Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

‘Truth be told, you do not seem to need me. If Cynog supported Owain Lawgoch as you say, is it not obvious that this Piers the Mariner executed him for treason against the King of England?’

Rokelyn flushed crimson. ‘This is not a game, Captain. If you refuse to assist me, I shall have every reason to suspect you to be in league with the people behind Cynog’s death. Folk would not find it difficult to believe.’

They would if they knew Owen’s feelings about Owain Lawgoch’s cause. ‘Why would I hire him and then have him put to death before he completed his task?’ Owen put up a hand to stop Rokelyn’s reply. ‘I play no game with you, nor have I said I would not assist you. But tell me this — if Cynog was Owain Lawgoch’s man, and you are the King’s man, why should you care why he was murdered? You have one less traitor hiding in your city.’

‘No one has a right to bring justice in this city but the bishop of St David’s, or those of us who act on his behalf. I do not care whose side Cynog was on. I want the person who believes he can take the law into his own hands in this city. He must be stopped.’

‘You are right, of course.’ Tomorrow Owen could think about a way round this. Meanwhile, he would put Rokelyn to work. ‘If I agree to assist you, will you find me a stonemason to complete the tomb?’

‘I shall.’

‘And if I miss Siencyn’s sailing, you will find me passage — comfortable passage — to England?’

‘When you have satisfied me. If you do.’

Owen ignored the last remark. ‘Then we are agreed. And now I must leave while I still have the strength to walk back to the palace. It has been a long and wearying day.’ He rose.

‘Do not try to leave the city,’ Rokelyn warned.

‘And how might I do that? Swim?’ Owen bowed low, then headed for the door. As he passed the guards, they began to follow. Owen turned suddenly, his small eating knife in his hand. ‘No. We have an agreement only so long as I do not have escorts.’ He enjoyed the surprise on their faces. Such a small knife was nothing to fear and they would quickly discount it. But it was cheering to have given them pause.

‘Let him go,’ Rokelyn barked.

Owen expected the archdeacon to order the guards to follow him once he was outside. He bade the Welsh servant a goodnight in his own tongue and stepped out into a cold, wind-driven rain. It quickly woke him from his heavy-lidded, swollen-headed state. Blinking rapidly, he pulled his hood over his head and leaned into the storm. Then paused. Beneath the dripping eaves, he sensed more than saw a familiar shadow to his right. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered, joining Iolo, ‘we are followed.’

They were out of the lantern light when the first guard appeared, squinting into the wet night. The man looked this way and that, muttering to himself. Owen could not hear him above the wind and the rain.

‘How many?’ Iolo whispered.

‘Two.’

The second one appeared, quickly understood that they had lost their man. The two began to argue.

‘Shall we fall upon them?’ Iolo asked.

‘To what purpose? Let us rather fall behind them.’

It was late and most of the guests lodged in the great hall were already settling in for the night. Owen and Iolo shrugged out of their wet cloaks and picked their way to the fire circle in the centre of the room to spread out the cloaks and dry out a bit before finding their pallets. Folk made room for them, whether because of their dripping condition or their grim faces, Owen could not guess. Sam must have been watching for them. He picked his way through the drowsy crowd, bearing a full wineskin.

Iolo grabbed it and drank greedily. His wet tunic hung unevenly and his leggings sagged at the ankles. His thinning hair looked even thinner slicked back, making his bony face and pale eyes almost sinister. Just how long had he stood beneath those eaves, Owen wondered. He shook his head when Iolo handed him the skin. ‘I have had my fill of that for one night. Some feverfew in warm water would suit me better.’

Sam slumped with disappointment. ‘I do not know where I might find such a drink.’

‘The water is all I need,’ said Owen. When Sam had gone off in search of water, Owen turned to Iolo. ‘You were foolish to follow me this evening — you must have a care not to hurt your chances for a post in this city.’

‘I have other plans for my future. You can use a shadow. I am coming to York with you.’

‘When did you decide this?’

‘Today. Though it has been much on my mind.’

‘Ah. York is no paradise. Bitter cold in winter. The city is crowded and stinks of man and beast.’

‘I have been to London. It cannot be worse than that.’

‘Colder.’

Iolo looked unimpressed.

‘Iolo, you honour me with your offer. But you are young. You can make a life for yourself here, in your own country.’

‘I am decided.’

How had Owen inspired such loyalty in the young man? For young he was, despite the chiselled planes of his face and his well-honed skills. ‘In York you would always be a stranger, as I am. If nothing else, our manner of speech sets us apart. I know. And so I warn you.’

‘I have been among the English,’ Iolo reminded him. ‘I know what it is like.’

‘But it was only for a time. You always knew that. Look how quickly you stepped forward for our mission, eager for the chance to come home. What happened?’

‘I found an honourable man to serve.’

Fortunate man, to think so. And a great burden to Owen to prove so. ‘But you wished to return to Wales.’

‘I was under orders from the bishop to return at my first opportunity, though not before making note of all I could about the duke’s household.’

Iolo could do well in the service of the ambitious Adam de Houghton. Owen had no doubt that this bishopric was not the loftiest position Houghton would attain. ‘Did he wish you to continue in his service?’

‘If it so pleased me.’ Iolo raked phantom hair back with a long-fingered hand.

‘And you would give this up to serve me?’

‘I would. And gladly. You need me. I wish to serve you.’

Owen could certainly use him here. And sometimes in York, when Thoresby involved him in troublesome business. But most times he lived a quiet life, helping Lucie in the apothecary, overseeing repairs at the archbishop’s palace of Bishopthorpe, finding things to occupy the time of the archbishop’s retainers. What would Owen do with Iolo? Would Thoresby accept him as one of his retainers? If not, Owen was not grand enough to have a squire. What would Lucie think?

And then there was the matter of Iolo’s bloodlust. The young man had a taste for violence. Owen had discovered quickly that he needed to be quite clear that he wished his victims to live.

‘Much of my time at home is dull.’

‘I should keep your retainers in line.’

No doubt. And in constant rebellion. What would Alfred think, to be unseated from his role as Owen’s second in command? ‘What of this Owain Lawgoch? Now he’s a man could use someone like you. If I were free to take up arms for him, I would.’

Iolo’s pale eyes searched Owen’s face. ‘In truth? I should think if you felt that way you would find the means to do so.’

‘You are young and free. I have responsibilities.’

‘Fighting for our rightful prince would be a proud legacy for your children.’

‘If we won.’

Iolo shook his head. ‘Spoken like a shopkeeper and clerk of the archbishop. I never thought to hear such a thing from you.’

Nor had Owen ever thought to say such a thing. Had his love for Lucie and his children unmanned him?

The bells of York Minster thundered overhead as Lucie knelt in the nave, head bowed, trying to hear the ceremony in the choir. The bells and the screen made it difficult. And her own weeping. Why had they taken her father’s body to the high altar, from which she was barred? And Jasper — what was he doing in there?