A Choir of Crows

by Candace Robb

  ‘He was weak, the fever had stolen his wits, but he yet lived.’

  All that she described took time – the maidservant deserting, her preparations for leaving. Most died quickly after the pustules broke. In Lucie’s experience those who lingered were rare, and they were the ones who survived. She wondered whether Marian knew that.

  ‘Have you had any news of him?’ Lucie asked. ‘Was he buried?’

  ‘I heard a tale of villagers burning a pestilence-carrier in a hut near a marsh and I wondered if it might be him. I was not far from there when I heard it from men in the fields. They were warning me away. Strangers were not welcome when Death walked the land.’ Tears fell down her cheeks. She brushed them away with her hands. ‘You cannot know how I have agonized over all I did. And did not do.’

  Lucie poured water, gave it to her to drink.

  ‘How did you find food?’ she asked.

  ‘I traded my prayer beads one or two at a time for food. I believed the Blessed Mother and her Son would understand.’

  ‘Folk shared their food?’

  ‘They refused me shelter but they were not lacking charity. Some sold me food, not wishing me to starve.’

  ‘Where did you encounter the company of musicians?’

  ‘In a tavern along the road out of Bath. I hoped to find work at the stables there, but I was shooed away like a stray cat. One of the musicians – Wojon, he called himself, he saw what happened and offered to buy me some food and drink. We sat at a table with some of the others. After more ale they began to tease about how I looked a lad who could be cleaned up and become their lady. They asked me to sing. I sang a carol my mother taught me as a child and one of them hurried inside to fetch their leader. He was happy to take me along.’ Marian closed her eyes.

  Lucie gently touched her hand. ‘You have stirred up much pain in the telling. But it is helpful. Now, tell us of that night in the chapter house. Why did you go in there?’

  ‘I thought I saw the player who attacked me at Cawood. The drummer, Paul. He’d finally guessed I was no lad. And after drinking the good ale at the palace—’ A ragged breath. ‘He is big, and strong. I do not know how Master Ambrose had the strength to pull him off, but he did.’

  ‘You sought to hide from him in the chapter house?’ Lucie asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Marian breathed. ‘I thought to slip out in a while. I meant only to lose him.’

  ‘Had he seen you?’ Owen asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t even know if it was him.’

  ‘But you stayed,’ said Lucie.

  ‘Someone locked the door.’ Marian shuddered and licked her lips. ‘I told myself I would be safe, I would curl up in my cloak and sleep, and in the morning I would be discovered. I did not know at first I was not alone.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Lucie.

  ‘Once I calmed I stumbled around in the dark searching for the door. Maybe it was shut, not locked. Maybe I could open it from within. He waited there. I heard his breath as I touched the door. He caught me up and threw me to the floor. I bit and kicked and he kept hissing in my ear that he meant to avenge his brother. I escaped from him once. In the dark I thought he might not see me. I heard something that sounded as if it came from the other side of the door. I went toward it, pulled, pushed, rattled, shouted. He laughed all the while.’ Tears now streamed down Marian’s face as her words tumbled out, an outpouring of horror. ‘How could they not hear?’

  ‘Did you know that Gabriel’s partner was Phillip’s brother?’ Owen asked in his gentlest voice.

  ‘Not until Rupert told me that night.’ A sob. ‘I stopped thinking, just waited for death. He tied my hands and feet, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me up narrow stairs, tossed me down on a wood floor, sat on me, and opened the shutter on a lantern. I thought then he meant to enjoy me before he killed me. But he just kept whispering about his dear brother, saintly Phillip. I had burned him alive. The villagers said they could hear him screaming.’

  So he had survived the pestilence. Weak, but alive. And then burned. ‘He kept you there all night?’ Lucie asked.

  ‘Yes.’ A whisper.

  ‘Did he take you?’

  ‘No. He said I disgusted him.’

  God be thanked.

  ‘How did you get to the roof?’ asked Owen.

