by Candace Robb
‘That is not the usual version.’
Joanna bit her bottom lip, looked away. ‘How goes my mother?’
God’s blood, Owen had almost forgotten. He had prepared a gradual approach to the sad news, but now his plans were undone. However, perhaps a shock might trip Joanna up. Lucie would not approve. But if he did not ask, she could not protest. ‘Your mother is dead.’
Joanna started. ‘What?’ She fluttered her hands as if swatting the thought away. ‘No.’ She leaned forward and peered into Owen’s good eye for a long moment, then sat back, shaking her head. ‘The Boulains are mad. But that is no death.’
‘She is dead, Joanna. She drowned in the river.’
Joanna looked frightened. She glanced over her shoulder, shivered. ‘Watery graves,’ she said softly.
‘Who else has a watery grave?’
Joanna stood up abruptly. ‘Go away, you one-eyed scoundrel. You cannot have my body. It has been promised to the Devil. He shall devour me as –’ She shook her head, sat down suddenly. Hiding her face with her hands, she began to sob.
Lucie knelt down beside her, felt her forehead. ‘Owen, call the Reverend Mother. We must leave now. Joanna needs to rest and calm down. Her spirit overcomes the physick.’
‘It is an excellent act.’
Lucie met Owen’s eye. ‘It is no act. She is feverish.’
After they had passed through Bootham Bar, Owen drew Lucie to the side of the street and paused, looking down at her, holding her hands. ‘I was clumsy. Sweet Heaven but I was clumsy. Can you forgive me?’
Lucie shrugged and gave him a half-hearted smile. ‘Your blunt speech might have worked. She might have responded more helpfully. As you have seen, Joanna is unpredictable.’ Lucie glanced round. ‘But let us speak of this at home, for pity’s sake.’
Owen, seeing she looked a bit pale, offered, ‘Shall I carry you? Are you feeling faint?’
‘Conspicuous. Most couples do not pause at street corners for serious discourse.’
Ned arrived, breathless, late in the day. Owen came round the counter to greet him and introduce him to Lucie.
‘Charming,’ Ned said as he held Lucie’s hand overlong, gazing into her smiling eyes. It was clear to Owen that Lucie found Ned charming as well. Not an auspicious introduction. But Ned at last dropped her hand and turned to Owen. ‘I have been sent to beg your presence at the abbey infirmary.’
Ned a messenger? ‘Why?’
‘One of the archbishop’s retainers has died, and his friend is threatening to murder any man in the shire who looks even vaguely like the attacker.’
‘Colin is dead, then?’ Owen said.
Ned nodded.
‘God grant him mercy,’ Lucie whispered, bowing her head and crossing herself.
Owen kicked the doorway. ‘I’ve a cursed knack for getting folk killed.’
Ned grabbed his friend by the shoulder and gave him a shake. ‘You were not with them when they were attacked.’
Owen shrugged out of Ned’s grasp. The man had no conscience. He would not understand. But it must be said. ‘I recommended them to His Grace.’
Ned rolled his eyes and flashed Lucie a sympathetic look. ‘Your man never changes. He has ever been one to take on the blame. If evil befell anyone in his company, ’twas his fault, no matter the truth of it. He cares not a whit that His Grace might have chosen them anyway.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘Colin was Thoresby’s man.’
‘Say what you will, ’twas I who involved them in all this. Colin was a simple soldier, obedient, eager.’ Owen saw Ned prepare for another argument. ‘Alfred will be thirsty for blood. I believe what he says.’
‘So what is to be done with Alfred?’ Lucie asked.
‘Ravenser wants to lock him in the archbishop’s gaol,’ Ned said.
Owen groaned. ‘Then Ravenser’s a fool. What has the man done but obeyed orders and been a true and faithful friend?’
Ned shrugged. ‘So what shall we do?’
‘Take him with us to Scarborough. Alfred can then trouble no one in York.’
Ned folded his arms across his chest and gave Owen a murderous look. ‘He will trouble us.’
‘I take responsibility for him.’
‘Fool,’ Ned said softly as he followed Owen out of the door, stopping to blow a kiss to Lucie before stepping out into the street.
Louth and Ravenser sat in the abbot’s parlour with Alfred between them, his hands bound behind his back.
