by Candace Robb
‘My name is Marian,’ she said, softly.
‘So many Marys. Thy name will not betray thee.’
Marian fought to remain upright as she drank the broth. ‘Why is the captain angry?’
‘He has taken on the burden of keeping safe all he loves, and his heart encompasses much. Now he has three deaths to resolve before the powerful Nevilles arrive. The city is grateful, though not so grateful as before they learned he also serves the king’s heir, the fair Joan’s husband, Prince Edward. To whom is the captain loyal, they wonder? They fear. And they are silent when he only wishes to help. Benighted creatures.’
‘Dame Agnes says we are clumsy babes always tripping over our own feet because we will not look into each other’s eyes, where truth resides.’
‘A wise woman.’
Marian swiped at tears. ‘Is Ambrose a good man?’
‘He is, despite himself. A tale for another day. Tomorrow Magda must see to the lying-in of a widow bearing her only child. But Alisoun will know all that Magda has mixed for thee. She, too, is a healer, and gifted with a voice that softens her sharp wit. She is nursing thine hosts’ children. A fever threatened the lives of all three. Only last night did the last break, Hugh with the fiery hair. That, too, has shortened the captain’s temper, and Dame Lucie’s as well. She is an apothecary, but she cannot work miracles, even for her beloved children. She has of late lost an aunt. There has been much heaviness in this household. Be patient with them, tell them what they need to know, and they will be valuable allies.’ As Magda spoke, she helped Marian ease down onto the bed. ‘Sleep now.’
With a little smile, Marian closed her eyes, the anger that had simmered atop her fear abated for the moment.
Watching Lucie return from the landing, Owen invited her to the settle near the fire. He had much to tell her, about Tucker, Pit, but he touched her chin, gently turned her toward him, and began to kiss her. Forehead, cheeks, eyelids, mouth, neck.
With a soft laugh she pulled away. ‘My love, what is it?’
‘I have missed you. All the days and nights watching in the sickroom, I yearned for you. And now, when we might at last have peace, all this.’
Putting her arms round him, she kissed him back. ‘You have a good heart, my love. You were right to give her shelter. My anger was the residue of days and nights of worry.’
‘No need to explain. I knew. I felt the same.’
Holding each other close they shared now all the thoughts they dare not voice while the fever raged in the nursery. Owen felt Lucie’s heart racing, realized his beat just as wildly. He fell to kissing her to save them both from the darkness.
NINE
A Night Watch
A soft tread on the steps. Owen eased his arms from round Lucie, sat back. She straightened her gown. Magda drew a stool near to them and settled, reaching her hands toward the fire with a sigh of ease. Lucie asked about Sandrine.
‘Magda must come back to herself.’ She watched the flames for a moment, then nodded and turned to them. ‘And now to the child above.’
Owen bowed his head as he learned more of Marian’s ordeal, how she had defended herself against men’s predations, her fear of defilement, being turned away by the sisters. He could feel Lucie’s distress.
‘I regret being harsh with her,’ he said.
‘She is safe here. Thou hast been good to her.’
‘I pray she knows she is safe with us,’ said Lucie.
‘She does. And for now she sleeps,’ said Magda.
‘Marian,’ Lucie whispered. Wiping her eyes, she rose. ‘I will tell Alisoun. And see how it goes with the children.’ Thanking Magda for her help, she excused herself.
‘Might we talk of Ambrose?’ asked Owen.
‘Thou hast no need for such formality, Bird-eye. What troubles thee?’
‘Ambrose survived a dangerous journey without mishap despite his admitted lack of skill as a spy. I believe he had a protector. Have you any sense of Martin Wirthir’s presence?’
‘Thou art thinking of Tucker’s attacker? Perhaps. The Minstrel left much unspoken. Thou art the one who gathers the threads and weaves the tapestry. Not Magda. Open thine eyes, Bird-eye.’ She pressed a point between his scarred and his good eye. ‘Magda has told thee what she knows, but she is a healer, not the one to seek out the answers. That is for thee to discover.’
‘No advice?’
‘Have a care moving Dame Marian. Magda advises patience. Choose the right moment, for the safety of all.’
