Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

‘God bless you,’ she whispered, ‘I shall be fine now.’ She leaned against the house and took great gulps of air.

With a blessing, the friar moved on.

Lucie’s wounded hand throbbed and the cut burned. The blood had seeped through the thrice-wrapped cloth. But worse than her injury was the loss of the gloves. She should have known better than to carry them in such a crowd. Yet she walked through the crowded streets every day, or very nearly, and had never been robbed. Why today? In such a press the thief could not have seen the scrip hanging from her waist unless he had been next to her, but she did not remember a blond boy among those close to her in the crowd. Even had he seen it, why hers? It was a simple piece, containing nothing of value but a few coins and the knife she used when eating. The gloves were important only to her. Perhaps the thief had noted that she had been wearing a woven silk girdle, not easily cut, but more easily than a leather one.

She must find Owen. Abandoning the support of the wall, she straightened her veil and brushed off her surcoat with her good hand. She waited a little while, until she felt steadier, then moved along into the shadows of Little Shambles. When she emerged in Silver Street the late-afternoon sun blinded her and she stumbled to one side as she heard a cart rumbling towards her. Shielding her eyes with her bandaged hand, she saw a man leading a donkey and cart. It was the friar who had been so kind. He stopped beside her and held up his hands in peace. ‘I am come to take you home, Mistress Wilton.’

She thanked him as he helped her into the cart. She did feel light-headed and would be glad to get home.

Owen and Margaret Dubber had fallen into conversation, talking of the city dwellers’ fear of fire, the ease with which rumours spread, the worth of a skilled tailor, gardens. Eventually Owen reintroduced Cisotta.

‘Women there are who did not look on her with charity,’ Margaret said. She lifted a piece of yellow cloth, and a red one. ‘She drew all eyes to her with her gay attire. And her bonny smile made men foolish.’

‘And her ambition?’

Margaret dropped the cloths. ‘The young midwives must learn while the old yet live. It is better to work with an elder, but except for Adam the Cooper none found fault with Cisotta. Some might have felt slighted, but to murder? Nay, I never heard that anyone hated her so much as that.’

‘What of Adam?’

‘He blamed her for his first wife’s death, said the charm for an easy delivery was a curse killing both mother and babe. Folk gossiped, Eudo took a fist to Adam, their parish priests and guilds put an end to the quarrel, and Adam remarried and fathered two healthy children.’ She groaned as she lifted one of the baskets of cloth. ‘The shadows are settling. I must stoke the fire, cook my dinner.’

Owen helped her with the baskets, stooping to pass through the low doorway of her house. As he stepped out for the last of the three, he saw the groom from the York Tavern standing in Goodramgate counting the doorways of Lady Row. Owen hailed him, dreading his errand.

‘Captain!’ The groom hastened to him. ‘Mistress Merchet says you are to go home at once, you are needed.’ He bobbed his head and began to leave.

‘Stay a moment. What has happened?’

The young man shook his head. ‘A friar brought Mistress Wilton home in a cart and helped her to the house. That is all I know, Captain.’

Margaret, standing in her doorway, crossed herself and said, ‘You’re both in my prayers, Captain.’

Owen caught up with the groom. ‘Is my wife injured?’

‘I’ve told you what I know, Captain.’

Kate met Owen at the door with a confusing account of the friar, who nodded to Owen as he passed him sitting in the hall.

‘And Magda Digby had come to see Alisoun, thank the Lord — ’

‘Where is your mistress?’ Owen demanded.

‘In the kitchen.’

Owen was there in half a dozen strides and almost choked with relief to see Lucie’s eyes opened. She lay on the pallet, close to the fire, Magda bending over her.

‘Now that thou art here, thou canst hold this tight.’

Magda had a stick twisted in cloth to cut off the blood flow to Lucie’s hand.

Owen saw the gash as he sat down beside Lucie and took the stick. ‘Who did this?’

‘I was trying to catch a thief.’ Lucie tried to smile. ‘I caught his knife with the wrong side of my hand.’

‘Where did this happen?’

‘In the Shambles.’ She closed her eyes, licked her lips.

Magda lifted her head and helped her drink something that smelled of honey.

Owen noticed Lucie’s gown lying on the rushes next to the pallet, rumpled and torn. A sleeve was stiff with dried blood. ‘I thought you were with Eudo and his children.’

Haltingly, she told him what had happened, while Magda cleaned the wound and then stood by, casting impatient looks at Owen. When he had heard all that Lucie had the breath to tell him, he asked Magda how bad the wound was.

‘The bleeding is the worst of it,’ said Magda. ‘She has lost too much blood of late. It will be a long time before she has need of leeches again.’ She drew closer. ‘Begin to ease the pressure now, let Magda see whether the bleeding has stopped.’

Owen eased the tourniquet and watched, hardly daring to breathe. Droplets appeared, welled and grew no more. ‘God be thanked.’

‘Good. Magda will continue.’

Owen rose to give her his place. One twist at a time she loosened the bandage, pausing after each turn to see whether the bleeding would resume. At last she drew out the stick and began to clean the wound once more. ‘It is seeping a little, but not enough to worry Magda.’

Owen paced the kitchen while Magda finished cleaning and dressing Lucie’s hand. He kept his silence, for Lucie’s breathing was shallow and he did not want to make her strain to talk to him. He did not know what to think of the incident. Lucie seemed so certain that the gloves were important. Yet nothing in her tale made him so sure. He wondered why she had pushed her way into a rowdy crowd. As with her fall from the stool, she had been injured because of her own carelessness. It was not like Lucie.

‘Thou art to stay in bed a week, drinking as much of Magda’s blood tonic and Phillippa’s concoctions as thou canst bear, and thou must have meat once a day.’

Seeing Magda gathering the bowls and rags, Owen resumed his seat near Lucie, took her uninjured hand and kissed it.

‘I must redeem myself,’ Lucie whispered.

Owen smoothed back the hair from her forehead. ‘You are my redemption.’

‘I lost the gloves. I should have brought them home at once. I cannot be trusted.’

‘If thou canst not speak without making thy heart race, Magda must forbid talk.’

Lucie closed her eyes. ‘I am tired.’

Magda muttered something unintelligible as she took away the tray she had filled, then retreated to the hall.

The firelight warmed Lucie’s face. ‘Can you forgive me?’ she whispered.

Owen kissed her hand again. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

‘I lost the gloves.’

‘Why are they so important to you?’

‘They were important to you . Eudo knows. He must have sent the boy after me. Only he and Emma know of the gloves.’

Owen smoothed her brow. ‘Eudo cannot leave his house. There is a guard at either door.’

‘There is no one else.’

‘What makes you so certain the gloves will help me find Cisotta’s murderer?’ Owen asked.

‘It is the way she hid them, and swore Anna to secrecy.’

‘But that is all in keeping with a surprise for Eudo.’

‘Anna thought Cisotta was to get the hides the night of the fire.’ Lucie did not open her eyes. Her voice was faint, her speech slurred.