A Gift Of Sanctuary (Owen Archer Book 6)

by Candace Robb

  Owen’s heart lightened to hear of his father’s pride in his being chosen one of Lancaster’s archers, and how the family were at last accepted into the community, largely because of his mother’s skill with herbs and his father’s with ailing livestock. ‘They were generous with the talents God gave them,’ Roger said, ‘and your friend Master Chaucer told me of your talents – how you have become indispensable to both the Archbishop of York and our Duke.’

  ‘Chaucer? You have met?’ Aylward seemed a master of surprise.

  Aylward gestured to the serving girl, who sat quietly with some needlework in the light from the window, to pour him more cider.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Aylward said as he held up his cup to be filled, ‘it has been a day of pleasant meetings, good for the spirits of one so confined. And a day of sorrow. I have great sympathy for John Lascelles. He did a good deed, granted a heroic kindness to a beleaguered family to my mind, and he has had nothing but sorrow from it. Such a beauty she is, but so unfit to be the wife of one of Lancaster’s stewards. Even so, you will not find me linking her with the beating of Father Francis. It will be the churchman, mark my words. Though I do not like to think it of Father Edern. I was fond of him when he was chaplain at the castle.’

  His mind reeling with the effort to follow the track of Aylward’s easy tongue, Owen remained quiet for a moment, though he nodded solemnly now and then to encourage his host. Had Geoffrey told him all this? To what purpose?

  ‘I confess I was disappointed that you had sent your comrade to me,’ Aylward continued. ‘So I am glad that you had additional questions, though I swear by St David I can think of no reason Mistress Lascelles would take up with Father Edern.’

  ‘Master Chaucer told you he was assisting me in an investigation?’

  ‘He was wrong to admit that? But why should a man confide if he does not know to what purpose––’ Aylward stopped as Owen waved aside the argument.

  ‘I am glad that he was open,’ Owen said. He was thinking fast. ‘Did he tell you that we believe the steward’s recent troubles – the theft, the deaths of John de Reine and the chaplain, and Mistress Lascelles’s disappearance – have some common source?’

  The ruddy face registered puzzlement, then amusement. Aylward tried to hide the smile by lifting the cup to his mouth, but Owen had seen it.

  ‘You find that unlikely?’ Owen asked.

  Aylward took his time setting his cup on the table beside him, dabbing his lips with a cloth. ‘Forgive me. I know nothing of these things. I merely–– My good wife, you see, would like your theory. She is fond of blaming all her troubles on one source. And when you said–– Well, in truth, it reminded me of her.’

  If Roger Aylward was not telling the truth, he was a clever liar with a quick wit, for his explanation was credible in its singularity.

  ‘I hope that you are not considered the source of all her problems,’ Owen said with a smile.

  Aylward chuckled. ‘No, we are content in one another. And I do sincerely hope that you do not consider me the source of John Lascelles’s troubles.’

  ‘I should be a fool to sit here partaking of your hospitality if that were so,’ Owen said, lifting his cup. ‘But I do ask a favour, that you tell me in your own words all you remember about the night of the theft.’

  The receiver closed his eyes, leaned his head back on the bounteous pile of pillows. ‘Such a cursed night, and you wish to hear of it over and over again.’

  So this, too, Geoffrey had requested. What was the man up to? ‘One last time, Master Aylward. I should be grateful. I might then rest assured that I know all that can be known of it.’

  Aylward opened one eye. ‘You do not trust Master Chaucer’s memory? But you should, you know. He recited a long and most excellent tale of Seys and Alcyone that he is using in a poem of his own making, in honour of our Duke’s fair Duchess so sadly gone from us.’

  So that was how Geoffrey had won the man’s friendship – by playing the bard. Owen would admire his ingenuity if he were not so angry. What was Geoffrey thinking, to come here and question the Duke’s receiver? What did he know of the cunning necessary for such things? Well, he knew something, Owen could not deny it. ‘I worry that he might not heed the finer details.’

