A Choir of Crows

by Candace Robb

  ‘I see why you would like to go to St Clement’s.’

  ‘They will not accept me as one of them. I will be a guest, no more.’

  ‘But you are not with child. If you are called to the veil, how can they refuse you? On what grounds? If you did not choose …’ A misstep. Marian looked ready to take flight. ‘Forgive me. What else would you know?’

  In a voice now brisk with a need to change the topic, Marian said that Ambrose held the captain and the apothecary in high esteem, yet he’d seemed uncertain the captain would trust him. ‘Was it Dame Lucie who was his friend?’

  ‘I have never met this minstrel. He left before I came to the city.’

  ‘He is no ordinary minstrel. He was long at the court of the French king, and I could see why he was so honored – the song he composed for the pleasure of the Neville gathering – it was clever, yet he could not help but make sure it was also beautiful. I have not heard him play anything but his crwth and Tucker’s fiddle, but I can tell he has more talent than any of the sisters at—’ She stopped and picked up her empty bowl, set it down. ‘And his voice, such range – he shaped it to mine with such ease. A most accomplished musician and performer.’

  Alisoun was far more interested in how Marian’s dream was taken from her, but she must have a care. ‘I should like to hear him perform. Jasper took him several more instruments last night. They had been stored in the apothecary workroom. I’ve been curious about them.’ A little laugh. ‘Mostly because I was warned not to touch them.’

  ‘Perhaps we might ask?’ A smile, and then Marian fell to her food, finishing it.

  ‘I am glad to see you eating. Dame Magda says you have long been denying yourself, and your spirit is weakened.’

  ‘She heals souls as well as bodies?’

  ‘She would not call it that.’

  ‘Dame Lucie. You mentioned her father’s manor. Is she of noble birth?’

  ‘She is. But when her mother died … It is a long story.’

  Lucie cut short her greeting when she noticed the mud on Owen’s boots. ‘Is the garden such a mire?’

  ‘I will explain,’ he said under his breath. ‘Master Adam?’

  ‘In the hall.’

  Owen asked Kate to bring them refreshments. ‘Where are the children?’

  ‘We took them up before Magda left,’ said Lucie.

  Owen kissed her cheek. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘Go!’

  Adam had been gazing out of the garden window. ‘Most comfortable, this home of yours. Your wife’s father’s, was it not? Sir Robert D’Arby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you were a soldier. Captain of Archers. Served Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster. Then Thoresby, now the prince.’

  It seemed an odd way to begin. Owen offered him a cup of ale, which he accepted with thanks.

  ‘You must wonder why I am recounting your history.’ A mirthless smile. ‘I am reminding myself that great men have trusted you. Why should I not trust you, trust that you are searching for Ronan’s murderer? Yet so far …’

  ‘I’ve had but a day, a day riddled with three corpses before noon. I might ask you why no one from the chapter has come forward with helpful information.’

  ‘Was I to ask them?’ Adam lifted the cup to his lips. Drank a little.

  ‘You are in the best position to do so.’ The precentor scowled. ‘If no one steps forward, I intend to speak to all in the chapter,’ said Owen. ‘I welcome your advice in choosing the order.’

  ‘You think it is one of us.’

  ‘I did not say that. Chapter members might know something of use to me – perhaps without realizing it. A passing remark, a memory of someone missing prayers or neglecting their responsibilities, angry words overheard, a certain cooling between Ronan and another.’

  ‘I see. We were his companions. We would notice a changed pattern. I do see.’ The precentor drank down his ale and set the bowl aside.

  ‘Did he have particular friends?’

  Adam wrinkled his brow as he stroked his chin with swollen fingers. Gout? ‘No one comes to mind.’

  ‘Were you friends with him?’

  ‘I preferred to keep my distance. His air of disdain, you see. Most vexing. I found him most vexing. As did many in the chapter. Not to the extent that they would wish him harm. We all prayed that he would learn humility. Unfortunately, with Alexander Neville’s elevation, and his previous preference for Ronan’s services over others, his arrogance only grew. I wondered what drew them together.’ A shrug. ‘But our feelings for the man are of no importance in this matter. What was done was wrong. Criminal. And with the archbishop expected at any time, Ronan’s murderer must be found and brought to justice.’

