A Vigil of Spies (Owen Archer Book 10)

by Candace Robb

  Geoffrey’s knowledge of everyone’s whereabouts astounded Owen. ‘Do you know everything that happens in this palace?’ He wondered why Geoffrey paid such particular attention to Thoresby’s close companions.

  ‘I don’t know what happened to Dom Lambert, or what Brother Michaelo had to do with it.’

  Owen was not ready to enlighten him. ‘Dame Clarice had searched through at least one of His Grace’s trunks – wanting something to read, she said. She must not be left alone in here again. Perhaps neither sister should be.’

  Geoffrey glanced over at the trunk. ‘One of the nuns in our company so bold as that? What do you think she was searching for?’

  ‘I doubt it was just the book.’

  Following Owen’s gaze, Geoffrey crossed to the trunk and picked up the book. ‘It seems innocent enough – devotional reading. She showed poor judgement in opening a trunk—’ he gave a short laugh. ‘Listen to my foolishness. A stranger trespasses in the room of the Archbishop of York and I make excuses for her because she is a nun.’

  Owen had his own suspicions. ‘How did you come to enter just when you did? How do I know you hadn’t arrived to help her?’

  ‘Help her? Are you mad?’ Suddenly quite serious, Geoffrey glanced round, found a bench well away from Thoresby and motioned Owen to join him.

  Reluctantly, Owen settled beside him. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I’ve recently become a squire of King Edward’s chamber.’ Geoffrey frowned down at his shoes, his short legs never quite touching the ground when he sat, and seemed to weigh his words.

  ‘A squire of the king’s chamber? I’d not realised you’d risen so high.’

  Geoffrey sniffed. ‘My wife was close to the late queen and her sister is unpleasantly close to Lancaster, so I do not flatter myself that I’ve risen on my own merit. Now, as to why I am here, I’m privy to conversations expressing much concern about Prince Edward’s failing health as well as the king’s. We may be moving into quite difficult times if both fail. I believe Princess Joan has already mentioned her need for a spy here in the north, someone to watch the Percy and the Neville families, eh?’ He arched his eyebrows and nodded at Owen, as if nudging him to the point.

  It took but a heartbeat for Owen to guess. ‘You? It was you who suggested I might be that spy?’

  ‘Lancaster supported my recommendation, for you served him well in Wales. Do I hear irritation in your voice?’ Geoffrey shook his head at Owen. ‘I am disappointed that you are not pleased. Owen! Your lord is dying. I have found you an honourable post that will allow you to stay in Yorkshire with your family.’

  ‘I need no position.’

  ‘Oh? You’ll just wander about Freythorpe Hadden and annoy your steward? Or will you play apprentice to your lovely wife in the apothecary?’

  ‘That is my concern.’

  Geoffrey threw up his hands. ‘I thought I had found a way to thank you for saving my career at Cydweli. Without you, I would have failed in my mission for Lancaster.’

  ‘Thank me?’ All this time Owen had thought their parting had been uneasy, with Geoffrey distrusting him for his Welsh sympathies.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘In faith, that is generous of you.’ Owen searched for a neutral question. ‘You came here to encourage me to work for Princess Joan?’

  ‘Yes! You are a difficult man, did you know that?’ Geoffrey scratched his head. ‘So, where were we? Oh yes. You asked whether I’d entered this chamber to assist Dame Clarice in her search of the archbishop’s belongings. No, I did not. In fact, I shall report her trespass to Princess Joan – you are right to be disturbed by her activity. And you are wrong to distrust me.’

  Perhaps it was time Owen trusted Geoffrey. He could use the assistance of someone in the princess’s party, and he could think of no good reason to doubt the man’s intentions. ‘I am particularly concerned after two members of her travelling party have died, possibly both murdered.’

  ‘Murdered?’ Geoffrey shook his head. ‘I feared as much. I was almost certain that you thought Will was murdered, but Lambert? They said it looked as if he’d hanged himself, that there was a ladder.’

  ‘There are bruises on Dom Lambert’s throat that fit a man’s hands, not a rope.’

  ‘By Saint Foi, someone strangled him and then hanged him?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Not Michaelo?’

  ‘I pray not.’ Owen hesitated, then, with a prayer that Geoffrey proved trustworthy, he continued. ‘Even though I am almost certain of his innocence, I’ve told him that I shall behave as if I’m watching him. He may be in danger. After I’ve spoken with His Grace, Michaelo will move in here, and he’ll stay at least until Magda and Alisoun return.’

