Candace Robb: The Guilt of Innocents

Shaking his head, Master Nicholas said, ‘It is a sad afternoon’s business, young Jasper. I understand the pilot is dying.’

Jasper crossed himself. ‘He was not long in the water, but it’s so cold.’ He shivered at the thought of it.

A well-dressed young man joined them, though in truth he joined Master Nicholas for he did not seem to notice Jasper at all.

‘This will go ill with the dean and chancellor, Father Nicholas,’ said the newcomer in what seemed to Jasper a goading tone. ‘I pray none of your scholars were involved.’

‘They were not,’ Nicholas said with undisguised irritation. ‘What brings you to York, Master Osmund? I should think you’d be in Weston celebrating your father’s safe return.’

‘I’ve already toasted Sir Baldwin,’ said Osmund. ‘Why aren’t you tending your flock in Weston?’

Jasper recalled that Hubert’s father was fighting for a Sir Baldwin of Weston. ‘Did Hubert de Weston’s father return as well?’ he asked Nicholas.

The priest nodded and said quietly, ‘I pray that’s where the lad’s gone, to see his father.’

‘We should dine together while I’m in the city,’ said Osmund, ignoring Jasper.

Noticing that Brother Henry was alone despite the crowd of people clogging Marygate, Jasper pushed his way towards him in the hope of finding out more about Drogo’s condition. Brother Henry’s predecessor as infirmarian of St Mary’s, Brother Wulfstan, had been Jasper’s good friend, and through him he’d known Brother Henry since the monk’s novice days. It took him a little while to work through the gossiping, excited people.

Henry met Jasper’s greeting with a distracted, worried expression.

‘This is a terrible evening, terrible,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking of Captain Archer when you hailed me.’

Jasper glanced round. ‘The captain? I didn’t see him.’ What he did see was a man lying on the pallet, blankets and hides now wrapped about him like heavy winding sheets, his face the only part of him visible.

‘The captain’s not here,’ said Brother Henry. ‘I was considering whether to ask my lord abbot’s permission to seek the captain’s advice. I fear that what happened to this man was no accident.’

Owen Archer was captain of the archbishop’s guard and noted in the city for solving crimes for the archbishop.

‘Is Drogo still alive?’ Jasper asked, still staring at the body placed before the Blessed Mother as if an offering.

‘He is, God be praised, but I doubt he will be for long unless we move him in to the infirmary so that I might care for him.’ The servants who had brought out the pallet for Drogo waited nearby with poles ready to turn the pallet into a litter.

‘Benedicite , Jasper, Brother Henry.’

Abbot Campian’s arrival stirred them both to straighten up as if they’d been discovered at some mischief.

‘If the poor man dies I shall insist that the scholars of St Peter’s pay for his funeral mass and burial,’ said the abbot. ‘Perhaps that will put an end to their warfare.’ Campian believed order to be man’s greatest virtue, and so deplored the feud between the students and the bargemen.

Jasper felt his face grow hot under the abbot’s stern gaze. ‘We meant only to help one of our fellows.’ He felt unjustly accused.

‘I have heard the story,’ said the abbot. ‘Had you informed your schoolmaster of the boy’s loss he would have seen to it.’

Of course he would have. Jasper bowed his head, feeling more than a little foolish despite not having been involved in the planning. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Master John might intercede for them, and obviously it had not occurred to the older boys.

‘My Lord Abbot, if I might call your attention to the dying man.’ Henry drew the abbot towards Drogo. ‘Certain marks on his left cheek, near the ear, and his neck and hands suggest that he’d been engaged in a struggle before he fell into the water.’

‘I’d not heard of this,’ said Campian.

‘The wounds had been cleansed by the cold waters,’ said Henry.

‘Then this earlier struggle might be why he fell in?’ The abbot nodded to himself.

‘Perhaps,’ said Henry.

Jasper stepped closer to Drogo in the abbot’s shadow. Slashes, they looked like, made by a very sharp blade. ‘Perhaps this did not happen on the barge, my Lord Abbot,’ Jasper said, keeping his voice low. ‘One of my fellows said he’d looked ill when he arrived at the barges.’

‘Did you see him arrive?’ asked Campian.

Jasper shook his head.

Abbot Campian thanked Jasper, then took Brother Henry aside.

‘What are you suggesting?’ the abbot asked the infirmarian.

‘Perhaps this man had a falling out with someone else besides Hubert de Weston’s friends,’ said Henry loud enough that Jasper could hear him, ‘someone armed and far more aggressive than the boys.’

Campian frowned down at the ground. ‘Why then did he go to the barges, I wonder?’

‘He felt safe amongst his friends?’ Henry shrugged. ‘He might not have realised how badly injured he was, how weak.’

‘I’d thought it an unfortunate accident, but it certainly looks otherwise,’ said Campian. ‘Still, the lads should be taught a lesson.’

Sensing a disturbance behind him, Jasper glanced back. Master Nicholas Ferriby was making his way through the crowd towards Drogo. He bent close to the drowned man, whispering a prayer.

It was not Master Nicholas but a man close behind him and a little to one side who gasped and then cried out, ‘He bleeds!’

To Jasper’s astonishment he saw blood oozing from the wounds on the man’s face and neck. He glanced back up to see the schoolmaster’s reaction.

Master Nicholas looked towards the crowd with a puzzled frown and then down at Drogo. He staggered backwards with a cry. ‘Sweet Mary and all the saints!’ He crossed himself.

‘Holy Mother of God,’ a boy cried. ‘Master Nicholas drew blood from the corpse.’

His exclamation was repeated throughout the crowd accompanied by gasps and cries of dismay.

Nicholas turned to the young speaker, his eyes flashing in the lantern light. ‘I did nothing but pray for his soul.’

‘Drogo is not dead,’ Brother Henry loudly reminded them.

Abbot Campian stepped forward, and taking Nicholas by the elbow he guided him aside. ‘The crowd’s mood grows dangerous. I advise you to withdraw into the abbey close as soon as you can do so without notice,’ he said softly, though Jasper heard it, and apparently so did some of the monks who had drawn near, for they silently shifted just enough to give Master Nicholas cover in which to withdraw.

‘Am I to be a scapegoat for Master John’s scholars?’ Nicholas protested.

‘Accept my offer or be damned,’ hissed the abbot.

‘Forgive me, my Lord Abbot,’ Nicholas murmured, and with head lowered slipped away.

Abbot Campian turned to address the crowd. ‘This is no corpse,’ he said in an arrestingly authoritative voice. ‘This man yet lives.’

‘But he was not bleeding before Master Nicholas approached him,’ cried a woman.

‘His wounds were so chilled by the waters of the Ouse that the blood clotted,’ said Brother Henry. ‘We have managed to warm him enough so that it flows again.’

But the murmuring in the crowd was not friendly.

‘A corpse bleeds when the murderer is near,’ a man far back in the crowd shouted.

‘A corpse, perhaps,’ said Henry. ‘Not a living man.’

Abbot Campian put a hand on Henry’s arm. ‘I’ve sent for the bailiffs. I don’t like the temper of the crowd. Such confusion is a sign of trouble.’

‘God help us that the scholars’ charitable intention should turn so foul,’ said Henry.