  ‘As Ronan was struck down in the minster liberty it will fall to the archbishop himself to mete out punishment,’ said Owen. ‘If his murderer proves to be a member of the chapter that is doubly true.’

  ‘Then you must find irrefutable proof, Captain.’

  ‘You do not trust a Neville investigation?’

  Adam cleared his throat. ‘I meant exactly what I said, Captain.’

  ‘How do you propose I proceed?’

  ‘I might mention it at the chapter meeting this morning, that they should come to me if they know anything, if they have noticed anything that might help you find his murderer. In private, if they prefer.’

  ‘A good beginning.’

  Adam rose. ‘And I shall prepare an ordered list of those with whom I am aware Ronan had cause to speak.’ Bristly. He had come to task Owen, not be tasked.

  ‘That would be most helpful. Would you like Brother Michaelo’s assistance?’

  A sniff. ‘My clerks write a good hand. And know the names. Though I dare say Brother Michaelo has made a point of learning them. He seems keen to be of use in the city.’

  Archdeacon Jehannes had put out the word that Brother Michaelo was available after the death of his patron, the late archbishop. The plan had been for Michaelo to return to Normandy, live out his days in a monastery near his home. But he had balked at the prospect, a man who had tasted the life of an archbishop’s aide, traveling, mixing with an array of worthies both religious and secular. For the most part the religious communities in the city shunned his services, though a few pastors and a sprinkling of Dominicans and, oddly, the prioress of St Clement’s requested his services from time to time. The communities knew the rumors about why the abbot of St Mary’s refused to take him back upon Thoresby’s death, a failed attempt on the life of the late infirmarian Brother Wulfstan, a beloved figure. Though the incident was years in the past, and, for the most part, Brother Michaelo’s behavior since had been above reproach, his reputation as both a poisoner and sodomite condemned him. An unfortunate incident the previous year had sealed Michaelo’s fate with many. It had done the opposite with Owen. Michaelo’s remorse had convinced Owen he was a changed man.

  ‘I have come to value Brother Michaelo’s talents,’ said Owen. ‘His Grace the archbishop trained him well, tested his skills, and expanded his assignments to his advantage. And now mine.’ He watched the precentor consider this revelation.

  ‘Perhaps I should reconsider. Dean John is challenged by the duties he is forced to shoulder as acting dean. With Brother Michaelo’s knowledge acquired in the archbishop’s service …’ He stroked his chin again, an odd gesture for a beardless man. ‘I will suggest he engage the monk, see whether he is of use to us. For now, God go with you, Captain. I will send word when the list is ready.’

  Owen showed him out the front door.

  As soon as the precentor left, Lucie ushered Jasper into the hall, watching Owen’s face as he listened to his son’s report. She was proud of Jasper’s calm, his detailed description of the men and their clothing. So was Owen.

  ‘You have a keen eye,’ he said. ‘Neither looked like the one you saw earlier?’

  ‘No. Different clothing, thicker limbs.’

  ‘From the garb I would guess them to be
more of Neville’s men,’ said Owen. ‘Did Alisoun and Marian hear them?’

  ‘They did. I cautioned them to stay in my room, over the workroom, not the shop, and away from the windows.’

  ‘Good,’ said Owen. ‘I will see to that watch on the house and shop I spoke of. And we need to move both of them tonight, Marian to the priory and Ambrose – I need to—’

  Someone pounded on the hall door. Owen thanked Jasper. ‘Best to open the shop before folk wonder.’

  With a nod, Jasper left.

  Lucie reluctantly climbed the steps to the nursery.

  Muttering a curse, Owen went to answer. He was relieved to see Rose and Rob, interested by their report: trouble in Ronan’s chamber.

  ‘His neighbor heard unholy bumping and sliding above, and feared it was poor Master Ronan’s confused spirit,’ said Rose. ‘Something about how the murdered do not know they are dead until their murderer is found.’

  ‘Fool,’ Rob muttered.

  ‘How did you hear of it?’ Owen asked.

  ‘From our landlord,’ said Rose. ‘Ma provides his meals for part of the rent. He’s Ronan’s landlord as well. While he broke his fast he spoke of the trouble. He found the furniture all flung about. A gaping hole in one wall. And Beck, Master Ronan’s clerk, lying on the floor face down, the back of his head bloody.’