  By now Thoresby had pulled back part of a bed curtain. Despite the warmth of the room, he clutched a mantle around his shoulders. ‘Michaelo is in danger? Has this to do with the nun you caught in here?’

  Owen opened the curtain wide. ‘I don’t think Dame Clarice is involved in Michaelo’s trouble, Your Grace. She had taken one of your books from a trunk she had no cause to open.’

  ‘What book?’ When Owen handed it to him, Thoresby did not look at it at once, but said, ‘She tried to be pleasant enough, but I disliked how closely she watched me. Had I not succumbed to pride in dining in the hall on the princess’s arrival, I would not be so weary today and would have been sitting with the curtains opened wide, not prey to a little sneak.’ He looked at Owen’s companion. ‘Master Chaucer, is it not?’

  ‘Your Grace.’ Geoffrey bowed. ‘I came to offer the captain my help.’

  ‘Help, yes. I’ve little doubt he’ll need some.’

  Only now did Thoresby glance down at the book in his hands, squinting at first, though, of course, he did not have so many books that he would need his spectacles to distinguish which this was, and then widening his eyes, his face taking on a most haunted expression.

  Alarmed, Owen asked, ‘What is it, Your Grace?’

  Thoresby held the book to his heart and bowed his head for a moment. ‘God in heaven, of all the books—’ He checked himself with a shake of his head and took a deep breath. ‘We’ll talk of this later.’ He set aside the book on the small table next to the bed and gave his attention to Owen. ‘Tell me what has happened.’

  ‘Might we have some time alone?’ Owen asked Geoffrey. ‘I’ll not keep any information from you.’

  Though he did it with clear reluctance, Geoffrey withdrew from the chamber without argument.

  Owen’s caution was rewarded. As soon as the door closed behind Geoffrey, Thoresby picked up the book he’d set aside, and, with trembling fingers, he plucked at the top edge of the front cover where there was a slit in the leather. Owen felt a cascade of needle pricks across his scarred eye as he guessed the purpose of Thoresby’s effort to spread the slit and slip his fingers inside.

  ‘Had you hidden something in the binding?’ he asked, hoping for a negative response. The theft of Wykeham’s documents was, as yet, unsolved.

  With a curse, Thoresby handed the book to him. He did not look Owen in the eye, but kept his gaze lowered. ‘I’ve too little feeling in my fingertips. Is there a folded parchment slipped inside on either side of the board?’

  Owen felt about. ‘Nothing.’

  Thoresby sighed and lay back against the pillows. ‘If it was there, she’s taken it, that cursed nun. But I cannot be certain it was there. I’ve moved it so many times.’

  ‘What, Your Grace?’

  ‘A letter. A love letter I foolishly kept. From Marguerite.’

  Owen knew of whom he spoke. She had been Thoresby’s most-beloved mistress – and King Edward’s mistress as well. Years ago, a memento of that liaison had fallen into the hands of the king’s present mistress, Thoresby’s nemesis at court. ‘Is it the letter that Alice Perrers used—’

  Thoresby shook his head. ‘That one was from me to Marguerite.’ He chuckled. ‘That letter would have shocked the little sneak. This
one might leave her sighing. There is a great deal of sighing in nunneries.’

  Although evidence of past misbehaviour could hardly hurt Thoresby now, Owen was unable to share in his amusement. Anything out of joint was a threat to the safety of His Grace and the princess. ‘Where else might you have hidden it? If we check all the possible hiding places, we’ll know whether she has taken it. We can then search her.’

  Thoresby frowned. ‘That is the problem, Archer. I’ve moved it so many times, always back to this book, but I’ve shifted it to scrips, boxes, cushions, clothing, other books, and not all the items are at Bishopthorpe. In truth, I cannot recall when I last looked at it.’

  ‘That is not helpful,’ Owen accidentally muttered aloud.

  ‘I’m aware of that, Archer. The nun is a sneak in any case and I’ll not have her in my chamber again.’

  ‘I agree.’ But Clarice might now be in danger – or dangerous.

  ‘Tell me what has happened. It must be something sinister indeed for you to have sent Chaucer out of the room. I should have thought you would trust him. Or does he know too much about your activities in Wales?’