  ‘Rupert had left me, taken the lantern and gone away. I heard him moving up above. Hunting for the worst way to kill me, I thought. I heard from afar the night office being sung. I kicked the floor. Again. Again. Could they not hear?’ A pause for breath. ‘Rupert came clattering down from above. I rolled away so he would not find me at once, but I caught against something and he was there, yanking me up, cutting my bonds, telling me to walk. He held a knife at my back. I could not feel my legs or my arms but somehow I moved. I drew my knife and he knocked it out of my hands, shoved me against a ladder, shouted for me to climb. I felt something wet and cold. Snow. I started to climb. He was behind me, so close, I pulled myself up and over. So cold, so cold and wet. But the air – if I could find the edge I would be free. A sin, I know, to take my life. But I was so wretched.’

  ‘A night of such fear,’ said Lucie.

  ‘I walked to the edge. He came up behind me and shouted at me to take one more step. I wanted to fly but my legs gave out from under me. He must have reached to push as I fell and tripped over me. He went off the edge. I am doubly damned. I killed both brothers.’ She stared at nothing.

  Lucie crossed herself. Not for the brothers, but for Marian. ‘And your prayer book?’ she asked.

  ‘I never saw it.’

  ‘Paul the drummer?’ asked Owen.

  ‘I don’t know whether it was him, or my fear manifest.’ She gave Owen a questioning look.

  ‘I will ask about players and musicians at the taverns,’ he said.

  ‘That morning in the chapter house, how were you able to sing after such a night?’ asked Lucie.

  Marian turned to her. Tears wet her cheeks, but in her eyes Lucie saw the spark of anger as she swiped at the tears, an impatient gesture. ‘I was certain I would never again sing in a sacred space, not after— They would say I lured Phillip, and then Rupert. The woman is ever blamed. We are Eve’s children, the temptresses.’

  ‘The wrong was done to you,’ said Lucie

  ‘You are not the one who will stand in judgment.’

  ‘I will make Prioress Isabel understand.’

  ‘Will you?’

  Would she?

  ‘I know this was difficult for you,’ said Owen, ‘and I am grateful, Dame Marian. I see now that what happened in the chapter house likely has nothing to do with Ronan’s murderer.’ He rose to leave. At the door he turned to assure her that she was safe with them, and he would find a way to take her to St Clement’s.

  Thanking him, Marian took up the basket of needlework and said she would return to Bess and the children.

  TWELVE

  Complications

  In a grim mood, Owen led Gabriel and Ned down Stonegate, away from the route to the priory on Micklegate.

  ‘You said you would take me to the priory,’ said Gabriel.

  Lucie had suggested St Mary’s – it was closer, and the abbot and infirmarian more likely to cooperate with Owen’s request to alert him at once if anyone came seeking Gabriel or he tried to leave. ‘I prefer St Mary’s Abbey. I trust their infirmarian.’

  ‘My things—’ Gabriel tried to turn back.

  Owen gripped his upper arm, yanking him around. ‘You will not need them today.’

  At the corner of Stonegate and Petergate, Owen’s old friend Robert Dale stood in the doorway of his goldsmith’s shop as if welcoming a breath of fresh air. When Owen raised his hand in greeting Robert bowed his head and withdrew, shutting the door. Something was very wrong.

  The incident troubling him, Owen made use of Ned’s and Gabriel’s silences to think. Today’s revelations brought him no closer to solving Ronan’s murder. Crispin Poole was questioning folk
about Ronan. Perhaps Robert Dale felt the bite of that and wanted to avoid any further questions. How many of the merchants had Crispin antagonized? It might have been Crispin’s men who attacked Beck when he discovered them searching the vicar’s room. He did not like to think that. Had Crispin not worked for Alexander Neville, Owen might have been his friend. Crispin understood what it meant to try to start again after a debilitating injury ended a life of soldiering – Owen with the loss of his left eye, Crispin with his loss of half his arm. They had shared stories in the York Tavern, a comfortable camaraderie. But since learning that Crispin served the new archbishop, Owen had avoided him. Even before he had learned that his retainers were actually Neville’s men. How had Crispin injured his leg? Slipped on a snowy morning while attacking Ronan? Owen was so absorbed in thought that he barely noticed passing through Bootham Bar and turning toward St Mary’s gates.

  As they entered the abbey grounds Owen felt Gabriel’s tension subside.

  ‘Much finer than Holy Trinity,’ he said.

  ‘Wealthier,’ said Ned.