  Aylward sighed and began a recitation – for that was precisely how it sounded, a rehearsed description of the event. Aylward had sat alone at a table in the castle treasury having a cup of wine after a long session with his secretary, dictating letters to Lancaster and his Receiver General. During the past autumn Aylward had arranged shipping for the Duke’s coming expedition, travelling to various ports in south Wales to do so, and he owed an accounting of his activities, results, expenses. Whilst he sat at the table, his back to the door, a stranger entered the room, grabbed him from behind, dragging him from his chair – which toppled backward and crashed with such a noise he had hoped to see guards at the door at once. But fortune was not with him that evening. With a knife to Aylward’s throat the intruder made him open a chest, then flung the receiver from him with such force Aylward was thrown forward over the toppled chair – which is when he lost his tooth. When he stood up to throw himself upon the thief he was flung to the wall. And that is all he remembered.

  Considering the heft of the man, at least what Owen could guess from the parts visible beneath the bedclothes, the thief must have been a man of some considerable strength. And yet Aylward’s vague description of the intruder made him of average weight and height.

  ‘He had no accomplice?’ Owen asked, frowning.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You called him a stranger. You saw his face?’

  Aylward shook his head. ‘He wore a mask and no livery.’ He shook his head again, then moaned and called for the serving girl. ‘My head,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, as if weakened by the gesture.

  ‘A cold compress, soaked in lavender water if you have it,’ Owen said, ‘and some feverfew in his cider. That should soothe him.’

  The maid looked puzzled. Even Aylward opened his eyes.

  ‘My wife is a master apothecary. I have learned much from her. It is the least I can offer, having been the cause of your present discomfort. God go with you, Master Aylward. You have been more than kind.’

  Owen shook his head as he descended to the street. Aylward’s account and his behaviour stank of deceit. But who would benefit?

  ‘You look disappointed, Captain.’ A man stepped from the shadows, leading Owen’s horse. One of Burley’s men, crook nosed and sinewy with large hands and a bald pate. Duncan.

  ‘It is good of you to bring my horse to me, Duncan,’ Owen said.

  A gap-toothed grin. ‘Did you learn what you wished from Master Aylward?’ Duncan patted Owen’s horse.

  ‘Aye, that I did. He knew my parents well. But surely you did not come down from the castle to ask about my family?’

  ‘Sir John rode out this morning and has not returned. The town porter said your horse was in a froth when you came to the gate. We hoped you might have news of the steward.’

  Owen groaned. ‘Another worry to distract the garrison? I shall never complete my mission.’ His complaint rang hollow in his ears.

  ‘Whence did you ride in such haste?’

  Owen grabbed a partial lie from the air, one that might not be discovered too soon. ‘From Gruffydd ap Goronwy’s. I rode out to escort Mistress Lascelles and the priest back to Cydweli. But I found they had never been at the farm. I thought the steward should know as soon as possible.’

  ‘Sir John sent you?’

  ‘He had suggested it last night.’

  ‘Odd.’ Duncan handed Owen the reins. ‘He sent someone else this morning.’

  ‘Then I have spent my steed for nothing.’

  ‘Aye. That you have.’ Duncan motioned for Owen to go first.

  Folk moved out of their way as they walked along Castle Street to the south gate of the castle. The townsfolk feared Burley’s men, that was plain. Owen wondered why Burley’s m
an had awaited him outside Aylward’s house. Had Burley been warned of Owen’s visit? Was that the cause of Owen’s long wait without?

  Had Owen been trailed by Burley, perhaps since he left the castle this morning with Gladys? Duncan’s boots and leggings were not travel stained, but that told Owen nothing.

  What nagged at him more was the theft of the exchequer. As he walked, he thought back over Aylward’s story. Nothing rang true about it – the receiver’s rehearsed tale, his pretence of being bedridden, the implausible trail on which Burley had dispatched his men without a clear description of the attacker. And now Burley’s man awaiting Owen outside the receiver’s house – why?

  ‘The constable wants to see you,’ Duncan said.

  ‘I thought he might.’ And Owen wished to see him once he had more time to think all this through. An idea was slowly forming. And if he did not come to some understanding with the constable he would be tripping over him whenever he took a backward step. It was not a time for accidents. It was time to talk. ‘Tell him I shall be with him by and by, once I have seen to my horse and my muddy boots.’

