Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

Out in the great hall, Ambrose sat alone by the fire.

"Where is Martin?" Owen asked.

"I put him to bed in the chamber up above. He could barely support himself. And if we are to ride tomorrow, I thought he must rest."

A servant poured wine for the Archbishop and Owen. Thoresby drank. "Perhaps, Master Coats, you would tell us exactly what happened here. You decided to deliver the letter yourselves-is that what got you into this predicament?"

Ambrose nodded wearily. "We thought to ask Scorby about his father-in-law, if he could remember Master Ridley speaking of enemies. We had no idea we were in the midst of Ridley's enemies-and Martin's-until we were well within, and they set the dogs on us." Suddenly he looked round. "I have not seen the dogs today."

Owen remembered the baying in the wood beyond the gatehouse. "I think they're off hunting. If we raise the drawbridge, they

will not return with their prey." He called to the servant and asked her to get some men to see to it.

"We could also use some food," Thoresby told her.

The woman curtsied. "There are salted meats, cheese, winter apples, and yesterday's bread, Your Grace. 'Tis not noble fare, but the Master did not bother with anything fancy since Mistress Scorby went away."

"Food is food. It sounds a goodly feast at this moment."

The woman hurried away.

Thoresby turned back to Ambrose. "Continue with your story, Coats."

Ambrose recounted the ordeal, leaving out only his singing.

"How did Scorby treat his men?" Thoresby asked. "Do you think it likely they would know anything?"

"I doubt it, but I cannot swear. I did not watch them much after Martin was injured."

Thoresby pushed the key the servant had brought over to Owen. "Go talk to them. See if they know anything of use."

The men sat up as best they could when Owen entered the room. Their wounds had been bandaged. "You realize that Master Scorby is dead?"

One nodded, the other just stared sullenly at Owen.

"The Archbishop will decide what is to be done with you."

"We knew naught of what he meant to do," said the one who had nodded. "He was our Master. We were bound to obey."

"What is your name?"

"Jack, my lord. An this here's Tanner."

"Who gave your Master his orders, Jack?"

The man snorted. "Nobody gave him orders. He said he was above the law. He was soon to be knighted."

"Who was going to make him a knight?"

Jack shrugged. "The King, I suppose. Who else can make knights?"

"Which of you slit the throats?"

Jack flinched. "We obeyed orders."

"Which of you?"

"I slit one of 'em," Tanner said, speaking at last, "the first one. Our friend Roby-one the Archbishop cut down-he slit the other throat."

"Who killed Kate Cooper?"

Tanner grinned. "Master Scorby did that all by himself. Wanted no one sharing her. Said he was inside her when her heart stopped beating. Said it was the best he'd ever had." He laughed.

Owen slapped him. "You're scum, Tanner. I don't want to hear your voice again. Or see that smile."

Owen turned to Jack. "We need to find Master Scorby's papers. Where else besides the little room off the main hall did he keep such things?"

"I don't know. Honest, 1 don't. He wasn't one to tell us much."

Owen believed him.

At dawn, they departed the manor. Thoresby had gathered the servants the previous evening and ordered them to watch the house well, Anna Scorby would be returning soon. They were to feed the prisoners until the Mistress arrived with men to take them away. By midday, a light snow was falling. Ambrose rode close to Martin, watching that he stayed alert. He could see the pain on his friend's face, the effort it took to keep upright. Thoresby had hoped to ride straight to York, but with Ambrose's coaxing, he agreed to stop at the inn at Alne for the night.

Martin was much improved for a good night's sleep. He rode better the second day, and when they entered York, he asked if he might wait until the following day to go to St. Mary's. "Ambrose and I have things to discuss."

Owen saw no harm in it.

Thoresby did not like it, but desisted. "They'll be separated for a long while," Thoresby told Owen as they parted at the minster gate. "I'm going to take Wirthir to Windsor. He can tell the King about Alice Perrers and her family. Who better?"

Owen had begun to walk away, but that made him turn back to Thoresby. "Martin won't like it. And what sort of reward can he expect?"

Thoresby shrugged. "He is a pirate and a foreigner. I care not whether he likes it or not."

Owen pulled up the hood of his cloak and walked away, disgusted.

Lucie listened solemnly to Owen's long tale, saying nothing until he recounted Thoresby's parting words about Martin. "He learned nothing from his treatment of Jasper! How can he think to deliver Martin to the woman who had arranged his death? Is Thoresby human?"

"Human, yes. But arrogant. He hates Alice Perrers, and nothing is more important than bringing her down. Yet what can we do? Perhaps Martin will find a way to get lost on the way."

They sat up late, mulling over possible escapes. At last they went up to bed with nothing resolved.

Ambrose made up a pallet next to the brazier while Martin drank some of the brandywine the Archbishop had given him to get through the night.

"I don't know that we should spend the night here, Ambrose."

"You want to go to the Abbey now?"

"No. I'd like to get out of the city."

"Too late for that tonight. The gates are closed."

"Damn. Well, play something soothing and I'll try to rest. We must be up early. Before anyone else stirs."

"What are you worried about?"

"They spent a long time searching for the letter we delivered."

"What are you getting at?"

"They found nothing, you know."

Ambrose nodded. "I heard some such pass between them."

"So who could go with the Archbishop to Windsor and be his witness to the Perrers family's perfidy?"

The pallet ready, Ambrose sat down next to Martin. "You're thinking he means to feed you to the lions."

Martin nodded. His forehead and upper lip were beaded with sweat.

Ambrose felt Martin's forehead. "You are feverish. You must lie down under the covers and sweat this out if you're to travel."

Martin let himself be led to the pallet. Ambrose tucked him in. "Do not worry, Martin. You are not destined to be a martyr."

Ambrose took up his crowd and played softly until Martin snored. Then he tiptoed around, getting some rope and a good hunting knife. He had work to do before morning.

Lucie tickled Owen's nose with a feather until he sneezed and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Good morning."

He lunged for her with a growl.

She giggled and rolled away. "Not yet." She stood up just out of reach, wrapped in a thick shawl and nothing else. Which was obviously not enough, seeing how she shivered.

Owen, too, felt the cold outside the covers. "Damn you, come back to bed. I don't want to put my feet down there yet."

"I know. And you need not if you stay quiet and listen to what I've decided."

Owen retreated under the covers. "What you've decided about what?"

"About Martin. Do you promise to lie still and listen?" Her teeth had begun to chatter.

Owen laughed. "Cold out there, eh?"

"My feet are going numb."

"Then why not come back to bed?"

"You must promise to lie still and listen."

"That seems reasonable. Why wouldn't I do that?"

"You have that look in your eyes."

"What look?"

"Please, just promise. I shall be frostbitten if you don't hurry."

"How do you know you can trust my promise?"

"Damn you." Lucie got back on the bed, but stayed atop the bedclothes, clutching the shawl about her.