Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

It was mid-afternoon before Magda led the nag up the track to the Ffulford farm. She had no reason to expect the child to be there except that it felt right. Time enough to move on to Alisoun’s kin if the farm was deserted. Magda tethered the nag to a branch out of sight of the barn, a nice grassy spot to entice her into quietly grazing. Then the midwife moved up the track on foot.

All was still. But someone watched her, she was certain. As she meandered round the yard, checking sheds and circling the barn and the house, she glanced at the area from which she sensed the eyes. A dark shadow against the trunk of an oak satisfied her. The child hid in the tree, observing Magda’s exploration. It was not a tree from which Alisoun might glimpse the horse.

On her next circuit, Magda entered the house, checked that the child yet had food, admired Alisoun’s cleverness. She came for the food stored within, but walked in the shadows so that the floor looked dusty, the house uninhabited.

Outside, Magda made her way to the barn, struggled with the door, opening it wide. Inside, she examined the hay, thought to pull some fresh hay down for the nag, but, remembering the child’s defence of the loft, changed her mind. The child might be clever enough to fashion a trap. Magda had no time for that.

Satisfied that the child was present, and well enough to feed herself and keep her wits about her, Magda retrieved the nag, led her into her stall in the barn. Emerging into the bright sunshine, Magda sighed. It had been pleasant, having a mount for a day. But the gods had given her feet for a purpose.

Beneath the child’s tree, Magda paused, shading her eyes against the sun as she peered up into the branches. A dirty foot confirmed her suspicions. ‘Magda has returned thy property. Thou shouldst not be so generous, child, to loan a stranger thy horse, be he wounded or no. Magda lives beneath the dragon ship upriver from York. Thou canst find her there.’

Her mission accomplished, Magda took her way home.

Owen held the dark red knight in his palm, felt its heft. ‘Fine ivory. Heavy. How would a set of such pieces be removed without the servants noting it, I wonder? Where was the set kept?’

Ravenser had retired to his room with a headache. Douglas had been offered as a guide. The plump clerk indicated a trunk on the opposite side of the room, near the window. ‘On that trunk, but the side farthest from the window.’

‘I was not thinking the thief reached in for it. Standing so at a window, reaching in for each piece, a man would be noticed.’

Douglas ducked his head. ‘Of course.’

Owen had not meant to embarrass the man. He liked Douglas. The man had so far dealt with him without guile. ‘Be thankful you have no need to think of such things.’

‘To be observant is a skill one might use for many tasks.’

‘Where were the candlesticks?’

‘By the door,’ Douglas said, pointing towards a shelf conveniently placed for one entering the room to set down or pick up a light.

‘Can you show me from where the other items were taken?’

‘Some of them. A few the cellarer will need to show you. The blankets, for example. But I can show you where items disappeared from in the church.’

Vespers over, Don Cuthbert headed to his garden. That morning he had encountered two black rats on the path, their snouts twitching with delight over an early apple, a bruised windfall that should have been found long before it rotted and attracted the noxious creatures. Cuthbert had ordered a servant to search for any more rotting fruit hidden beneath the foliage in the vegetable bed. As he approached, he noted a dark-gowned figure hurrying away from him and bristled with indignation. Did she think to escape his inspection? No doubt she had idled away the afternoon. He strode into the garden, fists clenched, ready to give battle.

But it was the lay sister Anneys who turned as he called out. She clutched a dark bundle and looked ill at ease. As she should. Lay sisters were not invited to walk in this garden.

‘ Benedicte , Don Cuthbert.’

‘ Benedicte . Might I ask what errand brings you into the cellarer’s garden?’

She held her burden out to him. It was a leather pouch. ‘I noticed this as I walked past. Lying in the path. I thought someone had dropped it, but then I discovered no one about.’

Cuthbert held out his hands. ‘I shall take it. Now if you would-’

Anneys withdrew the offering and took a step backwards. ‘It is naught that might be of use to you.’

‘You opened it?’

A smile meant to disarm. ‘For a good cause, I assure you. I thought to discover to whom I should return it.’

‘And who is that?’

‘It contains medicines and bandages. Perhaps Master Saurian the physician dropped it.’

‘Master Saurian fled the city at the first sign of pestilence, as you know. But in truth, were he here he would have no more business in my garden than you do.’

At last Cuthbert detected some discomfort. Anneys lifted her shoulders in a gesture of defeat. ‘Someone in the infirmary?’

‘I have no time for childish guessing games.’ Cuthbert straightened to his full height, but the damnable woman still towered a head above him. No matter. He had the authority. He held out his hand. ‘I will have it. And you will return to your duties.’

‘But-’

‘I will suffer no arguments.’

The woman dropped the bag in his hands and hurried away.

Medicines, she had said. Cuthbert had seen Captain Archer following the master’s clerk across the yard earlier. Might he have misplaced this while he snooped in the garden? It tickled Cuthbert to think of the one-eyed spy searching for his pouch. It was wrong of the master to engage an outsider. The man had no right to be here, no right to question the canons and nuns. Or the lay brothers and sisters. So. His pouch. Cuthbert thought he might put it safely away and then forget about it.

Brother Wulfstan awoke confused. Had he moved his cot? The window should be above his head, not across the room. And so far across. His cell was not so long. He closed his eyes, felt his head. Often when he burned with fever he felt as if he were shrinking or the room expanding. He remembered that feeling from childhood. So long ago. Why could he remember that, but not whether he had moved his cot? But of two things he was certain. He had no fever, and his window was in the wrong place.

‘Brother Wulfstan?’ a low, gentle voice. Female. ‘Brother Wulfstan, are you awake?’

He opened his eyes. Lucie Wilton leaned over him, her eyes dark with worry.

‘Why has my window moved?’ he asked.

Lucie frowned, obviously finding it puzzling, too.

‘I knew it was not right,’ Wulfstan said.

Lucie pressed his hand. ‘You are in the workroom of the apothecary. Remember? You fell in the street.’

Fell in the street? He remembered no- Ah. The stranger. He flexed his hand, felt the scraped flesh already tightening. ‘Yes. I caught the fall with my hand.’

Lucie nodded. ‘And cut your cheek.’

His right knee burned, too. ‘He wanted my medicines.’

Lucie frowned. ‘He?’

‘The stranger.’

She glanced round to someone behind her.

Jasper stepped forward. ‘Shall I help you sit up?’

‘Bless you, my son. I would like that.’

The lad was strong, which was good, for Wulfstan found it was difficult for him to bend in the middle without much groaning, which would worry Lucie. He must have bruised half his body in his fall. When Jasper let him down he rejoiced in the plump cushions stacked behind him. Sinfully comfortable.

Lucie sat in a chair beside him, holding a bowl of fragrant broth. ‘Shall I help you?’