A Twisted Vengeance

by Candace Robb

  “If we might move him closer to the light from that window before you sew him into the shroud,” said Kate. She turned to the younger friar. “Would you help Berend do so?”

  Both Gerald and his novice rose to assist Berend. The men worked in silence, moving Werner, then tenderly unwrapping him. A cry of pain from Kate’s mother shattered the quiet moment. Sister Dina was the first to go to her, cradling Eleanor’s head against her breast and whispering to her.

  Kate crouched down to examine the blood-encrusted slash in Werner’s neck.

  Berend knelt opposite, watching her.

  She nodded to him that she was able to do this. With care she straightened Werner’s jacket, noting the bloodstains and the mud and muck from where he had lain. Following down the sleeves to his wrists, she found no sign of ligatures. Opening his jacket, she noted to Berend that his shirt was filthy. Whatever he had been doing, he had not considered it necessary to wash and tidy himself. He wore thick hose, warm for summer. Sleeping outside?

  “He’s been in the water.” Berend pointed to the discoloration that rose halfway up his thighs, and the sad condition of his shoes.

  There was some bruising on one ankle, bad bruising. It would have been painful to walk. He might have limped. What had this man suffered before his death? Had he known he was next? For clearly this was a pattern—Ulrich, then his servants. Was Griffin next? Where was Griffin?

  Sister Clara joined them, holding out a pair of scissors. “To cut away his clothes so we might wash him. Shall I?”

  Berend held out his hand. “I will do it.”

  Clara bowed and handed him the scissors. But she did not withdraw. Kate touched her arm. “He was your friend?”

  “On our long journey he saw to our safety, and I am grateful.”

  Both turned to watch as the long, slender blades cut through the rough fabric of Werner’s clothes, revealing a well-muscled body riddled with sores. Kate reached out to touch them, then looked more closely at the undergarment he wore beneath his shirt. “A hair shirt. Penance,” she whispered.

  Sister Clara crossed herself, and, as she bowed her head, a sob escaped her. “Such a good man.”

  Kate wondered. A good man? Or had he donned the shirt when he feared for his own soul—perhaps his own life? Many turn to piety in fear, including her mother.

  A gust sent the lamps sputtering as someone opened the garden door. Kate turned and, seeing Sir Elric with Phillip, hurried to greet the newcomers. That they were together made her heart race. More trouble. She embraced Phillip, then anxiously looked him over. His workaday tunic and breeches were soaked from the downpour. To be out in the storm, and after such a murder.

  “We must get you out of those wet clothes,” she began.

  Phillip shrugged out of her grasp. “Not now.”

  Sir Elric was shaking his head as he looked toward the sisters kneeling over the corpse. “Another death.”

  “Werner, the other servant,” said Berend. “Murdered. His throat slit.”

  Taking off his hat, the knight crossed himself. “By the rood, this is an evil business. I was on my way with news of my own when I caught sight of young Phillip hastening in the same direction.” He nodded to the boy. “Tell them.”

  Phillip shifted on his feet, water seeping onto the floor from his wet shoes. Tempted to suggest he remove them, Kate bit her tongue.

  “I wanted to tell you before I began work—Griffin met with Dean Richard again last night, and this morning, when I went to the mason’s lodge, the dean’s carts were gone. The men said Dean Richard and Dame Helen left just after sunrise.”

  Werner was murdered and her uncle fled. Is that how it was? But why? “Uncle Richard met with Griffin in the minster?”

  Phillip nodded. “Again, it was late. Master Hugh is worried about a settling in a corner of the east end, so he is up late every night with the other master masons working on a solution. Dame Martha wanted him to have a cloak and a flask of brandywine to warm him—the stones of the minster keep it cool, and drafty at night. As I passed through the nave I saw Dean Richard and Griffin sitting in one of the chantry chapels again, talking softly. The dean seemed upset.”

  “And Griffin?” Kate asked.

  Her mother glanced up from her prayers, watching them.

  “He looked weary,” said Phillip, “rubbing his face as if to keep himself awake.” The boy’s attention kept straying toward the sisters cleaning Werner. “Do you think Griffin knew? Was he telling the dean of the murder?”

