Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

"Ambrose!" Martin yelled.

But the musician was not finished. Ambrose ran to Scorby, grabbed up his knife, picked Scorby up by the hair. "For Will, Gilbert, Jasper, John, Kate, Martin, and myself: 'Therefore to Hell I shall you sink — Well are ye worthy to go that gate.

He slit Scorby's throat.

Martin sat down hard in the dirt. "Sweet Heaven."

Ambrose dropped Scorby, then the knife, and walked away toward the moat, slowly, like a sleepwalker.

Owen went after him. He'd seen many a soldier walk into the line of fire, oblivious of the danger, or even mutilate himself in horror at what he'd done.

Ambrose stood at the edge of the moat, staring down at his bloody hands.

"That was quite a feat of arms," Owen said quietly.

"I gave up hunting to protect my hands. But 1 was good as a boy."

"Are you all right?"

Ambrose turned to Owen with a questioning frown. "I remembered those lines of Will's from the Judgment play. It was a gift-I could not repeat them now. I felt as if God were looking down on me and smiling. Blessing me. But that cannot be."

"You looked like Christ harrowing Hell. Perhaps for a moment you were inspired."

Ambrose closed his eyes. "I cannot believe such a thing. I am responsible for what 1 have done."

"Then accept the thanks of all of us for doing what we all wished to do." Owen put an arm around Ambrose and felt the man trembling. "Part of your elation is shock, my friend. You did what you had to do. It is finished. Come. Let us get the others and go back to the house."

Thoresby stood frowning over Scorby's bloody corpse. "I wanted him alive."

Ambrose joined the Archbishop. "I will accept any punishment you deem fitting. But I am confused. You did not hesitate to kill Scorby's lackey."

Thoresby shrugged. "He was useless to us. Scorby might have given us information."

Ambrose shook his head. "He was the Devil, Your Grace. How could you trust anything he said?"

"You enjoyed killing him."

Ambrose looked down at his bloodstained hands. "I did. I was seeing the look in his eyes when he lifted the sword to hack off Martin's hand."

Thoresby, surprised, looked at Martin. "His hand? Sweet Jesu, I had not realized."

Owen, too, had noticed only that Martin held the arm close to him, as if wounded. Now Owen squatted and unwrapped Martin's bandage. "Cauterized. I'm surprised they took the care to do that."

"He was the Devil, I tell you," Ambrose said. "He did not want Martin to fall into a faint-he wanted him to experience all the pain of his execution."

Owen rewrapped Martin's arm and glanced toward the house. "How many men did Scorby have here?"

"The gatekeeper was the only one other than the servants who stayed behind," Ambrose said. "We must get Martin back to the house. He is very weak."

"Can you walk to the house?" Owen asked.

"With help." Martin blinked as if his vision was blurring.

Owen helped him stand. "We'll come back for the bodies. Let's get over there and see what's what."

Ambrose supported Martin while Thoresby and Owen led their horses into the stables, hiding them.

"Help me," the man with the wounded leg wailed as they began to leave him. Owen crouched down, broke the arrow and removed it. Then he tied the man's hands, hefted him up, and took him into a stable stall. "You'll be warm enough here until we return." He brought the other wounded man in and removed his arrows. "Keep each other company," Owen said, tossing them a flask of brandywine.

The four set off, Ambrose helping Martin walk. Owen held his bow ready, Thoresby had his sword drawn. No one challenged their approach, though they could see a few people huddled in a small doorway in the wall. The people scurried away as the little party approached-all but the woman who had brought Martin and Ambrose wine in the dungeon.

She came forward. "The gatekeeper's ridden off. I doubt he'll stop till he reaches water."

Thoresby nodded to her. "The other servants. Will they trouble us if we look round?"

"No. They wish you no harm. They are but frightened, and worried what is to happen to them."

"I will speak with them when we're through."

They passed through the wall and into the yard surrounding the house. Owen and Thoresby circled together, while Ambrose, helping Martin, followed the servant inside.

The yard was deserted but for a few chickens and a pig that wandered about looking for scraps. The drawbridge was down, the gatehouse empty. In the distance, several dogs barked.

Thoresby gestured round the cheerless yard. "I should not be so surprised the gatekeeper fled. What was there to keep him?"

Owen walked over to a stable built against the wall. One horse remained within. "I wager there were two horses before. If the gatekeeper has ridden away, we will not catch him."

Thoresby shrugged. "The men we left in the stables are as likely to be useful as he was. We must be satisfied with them."

"Ambrose is right, you know. Scorby might have lied to the end."

"You cannot understand, Archer. I needed him to take to Windsor and destroy Perrers."

They entered the house.

Martin sat slumped in a chair by the fire. Ambrose sat near him, clenching a cup of wine in trembling hands. They spoke in angry whispers, not looking at each other.

Owen put a hand on Thoresby's forearm to stop him from going forward. "They have been through much these past days. Let them talk."

"What about Wirthir's condition?"

"He is weak, but there is no fever."

"Let us be useful, then. We'll search the house."

"What are you looking for?"

"The letter from Alice Perrers to Scorby."

"Why?"

"I can at least take that to the King as proof of her treachery."

Owen turned his head so that his good eye looked right at Thoresby. "Why do you care?"

"She is not worthy of him. Her presence at court is an insult to Queen Philippa. A gentler lady never lived."

"If he is determined to have her by him, the King will not thank you for this."

"Do you know, Archer, I care not what the King thinks of this."

Seeing that Thoresby was determined, Owen called to the servant who had met them at the wall. "Where would Master Scorby have kept letters and important documents?"

She led them to a chamber off the main hall. A table, some chairs, a brazier in a corner, and several chests. "Shall I light the brazier for you?" When Thoresby nodded, she headed for the door. "I'll get some coals."

Owen stopped her. "We left two injured men in the stables across the moat. Someone should get them and bring them to the house."

"But where should we put them?"

"Do you have dungeons?"

"Aye."

He had thought they might. "Put them there."

She nodded, frightened, and hurried away.

Owen poked through the ashes in the brazier. "I fear he burned it, Your Grace." He held out a few small pieces of scorched parchment.

"We will look anyway."

Hours later, they'd come up with nothing.

"I could use some wine," Owen said, pushing away the last of the documents in front of him.

Thoresby threw a handful of rolled-up papers against the wall. "Was there ever such a prudent monster?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sat back, drumming his fingers on the table. "Perhaps there is another place where he kept more important documents?"

Owen stood up. "We must get Martin back to St. Mary's. Brother Wulfstan will ensure that his arm heals well."

"We could send Wirthir up to Fountains Abbey. They have an excellent infirmary. Then we can complete our search."

"Your Grace, where would we begin? If we return to York, we can ask Anna Scorby where her husband might have hidden incriminating documents."

Thoresby considered that. "Clever. That is exactly what we will do." He stood up. "Come. Let us have some food and get some sleep. We will start out at first light."