Candace Robb: The Riddle Of St Leonard's

‘Do not rejoice yet,’ Rich said. ‘Listen.’

Lame John tensed and listened, heard horses approaching. On hands and knees he crept backwards into the wood, an awkward, jerking motion with his uneven legs. Rich followed.

Anneys and Alisoun heard the horses. As one they gathered the corners of the cloth on which they had placed the treasures, pulled them together. Anneys slung them over her shoulder and stumbled. Alisoun put an arm round her and helped her walk beneath the load. Past the barn, the house, through the meadow with its clutching and clinging weeds, and at last to the bank and the boat. Anneys dropped the bundle and sank down beside the boat to catch her breath.

Alisoun was uneasy. ‘Someone has been here.’

Anneys wiped her face with a cloth dipped in river water. ‘How do you know?’

‘We left the boat on its side. It now sits upside-down.’

Anneys turned it over, placed the bundle in the prow. ‘Come. Our pursuers are behind us on horseback.’

Alisoun stood firm. ‘Take out the bundle. We must see whether someone damaged the boat.’

Paying no heed, Anneys pushed the boat down the bank. ‘Come along or stay behind, ’tis all the same to me.’

It was not all the same to Alisoun. With misgivings, she joined the woman. ‘Climb in. I will pull you on to the water,’ she said as an offering to win back Anneys’s favour.

With a satisfied nod, Anneys picked up the oar, climbed into the boat and settled herself in the stern. Alisoun pulled the boat down into the river. At once it began to take on water and list drunkenly. She grabbed the bag of treasures. ‘Jump out,’ she shouted to Anneys.

Paying her no heed, Anneys clutched an overhanging branch to steady herself as she grabbed for the bundle. ‘Where do you think to go with them? Get into the boat.’

‘Can you not see the hole?’ The water gurgled into the prow. ‘For pity’s sake, sit down and I will try to guide you back to the bank before you sink.’

‘Do you think me a fool?’ Anneys let go of the branch and lunged for the bundle. The boat twisted as it caught the current and began to drift from the shore, dragging Anneys with it.

‘Kick yourself loose while you are in the shallows,’ Alisoun shouted. She watched helplessly as the current pulled the listing boat down and away, into the deeper water. Anneys could not swim, nor, it had been plain as they’d rowed upriver, had she much experience in handling a boat. And weakened with fever …

Alisoun dropped the bundle on the bank and ran back towards the farm, hoping that the riders had reached the yard.

*

Don Erkenwald reigned in his horse and pointed to the shadows at the edge of the wood.

‘They heard us,’ Owen said. ‘Pity.’ He had hoped that Anneys and the child might be making enough noise with their shovels to mask the sounds of their approach. ‘Ride on as if we have not seen them. We shall tether our horses on the fence near the trees in which they hide.’

With a grin, Erkenwald urged his horse forward.

Owen made note of the trench of disturbed earth along the fence. So the child had buried the items there. And already dug them up?

‘Captain Archer!’ Alisoun Ffulford ran across the yard with an awkward gait, her hem heavy with mud. She waved her arms and shouted, ‘Ride to the river! She is drowning!’

The child had come from the river; so who hid in the wood? An important question, but there was no time for it at present. The river took its victims quickly.

When Owen reached the bank, he saw no sign of Anneys or a damaged boat, heard no cries for help. All he heard was the river lapping the bank and the insects buzzing near his ears. He had played the fool. The child’s story had been a ruse to lure him and Erkenwald away from the trench where presumably the stolen items had been buried. Anneys was no doubt hiding in the wood by the barn with another accomplice, and the boat hidden somewhere in the brush on the riverbank.

As he resolved to turn back, Owen heard a faint cry. He turned round, thinking it was Alisoun running up behind him. But the cry came again, clearly from behind him now, out on the water.

Erkenwald shouted, ‘Look you! By the rock downstream, near the bank.’

There it was, a battered boat caught in a tangle of weeds and saplings.

Alisoun had reached the bank. ‘Help her! The prow has been damaged and Mistress Anneys cannot swim.’

‘She is in the boat?’ Erkenwald asked.

‘Yes. Hurry!’

‘She may yet be safe. The weeds seem to be holding it afloat.’

Alisoun grabbed Owen’s foot in the stirrup. ‘She is weak with fever, Captain. Please. Hurry. She will die.’

Owen dismounted. ‘Come. We may need your help as well, child.’ He led his horse down along the bank. Erkenwald dismounted and followed.

After a brief burst of activity, the shop grew quiet once more. Lucie left her work and stood in the doorway gazing towards Stonegate, hoping to see Owen step out into St Helen’s Square. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, she grew more and more concerned about Owen’s safety, Wulfstan’s condition, Jasper’s silence. And beneath that was the painful yearning for Gwenllian and Hugh. Jasper came up behind her, slipped his arms round her, pressed his head against her back. Lucie turned and hugged him.

‘Come,’ she said, ‘let us close the shop and go to Brother Wulfstan.’

Bess tried to busy herself in the tavern, but the thought of the man in St Leonard’s gaol was finally too much to resist. She marched to the hospital and demanded to see Sir Richard.

‘You might prefer to speak with Don Cuthbert,’ Douglas said, his hands folded on his comfortably padded stomach. The corners of his mouth fought an urge to smile; his eyes were not so successful in solemnity.

Suppressed laughter annoyed Bess. Cheer that must be hidden was at someone’s expense. ‘What amuses you?’

‘Amuses me? By Christ’s rood, Mistress Merchet, I am merely happy to be leaving York.’

‘How can you be leaving?’

‘It seems we have caught the thief and shall shortly also have the murderer.’

‘Captain Archer has returned? I had not heard.’

‘No, not yet. But Sir Richard is confident.’

‘Sir Richard is a fool to act on expectations.’

‘We do not leave at once. His Grace the Archbishop arrives tomorrow and will dine here. But we hope to depart by the week’s end.’

‘Ah. Archbishop Thoresby returns. Does he arrive with his dismantled house?’

‘A portion of it, yes. He rides ahead of the slow-moving barge.’

‘People are dying all round and the nephew entertains, the uncle plays with his lavish tomb. No wonder God is punishing us. ’Tis a pity He is punishing the wrong people.’

‘Mistress Merchet, you tread dangerously.’

‘I shall leave you to your packing, Douglas. Where might I find Don Cuthbert?’

Brother William directed Lucie and Jasper to Abbot Campian’s house. ‘My lord abbot has moved Brother Wulfstan to his quarters.’

Lucie caught her breath. Of course she had known there was scant hope Brother Wulfstan would survive the pestilence, but to have withdrawn Brother Henry’s care seemed a premature admission of defeat. Lucie reached for Jasper’s hand, clasped it firmly for comfort as she led him through the abbey grounds to Campian’s house.

They were met at the door by Brother Sebastian, Campian’s secretary, his pale, ageless face solemn as he bowed and led them to the abbot’s parlour. Even before they reached it, Lucie could smell the incense of burning juniper wood. As Sebastian opened the door the smoke drifted out, an aromatic but unhealthy, too heavy fog. The room was also too hot for the summer evening. The abbot had placed Wulfstan’s bed before a briskly burning fire. It was no wonder the infirmarian struggled for breath. ‘Give him some air, I pray you!’ Lucie said as she moved towards a casement window.