King's Bishop (Owen Archer Book 4)

by Candace Robb

  ‘Where is Paulus?’ Alice asked.

  ‘He has disappeared.’

  ‘And Ambrose, too?’

  Thoresby nodded. ‘Were either of the friars kin to Mary?’

  ‘Kin?’ Alice whispered, shook her head. ‘I think I should have known. We did talk. I trust she would have said something.’

  ‘Can you explain any of this?’

  Alice gripped the edge of the table with her hands. The gesture seemed to strengthen her. Her face took on some colour. ‘These friars must be found.’ Her voice was clear now, angry.

  ‘The privy councillor has organised a search for Paulus, I believe. I have men searching for Ambrose.’

  ‘The privy councillor? What is Wykeham’s interest in this?’

  ‘Don Ambrose and Ned Townley were on a mission on his behalf when they disappeared.’

  Alice nodded. ‘I had forgotten.’ She took the last sip of her liqueur. ‘I would be grateful for any news.’

  Thoresby nodded. ‘I did have a thought. I wondered whether I might ask your opinion?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is it possible that Mary’s death is related to the death of Sir William of Wyndesore’s page, Daniel?’

  A flush. The amber eyes flamed. ‘Neither Mary nor Ned had anything to do with Daniel’s accident.’

  ‘You are convinced it was an accident?’

  Alice rose. ‘In truth, I have given it little thought. Daniel was not my concern.’

  Not true. She was trembling with emotion. But what emotion? ‘You vouched for Ned Townley.’

  ‘I stepped forward as someone who knew the truth. Ned had been with Mary that night.’

  ‘Do you know Sir William of Wyndesore very well?’

  Alice’s blush competed with her crimson clothing. So. Lovers, were they? He felt a disturbing stab of envy. ‘I know him,’ Alice said. Her chin up, she motioned for Gilbert to prepare to depart. ‘I went to him when his men accused Ned Townley of frightening Daniel into drinking too much.’

  ‘Is that what they accused him of?’

  The cat eyes were wary. ‘What did you think?’

  Thoresby shrugged. ‘A push from the tower?’

  Alice closed her eyes, shook her head. ‘There was never any question of that.’ She stood tensed, as if awaiting the next uncomfortable question.

  Was it possible only Michaelo had noted the marks on the lad’s wrists? ‘Sir William never doubted it was an accident?’

  Alice opened her eyes slowly. ‘I would not know, Your Grace.’ This time the last two words were icily formal.

  Stalemate. Thoresby bowed. ‘Forgive me for ending the evening with an unpleasant topic.’

  ‘I thank you for reading the letter, Your Grace. I regret that I have been of no help to you. The excellent food, wine and company more than compensate for a little unpleasantness.’ Her smile was polite, but it could not hide the strain in the eyes, the voice.

  *

  Michaelo stood up as the door to Thoresby’s chambers opened. He smiled in the darkness as he heard Thoresby’s farewell, saw Alice Perrers’s profile against the lighted doorway.

  He watched Alice and Gilbert move down the torchlit hallway. As soon as they turned into the crossing corridor, he stole after them. He was disappointed to see Gilbert open the door to Alice’s chambers. But perhaps she required a cloak. Michaelo ducked into an alcove, waited. At last the door opened, but it was only Gilbert, off to his bed in the servant’s hall below. Michaelo followed him just to make sure. Indeed, Gilbert entered the room and did not leave.

  Thoresby sat slumped in his chair by the fire, his stomach beginning to register a complaint at the rich food followed by a tense conversation. And his latest battle to resist Alice Perrers’s attraction. Michaelo’s disappointing report was shrugged off. It would have been convenient to identify another with an interest in this matter, but no matter. It was enough to see Alice Perrers’s unease.

  Adam coughed politely beside him. Thoresby glanced up. The lad held a drinking bowl nestled in a cloth. Something hot.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Mistress Wilton’s tisane for the stomach, Your Grace. I thought perhaps with the rich food … ?’

  Thoresby made the effort to smile as he accepted the warm bowl. ‘You must be weary, lad. To bed with you. The rest can be removed in the morning.’

  ‘You are ready to retire, Your Grace?’

  ‘Not quite yet. Prepare my bed, then go to yours. I shall drink this, think a while. I can undress myself, Adam. It is more important that you are awake to dress me in the morning, eh?’

