Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

The captain’s jaw stiffened. Tom always knew to leave him alone at such a time. ‘I have told you what happened,’ Owen said softly. ‘Now tell me. How did Piers slip out of that guarded cell?’

‘Glynis,’ Tom breathed.

The archdeacon silenced him with a nasty look.

The captain looked puzzled, closed his eye, tilted his head, as if thinking hard.

‘Did you learn anything from Cynog’s parents?’ Rokelyn asked, clearly impatient for news.

The captain did not answer. Tom enjoyed the archdeacon’s frustration.

‘I do not understand,’ the captain muttered.

‘Understanding can come later,’ said Rokelyn. ‘For now I need your advice — where do we search for Piers and his lady love?’

Owen sighed wearily. ‘I do not know. Perhaps Porth Clais. Perhaps inland. I do not know.’ He closed his eye, touched his right side with his left hand, winced.

‘Rest a while there,’ Rokelyn said, seeming at last to notice the captain’s state. ‘I shall send for a physician. For your man also. My servant will bring you wine and some food, some water to wash with.’

At last a civil gesture.

‘You are kind,’ the captain said, leaning his head back against the chair. Bone weary, he looked, in pain and unhappy.

The servant hurried from the room, but returned almost at once. ‘Captain Archer, a messenger from the Archbishop of York waits without.’

‘Archbishop Thoresby?’ Rokelyn said. ‘He sent a messenger all this way?’

The captain opened his eye, closed it. ‘Did you not know he has one of the longest reaches in the kingdom?’

Tom thought the captain’s response lacked the appropriate respect for the Archbishop of York. But surely a wounded man could be excused some discourtesy.

Owen had never met Friar Hewald, but he saw his condition reflected in the alarm on the cleric’s face.

‘We await a physician.’ Archdeacon Rokelyn wore his public smile. ‘The captain and his man met with trouble outside the city.’

‘God grant you quick healing, Captain,’ said Friar Hewald. ‘It will be a difficult journey if we move at the speed His Grace wishes — all the worse for your wounds. In faith, it cannot be helped. I have lost time looking for you. I had thought to find you in Cydweli. I despaired when I learned at the port that you had journeyed so far as St David’s.’

His side burning, his shoulder throbbing, Owen had not the patience to listen to the friar’s complaints. ‘You have a letter from His Grace?’

‘I do. And a ship, and letters to speed us along once we land in Gloucester.’

Owen received the news numbly. He was far more pleased by the arrival of Master Edwin, the physician.

Archdeacon Rokelyn told his servant to lead Owen, Iolo and Master Edwin to the guest chamber.

‘I shall be eager to hear how soon we may depart,’ Friar Hewald said as Owen rose.

Rokelyn no longer smiled.

‘I would read His Grace’s letter before we talk more,’ Owen said. The friar handed it over. Thoresby’s seal. It seemed out of place in St David’s.

Owen nodded to the friar, the archdeacon and left the room in the company of the physician, who called for clean cloths and water in a basin. Two servants helped Iolo cross the screens passage to the guest chamber.

‘I pray you, attend Iolo first,’ Owen said to Master Edwin.

‘I am not a babe, to be pampered,’ Iolo muttered. But once he had shooed away the servants, he leaned back against the pillows and allowed Master Edwin’s assistant gingerly to cut away the thick bandage Enid had wrapped round the foot.

After the servants had helped Owen with his boots, they withdrew. Owen moved to a bench near a lamp, broke Thoresby’s seal and read. Thoresby’s letter touched his heart as the messenger had not. Owen wondered at Alice Baker’s jaundice, cursed the woman for blaming Lucie. Abbot Campian of St Mary’s said that Jasper spoke of taking vows. That meant the lad was unhappy. At his age, such a mood could be difficult. Owen hoped Lucie would see it as a passing trouble and not fret over it. But the most disturbing news was that outlaws had attacked several large farms outside York. This was the cause of Thoresby’s insistence on his hasty return. Thoresby wanted Owen there, seeing to the defences at his manors. He also complained of much work to be done, a steward’s work. Owen cared nothing for the archbishop’s manors. But what of Freythorpe Hadden? Was the young Daimon capable of defending it? Phillippa was now there alone. What could Lucie do if she heard of trouble at the manor? Alice Baker, Jasper, outlaws. And Owen away for so long. It did not sound as if Brother Michaelo had yet returned when Thoresby wrote the letter. Then Lucie would have the added burden of grief for her father.

Master Edwin was shaking his head over Iolo’s swollen, blood-caked foot. Owen took the opportunity to shift the map from his tunic to Thoresby’s letter, rolling up the map within. He tucked the letter in one of his boots.

He sat back, waiting his turn with the physician, disturbed by thoughts of York. He pushed them aside. He must think how to escape the watchful eye of the friar, for he had no doubt the man would fret over his every move until they were on board ship. But Griffith of Anglesey must be delivered of the map before Owen could think about York. He needed brandywine. A servant’s soft shoes showed beneath the tapestry in the doorway. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Owen walked the few feet to the doorway and made his request.

The brandywine arrived as Edwin’s assistant helped Owen with his tunic.

‘Good,’ said Master Edwin. ‘Pour him a good draught. He will need it when we remove the bandages. This good man would benefit from one also.’ He nodded to Iolo, who lay back against the pillows pale as the costly bed linen, his thin hair clinging to his damp temples.

Owen knew full well the cause of the physician’s comment — he had bled much on his journey from Math and Enid’s farm. The bandage did not part from his flesh easily. The wound must be stitched closed once more. Owen’s side was on fire by the time the physician and his assistant departed.

‘He has not Enid’s gentle touch,’ Iolo muttered when the tapestry fell back across the doorway.

‘Nor her patience,’ said Owen. ‘Why did they not put the brandywine within reach?’

Iolo shouted for a servant. ‘So what says the archbishop?’

‘He commands me to return at once. There is much outlawry in the countryside and he worries about his lands.’

‘And your family?’

Owen was quiet while the servant filled their cups and smoothed the bedding.

‘The lad Jasper is unhappy,’ Owen said when they were alone once more. ‘He thinks to find joy with the brothers of St Mary’s. An ignorant baker’s wife accuses my wife of incompetence. Mostly I worry about Sir Robert’s manor and the troubles in the countryside. My wife’s aunt is assisted by a young steward of little experience.’

‘Then you must hurry home.’

‘First I must see the map into the right hands.’

‘You will seek out Griffith of Anglesey, then, despite the archbishop’s summons?’

‘I cannot think Master Edwin will advise us to travel on the morrow.’

The clouds parted late that afternoon and the sun beat down on the rooftops of York and glistened on the damp gardens. The irises drew Lucie’s eyes away from her stitching, and at last she pushed the linen herb sachets aside and slipped out of the apothecary workshop into the garden. The lacy camomile bowed beneath the weight of the raindrops and its own tiny buds. At the end of the rose beds stood Phillippa, her hair tidy in a white cap, an apron tied neatly at her waist. She used her cane to support her as she leaned over the lavenders to see something behind them. Lucie joined her.