Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

‘He is worried about the very rumours you repeated, Bess.’

‘Oh, aye. He is right to worry.’ She suddenly tossed her head, letting her ribbons bob merrily and gave him her most engaging smile. ‘You would not …’

‘No, Bess. I want no part of it. You would soon grow impatient with me anyway. My skill as a spy is naught compared to yours.’

Bess’s expressive face was caught between a smile and a frown.

Owen had no intention of being drawn into Bess’s concerns. He had worries enough with the children away, Lucie’s melancholy, the pestilence, Thoresby’s absence and the constant stream of frightened customers begging for plague cures. Bess had time to spare at present — pestilence meant few travellers, and many folk avoiding public places as much as possible. But she was a good friend. Perhaps a suggestion.

‘Don Erkenwald is also uneasy. You might speak to him.’

‘I doubt Cuthbert will let me.’

‘I have never known anyone strong enough to stop you when you are determined, my friend.’

Barker the gatekeeper bowed stiffly and gingerly placed two Italian glass goblets on the cellarer’s table.

Cuthbert recognised them as part of the set missing from the guesthouse. ‘You found these in your search?’ He had ordered a search of all the spital and the houses in the city belonging to St Leonard’s.

‘In the room of Mistress Staines, Domine .’ Barker wiped his hands on his doublet. ‘And other items I did not care to bring. Personal, you see. But not of a sort should belong to a lay sister.’

Cuthbert closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, rocked on his feet. Honoria de Staines. So he had been a fool to trust her. ‘What other items, Barker?’

A pause.

The cellarer glanced at the gatekeeper, noted his red face. ‘Personal items, you said. Shifts, perhaps?’

Barker nodded with grateful enthusiasm. ‘Aye, Domine . Of finest silk they are. And a wimple of heavy silk. I thought to tell you. To my mind ’tis not fitting a lay sister should own such things.’

Indeed not. But a whore might. Or a thief. ‘You were quite right, Barker. And these goblets, where in her room did you find them?’

‘Hidden in a chest. Wrapped in some old cloths.’

‘I see. Did you find anything else? Naught in any other rooms or elsewhere within St Leonard’s liberty?’

‘Naught, Domine .’

Only the woman who had so fooled him. His fellow Austins would be much amused. ‘God go with you, Barker. You have done a good day’s work.’

Cuthbert sent for Honoria.

She entered his parlour, hands folded meekly, eyes downcast. ‘Don Cuthbert. They have told me what you found.’ She was a small woman with a soft, caressing voice, even now when she must be fearful.

‘Can you explain yourself?’

‘It is not what you think. I am guilty of betraying your trust, yes, I admit to that. But I did not steal the goblets.’

‘Why then did you hide them away?’

‘Italian glass goblets were mentioned as missing from the guesthouse. I worried lest my fellow sisters might think mine were those goblets.’

‘They are of the set.’

Only now did Honoria lift her eyes to meet Cuthbert’s. They were wide set, round, like a doe’s. ‘Of the set? But that cannot be.’

‘Whence came the goblets?’

She returned to her study of the floor. ‘They were a gift.’

‘From whom?’

‘I would rather not say, Domine ,’ she said quietly but firmly.

‘He may be the thief of St Leonard’s, Honoria. You will tell me.’

‘He cannot be. They were his to give. He swore that they were.’

‘You would protect this man, though your own salvation be forfeit for him? Excommunication is the punishment for one who enters the hospital to do violence or to steal. Did you know that?’ Cuthbert thought he detected a shiver.

But Honoria’s voice was still calm as she said, ‘God will not so punish me for something of which I am innocent, Domine .’

‘You deny that you stole the goblets. Yet you confess you have betrayed my trust. Have you lain with men since taking your vows?’

She dropped to her knees, touched her forehead to Cuthbert’s feet. ‘I am innocent of what you accuse me.’

Cuthbert backed away from her. ‘You have made a fool of me once, Mistress Staines. You shall not a second time.’ He walked to the door with purposeful strides that made him feel tall. ‘Barker!’ he shouted.

Ravenser allowed himself only one night at his uncle’s manor of Bishopthorpe, then headed towards his duty in York.

On the road, his company encountered a group of pilgrims making their way to the shrine of St John of Beverley, tattered folk with the smell of death upon them. Ravenser’s squire moved to block their access to his master. But Ravenser ordered Topas to stand aside while he blessed the pilgrims. It was not that he approved; he wished such folk would stay at home, not spread the pestilence abroad and particularly to his beloved city of Beverley. For surely they carried the poisonous air about them, these folk who had lived among the victims, sat with them at their death beds, buried or burned their corpses. But he would not deny them his blessing. Still, when he was finished, Ravenser held a ball of ambergris close to his nose as protection and rode on; all in his company appeared discomfited by the encounter, especially his clerk Douglas, who gazed about him with haunted eyes, one hand protectively covering his broad middle.

Just outside the gates of York, the company came upon a man, wrapped in animal skins and clutching a shepherd’s crook, who stood upon a rock warning all who passed of the coming of the Antichrist, made manifest in the form of healers. ‘Seek ye not asylum from the Lord’s wrath!’

Ravenser had never been so relieved to see Micklegate Bar. The gatekeeper smiled with surprise at the hearty greeting from the Master of St Leonard’s. But once within, Ravenser saw that the city, too, was changed with the fear that hung over the people. The pillory at Holy Trinity stood empty, folk hustled along with heads down, the fishmongers on Ouse Bridge protected themselves with cloths covering their faces, though they still shouted their wares.

Their muffled voices brought a memory that startled and unnerved Ravenser, a vivid vision of his mother hurrying him past a leper who cried out for alms. His mother had gripped Ravenser’s hand tightly and pulled him along. He did not know where the incident had occurred, but he remembered how frightened he had been when he’d recognised his mother’s fear. Had it happened during the visitation of the plague when he was a child? Is that why he remembered it? Or was it simply the fishmongers’ cloth masks that brought back the moment so clearly? God brought on such visions; what was Ravenser to make of it? Exceedingly uneasy, he crossed himself and trudged on with his men towards St Leonard’s, trying to keep his eyes on his feet. He wanted no more visions.

Topas stayed close, sensing his master’s discomfort. And he was shortly needed. As the company passed along the west corner of St Helen’s Square, a man came rushing towards them, his eyes fixed on Ravenser. Topas moved quickly to block his way.

But Ravenser noted the goldsmith’s emblem on the man’s vest and cap. His guild was wealthy, much given to charitable gifts. Ravenser stepped from behind Topas.

‘Sir Richard, these are dangerous times,’ Topas warned under his breath. ‘Trust no one.’

But Ravenser had his priorities. ‘You have business with me, Master Goldsmith?’

The man took off his cap, bowed with respect. ‘Sir Richard. I am much relieved to see you in the city.’