  Adam nodded, went about snuffing candles, then disappeared into the bedchamber.

  Thoresby sipped the minty tisane and tried to slip into pleasant thoughts, tried to conjure up his goddaughter’s face, her throaty laugh. But it was no use. The unhappy faces of William of Wykeham and Alice Perrers were burned into the insides of his eyelids. Two intelligent people made miserable by their ambition. It was no surprise that Alice Perrers was uneasy at court; the position of a royal mistress was only as stable as the King, and Edward was an old man with flagging powers. But Thoresby had not expected Wykeham to lose his peace of mind so soon.

  Of late, it seemed the worst fate of a courtier was to win the confidence of the King. Yet who would utter such treasonous advice?

  Seventeen

  Whom To Trust?

  May warmed as the company rode south. By the time the towers of York Minster were in sight, Owen’s back itched and he considered removing his cloak, but he resisted. He wanted no distractions. If Ned meant to escape, this was his last chance, and Owen could see the men were waiting for it, hoping for it. It was plain they believed Ned had betrayed their comrades and they ached for vengeance. Owen and Matthew rode flanking Ned.

  But Ned made no move to escape. He stared straight ahead, watching the approaching city without expression, without comment.

  ‘We will enter by Bootham Bar,’ Owen said, ‘right beside the minster liberty. The men would not turn on you there.’

  Ned glanced at Owen with sunken, uneasy eyes. ‘You mean to do this? Hand me over to the Archdeacon?’ He flicked his hair from his face in a nervous manner.

  ‘Jehannes is a fair man, Ned.’

  ‘It is not the Archdeacon of York who will decide my fate.’

  Owen, unable to deny that, said nothing, stared at Bootham Bar, the well built barbican. It reminded him of the Archbishop’s gaol. Would Jehannes lock Ned in there?

  Ned leaned towards Owen. ‘You are resolved in this?’

  ‘What choice do I have?’

  ‘Take me to Archbishop Thoresby.’

  Owen glanced at his friend, saw despair in the luminous eyes. ‘It is the King’s business, Ned.’

  ‘And Thoresby is chancellor.’

  ‘So he is. But I swore that if I found you I would deliver you at once to the Archdeacon of York.’

  ‘Much has happened since you swore it.’

  ‘Nothing to make me break my oath.’

  A brief silence. ‘You have not decided whether you believe me.’

  Damn Ned for making Owen admit it. ‘No. I have not.’

  ‘The King’s men will come for me.’

  ‘Yes. They will.’ And it looked bad for Ned.

  Jehannes asked Harold to escort Ralph, Curan, Geoff and Edgar to the barracks by the Archbishop’s gaol.

  ‘First we should take Townley to the gaol,’ Ralph said.

  Jehannes stood at the head of the table round which they had gathered. He tucked his hands in his sleeves. ‘No. Captain Townley will stay here.’

  Ralph shook his head. ‘He should be under guard. You do not know what he has done.’

  ‘Neither do you,’ Owen said. ‘You suspect, but you have no proof.’

  ‘There is more to tell, Captain?’ Jehannes asked.

  ‘Yes. But in private.’ Though one-eyed, Owen caught Ralph’s sneer, glared at him until he dropped his gaze.

 
Jehannes nodded at the men. ‘Matthew will guard Captain Townley.’

  Owen had his doubts about Matthew’s ability to guard his master and intended to offer some of his own men, the Archbishop’s retainers; but he kept his counsel for the moment.

  Ralph was not so diplomatic. ‘You will leave Matthew to guard Townley? His sworn man?’ He fairly flung himself across the table towards the Archdeacon, his ruddy face dark with anger. ‘Why waste time? Why not escort him out of the city and set him free right now?’

  ‘You will obey orders, Ralph. Quietly,’ Owen warned.

  Ralph growled and would not meet Owen’s eye, but he did settle back on the bench.

  ‘I have no intention of setting him free,’ Jehannes said. He sounded calm, certain of his judgement. ‘Neither do I intend to let you take the law into your hands. I understand your anger. Captain Townley ran from his duty. You men did not. But that in itself does not make him a dangerous man.’

  ‘They should have tried him in Windsor. Caught him with only the blood of Daniel on his hands,’ Curan muttered.

