Candace Robb - A Vigil of Spies

The air seemed sucked away by all present, and the room became unnaturally still, so still that Owen heard the subtle rustle of silk from Eleanor’s now quite pronounced trembling.

‘How did you do this?’ asked Thoresby, in little more than a whisper.

‘I lay with him, God forgive me.’ She blushed and momentarily looked away. ‘Afterwards, as he slept, I studied the parchments so that my cousin who followed our company, a Neville kinsman, as you already know,’ she glanced at Gilbert, who blushed and looked away, ‘so that Roger might supply me with the number and size of replacements.’ She paused for breath, her hands breaking from the controlled grasp and clutching her elbows in an unconscious embrace. ‘Again I lay with Dom Lambert, and again he slept afterwards, helped by the wine I’d prepared for him, and I traded the blank parchments for the documents that the family was so keen to prevent His Grace from reading.’

‘If they had the documents, why did they want Dom Lambert dead?’ Thoresby asked.

Michaelo’s little sob caught Owen’s attention, but the others were focused on Eleanor and paid no heed to the monk who stood at a distance, guarding the door. Michaelo bowed his head and crossed himself.

Eleanor shook her head and, regaining control of her hands, folded them once more on her lap. ‘They did not want him dead. I had assured them that Dom Lambert had no idea of the content of his pack.’

‘Such a naïve man,’ Ravenser murmured.

Eleanor nodded towards him, her tension rendering the movement uneven, almost sharp. ‘Yes, Sir Richard, he was. I had teased him that it was a simple matter to break a seal, but he would not be tempted. So I had completed my mission for the Nevilles.’

‘Does this mean that you do not know who murdered him?’ Thoresby asked, though he looked at Gilbert, who flicked his eyes towards Eleanor and nodded.

‘God help me, I know all too well. I became so afraid.’ Eleanor took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I lay awake at night thinking of Dom Lambert discovering the blank parchments.’ She looked around at her audience with a yearning air, as if hoping to see their eyes light with understanding. ‘I imagined him suffering humiliation before this man, the great John Thoresby, Archbishop of York. How could he bear such shame? I was certain he would think of me, of our time together, and would realise that it must have been I who had tricked him. Who else? He’d guarded that pack day and night. Except after lovemaking.’

‘He said nothing of you when he discovered the documents had been stolen,’ said Thoresby. ‘He never spoke your name.’

‘More worthy than the rest, God grant him peace,’ she murmured.

She bowed her head. That was the moment when Owen knew for certain that she had murdered Dom Lambert, and his heart felt as if some demon had reached up from hell and clutched it in its blazing, inhumanly strong claw and yanked it, trying to wrench it from his body. That such a beautiful creature could so cold-bloodedly hunt a modest man who had approached an important mission with such simplicity of heart.

‘Tell me that you did nothing to him.’ When Eleanor glanced up at him, Owen realised he’d said it aloud.

Now she spoke to Owen. ‘I wanted to leave the company, run away, to a convent if that was what they wished.’ The pitch of her voice rose and she spoke almost too quickly to articulate. ‘But, through Roger, I was instructed to remain where I was, that, as long as I did nothing, I would not call attention to myself, and that was crucial because I must still watch what happened when Dom Lambert presented the blank parchments.’ She looked around at the others, as if hoping for understanding. ‘My fear did not matter. I was never aught but an unwitting tool.’ For a moment she seemed distracted, as if listening to something that the others could not hear. With her hands on her knees, she leaned slightly forward. Taking a breath, she said, ‘I see now that lack of sleep and — I was unwell. I needed a confessor.’ She moaned, then shook her head. ‘In faith, I don’t know what would have saved me. I was convinced he must die before we reached Bishopthorpe. I had hunted him, now I would bring him down.’ She nodded to herself and seemed to calm a little. ‘I devised a way to loosen his saddle and I tucked a flask of drugged wine in it. He did not fall the first day. Nor did he drink from that flask. But the next day — it had not occurred to me that he would switch horses and saddles with his servant when the horse grew restive. But, when he fell, I knew.’ She hugged herself. ‘I was furious! Not sorry, no, I felt only contempt for the man. He’d noticed something was amiss and left it to his servant.’

A loud voice in the corridor turned the attention towards Michaelo, who reluctantly opened the door once more.

‘Eleanor.’ A man in elegant though travel-stained clothing stood in the doorway between Geoffrey and Alfred. His features were sharply handsome, his eyes hot with pain.

‘No,’ Eleanor whispered.

There was a shuffling of chairs as room was made for the latest arrivals. Magda coaxed Thoresby to sip something she had been heating on the brazier. Owen ordered Alfred to keep his murderous look to himself or Gilbert might not speak up when they needed him. Michaelo splashed his face with some scented water. Sir Lewis moved towards the door, then changed his mind and returned to his seat.

All the while Eleanor stared at her cousin Roger, who grew quite plainly uncomfortable beneath her hungry gaze and shifted in his seat so that he might not see her but rather face Thoresby.

When all were settled, Thoresby said, ‘So you designed an accident that took the wrong life, Lady Eleanor, and Dom Lambert’s attempt to rid himself of an uncomfortable mount won your contempt. What, then, did you do?’

Still she stared at Roger as if dumbstruck.

Thoresby glanced at Roger. ‘Why did you not rescue her from herself?’

Roger sputtered some inane excuse that Owen was too impatient to hear.

‘Your Grace,’ Owen interrupted. ‘If it please you, might we hear the full story before picking it apart?’

Ravenser coughed into his hand. Geoffrey wiped his brow; Owen could not recall ever having seen him so ill at ease. Thoresby grunted and nodded to Eleanor. ‘Continue, Lady Eleanor.’

But she was now glaring at Roger. ‘Rescue me? Oh, but he could not do that or his powerful kin might discard him, the penniless cousin.’ Her voice was thick with loathing.

‘Lady Eleanor, thy temper does thee no favours,’ Magda said, with a little frown and shake of her head.

Miraculously, Eleanor dropped her gaze. ‘I beg the pardon of His Grace and this company,’ she said, though there was no remorse in her voice.

Thoresby patted Magda’s hand.

‘Once at Bishopthorpe,’ Eleanor continued in a quieter tone, ‘I convinced Roger that we must finish the task. It was easy to enlist one of your guards to assist me. All I needed was the bait of the Neville affinity.’

Gilbert crossed himself, keeping his eyes averted.

‘So pious now, Gilbert,’ said Eleanor, ‘but you were so helpful then. It was from you that I learned that Brother Michaelo and Dom Lambert had withdrawn to the monk’s small chamber and what that might mean. I’d no knowledge of Brother Michaelo’s past sin.’

With a pained expression, Thoresby glanced towards the door, where Michaelo stood with head bowed.

Now Eleanor also bowed her head.

When the silence dragged on, Owen took over.

‘Lady Eleanor, did you kill Dom Lambert?’

She straightened a little, but her eyes, though turned towards Owen, seemed to be focused far away.

‘You must understand. I can’t bear you to think I had no cause. As your jongleur’s mistress, having no chance to speak my pain.’