  “I would have expected Griffin to tell Dame Eleanor rather than Dean Richard,” said Kate. Her mother rose. “How late was this?” Kate asked.

  “Before midnight,” said Phillip.

  “Then they met before Werner was attacked,” said Kate, assuming that what had wakened her and the hounds in the night had been the moment Werner was murdered. Had Griffin and her uncle met to plan it? An unwelcome suspicion. Kate thanked Phillip for bringing the news. “Go to the kitchen where it’s warm. Dry yourself—”

  “I’m not a child,” he grumbled.

  Reluctantly, Kate desisted, instead turning to Phillip’s companion. “And you, Sir Elric? What is your news?” From the corner of her eye she observed her mother approaching, her head tilted as if straining to overhear their conversation.

  “My men report that Sir Alan left your tenement early this morning, his esquire and manservant with him, carrying their packs. Moving with stealth. At Toft Green he met up with the men Thatcher had been cooking for—though Thatcher himself was not in the party. They headed out the gates just ahead of your uncle’s carts. Or with them. My men say they all seemed to know one another.”

  Sir Alan? Is that why he wore no badge; he did not wish her to know that he was a Clifford retainer? She glanced at Berend, who was staring down at the ground, shaking his head. Eleanor stood directly behind him, craning her head forward. Why would her uncle wish to hide Sir Alan’s affinity from her?

  “I am surprised to learn that my uncle might be traveling with Sir Alan,” said Kate.

  “So much early morning activity after a murder in the night.” Elric shook his head. “Though I cannot yet see the connection, I cannot help but think one led to the other.”

  Eleanor finally spoke up. “Ever since I saw Sir Alan in High Petergate I have been certain it was not the first time we met, but I could not remember where it might have been. Now I do. He was one of the retainers escorting your father’s cousin Thomas, Baron Clifford, to our hall years ago, on one of his last visits before his death. Sir Alan was clean-shaven then, a rather handsome young man.” Eleanor touched Sir Elric’s arm. “When your men saw the travelers by Micklegate Bar, did they have a woman in their company? Nan?”

  “My men said nothing of a woman. It is possible she was in one of the carts.”

  Kate wished her mother had shared her suspicions about Sir Alan earlier. Why wait until now? “What else do you suspect, Mother?”

  “I fear Griffin has uncovered a Clifford plot against Ulrich’s men and he is in danger. Help him!”

  “A Clifford plot against Ulrich’s men? Did you suspect this all along? But what had my uncle to do with your late husband?”

  “Not necessarily your uncle the dean, but the family. I—I have feared this.”

  Most infuriating of women. All this time she had feared—what? “Precisely what do you think happened?”

  Eleanor shook her head but said nothing.

  “Why did you not—” Kate bit her tongue. Not now. She looked to Elric and Berend. “We must follow them. I want to know what they are about. Or what they have done.”

  “Katherine, is that wise?” Eleanor asked. “Let Sir Elric and his men go after them.”

  Kate could not look into her mother’s eyes. She would spit at her. “Wise or no, I am going, Mother.”

  Elric bowed to Kate. “If you mean to catch up to them, we must make haste. I can have horses awaiting you outside Micklegate Bar within the hour. Provided I ride wit
h you. And Berend?”

  Kate nodded. “Berend as well.”

  “What about me?” Phillip asked.

  Kate wanted to tell him to stay here, get out of his wet clothes, but she did need him. My Lord, watch over him. “Return to the minster yard,” she said. “Watch the deanery. If you see any sign of Griffin—” She looked to Elric.

  “My men are searching the house Sir Alan vacated.”

  “You took it upon yourself to search the house? Why all this interest?” Kate demanded.

  “Forgive me, but it seemed wise to make certain the missing maidservant was not tied up, left there to starve. The earl charged me with keeping peace in the city.”

  “And to make note of the knights’ alliances, no doubt,” said Kate.

  “That as well.” Elric turned to Phillip. “I have men standing watch at St. Mary’s Abbey—in case someone wants to silence my man Kevin. Go to them with any news.”

  Phillip nodded. “I will.”

  “Who will see to us?” asked Eleanor.