  Owen ignored the last comment. For several years, Thoresby had been playing an annoying game of cat and mouse with him, hinting at something that he knew about Owen’s trip to Wales but never admitting to how much he knew. The most he could know was that Owen had been aggressively urged to join a Welsh rebellion against English rule. He could not possibly know how close Owen had come to taking part in the rebellion, unless he could read Owen’s mind. It made Owen all the more curious about the significance of the book Clarice had chosen.

  ‘I’m concerned about Dame Clarice’s transgression, Your Grace,’ said Owen. ‘Not knowing what it might involve, I thought it best to discuss it without Geoffrey, and I am glad that I asked him to leave.’

  ‘I should think he has more important concerns than my losing a letter from a mistress long dead, Archer. But I’d have put the book aside while he was yet here and would not have discussed this in his presence. Still, I believe him to be worthy of your trust. Do you have good cause to doubt that?’

  ‘I’d found his presence at this vigil suspicious, Your Grace, but he’s just told me he’s a squire of the king’s chamber.’

  ‘He is indeed, and has recommended you to Her Grace, Princess Joan.’

  ‘So he said.’

  ‘You doubt him? Don’t be a stubborn fool, Archer. Now come, pour me more honeyed water.’

  Owen did so, and helped Thoresby sit up more comfortably. It was painful to see how the archbishop’s hands shook. He stank of sweat and had sour breath, this man who would bathe daily had he not considered such luxury sinful. His illness seemed to Owen a terrible indignity.

  Once Thoresby was settled in relative comfort, Owen took a chair near the bed.

  ‘In any case,’ said Thoresby, ‘I doubt that either Princess Joan or Sir Lewis would have agreed to Chaucer’s presence in the party if they did not feel certain of his loyalties. In fact, he and Lewis Clifford are fast friends.’

  That was an interesting titbit. ‘And yet someone has murdered a servant and now—’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘There has been another death,’ said Owen. ‘Dom Lambert.’

  ‘In God’s name,’ Thoresby whispered. ‘The timid emissary? No wonder you are so ill at ease. How?’

  Owen briefly described how they had found Lambert in the woods. He regretted how Thoresby’s eyes seemed to sink deeper into his almost cadaverous skull as he listened.

  ‘What monster came on the heels of Wykeham’s emissary?’ Thoresby sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, raising a hand to keep Owen at his bedside. ‘The princess is safely back in the palace?’ he asked.

  ‘She is, Your Grace,’ said Ravenser from the doorway, ‘and her women and the knights.’

  ‘I am grateful for that,’ said Thoresby.

  ‘Your head is better?’ Owen asked, as Ravenser entered, bringing up a chair to join them.

  ‘I could not sleep – but your wife’s powder has eased it enough that I can bear it in here where it is not so bright.’

  ‘I heard you say that Michaelo might be in danger, Archer. Where is he?’ asked Thoresby. ‘Is he involved in Lambert’s death?’

  Owen and Ravenser exchanged a look.

  ‘Your Grace, I found him lying beneath Lambert, in a faint,’ said Owen.

  ‘There is talk about Lambert and Michaelo,’ said Ravenser.

  ‘That old curse come back to destroy our peace? Damn the man. How dare he succumb?’ Thoresby coloured and began to cough.

  Ravenser helped him to some more of his drink. As Thoresby settled back on the pillows, his nephew shook his head.

  ‘How could Lambert and Michaelo move past all the guards? And a murderer?’

  ‘It would have taken more than one person to hang him, I think,’ said Owen. He told them what Michaelo had seen.

  ‘One of Her Grace’s women.’ Ravenser rubbed his temple. ‘If it involves her company, that makes it all the worse, all the more dangerous.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Owen. ‘I have a man questioning all the guards. Perhaps someone did not realise what they were witnessing.’

  ‘Where do their loyalties lie, my guards, now that I am dying?’ Thoresby paused, taking a shuddering breath. ‘I told Richard, when the princess’s party arrived, that the vigil of spies had begun, but I would imagine some in the guard compromised their honour months ago.’

  Owen felt a chill. He’d reassured himself that he had chosen all of his men with care, and those he had not chosen had been hand-picked by Alfred. But, he had not sat down with each one and sounded them out as to how they felt about their service with the archbishop coming to a close. Though Thoresby was the most powerful representative of the Church they would ever encounter, Owen imagined the guardsmen’s devotion to him had far more to do with livelihood and protection than with religious awe. He’d not thought to speak to each individual about that.