  Brother Henry welcomed Owen to his infirmary, calling for his assistant Peter to escort Gabriel to a bed in an area screened off from those of the infirm monks and make him comfortable. Ned took his leave, promising to return as soon as he had completed his mission. Owen explained to the infirmarian who Gabriel was, what had happened, why he must be watched.

  A raised brow. ‘You would have him relaxed, sleepy?’ asked Brother Henry.

  ‘Brother Wulfstan taught you well.’

  They both crossed themselves in memory of Henry’s predecessor as infirmarian, a wise, gentle monk who had been both Lucie’s and Jasper’s good friend.

  ‘My thoughts were filled with him as the pestilence struck this summer,’ said Henry. Wulfstan had died assisting victims of the pestilence. ‘We lost two members of the community this time.’

  ‘You have a new assistant.’

  ‘Yes. I blamed myself – my tales of Wulfstan’s self-sacrifice inspired him. Yet how could I forbid him? He was doing God’s work.’ A shuddering sigh. ‘You might wish to speak with Abbot William. One of Sir John Neville’s retainers called on him, wanting to know who had arranged to lodge at the abbey for the enthronement.’ He nodded at Owen’s thanks. ‘And now to work.’ Henry poured a cup of wine from a pitcher and emptied a small vial into it. ‘I will administer this after I tend to his injuries. I need him awake to tell me what he feels. Once he drinks this, he will soon find it difficult to rise from his bed.’

  ‘A little something first, to make him drowsy?’

  Henry agreed. ‘A drop.’

  ‘If he should speak of a guest in my home, a woman, I ask you and Peter to say nothing of it to anyone. Can Peter be trusted?’

  ‘He believes God calls him to work by my side, and he is keen, quick to help. If I order him to silence, he will obey. He would not risk my ire. This young man, Ned. He said he would be returning. Do you trust him to watch over Gabriel?’

  ‘I need him elsewhere. Is there anyone at the abbey you might trust to guard your infirmary for the nonce? Until I make another arrangement?’

  Henry walked over to a window opening onto the apothecary garden. A lay brother knelt on the path, moving with studied patience as he clipped wilting plants, plucked up weeds. ‘Malkin!’ the infirmarian called out. The gardener turned, raising a large, meaty hand in greeting. His face was scarred, his nose flattened by repeated breaks. ‘I need you in the infirmary for a while.’

  With a wistful glance back at his work the man rose, unfurling a muscle-bound body, and lumbered slowly up the path.

  ‘Former soldier,’ Owen said. ‘Good choice.’ Even if the man now shunned his old life as a soldier his presence should be an effective deterrent to violence.

  The abbot’s house was near the infirmary, nestled in well-tended gardens. A novice answered Owen’s knock, bowing him in and motioning him to a seat in the anteroom screened off from the modest hall, all without making eye contact. Cowed by Abbot William, Owen guessed. The abbot was not well loved. Not as high born as his predecessor Campian and anxious to appease his superiors, he took out his frustrations on his subordinates. The novice quickly returned to escort Owen to the abbot’s study.

  ‘My dear Captain Archer.’ The abbot bowed to Owen and motioned him to a comfortable chair by a window opening onto the garden. ‘Wine?’ Owen’s connection to Prince Edward made him a favored visitor.

  ‘I would welcome a cup,’ said Owen, taking his seat. ‘I have installed a member of Sir Thomas Percy’s household in your infirmary. A hunting accident.’

  ‘Sir Thomas Percy. Ah.’ An obsequious smile.

  ‘It is important that I hear at once of anyone seeking to speak with him or of any attempt on his part to leave the abbey grounds.’

  ‘He is not free to move about?’

  ‘A young man with an unfortunate penchant for trouble. With His Grace the archbishop’s enthronement about to commence, I would have peace in the city.’

  ‘He is not involved in the vicar’s death? Or the man fallen from the chapter-house roof?’

  ‘I cannot say that I am satisfied with his explanations of where he was that morning, however, as he is Percy’s man …’

  A worried frown, quickly smoothed away. ‘I see.’

  ‘Brother Henry has arranged for a lay brother to guard him until I can send one of the city’s men to take his place.’