  “Jennet will be next door, guarding Marie and Petra,” said Kate. “Shelter in my house if you feel unsafe.”

  “And the hounds?” asked Eleanor.

  “They will come with me,” said Kate.

  “I suggest you keep Friar Gerald here, Dame Eleanor,” said Elric. “The threat of a curse will scare off the likes of Bran and Carter. All the others are leaving—the knights and soldiers are clearly on their way to wreak havoc elsewhere.”

  Dame Eleanor sniffed at his reassurance, but prayed aloud that God would watch over them, and then withdrew.

  As Kate, Berend, Elric, and Phillip moved out into the garden, they were hailed by a breathless Matt rushing round the corner of the house from the alleyway, limping slightly. He rested a hand on Berend as he bent forward to catch his breath.

  “You found something?” Berend asked.

  A weak nod. “A small boat belonging to my aunt Alice.” He took a few more deep breaths before straightening. “She has been in a fury since the soldiers crowded onto Toft Green. On recent mornings she has been finding her boat left far from its usual spot, and sometimes it’s not there at all, but on the far bank. A cousin who works on the staithe rows it back. So my aunt and her sweetheart set up a watch, and last night, during the storm, they recognized one of the men who pushed off into the river with it. He is, of late, lodging nearby. They saw him a few days hence with a buxom woman who was loudly arguing with him as he pulled her up the stairs to his room. He has red hair, with the speech of the Welsh archers, my aunt says.”

  “Raro breves humiles vidi ruffosque fideles,” Sir Elric whispered.

  Elric knew Latin. Kate would never have guessed. She looked to Phillip to translate.

  “It is an old Latin saying. ‘Proud are the short, and untrustworthy the red-haired.’” Phillip ducked his head at Elric’s surprised nod.

  “You’ve suffered that taunt?” she asked her ward. In the gloom of the day his hair looked brown, but sunlight fired the coppery strands. And he was short and slight, like his sister. Not at all like his Neville father.

  Phillip shrugged. “The older boys think I know no Latin.”

  She must think of a good retort for him. Perhaps she should confer with Elric.

  “So you think the red-haired scoundrel is Griffin?” Kate asked Matt.

  “Who else?”

  “Can you take us to his room?”

  “I can. Hugo, my aunt’s intended, is watching. He’s a big man and he does not mind a scuffle. Works with my cousin on the staithes.”

  “What do you want to do?” Elric asked Kate.

  Get to Griffin before you do, she thought. Aloud she was more diplomatic. “Prepare the horses. Berend and I will accompany Matt with the hounds to Griffin’s lodging, then meet you outside Micklegate Bar.”

  “And if you find the Welshman?” Elric looked as if he’d heard her thought.

  “I will ensure that he cannot follow.”

  The knight understood. “I will await you outside the walls. Bonne chance.”

  Built so close to the edge of the tidal flat that when the river swelled with runoff from the high moors it stood in saturated mud, the house leaned into its neighbor, the base of the steps rotting.

  A short, stocky man emerged from the shadow of the house beside it, nodding to Matt, who introduced him as Hugo, his aunt Alice’s intended. He eyed something on Kate’s chest, and she realized that she had folded back one side of her summer cloak, revealing the bow and quiver beneath.

  Covering the weapons as best she could—there was no need to flaunt the fact that she was armed, not with the city so tense—she thanked him for watching the house and asked if he had seen the Welshman this morning.

  “I have. He returned early but left again almost at once, looking round as he walked off, as if he felt me watching him. I kept well to the shadows.”

  “Did he use the boat last night?”

  “Aye. In the storm, can you believe it? I almost did not watch, thinking no one would take such risk.”

  “You did not confront him?”

  “Didn’t like the looks of him. I’ve seen what happens to those who take on the armed men from the camp. Now we have a description of him, we were going to report it. Let the sheriffs deal with him.”

  Kate described Werner and asked whether Hugo had ever seen him at the house, or in Griffin’s company.

  “The first time, when he talked to the landlady about the room, he did have another with him. It might have been this man. Henna—the landlady—said he did not speak, and the Welshman said it would be just himself staying there, with his woman.”