  ‘I pray you are wrong in your suspicion, Your Grace, but I will not depend on that.’ Would talking to each one have made a difference, Owen wondered.

  ‘What of Michaelo?’ Ravenser asked. ‘If he is not guilty, did he witness a murder? Is he in danger?’

  ‘I’m worried about that as well,’ said Owen. ‘If it please Your Grace, when we are finished here, I thought to bring him here, to move his cot in here with you.’

  Thoresby nodded. ‘I took him as a penance, and I will honour that as long as I may.’

  ‘I have told Geoffrey and Jehannes that I do not believe Michaelo murdered Lambert, but I think it is to our advantage to behave as if we’re uneasy about him. Michaelo has agreed – though he refuses to quit his duties.’

  ‘Stubborn man. But how have you already decided his innocence?’ asked Thoresby.

  ‘By a painful lump on the back of his head. He was meant to be found.’ Owen explained to them the timing, and then rose. ‘I’ve much to do.’ He wanted to find Dame Clarice.

  ‘I do not envy you your responsibility,’ said Ravenser, searching Owen’s eyes, plainly aware of his discomfort. ‘I imagine you will have John Holand’s temper to deal with – he seems the sort to express his fear with temper tantrums.’

  ‘I’ve dealt with his sort before,’ said Owen.

  ‘God go with you, Archer,’ said Thoresby, blessing him. ‘You could not protect me from this vigil. When the ambitious sense the imminent death of someone in power, they cannot stay away. Even had the Princess of Wales not come, we would have had spies all about us. I would trust no one to keep the peace at Bishopthorpe as I trust you.’

  ‘Your Grace.’ Owen bowed, and felt the weight of the archbishop’s trust on his shoulders. He prayed that he was worthy; he feared that he was not.

  Of Ravenser, Owen asked, ‘Would you be willing to stay here until Brother Michaelo comes?’

  Ravenser nodded. ‘I will gladly sit with His Grace.’

  Owen was
grateful for the easy escape. Thoresby’s comments about his guard had brought on a cold sweat. It had been years since he’d felt so unsure of himself, so overwhelmed. Of course his guards might be making arrangements for their lives after Thoresby’s death. The next archbishop would have his own loyal servants. He might not even choose to live so near York as Thoresby had.

  Once outside the archbishop’s chamber, Owen paused to tell Jehannes and Michaelo that Thoresby agreed that his secretary should share his chamber, and then he headed for the chapel in the hope that Dame Clarice would be there doing penance and that he might ask her whether she’d removed anything from the book. She would no doubt refuse to answer, but, in her manner, he might glean the truth. As he walked, he managed to calm himself with the thought that Alfred was ever alert to grumblings among the men. But he’d no sooner calmed a little than a very unwelcome question occurred to him – what of Alfred’s loyalty? After Owen, Alfred was the one who would lose the most prestige, the most comfortable wage. He had spoken often of late of a young widow in York. How would he provide for her? Owen had been a fool to not have considered this. Yet surely he was better off with the men who had served with him all these years rather than a new, untried group with even less cause to be loyal. He’d often trusted Alfred or Gilbert to escort Lucie or guard his home and they’d never betrayed his trust. Lucie. Owen wished she were here. He needed her calm head to help him think this through.

  As he stepped into the chapel, he felt a chill, a sense of time having collapsed, or of waking to discover the past day had been a dream and he was standing in this door as he had the previous day. Prostrate before the altar lay – no, this was a woman, not the ghost of Lambert. Unfortunately, it was not Dame Clarice, for this penitent wore expensive silks. Her veil covered her head so completely that he could not be certain, but it must be one of Princess Joan’s ladies.

  ‘Lady Eleanor has lain so for hours.’

  Owen had not noticed Geoffrey sitting near the door, cross-legged on the floor, as if taking his ease.

  ‘I’ve checked on her several times,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Earlier she was on her knees before the altar, folded over as if crumpled in pain, weeping so piteously I did not like to disturb her. I withdrew before she was aware of me, and I spun out some time walking in the garden before returning, and yet, when I did return, she had still not moved. Her sobs were as deep and wrenching as they had been earlier. At least now she is quiet. Perhaps she has exhausted herself.’