  Ned, who sat between Owen and Jehannes, clenched his hands and began to rise.

  Owen held him back. ‘Follow Harold, men,’ he said. ‘I shall come to you in the morning.’

  ‘It is not right,’ Edgar protested.

  ‘I do not recall asking your opinion, any of you,’ Owen said with a look that silenced the men.

  They shuffled out of the Archdeacon’s house with grim faces. When they were gone, Jehannes dabbed his face.

  Owen admired the show Jehannes had put on. There had been no outward sign that Jehannes was so nervous about the meeting until now. ‘You handled that well.’

  Jehannes dabbed again. ‘I do not enjoy such encounters. I could see by all your faces that there is much to tell me. A roomful of soldiers thirsty for blood …’ He shook his head.

  Ned threw his cap on the table. ‘Swine.’ He slumped into a chair, folded his arms, glowered at Owen and Jehannes. He wore his livery and had let Asa trim his hair before they set off, so he looked more like himself. Except for the eyes, which had taken on a wildness that Owen had never seen in them before.

  ‘Are you referring to us as swine?’ Owen asked, taking care to sound amused. He did not wish to give Jehannes any more frights.

  ‘Don’t play the fool with me, Owen. You know full well I mean Ralph and his curs.’

  ‘They are good men,’ Owen said, taking a seat opposite Ned.

  Ned gave a nasty laugh. ‘And how do you see that, my friend?’

  ‘They might have overwhelmed me at any time on the road. And they did not, Ned. They are mouthing empty threats. It makes them feel better. But they have not indulged in the bloodletting they thirst for.’

  Jehannes lifted the cap Ned had thrown on to the table, thoughtfully traced the badge with a fingertip. ‘I saw Bardolph in the city yesterday,’ he said into the sullen silence.

  ‘Bardolph!’ Ned straightened, leaned forward. ‘Where is the murdering bastard?’

  Jehannes dropped the cap, looked taken aback. ‘He is a murderer?’

  ‘Ned has a suspicion, nothing more,’ Owen said. ‘Where did you see him? Was Crofter with him?’

  Jehannes told them of the encounter.

  ‘You see?’ Ned said. ‘He was asking absolution for his sins.’

  Jehannes got a faraway look in his eyes and nodded slowly. ‘He seemed frightened. Such a sin on one’s soul would be something to fear. But as I say, I told him I could not absolve him there in the street, that he must come to me for confession.’

  Owen rose. ‘My men failed to find him?’

  Jehannes nodded. ‘I sent for His Grace’s guards as soon as Mistress Wilton suggested it.’

  With an impatient kick to the chair he’d just vacated, Owen left the table, moved towards the door, changed his mind, returned. ‘You went right to my house. How long were you there?’

  Jehannes shrugged. ‘Long enough to have a small cup of ale. Not long.’

  ‘Then he knew he had made a mistake coming to you. Yet he was driven to ask forgiveness.’

  ‘You see?’ Ned said. ‘A guilty conscience.’

  ‘Are we simpletons, Ned? Can there be only one cause of guilt?’

  ‘I wish to God I had been quick enough to catch him,’ Jehannes said.

  Owen shook his head. ‘I doubt you would have fared better unless you had had the men right there to take him. Do not blame yourself, Jehannes. At least we know Bardolph is alive, and bothered by something.’ He picked up his pack. ‘I shall send some men to help Matthew guard.’

  ‘So I am a prisoner,’ Ned said.

  ‘No need, Owen,’ Jehannes said. ‘Matthew will guard his captain well.’

  ‘See that you do, Matthew,’ Owen warned.

  ‘I will, Captain Archer. You can trust me.’

  Jasper stood on a stool, stirring a small bowl of wine while Lucie dripped juice of wild nept into it. ‘Why are you mixing it with the wine?’ the boy asked.

  ‘Caught by my apprentice!’ Lucie said with a look of horror. Confused, Jasper stopped stirring. Lucie laughed as she stoppered the bottle. ‘I shall explain as soon as we are finished.’ She picked up a funnel and handed Jasper a bottle. ‘Hold this beneath the funnel while I pour.’ He assisted in silence. That finished, Lucie said, ‘When you take the bowl to Tildy for washing, tell her what we mixed in it. Wild nept juice is a strong purgative. Not something we want accidentally to consume at supper.’