  Griffin—and Nan? So where had Werner been staying? Kate recalled the signs that he’d not washed, perhaps slept rough. But why? What was their scheme? Was Griffin now on the run for his life? And what did Nan, if it was her, have to do with it?

  Hugo offered to help search the chamber. Kate said they needed him to stand watch down below, with Matt. If trouble approached, he was to start up the steps—calmly, without raising an alarm. The hounds would hear his approach and warn Kate and Berend.

  Berend took the steps slowly, minimizing the telltale creaks, Lille right behind him, then Kate, then Ghent, who would snap at anyone trying to sneak up behind. At the top, the door was barred from the outside, secured with a padlock. Berend put his good ear to the door, shook his head. No sounds. He motioned for Kate to let Lille come forward. Lille sniffed, then pawed at the door. No laid-back ears, but she whimpered, which meant she sensed no immediate trouble, but something was not right. Kate let Ghent come up beside Lille, holding them ready to enter the chamber. Berend crouched down, picked the lock with a wire, then eased the bar out, setting it aside. He pressed his ear to the door again, listening, then, nodding to Kate, he rose and eased it open.

  A thump and a woman’s muffled cry.

  The room was dark. No windows. Kate cursed herself for not thinking to bring a lantern. Berend identified himself and his companions. Kate released the hounds’ leads so that they might move into the windowless room, guiding Berend to the source of the sound. Ghent made a soft sound of recognition.

  “I’m removing the rag over your mouth now.” Berend spoke in a soft, calming tone. “Quiet, I pray you. I know you will want to scream out all your anger, but I do not advise it. We want to take you away from here without raising an alarm, eh?”

  “Bless you,” Nan’s voice cracked.

  “I’ll cut the ropes now and carry you out,” said Berend. “You will want to rub your wrists and ankles when they are free, but wait if you can until we clean any abrasions and bandage them.”

  “Who did this to you?” Kate asked.

  “The Welsh traitor,” Nan croaked. “Griffin.” Nan’s voice was weak, though not her spirit.

  “Traitor? Traitor to whom?”

  “Dame Eleanor, and all of us. Can’t talk. So dry.”

  “You will have water soon. And food,” Kate assured her.
r />   Berend scooped Nan up. “Put your arms round my neck if you can.”

  “Only take me from this place,” Nan whimpered.

  Kate withdrew to the landing with the hounds. As Berend brought Nan out into the light, Kate saw that she was filthy, her clothes muddied and torn, her hair sprouting a spider’s web and who knew what else. She touched the woman’s back, assuring her that she was safe now. To be trussed up and locked in that windowless room, not knowing if she would die there, alone, unshriven—Kate silently cursed Griffin as she followed Berend down the steps. Ghent descended alongside, as if to support her. She rested her hand on his back, appreciating the bond. “Some things are worse than murder,” she whispered, as if he could understand.

  Down on the street, Matt cursed softly. “What has he done?”

  “Might your aunt care for Nan until we return?” Kate asked.

  He assured her she would. “Poor Nan,” he whispered.

  “We’ll do whatever you require, Mistress Clifford,” said Hugo, offering to take Nan from Berend.

  “No need,” said Berend. “Lead the way.”

  Two doors down and up a short flight of steps, he led them into a large room with a stone fire circle in the center and pallets piled in a corner. Five children rose from their play to stare at the newcomers.

  “Alice, we have the care of this poor woman until Mistress Clifford returns for her.” Hugo gave a little bow toward Kate, who introduced herself and Berend. “She needs water,” she said from the doorway, still holding Lille’s and Ghent’s leads. “Her name is Nan. My mother’s maidservant.”

  Alice was a small, slender woman, her face beginning to line with age, her dark hair caught up in a kerchief. With a nod, she called, “Kit, water!” One of the children went running to a pail in the corner. “You may entrust her to us, Mistress Clifford.” Alice took the cup from the girl and directed an older boy to drag one of the pallets toward the fire circle. Eyeing Nan as Hugo helped Berend settle her, Alice muttered, “God help us, is that what he was at? Are you injured?” She bent to Nan, helping her sip some of the water.