Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

‘Now.’

Alisoun gathered her bow and quiver and withdrew.

Tomorrow Lucie must talk to the girl about her duties, how to comfort children in the night without hurting anyone. Lucie crouched down to help John with his leggings, then left him warming himself by the brazier while she went to fix him a calming drink. She sent Kate off to bed, assuring her that there was no danger in crossing the garden to her room above the shop. Too late she remembered that having but one functional hand slowed her. She called John into the kitchen to talk with her while the camomile and balm steeped. The boy relaxed in the warmth and told her without prodding how he had overheard his mother’s conversation with Edgar and resolved to follow his tutor to see whether he was false or true. But he grew silent when Lucie asked why he would distrust Edgar.

‘Could I stay here?’ John asked after a while. The drink had him yawning.

‘Your parents would be beside themselves with worry. Are they very angry about the lady chapel?’

‘It’s not them, it’s Matthew. I don’t want to go home until he’s gone.’

Hearing the fear in the boy’s voice, she asked gently, ‘What has he done?’

But the boy had jumped up at the sound of voices in the hall.

‘It is Jasper and Edgar,’ she told him, silently cursing them for returning just as John was confiding in her. ‘Come, we’ll join them in the hall.’

‘I found him crossing the market square,’ Jasper announced, raking back his hair and blotting his sweaty brow with his sleeve.

‘In the time you were gone you might have run all the way to Hosier Lane and back,’ Lucie noted, her voice sharper than she had intended. ‘What kept you so long?’

‘One of the Ferriby servants was out calling for John. So we hid until he passed by.’ Jasper looked pleased with himself. ‘There will be explanations asked, and I thought it best if everyone thought Edgar and John had gone out together.’

Edgar went to John, who sat huddled on a chair. ‘What were you thinking, Master John? Lady Pagnell will blame me, no matter what your mother says.’

John glanced over at Lucie as if asking for her help.

‘He fears Matthew as much as you do, Edgar,’ Lucie said, joining them, crouching to hold the boy’s hands.

‘But he lacks only patience with you and Ivo,’ Edgar said.

John was shaking his head. ‘He caught me following him. He wants to kill me.’

‘John, you cannot mean that,’ Lucie said.

‘It’s true. He was selling the tunic he wore the night of the fire to a dubber. He said he’d kill me if I told anyone.’

‘Dear God.’ Lucie rose and tried to think what to do. ‘Jasper, go to the palace. Fetch Owen. He must know all this.’

But John and Edgar must return to the Ferriby house or Matthew would know something was up. It took much reassuring to convince John to go home with Edgar.

‘Speak only with your mistress,’ Lucie coached the tutor. ‘Neither Matthew nor Lady Pagnell nor any of the servants must know that you came to see me.’

Edgar put on a brave front for the boy.

Owen had settled on a garden bench away from the doorway torches, glad of the long grey shadows, the low clouds that hid the stars. He prayed that God would release Poins from his suffering. The flesh beneath the man’s bandages was rotting away, even Magda Digby could not save him from terrible disfigurement. And his heart appeared unbearably heavy with grief and self-recrimination. Life seemed the worst of prisons for him. May, too, needed his prayers, but he thought she would gradually settle back into life. Magda might even improve her lot.

Something pressed against him, then grappled up his leg. He caught the purring ball of fur and settled it in his lap. It must be from the stable cat’s litter that Brother Michaelo had complained about. Owen had forgotten the tale till now.

The others were dining when Owen returned to the hall. Michaelo left his place to enquire whether Owen wished to join them.

‘No. But stay a moment. Have you ever met the Pagnell steward?’

‘Matthew? Only once that I recall. His arrogance did not befit his station.’

‘When was that?’

‘The day before Sir Ranulf’s funeral. He had been sent to request that Wykeham not attend.’

‘What of the time you saw Guy arguing with someone in the Pagnell livery?’

‘It might have been him …’ Michaelo closed his eyes. ‘They were in the shadow of the yew hedge and I was coming from the stables.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I was not close enough to see the face of the one in livery.’

‘What day was it?’

‘The day of the fire — I remember that well. His Grace and the bishop were to dine alone that evening and I wished everything to be peaceful, no kittens mewing outside the windows.’

‘Morning or afternoon?’

‘Late in the day, for I was concerned about moving them all before I had to instruct the servants in setting their places in the hall.’

If Alain had delivered the property documents to the Ferriby house that morning as Owen had been informed, it seemed rather soon for Lady Pagnell to send a messenger to the palace in the afternoon. But perhaps a document had gone missing, or there were questions that required a meeting in the records room.

‘Where is Guy?’ Owen asked.

‘Alain says he is lying on the floor of the chapel in prayer. Have you heard that he has asked to be excused from the meeting tomorrow?’

A servant joined them. ‘Captain, Jasper de Melton begs to speak with you.’

‘Shall I fetch the holy clerk?’ Michaelo asked.

‘No. Let him pray,’ Owen said. Nodding to Michaelo, he followed the servant to the hall door, fighting the desire to send word that he was too busy to be bothered by troubles at home. Jasper paced on the hall porch. When he looked up at Owen it was plain the movement kept sleep at bay.

‘You look tired, lad. It must be important.’

‘Mistress Lucie has much to tell you, Captain.’

‘Can it wait?’

Jasper grabbed his forearm. ‘Come. You need to hear this.’

The urgency in the gesture moved Owen to give one of the guards instructions to pass round the word that Guy must not be allowed out of the palace precinct until further notice. Then Owen hurried off with Jasper. They found Lucie in her chamber with Gwenllian tucked in beside her.

A finger to her lips, Lucie drew them out to the landing. ‘Alisoun has much to learn,’ she whispered. She led them back down the stairs, to the still-warm kitchen. What Owen heard convinced him that he must return to the palace and question Guy. Lucie agreed that the argument between Guy and Matthew might be the key to all that had happened on that fateful day.

Two lamps flickered in the drafts of the chapel, animating the body lying prone before the altar with the illusion of unnatural movement. For a moment Owen feared Guy had escaped in a more permanent way than running. He knelt, reached out to touch the clerk’s neck. Guy jerked. Owen withdrew just in time. Guy rolled over and up into a crouch. He was more agile than he looked.

Owen whispered a prayer of thanksgiving that the clerk was alive. ‘I did not mean to frighten you.’

‘You came upon me with such stealth.’

‘You were so deep in prayer you did not hear me.’

Guy’s eyes looked wild in the flickering light. He huddled into himself.

‘The stone floor is a cold place to lie,’ Owen said.

Guy began to rise.

‘Stay a little,’ Owen said.

‘I am cold,’ Guy said. ‘I need some mulled wine …’

‘I have just a few questions.’

‘More?’

‘What business did you have with Matthew, the Pagnell steward, the afternoon of the fire?’