She left him then, joining Alisoun and Lucie in the kitchen. Owen followed, discovered the children asleep on their pallet by the fire, the three women moving off to the side to talk. Kate kneaded bread while Jasper stood beside her chopping roots.
‘I am going to the tavern. I agreed to meet George Hempe there,’ Owen told the three women. ‘Then Jasper and I will accompany him home with Ambrose’s instruments.’
It was clear Jasper had heard, his face alight with anticipation as Owen turned to him.
‘Could you ready Ambrose’s instruments so we might deliver them to him at Hempe’s home?’
‘Gladly, Da.’
Donning boots and cloak, slipping a sheathed dagger onto his belt, Owen stepped out into the damp evening.
Tucked into the farthest corner of the tavern room, Hempe lifted a hand in greeting. All eyes were on Owen as he wound his way toward the bailiff, pausing at a table to ask after a man’s dying wife, for whom Lucie had prepared a special mixture for her pain. Tobin clutched Owen’s hand, red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears. ‘God beckons her heavenward. Soon, now. Bless Dame Lucie for easing her last days with me.’ Humbled, Owen slumped into his seat.
‘Lucie is the hero of the people of York, not me.’
‘She is a treasure,’ said Hempe. ‘But you do your part. As do I. Not everyone has her skill. Or the Riverwoman’s. Or Mistress Alisoun’s.’ He drank down his ale and signaled to Tom Merchet, who hastened over with a jug.
‘Where is the queen of York, Tom?’ asked Hempe.
‘Training a cook. You can talk in peace tonight.’ Tom grinned as he bustled off.
‘Most fortunate man,’ said Hempe. ‘This tavern would be nothing without our Bess.’ He leaned forward, tapping Owen’s tankard. ‘Now to work. Household officials representing the great Northern families are entering the city as the snow recedes. Earlier than expected. Amidst all that it is impossible to ferret out anyone related to the deaths at the gates this morning. Hard to believe it was only this morning.’
More than disappointing, the news was worrying. ‘The Neville household?’ Owen asked.
‘I passed the palace in the minster yard and saw servants opening shutters, shaking out cushions, clearing the steps. They expect Sir John and Archbishop Alexander soon. Not good.’
‘And we know so little.’ Owen told him what little he’d gleaned.
Hempe liked Jehannes’s proposal regarding the young woman. ‘But escorting her to St Clement’s. If Neville’s men recognize her before she is safe within.’ He groaned. ‘We will need guards there, but it is so far from all else we cannot use them for other duties, walking a watch. If we could wait to move her until after we have Ronan’s murderer?’
Another urging Owen to be patient. ‘I will think about it. If the prince’s representatives arrive soon they might bring extra men.’
‘That would be a blessing.’ Hempe drank down his ale. ‘I should see to my own household.’
‘Jasper and I thought to accompany you with Ambrose’s instruments.’
‘You mean him to play?’
‘A little while. See who is attracted.’
‘You’re expecting someone? Not Wirthir? God help us, Owen, I know that look. If he is in the city … You think he was Tucker’s French attacker?’ He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a curse.
‘Someone followed Ambrose from the French court, protected him, I am sure of it. One short test to see whether we snare a shadow.’
�
�Come along then. Let’s be done with it.’
Owen, Jasper, and Hempe bobbed their heads to Harry Green, a nightwatchman, who paused as they passed.
‘Quiet night?’ Owen asked.
A nod. ‘Pray God it ends so, Captain. Heard your children were ill.’
‘On the mend.’
‘God be thanked.’
‘You should know that Gemma’s twins are working for me.’
‘So they tell me.’ A grin.
‘Tonight?’
‘Came past a while ago. Slipping in and out between the houses and shops. My duty to inquire.’
‘Did they appear to be following someone?’
‘Not as I could see, Captain. Not many folk about.’
‘No one unfamiliar?’ asked Hempe.
‘Nay. Crispin Poole was by, and I recall thinking he was headed wrongways. At this time of the evening he calls on the widow Swann.’
‘But not tonight?’ said Owen.
Harry shook his head. ‘Heading toward Petergate, not away. Limping and glowering, he was. I wouldn’t care to be the one who called him away from a pleasant evening. But I’ve seen nothing to worry me.’
