Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

That Thoresby should think it necessary to write such things to him, he who was trusted with Queen’s Phillippa’s purse, and Queen Isabella’s before her! Why had he ridden to York and asked for Archer’s assistance if not because he understood the necessity of ensuring that the name of Ravenser be unblemished?

And yet … He had awakened in the night with the memory of something he had neglected to tell Archer. He shouted for Douglas.

A cup of ale in hand, Owen paced back and forth in Ravenser’s garden. He had just wasted precious time with the master’s servants attempting to draw out memories of an intruder, an unexpected visitor, someone who might have slipped away with the chess set and the candlesticks. But no one remembered anything out of the ordinary, which Douglas had implied was quite typical of servants. Magda would have laughed at the ‘rule’, but Owen had merely asked for some ale to wet his throat before he’d turned his thoughts to something that he hoped would prove more enlightening — the shed behind the Barnhous. When Douglas had seen him pacing the hall, he had invited him to stroll in the garden.

The master’s garden was an enclosed herber, the stone wall almost Owen’s height. Within, tidy herbal borders outlined lovingly tended roses and a small lawn. The sanded path that Owen strode lay between matching arbours, one of which at the moment framed Richard de Ravenser, looking livelier than he had the previous day. Perhaps it was his deep blue houppelande and green leggings. Owen thought it rather elegant dress for a hospital master.

‘ Benedicte , Captain. Fortune places you here in my garden.’

‘ Benedicte , Sir Richard. I fear it is frustration, not fortune that drove me here.’

Ravenser sighed in insincere sympathy. ‘The servants were unhelpful. I have heard. But perhaps I might ease your mood. I have remembered something that I am quite embarrassed to have neglected to tell you.’

‘I am eager to hear something of use.’

‘I cannot promise that it will be of use; but I am not the one to judge. Shall we sit?’ Ravenser had paused beside a turf seat.

Owen accepted the invitation, his curiosity roused, and the pacing and the ale having done their trick of easing his mood.

Ravenser tucked the ends of his houppelande in his belt, sat down, glanced round with a proud smile. ‘A lovely garden is it not? I understand that you have a physicks garden that apothecaries come to study.’

‘Aye. It was my wife’s first husband’s masterwork. She has continued to collect seeds and cuttings from the continent.’

‘Mistress Wilton’s feverfew tisane has no match in all the kingdom.’

Owen knew Ravenser spoke from experience. He was one of their best customers for the headache remedy, ordering large quantities whenever he came to the city. ‘I shall tell her you said so. What was it that you wished to tell me?’

Ravenser smiled. ‘I see that you are anxious to continue. I shall be brief. It is about Laurence de Warrene. I often played chess with him when in residence at St Leonard’s.’ Ravenser proceeded to tell Owen of the evening when Laurence had posed the riddle, and how worried Julian Taverner had been that Ravenser might have repeated it to someone.

How might one unwittingly commit a sin? If none suffer but the guilty, has a wrong been done? Owen had never heard a riddle quite like it — it had no rhyme, and it likely had no answer. ‘Why do you call it a riddle?’

‘What would you call it?’

‘Questions, simply posed.’

Ravenser shook his head. ‘Laurence seemed quite uninterested in my opinion. Besides, being a collector of riddles, I know they come in many forms.’

A collector of riddles? What idleness was this? But Ravenser awaited more discussion. Owen focused his gaze on a rose, thought a while. ‘With two orbs shot wolves and men. With one reveals men’s dangerous secrets,’ he said.

Ravenser shook his head in puzzlement.

‘That is a riddle, Sir Richard.’

The master frowned over it, then brightened. ‘Owen Archer.’ He nodded with approval. ‘Delightful. Let me see-’ Ravenser now gazed out across the garden. ‘Image of a greater man, shared blood, yet melancholic where he is sanguine.’

Well, Owen had not meant to begin a game, but it proved an interesting exercise. ‘You are melancholic?’

‘My physician tells me that is the cause of my headaches.’

‘But you do see the difference? How a riddle’s key is a word, not a yes, or no, or a philosophical discourse on guilt?’

Ravenser was not convinced. ‘Had Laurence desired advice, he would have asked more directly. Our evenings were quite companionable.’

Owen grew weary of Ravenser. ‘I thank you for telling me of it, Sir Richard. Would you object to my looking round one of the sheds behind the Barnhous?’

Pursed lips, as if suppressing a smile. ‘Do not tell me you suspect one of the children? Or Dame Beatrice?’

‘I observed your cellarer in there last night. He went in with a bundle, departed empty-handed, and his behaviour was that of someone anxious not to be seen.’

Ravenser looked suddenly anxious. ‘Don Cuthbert is troublesome but trustworthy, Captain. I have ever considered him so.’ He paused. ‘Still. Why would he use a shed so far from his cell?’

‘That is what I should like to find out.’

‘I pray you, proceed.’

Owen’s request flustered sweet-faced Dame Beatrice. ‘Do you fear someone has left something dangerous in there? Sweet Jesu .’ She crossed herself, blinked rapidly. ‘Shall I take the children to the yard?’ Her colour was rising.

‘I pray you, do not be alarmed. It has naught to do with the children, or danger. Is it a shed that you use?’

‘Yes. Yes, indeed, we do. The children’s possessions — gifts, some items their mothers brought to the hospital …’ The sister broke off abruptly, frowning down at her folded hands.

‘Then you do not mind-’

Dame Beatrice shook her bowed head. ‘That odd child. Whatever shall we do with her?’

‘About my searching the shed …’

The gentle eyes met his. ‘Forgive me. But then, you might be of help with her. She tells me that she knows you.’

‘Who?’

‘Alisoun Ffulford.’

He had forgotten that he had seen them together in the yard earlier. ‘I buried her family. That is all. She is giving you trouble?’

‘She wishes to stay here. Don Cuthbert has granted permission, though reluctantly.’

‘But she has kin.’

‘None with whom she chooses to live.’

‘She is a wilful child.’

‘Heaven forgive my saying so, but she is, she is, Captain. A pouch heavy with the Lord only knows what and she will not let me put it in the shed.’

‘Two items will be a bow and a quiver of arrows, I have no doubt.’

The sister looked dismayed. ‘And what is a child doing with such a weapon?’

‘Defending herself.’

‘From whom, for pity’s sake!’

‘Might I search the shed, sister?’

‘Yes, of course. You are a busy man and I am keeping you. You are welcome to it.’

‘Would you be so kind as to accompany me? You might quickly see whether anything is there that should not be.’

‘Oh, indeed.’

When they stepped into the dark shed, Owen opened the shutter on the lantern he carried and despaired. Though it was a small shed, it was crammed from ground to sloping roof with barrels, crates, and on top of these bundles of cloth and leather, some hides. Don Cuthbert was short. Where might he have hidden something?

As if hearing his silent question, Dame Beatrice reached into the darkness behind the door and dragged out a ladder. ‘Are you looking for something as large as a barrel or crate?’ she asked, suddenly all business.