‘Surely it is not necessary to bind him, gentlemen?’ Owen said, though he saw in Alfred’s face a dangerous mixture of grief and fury. ‘I should think him more in need of movement.’ He knelt down in front of Alfred. ‘Care to join me on St George’s Field for a round with the broadsword?’
Alfred stared ahead. ‘I knew it was an ambush, Captain. But I always gave Colin his way. Most times ’twas the right way. Wish to God he’d been right as usual.’ Alfred’s eyes were dry, but glassy. Owen could hear the tightness in the man’s throat, see the clenched jaw muscles.
‘I want you to come with me to Scarborough, Alfred.’
Now the dark eyes focused on Owen. ‘What for?’
‘Never mind that yet. But I need you, and I need you clear-headed. So how about the broadsword drill? Work up a sweat? Take it out on a wooden dummy? For now, anyway. Clear your head for some talk and then the journey?’
‘What will they do with Colin?’
Owen turned to Ravenser and Louth with a questioning look.
‘Was he a York man?’ Ravenser asked.
‘Nay,’ said Alfred. ‘Lavenham.’
‘Then we shall bury him in the minster yard, I think. He died in service to the archbishop.’
Owen turned back to Alfred. ‘Will that satisfy you?’
Alfred nodded.
‘If I cut your bonds, you will not attack the first person who annoys you?’
‘Colin would wish me to do your bidding without question, Captain.’
Owen had once thought that a soldier’s duty. That was before he’d begun to understand more about the world, through Thoresby’s tutelage. Now he believed one should always question. But in Alfred’s present state, blind obedience was advisable. ‘Good.’ Owen drew his knife and cut Alfred’s bonds. ‘Come.’ He stood up. ‘Let us say goodbye to Colin, then go hack up some solid oak.’
Ned joined them at the door. ‘Might I join you? I could use a good whack at my enemies.’
Ravenser rose as the door opened. ‘You are dining with me tonight, gentlemen? To discuss the journey?’
Owen bowed to him. ‘And my wife and her father, as requested.’
‘Good. I should not want this incident interfering with the plans.’
‘Nothing will interfere with them, Sir Richard. Fear not. Ned and I shall be all the better for a good sweat.’ Owen grinned and stepped out of the door, Ned and Alfred with him.
The two canons were left to puzzle out the strange ways of fighting men.
Fifteen
Scarborough
When Owen returned, dirty, sweaty and relaxed, Tildy put a cup of Tom Merchet’s ale in his hands. He sat down with a contented sigh and drained the cup with one tilt of his head.
Tildy hovered. ‘Mistress Lucie is dressing, Captain. I would hurry if I were you. The provost of Beverley is expecting you.’
Owen groaned. ‘I had forgotten.’
Sir Robert came in from the garden. The elderly man wore a homespun tunic and breeches, spattered and caked with dirt.
‘Have you been gardening, Sir Robert?’
Owen’s father-in-law raked a hand through his white hair, streaking it with dirt. ‘I have indeed. A fine garden you have out there. Healthy.’ He eyed Owen’s sweaty state. ‘You have not been idle this day either, I see.’
Owen told him about Alfred. ‘We worked him hard. He will sleep till morning, I think.’
Sir Robert nodded enthusiastically. ‘Just the thing for a fighting man. You must have been a good captain.’ He motione
d for Owen to come away from Tildy’s hearing. ‘By the by,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘I wanted a word with you about Dame Joanna’s stories of Scarborough. Have you heard about the soldiers who sail away, never come back? Archers, she said once. I told Lucie it was important, but I am not sure she appreciated the significance.’
Owen bit back a grin. Lucie had told him of Sir Robert’s attachment to this detail. ‘Lucie did tell me. After meeting the woman I did not put much faith in my understanding of her meandering speeches.’
Sir Robert held his hand up, palm forward. ‘Pray hear me, then. ’Tis not the sort of thing a young woman would make up. That is my point. You must see that.’
Owen considered it. ‘Aye, ’tis true. But her brother is a soldier. If she did find him in Scarborough, and listened to him talking with his fellows, she might have heard something and misunderstood, or made it into a more intriguing story.’