  Jasper made a face. ‘Now will you tell me about the wine?’

  Lucie sat down on the stool Jasper had vacated, glanced at the door to check there were no customers to overhear, then leaned close. ‘This is for Master Maldon. What have I told you about him?’

  Jasper dropped his chin to his chest, chewed his lower lip as he thought. After a few minutes, he shrugged with defeat.

  ‘He has a taste for remedies. He thinks if a little is good, a lot is much better. And no matter how I caution him, he will take more than he should.’ Lucie shrugged. ‘So I compensate for him.’

  ‘That’s cheating!’

  Lucie smiled. ‘Do you think so? The wine I use is almost as dear as the juice. But I charge him less than I do others for the same physick.’

  ‘The ways of a Master Apothecary are mysterious, eh, Jasper?’

  Lucie’s head shot up. ‘Owen!’

  He stood in the doorway, pack in hand. Lucie jumped up, hurried round the counter. Owen dropped his pack and met her in the middle of the room, lifted her in his arms. She buried her face in his dusty hair. There was no scent she loved so well as Owen’s, nothing that felt so right as being in his arms.

  ‘I missed you, my love,’ she whispered to him.

  He squeezed her hard, let her down on her feet, put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You received my letter from Rievaulx?’

  ‘No. Only the one from Fountains.’

  ‘A pox on them. I’ve ridden up onto the moors and back down and they could not get a letter to you in all that time?’ Owen’s face was drawn, lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth.

  Lucie traced the lines with a finger. ‘What is it? Did you find Ned?’

  ‘I did indeed.’ Owen shrugged wearily. ‘There is much to tell.’

  And none of it good, Lucie guessed. ‘First you must refresh yourself. Come.’

  Jasper stood behind the counter, still encumbered by the bowl. ‘Welcome home, Captain.’

  Owen ruffled his hair, chucked him under the chin. ‘One day I shall return and think you a stranger, you are growing so quickly. Come into the kitchen and I shall show you what I brought you.’

  *

  After Jasper and Tildy had gone to bed, Lucie and Owen went up to their bedchamber. Lucie sat by the window nursing Gwenllian. Owen stretched out on the bed, lying on his side, arm supporting his head.

  ‘You are beautiful, you two,’ Owen said softly.

  ‘You’ve not yet held your daughter.’

 
Owen sighed, flopped on to his back, arms out-stretched. ‘Think back to your last long ride. I was on horseback from dawn until you saw me, but for a pause at Jehannes’s house. And two days before that. Every muscle in my back is twitching or aching. To sit still and hold Gwenllian …’ he moaned. ‘But if you knead my back tonight with one of your soothing ointments I shall be able to hold my daughter in the morning, I am sure.’ He grinned.

  Lucie laughed. ‘You might have just asked.’

  ‘I am steeling myself for our customary argument. I cannot yet divine whence it shall come, but to ask a favour might be just the thing to irk you.’

  ‘Do you dare accuse me of starting arguments?’

  ‘Well …’

  Lucie held Gwenllian up to her shoulder to wind her. ‘Tell me about Ned.’

  Gwenllian interrupted with a hearty belch.

  Owen laughed. ‘She is not shy.’

  ‘Your daughter? Of course not.’ Lucie lay Gwenllian in her basket beside the bed. Already the long eyelashes rested on the chubby cheeks. ‘I must go down to the shop for the ointment.’

  ‘Never mind. Tomorrow morning is soon enough.’

  Lucie hesitated, tempted to slide into bed. But her professional self would not allow it. ‘Your back will be stiff when you wake. Best do it now. I have some ointment mixed. I shall be back before you’ve missed me.’

  *

  When Lucie returned, Owen lay on her side of the bed, dangling his arm in Gwenllian’s basket, one finger firmly grasped in his daughter’s right hand. Lucie smiled, gave thanks. She had feared Owen had developed a new worry, something that would prevent his touching his daughter. ‘She looks so much like you when she sleeps,’ she said.

  ‘Nay, like you.’

  Lucie pulled her shift over her head.

  ‘What is this? You could not find the ointment?’

  ‘I have it.’ Lucie nodded at the jar on the small table beside the bed. ‘I would rather not soil my shift with the oil.’

  ‘What a practical wife you are.’

  Lucie slid under the covers and ran her hand down Owen’s side and up over his chest.