  On a long bench in the practice yard, Burley sat with feet propped on a barrel. His fair hair was dark with sweat, his tunic muddy. Duncan leaned down to speak quietly, no doubt reporting his brief conversation with Owen. Burley nodded, waved Duncan away, smiled at Owen. ‘I am glad to see you, Captain Archer. I feared that you, too, had deserted us.’

  ‘It is good to see a constable who keeps himself ever ready for battle,’ Owen said. ‘But surely you might have asked the Duke for the funds needed for the garrison instead of feigning a theft from the exchequer?’

  Showing no emotion, Burley ordered the waiting servant to disappear. ‘Leave the ale,’ he barked. The servant set a pitcher and bowl down on the bench beside Burley and hurried off. Burley poured, drank, belched. ‘Better.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘It had nothing to do with the garrison.’

  ‘I thought not.’

  ‘What do you intend to do with your discovery?’

  ‘Nothing. It does not concern me or my mission here.’

  ‘What about Master Chaucer?’

  ‘I cannot swear for him, but I would say that you would do better to worry about his impression of Cydweli’s defences. Convince him that the garrison is fit and ready to defend the Duke’s interests against the French or the Welsh pretender, and you will enjoy a long and profitable constableship.’

  ‘And you? What do I have to fear from you?’

  ‘If the theft is the worst sin on your conscience, nothing. But I am curious why you and the wealthy receiver found it necessary to steal from the treasury.’

  ‘An unfortunate investment. A foolhardy venture . . .’ Burley looked at his muddy boots. ‘Never trust a merchant. He swore the risk was slight when he coaxed me into investing, and after the ship sank he swore it was as much a shock and disaster for him as it was for me. I had my revenge, though.’ Burley’s eyes crinkled with pleasure.

  ‘The tooth?’

  Burley glanced up and burst into laughter. ‘And he cannot say a word about it, vain, pompous, stupid man.’ He picked up a cloth and proceeded to dry his hair. The sky had once more clouded over, bringing a chill to the air.

  Owen pitied Roger Aylward. He seemed a man who had taken few bad risks. And this one might have been easily dismissed if he had not brought Burley into it. ‘Had John de Reine anything to do with it?’

  ‘Nothing. And I had no idea he was off to St David’s when I sent my men out – that was your next question, eh?’

  Owen laughed. ‘Aye.’

  ‘He was on his way to Carreg Cennen, that is what we all thought. My men must have picked up his trail by accident. God’s blood but I wish I knew where they were now.’

  ‘I should think you might commend their enterprise.’

  Burley snorted. ‘Bumbling asses, they are.’

  Owen was disappointed, but there it was. He had solved one mystery only to discover it had nothing to do with the important one. ‘John Lascelles. Is it possible he supports Owain Lawgoch?’

  Burley snorted. ‘You Welshmen are obsessed with the French King’s puppet. Do you know how many of your countrymen are over there fighting for the ugly Du Guesclin? As many as could fit in the ship.’

  ‘It is one way to escape the stench of the English invaders.’

  ‘So that is it,’ Burley said quietly. ‘I thought it odd, a Welshman recruiting archers. You are really here to meet with Gruffydd ap Goronwy. That was your purpose in riding to his farm.’

  ‘I would be a fool if that were true. I know the Duke of Lancaster well enough to fear what he would do to a traitor in his household. Or a thief.’

  Burley’s expression was most gratifying. But he was not one to take a hit on the jaw without striking back. ‘Your championing of a certain woman surprised me, Captain. I misjudged you at first. I thought you were of the steward’s persuasion – ambition does not stumble on charity.’

  So he had followed him. Owen straddled the bench, forcing Burley to abandon the barrel so that he might look him in the eye. ‘And what woman was that?’

  ‘Gladys, the castle whore.’

  ‘I cannot take all the credit. She sought me out. Then I found it difficult to deny her.’

  ‘Oh, aye. Many do.’

  ‘Her sanctuary will not be disturbed?’

  Burley shook his head. ‘Only Duncan and I know of it. And of course Harold and Simwnt. I shall send those two for her when the chaplain’s murderer is found.’

