Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

Hempe strode past Owen and demanded, ‘What has happened here?’

‘Lucie, I pray you,’ Emma said, ‘tell them what fools we have been.’

John straightened as his mother shifted on the bench. The boy’s face was swollen, not only from his tears but from what appeared to be a broken nose, a bloody cloth pressed to it and one eye already darkening. John lifted his chin to slow the bleeding and gulped air, then held it, trying to quiet hiccups.

‘Edgar, see that Tom and Paul shut the shop and wait for my husband to return,’ Emma said. A corner of her starched wimple was bloodstained where the boy had rested his head.

Owen crouched down by Lucie as Edgar escorted the clerks towards the shop.

‘Are John and Matthew the only wounded?’

‘I have some bruises, I am sure, as I am certain Emma and Edgar do.’

Owen touched a bloodstain on the bandage round her hand. ‘Did you open the wound?’

‘No. I used my hand too much, but the blood is Matthew’s, not mine.’

Hempe had settled on a bench nearby. ‘Mistress Wilton, I pray you, speak up so that I might hear your account.’

‘Why is he here?’ Emma asked Owen.

‘It was plain to him that something was afoot, so he joined me,’ Owen said, trying to ignore his feelings. ‘You must begin with Emma’s identification of the strap,’ he said to Lucie, ‘or the bailiff will not understand what this is about.’

Lucie began as requested.

Hempe listened without comment, and when the tale was complete he said only, ‘I see.’

Owen regarded Matthew, organizing the questions not yet answered. The one uppermost in his mind he asked first. ‘What made you return to the house today?’

Matthew closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall, as if too weary to speak. His upper lip was swollen. But without opening his eyes, he said in a voice just above a mumble, ‘I watched my lady as we walked to the palace, her chin up, her eyes set on the unpleasant matter ahead, swallowing her pride to protect her family from more gossip. And I felt ashamed.’ He drew up his knees, wrapped his good arm round them. ‘I came back for some letters. Ones in the hand of the bishop’s clerk, Guy. The ones acknowledging to my lady the receipt of the ransom money. The bishop has only to see the amounts on the letters to realize that they do not agree with the copies he holds in Winchester. I am certain of it.’

Owen was sorry Hempe had heard this, but the man was determined to learn all.

‘May I see them?’ Owen asked.

‘They are in my trunk.’ Matthew drew out a key.

‘There is no need for that,’ said Emma. ‘Here they are.’ She handed Owen a pair of documents bearing royal chancery seals.

‘What?’ Matthew sat forward, looking from Emma to Lucie, his colour rising. ‘What right had you to search my trunk? And to remove those?’

‘What right had I?’ Emma raised her voice in disbelief. ‘They concern my father’s ransom. What of you? What are you doing with them among your personal belongings?’

‘I am steward.’

‘And what of the tunic you sold to a dubber? The one you wore the night of the fire?’

Matthew pressed his hands to his head, his elbows to his thighs, and sat very still.

‘He may be innocent,’ Lucie whispered to Owen.

At present that was not a comforting possibility. For if Matthew was not guilty, Guy was, and he would be desperate to escape.

‘Matthew is expected at the palace,’ Owen said to Hempe. ‘I propose we escort him there.’

Now Matthew looked up. A bruise was developing beneath one eye. Little John had done much harm. ‘My lady does await me there.’ He rose with a groan, holding his wounded arm close to him.

Lucie helped him into his torn sleeve.

‘I should like to come,’ she said to Owen.

Owen could see from the smudges beneath her eyes and the way she moved that she was exhausted. ‘I will not have you walk into the middle of even a remote danger of attack.’

‘You will send word of what has happened?’ Lucie asked.

‘To both you and Emma, I swear. Have you the strength for the walk home?’

‘I shall rest here a while, then go.’

Lady Pagnell had tired of waiting for her steward and begun the negotiation by proposing two of the properties to Wykeham, who had quietly said that was out of the question.

‘Alain and Guy considered the offerings with their customary care, My Lady, and each one is of equal value to the piece of land your husband forfeited. Your part in the decision is to choose which one your neighbour would prefer. I thought that had been explained.’

Thoresby would usually enjoy such combat, but he was uneasy about Owen’s disappearance and the Pagnell steward’s absence. Guy had been brought in discreetly, although Stephen Pagnell had not missed the guards on either side, and Thoresby’s nod that they might return to their posts. It did not seem as if peace would settle on the palace this evening, as he had hoped. Perhaps it would have been just as well to begin with Guy’s confession to his forgery and embezzlement. Thoresby found himself watching the son more than the mother. Stephen stared at Wykeham with such intensity that Thoresby expected him to lunge at the bishop at any moment.

Lady Pagnell’s voice startled him. ‘This property, then, and that’s an end to it.’ She shoved a deed across to Wykeham.

The bishop sat back with the document in hand, nodding solemnly. Alain whispered something to him. Guy had been silent throughout the proceedings. Thoresby could not guess what he was feeling, but when Wykeham handed Alain the document to copy and present to Lady Pagnell before she left, Guy’s expression was clear — pure and simple jealousy. But he said nothing and dropped his head before most at the table caught the flash of emotion. Alain excused himself and retired to complete the transaction.

Lady Pagnell began to rise.

‘There is another matter of business,’ Wykeham said.

‘I said that was an end to it.’ Lady Pagnell motioned for the servant who stood behind her.

‘Lady Pagnell, it is about the discrepancy in Sir Ranulf’s ransom money.’

She turned back towards Wykeham, her face white. She looked ill. ‘What?’

‘I trust you will be pleased to hear that we have uncovered an embezzler who forged documents regarding your husband’s ransom.’

Lady Pagnell swayed and Thoresby feared she might faint. But she propped her hands on the table and hissed, ‘Will you stop at nothing to deny your guilt in my husband’s death?’

‘I do nothing of the kind, Lady Pagnell. We have him in custody,’ Wykeham began.

There was a commotion at the door, and suddenly Owen, Hempe, and Matthew entered the hall.

Lady Pagnell sank down in her chair.

‘You have come in your own time, Matthew,’ Stephen said, using all the power in his voice, which was considerable for a man of his stature.

Thoresby’s eyesight was unimpaired regarding distances and he noted at once the steward’s torn sleeve, his head wound, the thick lip.

As Owen brought him forward, the others rose, no doubt as relieved as Thoresby to shake off the tension in the room, and exclaimed about the steward’s condition.

‘Have these men laid hands on you?’ Lady Pagnell cried. She had regained some of her colour.

‘No, My Lady,’ Matthew said, his words oddly shaped, his voice rasping, which was not as Thoresby remembered his speech at Sir Ranulf’s funeral. ‘Your grandson sought to punish me for my transgressions.’

‘What?’

‘Might he be seated?’ Owen asked. ‘He is none too steady on his feet.’

Michaelo showed Matthew to his seat beside Lady Pagnell, who called her servant over to see to him.