Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

An undignified way to eat, but far less embarrassing than spilling it over himself. The nourishment cleared away the cobwebs.

‘You were attacked?’

Had he told her? Perhaps. Henry told him he often muttered in his sleep. ‘The stranger did not mean to attack me. I asked too many questions.’

‘God help us if that is now the accepted response to curiosity.’ Lucie poured a cup of watered wine, handed it to Wulfstan.

He was pleased to discover his hand was much steadier. As steady as it ever was at his age. Seeing the determined set to Lucie’s strong jaw, Wulfstan launched into a full account of the incident. Soon his knee was covered with a soothing ointment and bandaged. And just in time. Simon, the Merchets’ groom, waited without with a donkey cart to take Wulfstan home.

‘I do not need that,’ Wulfstan protested. How would he explain it without alarming Brother Henry and Abbot Campian?

‘He will take you to St Mary’s postern gate,’ Lucie said. ‘I shall not treat you like a child. But I urge you to take a companion when you next go out into the city, my friend.’

‘I do not believe he meant to harm me.’

‘But he did harm you.’

‘I shall pray over it.’

At the door Wulfstan had another disturbing surprise. Magda Digby, the heathen midwife, stood in the entry. Wulfstan knew that Lucie and Owen often worked with Mistress Digby and respected her. But a man of the cloth could not condone her pagan ways. Still, they did say she shared his work in ministering to the victims of the pestilence.

‘Thou tookst a fall, Infirmarian?’

‘I did, Mistress Digby.’

Lucie told Magda of Brother Wulfstan’s accident.

‘Wounded. Clerk’s robe. Smelling of horse, thou saidst?’ the old woman nodded thoughtfully.

Her eyes were sharp, her posture quite upright for her age. Wulfstan had to admire her. From all accounts she was older than he by far. ‘I must not keep the donkey cart waiting.’

But Lucie was watching Magda with interest. ‘This man has crossed your path?’

‘Not in the flesh, but Magda has heard of him. What didst thou have in thy bag?’

‘Vinegar, clean cloths, a sweating tisane, a softening poultice, a knife to lance the blisters,’ Wulfstan frowned. What else? ‘Holy oil, holy water, a crucifix …’ He shook his head. ‘I cannot recall all of it.’

‘A heavy burden, Infirmarian,’ Magda said. ‘Hast thou no assistant?’

‘I want none.’

The old woman pulled a pouch from her voluminous robes, took out a small bottle. ‘A tonic for old bones, Infirmarian. Thou must keep up thy strength for the work ahead of thee.’

Wulfstan hesitated. Her remedies were said to be comforting; but did she say pagan charms over them?

‘It contains naught harmful to thy Christian soul,’ Magda said.

Wulfstan pressed his hands together and bowed towards her. ‘Forgive me.’ He reached for the offering. ‘God bless you, Mistress Digby.’ Surely God would forgive him.

As Owen knelt in the infirmary chapel, gathering his thoughts and praying for guidance, footsteps approached from behind, paused, and retreated in haste. A reaction to his presence that Owen found interesting. He slipped into the shadows and followed the footsteps down into the undercroft of the chapel. But instead of entering the room in which the children were at supper, the footsteps went out of the undercroft door. The early evening sun did not reach the walled yard, but there was enough light for Owen to recognise Don Cuthbert carrying a bundle the size of a blanket. Owen watched with interest as the cellarer disappeared into a storage shed built against the far wall. He emerged empty-handed. The behaviour of a thief?

Owen had planned to meet with Cuthbert on the morrow, but the circumstances changed that. He was about to step from the undercroft door when someone came up behind him.

‘Captain Archer?’

Owen spun round.

‘ Benedicte , Captain.’ The quiet voice belonged to the lay sister Anneys. She must have been one of the women sitting with the children.

He bowed slightly. ‘God go with you.’

‘And with you, Captain.’ Anneys gestured behind her. ‘Did you wish to see the children?’

‘No. I was up in the chapel, I wondered where the stairs would take me.’ And where they had taken the cellarer, who is now lost to me by your courtesy .

‘They tell me you have your countrymen’s gift of song, Captain. The children are fond of singing.’

Owen found the woman’s forthright manner at odds with her humble station. One might mistake her for the nun in charge of the Barnhous. ‘I have no time for such pleasant pastimes at the moment. Might we speak?’

‘Now? I am sorry, but I am helping with the children tonight. One of the sisters is ill.’

‘Pestilence?’

Anneys crossed herself. ‘The first among the sisters, praise God.’

‘She looked after the sick children?’

‘Yes. I shall do so now.’

‘May God be merciful.’

‘I do it willingly. I sat with another victim and did not fall ill: Master Taverner.’

Should he tell her that Julian had not died of plague? Did it matter? Owen had buried victims and he was still healthy. ‘Might I speak with you tomorrow, then?’

Anneys nodded. ‘The children rest just before vespers. I could meet you in the minster yard. I often walk that way.’

‘I shall be there.’ Owen retraced his way up the steps. He was uneasy. Cuthbert might have seen them talking. An innocent pastime. However, if he was the thief he might now know that Owen had followed him. He already knew Owen’s business at the hospital. It was most unfortunate that Anneys had interrupted him.

He noted that there had been no hesitation in the lay sister’s arrangement to meet him on the morrow, no withdrawal to ask permission. It was plain she had not been a servant for long.

The sun was setting, the narrow city streets were dark and cool as Owen headed home. The lamp beside the door was lit to guide him. As he entered, Kate hurried across the hall towards him.

‘Captain! We worried when you did not come home. I will fetch your food.’

Lucie and Magda sat at the table in the hall with brandywine and a bowl of fruit before them. Jasper sat on a bench by the window, mending a shoe.

Owen thought of his meeting with Magda in the early morning and the nag tethered by her house. ‘Have you been to the Ffulford farm?’

‘Aye.’ Magda told him of her journey while he helped himself to brandywine.

‘You think the child is safe there?’

‘Aye. She is a clever one.’

As Owen ate his supper, Lucie told him of Wulfstan’s attack.

God’s blood, what next? ‘The man who stole the child’s horse attacked Brother Wulfstan for his medicines? Have you informed the bailiff?’ He could tell by the look on Lucie’s face that she had not. ‘I have my hands full at the hospital. I cannot search the streets for this man.’

Lucie started, then dropped her gaze. ‘I shall inform the bailiff in the morning,’ she said, her voice tight. ‘It has been a busy day.’

Dear God, of course it had been. Owen grabbed her hand. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to give you an order.’

Lucie nodded, said nothing.

‘Another is abed with boils at St Leonard’s,’ he said, changing the subject.

Magda looked up from her brandywine. ‘A child?’

‘No. The sister who cared for the children in the infirmary.’

‘Thou hast reminded Magda of a task left undone.’ The Riverwoman pushed her stool back from the table, rose with a grunt. ‘A child awaits.’

‘When do you rest?’ Owen asked.

‘When the manqualm passes.’

Kate saw Magda to the door.