Candace Robb: The Cross Legged Knight

Thoresby thought he knew what went through Wykeham’s heated head. He would slay Guy, but that it would give his enemies another tale to tell against him . Thoresby motioned to Michaelo to replenish the bishop’s cup.

But before Michaelo had lifted the pitcher Wykeham set the cup aside, rose and crossed to the window, setting his back to Guy. By the movement of his sleeves and the bowing head Thoresby guessed Wykeham was covering his face. He thought to give him some peace in which to compose himself.

‘Why do you think we can trust this clerk to assist us tomorrow, Archer?’ Owen’s plan seemed fraught with risk. ‘Why should he?’

‘He will wish to be present to defend himself if Matthew contradicts his story,’ Owen said.

Thoresby considered Guy, who slouched in his chair, his hands pressed together over his belly, his unlovely face creased into a penitential sadness. ‘Can we trust you to do as we have instructed you?’ Thoresby asked.

Guy dropped his gaze to his hands. ‘I am your servant, Your Grace, though I would as lief sit in a dungeon than face that murderer.’

A dungeon is where you belong . ‘If that is what you want, then that is precisely what you must not have, eh, Archer?’

‘As you will, Your Grace.’

Thoresby would not have liked to be Guy, with Owen’s rough face expressing so much loathing.

Wykeham suddenly spun round. ‘Trust him? No, we know that is foolhardy. But he will sit at that table tomorrow. He will be present when I tell Lady Pagnell of his deceit, and how King Charles’s unwillingness to release Sir Ranulf was no doubt due in part to the paltry sum put forth in the letters that my trusted clerk prepared for him.’

‘I did not change the letters to France,’ Guy protested.

‘No?’ Wykeham gave a little shrug, a very French shrug it seemed to Thoresby. ‘How do I know that? I cannot send a messenger to King Charles requesting the letters returned, now can I?’

‘Your Grace,’ Owen said, breaking a charged silence, ‘is Guy to move freely about the palace?’

Thoresby turned to Wykeham.

‘You need not fear laxness in me, Captain,’ said the bishop. ‘I shall instruct my men that he is to be under their escort at all times. We would not wish to lose our witness to Matthew’s crimes.’

Owen bowed and prepared to leave, but Wykeham stopped him. ‘I would talk with you in private.’

‘You may use this parlour,’ said Thoresby. He nodded for the guard to take Guy away. ‘You will be staying in the palace tonight, Archer?’

‘I’ll sleep with my men, Your Grace.’

‘As you wish.’ Thoresby departed.

Wykeham had knelt down at the prie-dieu in the corner of the room. As the silence settled, Owen poured himself a much-needed cup of wine and tried Thoresby’s great chair. He felt he deserved some comfort this night. Easing back into the cushions, he began to reconstruct the evening of the fire.

‘I never suspected Guy.’ Wykeham had joined him, seated now across the table where Owen usually sat.

‘Tell me what you know of him.’

‘Alain is the devious one. Guy has always been a model of virtue. I took him in when he was ten, an orphan who showed promise, educated him personally with an eye towards his service in the household. He disappointed only in his slovenly appearance, his inability to be light and joysome. But it did not affect his work. Tidy in conception and execution, he was all one wishes for in a clerk.’

‘I have seen him copy your signature,’ Owen said.

‘Of course. That is one of his gifts, a mastery of many hands.’

‘A gift which proved too tempting, My Lord.’

‘I see that now. It must have been simple for him to revise the accounts regarding Sir Ranulf’s ransom. Damn him!’ Wykeham cried out and looked away, struggling to control his breathing. ‘He had no need to cheat,’ he said softly. ‘He was well provided for. He has been with me for so long, Captain. He has moved up with me, accompanied me everywhere, even to my prebendaries before I gave them up for the bishopric. He always served me well. Now Alain …’

‘You called him devious.’

‘Oh, yes. And his family moves in Lancastrian circles.’

‘What? You had hoped to buy some support from the enemy?’

‘Lancaster was not yet my enemy when I took in Alain. All this time I thought Alain was behind the Pagnell trouble.’

‘And said nothing to me? Why? You requested my assistance.’ Damn you .

‘I had no proof. I wanted proof. Which is why I chose him to accompany me north.’

‘To flush him out.’

Wykeham nodded.

‘Before the Pagnell troubles — why retain Alain if you disliked and distrusted him so?’

‘Better the enemy before me than behind.’

Owen slept little, his mind swarming with variations on the outcome of the day ahead.

Magda had assured him that Poins was sleeping quietly, that the evening had not taken the last of his strength, but she had warned Owen that if he hoped the man would remember more of that night in the undercroft he might well be disappointed. ‘Oft-times a man will remember little of such an event. Thou knowest it, that soldiers oft forget the moment of their wounding.’

‘I have never forgotten mine.’

‘Mayhap thou didst need to remember it.’

He pressed his blind eye into the pillow and tried to still his mind with prayer.

So much depended on timing once Lady Pagnell and Matthew were at the palace. And he did not trust that Guy had told him all the truth.

As the sky through the chinks in the shutters paled, he rose and dressed, and found a servant to take a message to Lucie explaining why he had not been home to bed, though she probably had not expected him to return. Then Owen stepped out into a morning loud with birds welcoming the dawn. The guard greeted him with sleepy respect. Owen made his way round the palace, reviewing the guard stations. Satisfied with the number and readiness, he moved on to the barracks to don a long leather surcoat with metal plates and a helmet. If Wykeham’s fears proved justified, that Lancaster saw him as a Becket, a too-powerful prince of the Church who stood in his way, Owen would need the protection.

A few men still sat over their morning bread, cheese and ale. Owen joined them, preferring to eat with them than at the palace. The building was largely deserted, so quiet that Owen told the page who assisted him with his heavy surcoat after breakfast not to rattle it so. He headed back to the palace as soon as he was suited, stopping only to remind the guard at the kitchen that his duty was to keep peace in the area round Poins.

All along the palace the guards stood alert at Owen’s approach, then relaxed as he passed. As he moved up the steps of the great hall Alfred came forth to greet him, his lank hair hidden beneath a light helmet.

‘Is the household up?’

‘Aye, Captain, though I trust they did not plan such an early rising. Sir Ranulf’s son Stephen has just arrived — he must have been first at Monkgate this morning.’

‘Stephen Pagnell is in the great hall?’

‘Aye. He is demanding to participate in the meeting between Lady Pagnell and the bishop.’

Owen muttered a curse. He had given no thought to Sir Ranulf’s heir, believing him to have wiped his hands of the business. Yet as heir he had a right to be there. ‘Is he alone?’

Alfred shook his head, his expression grim. ‘He rides with a party of young nobles. Brother Michaelo says they are all from families known to hold Lancastrian sympathies.’

‘Are they armed?’

‘Knives for the table are all they carry now. They gave up their weapons without quarrel.’

‘I do not trust it.’