  ‘Good. Good. I understand the chapter house was graced by an angelic voice that night.’ Unlike his predecessor, William relished gossip.

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘The singer is not lodging with you?’

  ‘The youth is ill. I cannot attest to an angelic voice,’ said Owen. ‘I understand Sir John Neville has asked for a list of those who will lodge here for his brother’s enthronement.’

  ‘You heard?’ An indignant shiver. ‘The gall. The arrogance. But I could hardly deny his request.’

  ‘Might you share the list with me? For His Grace the prince? He will be sending representatives …’

  ‘Yes, the pair will lodge here, I am pleased to say, with their servants.’

  ‘Did you hear whether Dom Antony is in the party? He had been uncertain …’

  ‘He is indeed. I am honored to welcome him back. His companion is a knight, though the message did not stipulate which knight.’

  Sir Lewis Clifford, Owen prayed, a reasonable man. ‘You will understand, then, that His Grace will want to know who else will be here.’

  ‘Of course. Several knights in the service of the Percy family, all those not lodging in townhouses outside the minster liberty.’ Most of the prominent families of the North owned property in the city, leased to townsfolk or visiting clergy, but with insufficient room for all their attendants and retainers. ‘The remaining space here will be filled by clerics displaced by the influx of nobles and their own superiors. We will be quite full. One prays that few linger beyond the festivities.’

  Percys at the Abbey was good news. They could take charge of Gabriel once they arrived. ‘No Nevilles here?’

  ‘No. They will of course bide in the archbishop’s palace here and at Bishopthorpe.’

  ‘Does Brother Henry know the Percys will be here?’

  ‘It is no secret. I have met with all the obedientiaries to discuss how we shall cope with so many guests. It will strain discipline, draw our attention from prayer.’

  Owen had learned what he needed. Taking his leave of the abbot, he found Ned awaiting him near the door. He had found Hempe, delivered the messages, and reported that the bailiff was off to speak with Judith, Tucker’s wife.

  Once Lucie and Alisoun had removed all trace of the injured man from the kitchen, they relieved Bess Merchet of the children.

  ‘Where is Marian? I thought she was to sit with you,’ said Alisoun.

  ‘She returned for a while, then retired to her chamber to rest,’ said Bess. Tickling Emma, hugging Gwen and Hugh, she bustled out o
nto the landing. ‘And now I must see how the tavern has fared without me.’

  Lucie walked her out, apologizing for keeping her so long from her work.

  Bess squeezed her shoulder. ‘It is good to see the bloom of health on the three of them – even Hugh. I feared for him. He took so long to recover. Forgive me for mentioning it.’

  ‘As if it were far from my mind? Not yet. You love them as if they were yours, I know, Bess.’

  ‘In truth I miss having little ones underfoot. My petty complaints fade away listening to their prattle. You should know that Gwen is much troubled about Marian’s presence in the house.’

  ‘Is she?’ Lucie had worried. Emma was of course too young to make anything of the addition to the household. But Gwen listened with keen ears to all that was said in the household, and Hugh followed her lead in everything. ‘Is Hugh also worried?’

  ‘He seems yet too sleepy to care about aught but snuggling, stories, and comforting food and drink. And your Gwen took care to appear sunny and full of song until her brother began to snore and Marian withdrew. Then she whispered a tale of a boy turned woman appearing in the minster as two men died without, in the snow. Her eyes grew huge in the telling, how Brother Michaelo brought the shape-shifter here and she transformed once more, this time into an angel, and now this morning the Angel Gabriel had come for her, but Alisoun did not understand and shot him so that he could not fly.’

  Such an elaborate tale. How had her daughter heard so much? When Rose burst into the street door to warn them of a man standing in the garden, Lucie had drawn her out of the kitchen so that the children would not hear. Had Gwen listened at the door? Crestfallen, Lucie hesitated at the door to the apothecary workroom. ‘Should I go back to her?’

  ‘You should, but with this.’ Bess bustled past her through the door, then halted, looking around with dismay. ‘Where— I set her in here when I heard Alisoun challenging the intruder. Did I shut the door? Dear heaven.’ She hurried through the workroom into the shop, where she stopped and sighed, hand to heart. ‘There she is.’

  ‘The butcher’s daughter?’ Lucie asked, confused.