Disappointment rounded the old soldier’s shoulders. ‘In faith, perhaps I make much of nothing.’
‘Not at all. Lancaster shares your interest in the story.’
Sir Robert straightened up. ‘Excellent. Stealing our fighting men – it is the sort of small, sneaky manoeuvre King Charles favours. And du Guesclin.’
Owen hoped that he would have as sound a mind at his father-in-law’s age. ‘How do you find your daughter, Sir Robert?’
Sir Robert smiled fondly. ‘A formidable woman, Owen. Lovely as her mother, but much stronger. In spirit more like my sister Phillippa than Amelie. I am much relieved. I had thought Lucie’s marriage to Wilton a terrible mistake – all my fault, of course, but still a mistake. Yet had she not married him, she would not have this life that contents her.’
This was a new tone from Sir Robert. ‘I am happy you see that she is content.’
‘Owen!’ Lucie called from the top of the stairs. ‘Did I hear you come in?’
‘I must go to her.’ Owen tapped Sir Robert’s sleeve. ‘And you must ready yourself. Ravenser seems anxious that we all attend.’
Sir Robert patted Owen on the back. ‘You are a good man, Owen My daughter chose wisely.’
Lucie and Owen slept little, talking into the night after they had returned from Ravenser’s, wondering what Owen might discover in Scarborough and trying to organise what they knew about Will Longford and Joanna Calverley. Owen had proposed that they go first to Beverley to speak with the vicar of St Mary’s and the gravedigger. Rather than find the suggestion an insult – for he himself had spoken with them in May – Louth was in favour of this action. He did not trust his own investigative talents. But Thoresby insisted that they follow Lancaster’s orders and go first to Scarborough in the hope of finding Captain Sebastian. Lancaster sought to have Captain Sebastian back on his side before he left for Gascony in the autumn.
Lucie had been surprised by Thoresby’s support of Lancaster. ‘I did not foresee His Most Arrogant Grace the Archbishop bowing to Lancaster’s interests.’
Owen wagged his finger. ‘You misunderstand, my love. It is a question of priorities. Thoresby wishes to resolve the problem of Dame Joanna and the deaths surrounding her, surely. But his hatred for Alice Perrers takes precedence. And if he becomes Lancaster’s ally in the matter of Captain Sebastian, Lancaster may become Thoresby’s ally in ousting Mistress Perrers from the King’s bedchamber.’
‘Ah.’ Lucie could hear the smile in Owen’s voice. It irked her that he was in such good spirits when he must leave her in the morning. ‘I think you begin to enjoy taking part in these weighty matters of the realm.’
Owen pulled her over on top of him, stroking her hair. ‘I prefer matters of the bedchamber. My own bedchamber.’
Lucie kissed him and resolved to enjoy tonight. She would worry about the morrow on the morrow.
It required considerable noise on Tildy’s part to wake them in the morning, and Owen had only just finished dressing when one of the archbishop’s grooms arrived, leading a fine mount. Lucie watched Owen strap his pack to the saddle, check all the fittings. He hummed as he worked. She remembered his high spirits last night. It had not been her imagination – he was happy to be on the move.
‘Will you be back for Corpus Christi?’ She hated the yearning in her voice.
Owen heard it, turned round, pulled her to him. ‘Unless fortune shines on us, I think not, my love. But once back from this, I shall not leave your side until the baby comes. Thoresby be damned.’ He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. ‘Promise to take every care, Lucie.’
She held him, drinking in his scent, his warmth. She forced herself to smile up at him, not wanting him to remember her with tears in her eyes. ‘I have no reason to risk my life, and every reason to stay well, my love.’
They kissed. Lucie handed Owen a cup of warmed, spiced wine. It was a damp, cool morning for summer. He drank, kissed her again, hugged her hard, and took his reins in hand.
‘They await me at the minster gate.’
Lucie nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. What was the matter with her? In their nineteen months of marriage she had seen him off enough times to be over this anxious care. He always returned. She touched his arm. He put his hand over hers, pressed it, and slowly led the horse out to the street.
‘God go with you,’ Lucie called softly.
Owen did not hear over the horse’s hooves.