  ‘Any luck with that?’

  ‘You dined in the steward’s rooms last night, you and Master Chaucer. What was his temper?’

  ‘Melancholy. Not a mood that often turns to murder.’

  ‘To my mind, it was him, his lady, or the Welsh vicar who beat the chaplain. Or in the lady’s case, had him beaten.’

  ‘What if I told you I know where all three have gone?’

  Burley poured himself more ale, looked at Owen through half-closed eyes as he drank down the bowl. ‘Of course. This is the sort of thing you do, smoke out murderers. But you came to recruit archers. What are those three to you?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing.’

  Burley nodded, as if he had made a discovery. ‘The Duke has heard of Sir John’s questionable marriage. You are here to observe him. But he is not a Welshman. Why would he support Lawgoch?’

  Owen did not intend to speculate with Burley. ‘I am going after the three of them. I do not ask for your men. Mine will suffice. Nor do I need a shadow.’

  ‘Duncan would make an excellent guide.’

  Duncan must be an excellent assassin. ‘He would crowd me.’

  ‘He will be ordered to keep his distance. You need not take all of your men, surely.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What of Master Chaucer?’

  Indeed. What of Geoffrey? ‘No doubt he will do what he pleases.’

  Owen’s entrance made Geoffrey start and drop his pen. He cursed as a spot of ink trembled on the parchment, then slowly spread flat. ‘Devil’s own is what you are,’ Geoffrey muttered, blotting the stain with frantic energy. ‘Where have you been? Where is Gladys?’

  ‘Safe.’ Owen considered an apology, thought better of it. Geoffrey had much to answer for. ‘So you are assisting me in an investigation, eh? And what did you learn on your rounds?’

  Geoffrey wiped his nose, smudging it with ink, faced Owen with a comically stern face. ‘I learned,’ he said quietly, ‘that Aylward gave a vague description which was then connected to someone who had been boasting in the tavern.’

  ‘A vague description. Aye. And one that does not fit the tale.’ Owen shook his head. ‘The man has the story by heart, did you note that? And he looks far too hale and hardy to be still abed from an attack eighteen days ago.’

  Geoffrey dabbed at the stain on his nose with jerky anger. ‘What about the tooth?’

  Owen hid a smile. ‘What do you know of Sir John’s disappearance?’
/>   ‘That Burley thinks it coincided too closely with yours. And that he rode out with only his squire.’

  ‘Roger Aylward thinks you are a bard.’

  Geoffrey blushed. ‘I made no claim––’

  ‘Clever, that was.’ Owen rose to answer a knock at the door.

  Iolo stood without. ‘You sent for me, Captain?’

  ‘You, Jared and the bishop’s men – prepare to ride out with me in the morning.’

  ‘But the others? And the archers?’

  ‘We shall return for them. We go to St David’s on an errand for the Duke. Burley’s man Duncan will accompany us.’

  Geoffrey was right behind Owen when he turned from the door. ‘What intrigue is this?’

  ‘Burley has agreed that I am the best man to pursue Sir John and his lady. And Edern.’

  ‘To St David’s?’

  ‘It is the logical place for them to go.’

  ‘I am coming with you.’

  ‘What of your mission?’

  ‘It was my understanding that we shared the same mission. Has that changed?’

  Sixteen

  HE IS NAMED

  Unsettled by Brother Dyfrig’s information, Dafydd had spent the time since his conversation with the monk studying a growing patch of damp on the whitewashed wall above the garden window. The darkening patch seemed at first a simple matter, something about which to instruct the servants. But as the shape shifted, sending out tendrils of damp along unseen cracks in the plaster, he saw how insidious was this leak, how easily it might bring the wall down and the roof with it. How did such a disaster begin? Had a small animal nested in the thatch and worn away a portion by the wall? Had a cross-beam begun to rot? Was it merely God’s will that the wall should fall?

  So too with the pilgrim. Had there been a moment in which Dafydd might have seen the danger in shielding him? Had he been arrogant in granting sanctuary in his house? Was God angry that he had not taken the pilgrim to a proper sanctuary? Back to St David’s, to the church of St David and St Andrew? Did God test Dafydd?