‘If you see Poole again this evening, let me know,’ said Owen. ‘I will be at Hempe’s, then with the bodies at the dean’s house.’
The man peered at Owen with interest. ‘I will, Captain. God watch over you.’
‘And over you,’ Owen said, moving on with Jasper and Hempe.
So Crispin had been called away from Muriel. Interesting. A sign that the Nevilles were about to appear?
As they turned into Low Petergate, Owen noticed movement to his right. Gone. The twins?
A servant opened the Hempes’ door on the first knock, beaming a welcome to all three. From the guest room Owen could hear Ambrose playing the crwth. It had been a long time since he had heard those sweet sounds. He need not request that Ambrose play.
Hempe took Lotta aside, quietly explaining Owen’s mission.
She looked up at Owen. ‘You mean to lure someone with his music?’ Her expression was accusing.
‘I do. I will join Stephen in watching.’
‘Do you need me?’ asked Hempe.
‘I need you in here,’ said Owen. ‘In case Stephen and I are both fooled.’
‘And me?’ Jasper asked, setting down the fiddle case and rubbing his hands together. As usual, he had forgotten his gloves.
‘Take the instruments to him and stay a while. You might ask him to play one of the other instruments. If he traveled with only the crwth, Neville’s men might be listening for it. It is not them I hope to attract.’
Pressing Jasper’s shoulder, Owen thanked him, thanked all of them, shuttered his lantern, and departed.
Out on Petergate, he stood at the mouth of the alleyway beside Hempe’s house, watching for movement on the street. After a time, he heard someone behind him and turned.
‘Are ye lost?’ Stephen asked, his voice, though quiet, threatening. Owen knew he would have his hand on his dagger.
‘Glad it is you who has tonight’s watch, Stephen,’ said Owen, keeping his voice low.
‘Captain! Hempe asked me to take the first night, thinking if trouble is coming it might well be tonight.’
‘Anyone yet?’
‘Not to see, but I feel eyes. Knew you weren’t that one.’
‘But no movement.’
‘I’ve not seen any. A dog, a few cats. But someone’s watching.’
‘Can you point to where you sense it?’
‘Come round back.’
‘Before we do that – we must not speak back there – once you have shown me, go to Crispin Poole’s house, walk round it, then watch it for a while. Report to me anything you notice.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘A reason why he is not with the widow Swann this evening. He may not be at home, but his mother will be. So there should be lights – not for her, she’s blind, but for the servants.’
‘How long?’
‘I trust you to know when you are satisfied.’
A grunt, and then they moved through the alleyway. Owen kept his ears pricked for sounds beyond their cautious footsteps. It was warm enough that the snow continued to melt after dark. Dripping eaves obscured his ability to hear. He would move away from the house for his watch.
Once past the main building, Stephen used the light spilling out from Ambrose’s shuttered window to point to his left, then motion away from the house. Owen patted his shoulder and withdrew into the shadow of the alleyway. He would stay here for a while after Stephen left. Then he would wind his way back into the shadows behind the garden shed. His watch began.
Owen had moved from the alleyway to a shed a few steps away from the shuttered window of Ambrose’s room. No music. He pricked his ears as he heard voices. Jasper and Ambrose. Now a bow scraped over a fiddle. Again. Tuning. Owen settled back to wait. A tune began. A flat string. A halt for more tuning.
Owen sensed a presence.
‘Step forward and show yourself,’ he growled.
A drunken lad teetered through the light, leaving a trail of piss in his wake, just missing Owen’s boots. Using the house for support he inched his way along the back to the alley, stumbled down it, one hand on the wall. Stepping out into the street he fell flat on his face, just as Harry Green appeared, shining his lantern to see what it was.
‘Crab, is it you again?’ The watchman glanced up at Owen. ‘Lad’s been at the ale all week. Lass broke his spirit, he says, robbed him of his soul.’
‘As long as you know him …’ said Owen.
‘I do. Too well. Come on, you young fool.’ Harry crouched and tugged the lad’s arm, then lifted him up as if he were no heavier than a pup. ‘I will take you home.’