  Beck. The weasel haunting Ronan’s lodging the previous day.

  ‘He said he righted the bed and laid him on it, then went to Master Adam, the precentor. It is to him they go if the residents of the Bedern cause trouble. But they told him Master Adam had called on you, so he sent us to fetch you.’

  ‘Did Beck wake? Did he know him?’

  ‘He opened his eyes. Said nothing. Will you come, Captain?’

  ‘I will be there as soon as possible.’

  Their mission accomplished, the two were off before Owen closed the door.

  Lucie stepped out onto the landing when Owen knocked, closing the door so the children would not hear, listening to the news with growing concern. ‘What of Marian and Alisoun?’

  ‘I will escort them back here. Neville’s men are less likely to walk into our home. If you are able to learn any more about Marian, I would be grateful.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Once Owen escorted Alisoun and Marian back to the house, Lucie stood for a moment staring out of her bedroom window saying a silent prayer for the injured clerk. Owen had seemed relieved that something had happened, as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for it. But how he might cut through the maze of incidents …

  Lucie crossed herself. God protect her family.

  Three men dead – a cleric who had been Archbishop Alexander Neville’s vicar, murdered; one of Sir John Neville’s men, drowned; a man whose clothes suggested he, too, was a lord’s retainer fallen from a roof. The Nevilles had become one of the most powerful Northern families, whom Owen was to watch for the prince. Ambrose Coates had spied on the Nevilles while on a mission to alert Prince Edward that his French physician meant him harm, that he and his cohort had already weakened the prince with illness. He had come from the Neville gathering with Marian, who had been hiding as a boy in a traveling company of musicians and players. One of the dead men had watched Marian at Cawood. The man who had fallen from the roof. For whose death she claimed guilt. What had she done before? Why was she running? Why had she hidden her name even here? Surely if she were hiding from the Nevilles she would not have risked performing at Cawood. Yet someone knew her. So many questions.

  Even so, there was no question in Lucie’s heart – she would do her best to help the young woman.

  A voice drifted down from above, soft, conversational. Alisoun had seemed hopeful, whispering as she passed Lucie on the landing that Marian had eaten, and was more at ease, talking more. Lucie had suggested that with Magda gone to the Swann home Marian might help with some darning while in the company of Alisoun and the children. She would fetch the sewing basket from the kitchen, and then speak with Marian before she joined Alisoun and the children. It was time she did that.

  When Lucie entered the guest chamber she found Marian standing at the window, her hair aglow in the morning light.

  ‘With Dame Magda gone, Alisoun must attend her duties with the children,’ said Lucie. ‘I thought you might like to join them while you work.’

  She smiled to see what Lucie carried. ‘I would like to be of use. You will trust me?’

  ‘Mark me, the vicar’s murderer is still abroad,’ said Lucie. She recounted what had happened at Ronan’s lodging. ‘And you heard the men in the shop. You must keep yourself hidden.’

  Marian hugged the sewing basket and nodded. Lucie opened the door and motioned to her to join Alisoun in the nursery.

  ‘May God bless you for your kindness, Dame Lucie.’

  ‘May He watch over us and keep us safe,’ said Lucie.

  At the minster gate Owen was hailed by Brother Michaelo.

  ‘Well met! I am on my way to Ronan’s lodgings. There has been trouble. I would welcome your company.’

  ‘I will attend you, of course,’ said Michaelo.

  While they walked, Owen told him all he had missed.

  ‘Dame Marian,’ he whispered to himself. ‘It sounds as if she has suffered much.’

  Owen did not reply, his attention drawn to the men lounging in front of Ronan’s lodgings, men dressed much like Pit. Yet familiar. One of them turned to grin crookedly, a scar puckering one side of his mouth. Crispin Poole’s men, the retainers he had brought with him to York, now dressed as part of the Neville pack. Not the pair who visited the shop earlier, but bad news all the same.

  ‘What is your business here?’ Owen asked.

  ‘You will need to ask Master Crispin,’ said crooked grin. ‘He is up above, in the dead man’s chamber.’

