Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

‘It may prove to be nothing but a child’s imagination that connects the gloves with that night,’ he said.

Lucie fought to open her eyes. ‘I am not a child.’

‘I did not mean you .’

‘You think I am mad. I see it in the way you look at me.’

The door opened and Magda came in, followed by Alisoun. ‘Enough talk,’ Magda declared. ‘I must show Alisoun what she must do.’

Owen pressed Lucie’s hand. ‘Send them away.’

‘You’ll see,’ she whispered.

He kissed her on the forehead and withdrew, feeling useless and filled with an anger that had no target. He did question her judgement these days. She seemed to move about in a dream, motivated by her feelings, not her head. Her insistence on the importance of the gloves was a good example — Eudo could not slip past his men. Or could he? Perhaps Owen should not be so certain of that. But even if the tawyer could find a way past the guards, he would be a fool to attack Lucie. It was too obvious. She had shown him the gloves.

The friar had risen from his seat in the hall. ‘Mistress Merchet’s groom has this moment kindly taken the cart from me to return to its owner. I must leave.’

‘God bless you for what you did.’

The friar bowed his head. ‘The owner of the cart is equally to thank.’

‘Would you be willing to show me where the theft occurred?’ Owen asked.

‘It is on my way.’ The friar preceded Owen out on to Davygate. ‘It was the Lord who put me in Mistress Wilton’s path when it seemed she could walk no further. There she was, lit up by the sun when I reached the crossing of Little Shambles and Silver Street. God watches over her.’

Not enough , Owen thought. ‘Did you see what happened?’

The friar shook his head. ‘I caught sight of Mistress Wilton pushing through the crowd, trying to give chase to the thief. By the whiteness of her face I knew she was in pain. I followed, calling out to her time and again, but she did not hear me.’

Owen was only half listening, worrying that perhaps Eudo had found a way out. He turned north from Thursday Market so they might pass Eudo’s in Patrick Pool. He was relieved to see the tawyer working beside his apprentice in the shop, a guard sitting nearby.

As they entered the Shambles, the friar pointed to Harry Flesher’s shopfront at the far side. ‘That is where the argument took place.’ Moving further up the street, the friar finally paused. ‘I believe this is where Mistress Wilton was standing, perhaps a little closer to the shop’s side of the street.’

Owen noted that it was in fact quite close to the butcher’s shop itself.

‘I must leave you now, Captain. May God be with you. Mistress Wilton will be in my prayers and those of all my brethren.’

Owen thanked him, though Lucie seemed to be in all of York’s prayers by now and it had done little good.

The shopfront in the Shambles was still open, though all the others were shut. A young man whom Owen recognized as one of Jasper’s friends was raking up blood-spattered rushes. ‘We are closed for business, sir,’ he said without pausing.

‘I have not seen you for a long while, Timothy. How do you find your apprenticeship?’

Now the boy raised his head. ‘Captain!’ He leaned his rake against the door jamb. Glancing back at the shop and seeing they were alone, he said, ‘I think I would rather do anything else. I smell of the slaughterhouse. Dogs follow me in the streets. But my master is kind, and fair.’

‘I understand there was much shouting in front of the shop this afternoon.’ The boy was already nodding and, by the light in his eyes, eager to tell the tale. ‘What was it about?’

‘My master caught a boy thieving and lifted him up by the neck of his tunic, and a customer took offence, preaching at my master that he should be lenient with the poor. “Poor!” my master shouted. “Half the wealth of the city passes through his hands. Poor indeed.” And they fell to arguing with such intent that the thief got away and the customer dropped a good piece of beef on the ground. Worse, a dog made off with it.’ Timothy laughed, then looked round to make sure he had not been heard and continued more softly, ‘When my master said the customer must pay, that is when the fighting truly began. Such names they called one another!’ Timothy stopped to catch his breath.

‘The thief. Could you describe him to me?’

‘Weedy, like my little brother, sprung up too fast for his clothes, all wrists and ankles. Long, dark hair tied back in a piece of string, and he’s lacking a bit of one ear.’

Lucie’s thief had been blond, or so she thought. So there were two at work in the street.

‘How did you hear about it?’ Timothy asked.

Owen told him of Lucie’s loss.

‘Faith, you will wish to talk to my master, then, since he knows the cur.’

‘Aye, if you could find Master Flesher.’

Timothy tossed aside his rake and disappeared into the shop. He returned a moment later accompanied by Harry Flesher, a short, muscular man with a bush of white hair. He had his sleeves caught up above his elbows, exhibiting strong forearms. ‘I fear Timothy has given you false hopes, Captain. I’ve seen the thief before, aye, we all know him by sight on the Shambles, filching coin from our customers. But to tell you his name or his abode …’ Harry shook his head.

‘Do you know if he works with another lad, short, fair hair?’

‘Well, they oft work in pairs, eh? I would have wondered about the customer who caused all the trouble, whether he was working with the lad and the dog, curse him, but the man was well dressed, with clean hands and hair. A thief could not scrub all the filth from his hands for one jest.’

‘He was a stranger to you?’

Harry nodded. ‘It is not so rare as you might be thinking. York is a big city.’

Owen thanked him. As Harry withdrew, he remarked that Timothy was slow in cleaning up the rushes. The lad took up his rake again.

‘Is Jasper much in the shop these days?’ he asked when his master had shut the door behind him.

‘Aye, he has been busy of late.’

‘He is lucky, working with sweet-smelling potions.’

‘He measures out pig’s bladders, blood and dung as well as lavender and mint.’

‘At least he never stinks of it.’

‘What did you think of the man who spoke up for the thief?’

Timothy leaned on his rake and studied the rushes. ‘I did not take him for a charitable man.’ He made a face. ‘I have not been of much use. If I hear anything, I shall come to you right away.’

‘Aye, keep your ears pricked, Timothy. God go with you.’

Owen walked slowly up the Shambles, glancing into the shadows, but all was quiet. He walked a little way down a narrow alley that might have been a continuation of St Saviourgate to the west of St Crux, but had been overbuilt so much a cart could not fit down it. Wattle fences alternated with stone walls of all heights and condition, and a few doorways opened on to the alley. He saw a woman suckling a babe in a small garden, an elderly man cleaning a fish in his doorway, two children kicking a ball back and forth in a yard. If a thief had run down here a few hours ago, he had left no worried souls in his wake. Nor had he dropped Lucie’s scrip. Retracing his steps, Owen slipped into St Crux Church, but it yielded no clues and he finally admitted to himself that he had no idea what he was looking for. Thefts happened all the day and folk accepted it as a part of living in the city. Which brought him back to the significance Lucie placed in the gloves.

He found Emma Ferriby in her courtyard. She was holding pieces of silk up to the dying light but her expression was anxious as she greeted him. ‘Have you spoken to the bishop?’