Owen watched them move off in the direction of Christchurch. Satisfied that no one lurked behind them, he slipped down to the rear garden and took up position to wait for Stephen. A long wait. All the while Owen sensed a presence, yet no matter how stealthily he crept about he found no one. He began to doubt his own senses.
Ambrose had just begun a melancholy ballad when Stephen appeared, peering about, sniffing. And then he was beside Owen.
‘Anything?’ Owen asked.
‘Found Crispin in his kitchen talking to that pair of armed men he wants us to believe are his menservants. Shouting at them, more like. Angry. Slapped one who’d grinned. Barked orders at him. “See to it.” That one came slinking out the door with a curse. When I saw that Crispin and the other were still sitting about drinking ale, I chose to follow the one on the errand. Long walk. Stables across the Ouse. Arranged for three horses in the morning. I would love the chance to ride out on the morrow.’
‘Not without sleep. The bailiffs can provide a few men. Good choice, following that one.’
‘And you?’
‘Nothing except a heartsick lad who had too much ale, pissing himself. Harry Green escorted him home.’
‘I will keep an eye out.’
Knocking on the Hempe door, Owen stepped in to report what Stephen learned. ‘Crispin might be riding out to meet Neville. You know to deny knowing anything about the white-haired minstrel, nor a youth companion.’
‘White-haired? Seen no such man.’ Hempe’s grin twisted with a bit of worry. ‘You will have someone here?’
‘Two. Ned and Alfred. But that means your men must follow Crispin.’
‘I will see to it. And is he here? Ambrose’s friend?’
‘If he is, he outwitted me.’
‘Give it up?’
‘There’s the matter of Tucker’s attacker,’ Owen said.
‘Martin Wirthir is not the only one who might have followed Ambrose across the water. We will find him.’
In the kitchen, the children slept on pallets by the fire into which Magda Digby sat staring as she sipped ale. He had not expected her to be here. She nodded to Owen, but her eyes were far away. Kate handed Owen and Jasper cups of hot spiced wine. Owen
paused by the children, grateful to see their peaceful faces. Hugh still wheezed slightly, but he seemed comfortable. Tonight, Owen would sleep with Lucie in his arms.
In the hall, Lucie sat near the fire with Alisoun, who was spinning, a skill she had once avoided with disdain, but lately taken up, something to do with her hands as she watched her patients. Both glanced up when they approached.
‘Did Ambrose play for you?’ Lucie asked Jasper as he went to stand near Alisoun, watching her work.
‘He did. And he was as good as ever. But the hair. That color.’ Jasper wrinkled his nose.
‘I should like to hear him play,’ said Alisoun, looking up at Jasper with a shy smile.
‘Once it’s safe for him, I hope he will come play for all of us.’ Jasper smiled down at her. ‘I am glad you are staying with the little ones.’
‘Did you see who you’d thought to see?’ Lucie asked Owen as he settled beside her.
‘Not tonight. I begin to think I am chasing my own shadow.’
That caught Jasper’s interest. ‘Are you watching for Martin Wirthir?’
‘Am I so predictable?’
‘When I heard about Tucker’s attacker, I wondered.’ Jasper drank down his cup, wished them all a good night.
Alisoun rose. ‘I should see to the children, then go up to Dame Marian.’ She followed Jasper into the kitchen.
Owen slipped an arm round Lucie.
‘Will we take Marian to the priory tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘Not yet.’ He repeated the warnings from Magda and Hempe.
‘She will be disappointed. When I took her a fresh lamp she wanted to hear about St Clement’s.’
‘Did she tell you anything more?’
‘Only that it meant something to her that it is a Benedictine priory.’ Lucie rested her head on Owen’s shoulder. ‘Why would she lie about her name once we knew she was not a he?’ she asked sleepily.
‘Because someone is searching for her, I would guess. Someone she fears. Neville’s men? They would not know her as Marian.’ He drank down his wine and kissed the top of Lucie’s head. ‘Tomorrow will be another long day. I need sleep. As do you.’
They were halfway up the steps when Alisoun returned. ‘Magda said she will stay the night, watching over the children. Shall I sit with Marian? Magda encouraged me to talk to her if she is wakeful, share my story, gain her trust.’
