Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

‘She was murdered, Lucie. The belt on the floor — it had been tightened round her neck, the buckle pressed into her throat.’

Lucie touched her own neck as she looked down at the belt that had fallen from the scrip. She took the wine now, let it course down her throat. It burned. She shivered. ‘Then she did not die in the fire.’

‘I do not think she could have yet been breathing.’

She did not know which would be the more terrifying way to die, to have such a thing cut off the air, to feel the belt tightening, or to choke on smoke, feel the searing pain of the heat on the skin. The wine soured in her stomach. Holding her hand to her mouth, she rushed to the window, pushed open the shutters and leaned out, breathing in the damp, chilly air.

Owen followed, put his arms round her, drawing her from the window.

Meddling man, could he not see she needed air? She turned in his arms. ‘That man in our kitchen, the man I nursed last night — do you think he did that to Cisotta?’

‘I do not know.’

‘You describe her burns as much worse than his.’

‘He lay by the door.’

‘Who, then?’

‘That is what we must discover. Come back to bed. It is cold here by the window.’

He was shivering, standing there naked, his hair tousled. There was a time when they would not have stood there long, but would have tumbled back into bed for lovemaking.

‘Go back to bed, then.’

‘It is early yet. You fall asleep so quickly at night, but every morning you are up long before me. What wakes you? Are you still in pain?’

‘No.’ For a little while she had forgotten her petty anguish. What was her sorrow compared with what Eudo would feel, and his young family. He was left with four children, Anna, the eldest, only eight years old, and three boys, one not long from his mother’s breast.

Owen sat down on the chest and reached for her hand.

‘Do you mean to keep this a secret?’ she asked. ‘How can you? What of Eudo? You cannot keep it from him.’

‘Even from him, for now.’

‘But he is her husband.’

‘No, Lucie.’

‘Do you suspect him?’

‘Is it impossible? You have told me there was much discord in that house.’

‘Eudo loved her too much to harm her.’ Lucie knelt to pick up the girdle. ‘Who will tell him of her death?’

‘I shall send a priest.’

‘I could go — ’

‘No!’

‘I shall attend the funeral.’

‘That is a different matter.’

They both looked up as someone banged on the door down below.

Lucie dropped Cisotta’s ruined girdle on the bed and hurried out of the room. Owen grabbed his clothes, fumbled through dressing and followed her downstairs. The trestle table was set up in the hall and Kate was feeding the children there rather than in the kitchen. Gwenllian sat, straight-backed and solemn, watching the door that led out to the kitchen as she chewed a piece of bread. Hugh sat in Kate’s lap.

‘I thought to keep them out of the way,’ the maid said.

‘You will have your kitchen back soon, Kate. It was a mistake to bring Poins here.’ Owen kissed both of the children.

Gwenllian wrapped her arms round his neck and whispered, ‘Aunt Phillippa says you walked into the burning house and saved a woman. Is it true, Papa?’

‘Aye, my little love. But the fire was down below. I was in no danger.’ It was one of Phillippa’s most annoying intrusions into their lives, to tell the children about incidents that Owen and Lucie chose to keep from them. ‘Where is your mother?’

‘She took that man to the kitchen.’

He looked up at Kate.

‘Master Fitzbaldric, Captain.’

Here was another reason to find some other place for Poins — the house would have no peace while he was here.

‘You will not go back into his house?’ Gwenllian asked, touching Owen’s cheek with the back of her hand, so gently, just as her mother would do.

‘Not until carpenters shore it up. Now you must not frighten Hugh with tales of fires.’

Gwenllian nodded and let him go.

The warmth of the kitchen intensified the odours of blood, sweat and Magda’s remedies. Owen was grateful Kate had the sense to keep the children out of the room. Lucie stood beside Magda, holding the bowl of foul-smelling lotion Magda had made during the night. Poins still lay naked on his stomach, his eyelids trembling as Magda anointed his blisters, smoothing in the ointment with her knobby fingers.

Fitzbaldric held back from the trio, eyeing them uneasily. ‘Good-day to you, Captain,’ he said in a quiet voice, as if unwilling to call attention to himself. He looked freshly scrubbed, reminding Owen how filthy he yet felt. Fitzbaldric wore borrowed clothing, a tunic that fitted him ill, short in the sleeves and exposing too much of a pair of faded leggings. ‘I must speak with you, Captain.’

‘Then let us retire to the hall.’ Owen had just caught sight of what was in the covered dish that had smelled of rotten meat — Magda was about to apply maggots to the worst of the burns, to clean away the dead flesh.

Kate scooped up the children and took them upstairs as Owen invited Fitzbaldric to sit at the table in the hall.

The merchant slumped down into a chair, propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. Owen stood uncertainly, wondering whether he should return to the kitchen, where Magda and Lucie were talking in loud, angry voices. He had never heard them argue before.

Fitzbaldric lifted his head. ‘Forgive me, I am not accustomed to a sickroom. His arm — was it necessary to remove it?’

‘If he is to live.’ The voices quieted. Deciding it was best to leave Magda and Lucie alone, Owen sat down opposite Fitzbaldric.

‘I cannot imagine his agony.’ The merchant was growing pale.

‘Do you need something to drink?’

Fitzbaldric shook his head. ‘Who is she — that woman in there working on Poins?’

‘Magda is the best healer in all York, perhaps in all the shire.’

‘In truth?’ Relief returned some of the colour to the merchant’s face, but in a moment he was frowning, pressing a cloth to his forehead. ‘We have lost all the household goods, I fear, and much of my merchandise. I do not know how I shall afford the best healer in the city.’

Magda often worked for nothing — but the Fitzbaldrics were not so needy. ‘You might speak with the bishop. He may feel duty bound to assist you. If you like, when I go to the palace today I could mention your situation.’ While Fitzbaldric considered the offer, Owen added, ‘I must tell you, I mean to find another place for Poins. It is too much for my household, having him here.’

Fitzbaldric kneaded the back of his neck, then dropped his hand to the table as if it were too heavy to hold up. ‘Adeline and I need to move as well.’

‘Your welcome is already stale at Robert Dale’s house?’

‘That is what I came to tell you. They say that such disruption and threat to the household is intolerable — an intruder in the night, a desperate husband pounding on the door at dawn. Dear God, why is this happening to us?’ Fitzbaldric dropped his head on to his hands once more.

Owen remembered Alfred’s fears. ‘Did someone break into Robert Dale’s house?’

Fitzbaldric straightened. ‘We were not long in bed when the cook began to shout — someone had slipped into the kitchen, then ran when he found the cooks of both our households sleeping in there, as well as a kitchen maid. The Dales’ cook cried out. My cook took up the chase, but he was too slow, awakened out of a sound sleep. It is a house with many locks, Captain, being a goldsmith’s, the kitchen the only vulnerable chamber. But it is understandable that the Dales are afraid for their livelihood. Such valuable materials.’