  Owen was already halfway up the steps, Michaelo following. He reached the landing as Crispin stepped out of Ronan’s room.

  ‘And so we meet here again, Owen.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘A rumor of trouble here. It’s Beck, the clerk. Wounded.’

  ‘You brought your men to guard you? Is Beck so dangerous even when wounded?’

  Crispin looked pained. ‘One of His Grace the archbishop’s men arrived this morning with livery for my men and orders that they now serve His Grace. They seem to have interpreted that as being promoted, now my peers. Insisted on accompanying me, though they could not be bothered to climb the steps.’

  ‘I trust you will correct them.’

  ‘I am tempted to refuse them food and board. Let His Grace see to their needs. Though I believe they are in truth Sir John Neville’s creatures.’

  Owen had never understood why Crispin had felt the need to keep armed retainers when he put aside his military past to become a merchant in York. It had not occurred to him that someone else had assigned the men to him. ‘Is Beck alive?’

  ‘As far as I can tell.’ Crispin stepped aside, gesturing that Owen was welcome to enter. ‘It is anyone’s guess what he was doing here before he scuffled with someone, whether he was searching or they were. Have a care where you step.’ He leaned heavily on his cane, his face drawn as if he’d had little sleep.

  ‘Who was here first? Him? Or the attackers?’

  ‘I do not know. As I said, watch where you walk.’

  The furnishings had indeed been tossed about, bits and pieces of the bedding, the legs of a broken stool, all ready to trip one up. The searcher had found the hiding place behind the wall boards, though of course it was empty. Beck lay on a bare mattress on the bed, a bloody cloth wrapped round his head. Owen sat down beside him.

  ‘Beck, can you hear me?’

  The yes was more of an outbreath.

  ‘It’s Captain Archer. We met yesterday. Who did this to you?’

  ‘Did not see.’ He reached up to clutch Owen’s arm, opening his eyes wide, closing them, opening them and forcing them wider with his fingers. ‘I cannot see,
Captain.’ A pitiful keen.

  Owen understood the terror of that realization, the frantic testing, the disbelief. Lifting the man’s hands from his eyes, Owen held them firmly. ‘I will send for the Riverwoman, Beck. Were you here when they came, or did you walk in on them?’

  ‘Walked in. Swearing and tossing stuff about, they were. Why can’t I see?’ He tugged at his captive hands.

  ‘You suffered a blow to the head. That can cause such a loss. Dame Magda will be able to tell you more. I mean to find who did this to you. Did you see anything at all? Smell? Hear?’

  ‘Both wore hoods. Scarves over faces. Something about salt. Salt!’ A moan.

  ‘Salt or psalter?’ Brother Michaelo asked in a soft voice.

  ‘Psalter.’ Beck licked his lips as if tasting the word. ‘Mayhap. I had not thought—’ He moaned and closed his eyes.

  ‘You will soon have something to ease the pain,’ Owen assured him. A psalter? There were no books in the bag he had taken to the archdeacon for safekeeping.

  ‘Bless you,’ the injured man whimpered.

  ‘How many men?’

  ‘Two? All I saw before I saw no more.’

  ‘Shall we remove him to a safe place?’ Michaelo whispered. ‘The archdeacon’s?’

  Owen agreed. Finding Rose and Rob hovering on the landing, he sent them to fetch Magda Digby from the Swann residence. ‘If she can be spared, ask her to come to Archdeacon Jehannes’s house. If not, fetch Mistress Alisoun from my house.’

  They nodded and skipped down the steps.

  ‘Might I be of help?’ asked Crispin.

  It was tempting to use his men to carry Beck, but Owen did not trust them. Or Crispin, at present. Finding him in Ronan’s lodgings once might be accident, but not twice.

  ‘How did you hear of Beck’s beating?’

  ‘Folk talking of it in the street.’

  ‘Have your men been with you all morning?’

  Crispin checked Owen’s expression. ‘No. They were off on a task for His Grace.’

  Searching for a psalter? ‘Do not follow me,’ said Owen.

  ‘Owen—’

  ‘Good day to you and your men.’

  Back in the room, he fashioned a bandage out of a piece of clothing in the pile of things flung about, then hoisted Beck up and slung him over his shoulder.