Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

Walter’s tone and expression were grim. ‘The captain is here on the archbishop’s business.’ He nodded to Owen. ‘Go on, then. Ask them what you must.’

Six eyes avoided Owen’s. ‘You know of last night’s tragedy at the house of the Bishop of Winchester,’ he began. Two nodded, one shrugged. ‘It was the second threat to the bishop this week. The first was the falling tile.’ Owen glanced round at the masons, caught Luke’s eye, watched the colour spread up his face. ‘You may have heard of the enmity between the bishop and the family of the late Sir Ranulf Pagnell.’ Bert and Will studied the packed earth floor. ‘I have evidence that someone in the Pagnell household was recently atop the mound of tiles.’

Luke started. ‘But it was — ’ He covered his mouth.

The others glared at him.

‘Go on,’ Owen said.

But Luke ducked his head and would not go on.

‘They cannot have had aught to do with the fire last night,’ said Will.

‘I have worried about our silence, though,’ said Bert.

‘They’re just boys,’ said Will.

‘The new master is not like his father,’ said Bert. ‘He has a temper.’

‘It takes more than temper to set a house afire,’ Luke said.

‘But what if we might have prevented the death of the midwife and the serving man’s injuries?’ Bert looked to Owen. ‘They say he lost an arm.’

‘Aye, and his burns have him in agony,’ said Owen.

Bert prevailed and the three told Owen what they knew, a tale that had now brought Owen to Hosier Lane. Too quickly. He felt unprepared. Emma was Lucie’s good friend, Jasper was fond of the boys. Dear Lord, guide my speech, my bearing, so that I say what is needed, no more .

Peter Ferriby opened the door with an absent air. ‘I still do not think it wise,’ he called to someone over his shoulder before he turned to see whom the evening had brought to his door. ‘Well, Captain Archer. Come in, tell us the news.’

Peter was a tall, stout man with a prosperous paunch that his dark, loose robes did little to hide. He dwarfed Emma, who had joined him and now reached out a hand to Owen.

‘I hope you did not expect to find Lucie here,’ she said, ‘for you have missed her by several hours.’

‘No. I hoped to find your family together,’ Owen said.

Emma gave him a puzzled look as Peter led him into the hall.

‘You are come in good time,’ said Peter. ‘My wife and I were just debating whether either of us should attend the midwife’s funeral tomorrow.’

‘Cisotta was so good to Lucie,’ said Emma. ‘But with the rumours about my family’s connection to the tragedy I fear we might be …’

Her voice trailed off as Owen kept moving past her to the boys, who stood near Lady Pagnell’s embroidery frame. Ivo held a squirming puppy in his arms, John stood stiffly beside him studying Owen’s boots with a grave face.

‘The lads can guess why I’ve come.’

Lady Pagnell stepped out from behind her work, placing herself between Owen and the boys. ‘What business have my grandsons with the archbishop’s guard?’

‘Lady Pagnell.’ Owen bowed.

Emma had followed him. ‘What do you mean, John and Ivo know?’

Owen moved so that he could see the boys. Both stared at him as if he had cast a binding spell. The puppy barked.

Peter ordered a servant to take it away. ‘Are my sons in some trouble, Captain?’

Owen drew out the penknife, showed it first to the boys, then their parents, and lastly to Lady Pagnell. Ivo looked as if he were choking back tears.

‘John’s penknife.’ Peter looked down at his son, who stared stonily back.

‘I lost it,’ John whispered.

‘Atop the pile of stones at the minster’s lady chapel,’ Owen said.

Ivo, chin down, biting his lower lip, peeked over at his brother. John stood straight, meeting Owen’s gaze now with a defiant steadiness. There was a tale there and perhaps not so innocent as Owen had hoped.

‘That is where I lost it,’ John said.

‘Aye, the day before your grandfather’s funeral,’ said Owen.

‘No, surely not,’ Peter said.

‘Dear God,’ Emma cried, ‘they were at the minster that day. I sent them with a message for the stonecutter.’ She sank down on to a chair, leaned towards her sons. ‘Did you climb the pile? All those loose stones and tiles? The masons allowed you up there?’

Lady Pagnell’s silk gown rustled as she paced a few steps, then turned back to her grandsons. ‘And you said never a word — ’

‘Mother — ’ Emma warned.

‘How did you learn of this?’ Lady Pagnell demanded of Owen.

‘My men found the knife. I questioned the masons who had witnessed the accident.’

‘Why go to them? If you recognized the arms you should have come directly here.’ With every word she heightened the tension in the hall.

Owen turned to Peter and Emma. ‘Perhaps I might question your sons in private? I merely need the details of the accident so that I might give Bishop William a full accounting.’

Peter put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. She looked at the boys, at Peter, then reached a hand towards Lady Pagnell. ‘Let us withdraw to the solar, Mother.’

In a surprising gesture, the grandmother turned suddenly to her grandsons, bent to kiss them on the forehead, first John, then Ivo. ‘You know the captain from St George’s Field. You have nothing to fear from him.’ Straightening and nodding to Owen, she took her daughter’s hand and progressed across the hall.

Emma hesitated in the doorway to the stairs. ‘Peter?’

‘I’ll sit quietly in a corner, but I will listen.’

The women withdrew.

Owen accepted the compromise. ‘Let us sit at the table,’ he said to the boys. He settled across from them. ‘Where is your tutor this evening?’

‘On an errand for Ma,’ said John, clearing his throat afterwards. He was a stout lad with a round face, rosy cheeks, and pale brows and hair.

‘And Matthew, the steward?’

‘He rode out to a property Bishop William has offered Grandmother.’

‘It is a serious matter, this negotiation between the Bishop of Winchester and your family,’ Owen said. ‘You are both aware of its importance?’

Two fair heads nodded. Ivo was slender, dark-eyed and browed, though his curly hair was as pale as his brother’s.

Owen set the penknife down on the table between them. ‘It is a fine knife. You must have regretted losing it.’

John nodded.

‘Suppose you tell me how you came to lose it where you did.’

Again, John was the speaker, folding his chubby hands on the table before him. He focused on them as he precisely enunciated his tale. After delivering their mother’s message to the stonemason the boys had stopped to watch the masons at work on the lady chapel.

The masons and their apprentices had been friendly, answering all their questions. But as the shadows lengthened John had warned Ivo that they must return to their lessons — they’d had leave only to deliver a message to the stonecutter who was polishing their grandfather’s tomb for the funeral the following day. Ivo had argued that he was learning far more than he would in a day’s work with their tutor. After John issued a second warning, Ivo requested one last thing: that they climb up on to the hill of stone and tile, for they would then enjoy a view that no one would ever see once the chapel was complete. John turned to the masons for permission.

Luke had told Owen that he was against it at first, thinking it too dangerous, but Will and Bert had argued for the boys, reminding their fellow that some of their helpers were not much older and he thought nothing of sending them scrambling on the pile. So Luke had agreed.