Grace knew all of it? Elric’s threat? The men involved? The extent of Kevin’s injuries?”
A nod. “I assumed that is why he provided you with this introduction and instructed me to tell you all. That you will arrange our protection.” He glanced from Kate to Berend. “I see I was mistaken.”
“I will think how we might help,” said Kate. She turned back to Brother Martin. “How was Kevin injured? Has he told you anything?”
A nod. “I regret I said nothing when Berend was here earlier, but as Abbot Thomas explained . . .” He shrugged. “Kevin thinks he was stabbed by the man who had dragged the sister out of the Martha House. It might have begun as a small wound, but he fought with his attacker and was then kicked and punched by some others. How he managed to cross the cit
y to the lodgings of his comrades . . .” Martin shook his head.
“We find the strength to save ourselves,” Berend said softly.
Martin studied Berend’s face, glanced at his hand. “Ah, of course you would know.”
“I am glad to hear he is able to speak,” said Kate.
“Now and then. And he talks in his fever dreams. He worries about the sister. His comrades had assured him that she is recovered.” He glanced up, smiled at Kate’s nod. “I listen, hoping to learn something that might help me heal him.”
“How is Kevin now?” Kate asked.
Brother Martin rose. “Poor enough that I feel I must return. Berend is welcome to sit with him a little while.” He bowed to Kate. “Some of my brethren are in the infirmary, else I would welcome you as well.”
“I trust Berend to be my eyes and ears, Brother Martin. And now, before you depart, Lille and Ghent would be honored to make your acquaintance.” She signaled the hounds to rise and approach the infirmarian.
He touched their heads, then crouched to meet them eye to eye. “A pair of your cousins once saved my life. They leapt on my assailants without hesitation, bringing them down so that my father and I might—” He glanced up, as if remembering himself. Thanked Kate, rubbed Lille’s and Ghent’s ears, and excused himself, holding the door open for Berend.
As the two men left the room, Thomas chuckled. “It is ever so with brothers who take the tonsure after full lives out in the world. Forever half-wild, their memories confound them.”
Kate liked Brother Martin. So did Lille and Ghent, who stood gazing at the door for a few moments before resettling.
“Forgive me for my hasty departure yesterday,” said Brother Martin.
Berend appreciated the apology. “You had your orders. Do you think Kevin will live?”
“It is in God’s hands,” said the monk, smiling down at his sandaled feet as they walked along a garden path that connected the abbot’s house with the infirmary.