Lucie watched his broad back until he disappeared beyond St Helen’s Square. She hugged herself and pressed her feet into the ground, resisting the urge to run up the stairs and hang out their chamber window for one last glimpse. It took all of her willpower to stay put.
What was the matter with her? A premonition of danger? Or was it merely her condition making everything difficult? She would go to the minster and say a prayer at vespers.
Alfred sat stiffly in his saddle, fighting to keep wide the eyelids that preferred to close. Perhaps the workout had been too exhausting. But once they were on the move, he would perk up. Owen was glad to see Ned and Louth plainly dressed for the journey. They were headed into rough country and he did not relish attracting thieves. Ravenser saw them off, with Jehannes, as Archdeacon of York, giving the blessing.
It was a long, slow journey up onto heather-clad moorland. They spent their first night in the modest guest house of a Gilbertine priory in Malton. Owen and Ned rubbed Alfred’s upper back down with hot oil to loosen his cramping muscles. Louth watched the proceedings, amused.
‘I would fain pity you, but it was your own doing,’ Louth told Alfred. ‘The best remedy for sorrow is the solace of a head full of wine. What you chose was penance, not solace.’
Owen scowled at Louth. ‘If Alfred had passed out last night with a head full of wine, he would have slept fitfully and been no good for the journey today.’ He grew weary of Louth’s pampered paunch. Twice today they must need halt for him to rest a while. Owen hated travelling with such folk. He might have said much, but seeing Louth’s frown at his sharp tone and scowl, he stopped at that. For now it sufficed that Louth knew he did not agree, not at all.
The second day was an easy journey to Pickering Castle, one of Lancaster’s, where the company were to be joined by a Percy youth who would escort them through the forests and bogs that stretched out from Pickering to the North Sea. The castle was often used as a grand hunting lodge for nobles taking their sport in the Forest of Pickering, and their accommodations, in the Old Hall, were much more comfortable than those of the previous night. Although the castle stood on a bluff overlooking marsh and moor and caught the northern winds, the Old Hall was built into the curtain wall and enjoyed a sheltered situation.
After a pleasant evening meal, the travellers shared wine and swapped stories of their journeys. Owen thought he might learn something of Hugh Calverley from the young John Percy.
John grimaced. ‘Oh, aye, Hugh Calverley. Once met, not forgotten, unless you’re a fool. Cross him and he butts you with his horns, make no mistake about it. I have been so unfortunate.’ The young Percy was fair, wi
th a toothy grin and boyish features.
‘You crossed him and he struck out?’ At a boy? Owen found that surprising.
John nodded. ‘I greeted him out on the street in Scarborough. When next he came up to the castle he sought me out and beat me, said I might have revealed him to the enemy. I have never seen a man so angry for so little cause.’
Owen thought it passing strange the Percies had allowed one of their own to be treated in such a manner by a merchant’s son. ‘Your family did not punish Calverley for such behaviour?’
John shook his head. ‘Nay. They looked the other way.’
Ned nodded. ‘Thought it a good lesson, didn’t they?’
John shrugged, but his eyes spoke of a festering anger.
Owen thought it best to speak of other matters. ‘How long have you been away from Scarborough?’
‘I have spent two years at Richmond Castle sharpening my bones, as my father says.’
‘There are Percies at Richmond?’
‘Nay. I have neither seen nor heard from my family in that time.’
‘Why are you now to Scarborough?’
John drew himself up straighter, puffing out his chest. ‘I am to be a customs warden, searching ships for wool and hides not customed and cocketed.’
And confiscating the goods for the King. Owen knew of such wardens. They tended to have short, tragic careers or to turn smuggler themselves. He wondered how much the lad understood about such a post. ‘’Tis dangerous work. Folk who have dared defy the King will not be shy of throwing a young customs warden overboard.’
The cocky young man grinned from ear to ear. ‘I am a Percy, Captain. I live for danger.’
Owen and Ned exchanged amused looks over the lad’s head.
Louth had no confidence in such a young, cocky guide. ‘Are you certain you remember the way from here to Scarborough? They say one needs a guide who knows the way well, so well that fog and mist do not turn him round. If it has been two years since you travelled there …’
The young Percy shrugged. ‘It will be different, for certain. The forests and bogs keep the trails ever changing. But I shall get us through.’
