Candace Robb: King's Bishop

Owen met Lucie’s eye and said simply, ‘It seemed an honour at the time.’

‘And so it was. And is.’ Lucie did not look away.

But Owen’s eye slid from Lucie to his daughter. He lifted Gwenllian into the air and murmured, ‘What makes you prouder — Owen Archer, Spy, or Captain Archer, Steward of Bishopthorpe?’

Gwenllian gurgled as she tilted towards him, grabbing for his face.

Bess Merchet hummed a tune as she made her way back to the York Tavern from market. As she approached Wilton’s apothecary she noted Owen Archer striding off in the direction of the minster. By the time he’d turned up Stonegate he had ignored the greetings of two neighbours, a singular lapse in courtesy for Owen. Bess read it as the aftermath of a heated argument in the household, certainly not a rarity, but odd at this early hour, when Tildy, Jasper, and Gwenllian would be witnesses. She hurried home to drop her purchases off with the cook, then slipped next door to see whether Lucie needed a friend’s perspective.

Tildy greeted her at the kitchen door holding Gwenllian on her hip. ‘Oh bless you, Mistress Merchet, you are the answer to my prayers.’ She handed Bess the baby, who immediately grabbed one of the ribbons on Bess’s cap. ‘Mistress Lucie has gone into the shop to give Jasper some instruction and the broth needs stirring.’ Jasper was Lucie’s apprentice, an orphan who was considered part of the family.

Bess bounced and chucked her godchild and followed Tildy into the kitchen. ‘You are in need of an extra hand round here, I can see that, Tildy. Has your mistress done aught about hiring another girl?’

Tildy shook her head. ‘Most days I find a hand ready when I need it. And Gwenllian is often in the shop with Mistress Lucie and Jasper. But Jasper dropped something that must be swept up with care, so Gwenllian stayed with me.’

Bess considered all the facts. ‘The Captain is off to the minster?’

Tildy nodded as she wiped her hands and took up a long wooden spoon to stir the bubbling broth.

Lucie came through the beaded curtain. Gwenllian immediately screwed up her face and began to bawl for her mother.

Bess handed the squirming, squealing baby into Lucie’s outstretched arms. ‘She has you all dancing to her tune, Lucie. Have a care she does not become a burden.’

‘You mind the inn, Bess, I shall mind my daughter,’ Lucie said with a smile as she settled on a cushioned chair by the fire to nurse Gwenllian.

Bess sat down near Lucie and kept her peace until the child was ready to be winded. ‘Owen went off in quite a temper.’

Lucie rubbed Gwenllian’s back. ‘His Grace has a mission for him, something that will take him away. ’Tis nothing unusual, but you would think Archbishop Thoresby had ordered Owen to slay us all in our sleep. He is convinced that all the evil in the world will be unleashed on this house as soon as he steps away.’

Bess sniffed and nodded vigorously. ‘I thought as much. Thoresby’s retainers stopped at the inn last night. I guessed they had been here too.’ She closed her eyes, made more connections. ‘From London, eh? There are rumours John Thoresby will not be chancellor much longer.’

Lucie nodded towards the shelves behind Bess. ‘Look at the silver cup he sent for his godchild.’

Bess was not surprised by the change of subject. Lucie had been raised in a convent school and abhorred gossip, probably the only pupil who had taken the warnings against gossip to heart. Bess turned round to see the cup, rose with an exclamation. It was an extravagant gift for a child, obviously meant as a keepsake, not to use. ‘I am glad that Owen bit his tongue and agreed to the Archbishop’s offer to stand as her godfather. Already Gwenllian has riches to carry her comfortably through life.’ The cup was exquisitely decorated with doves and flowers. Bess used her apron as a cloth to protect it from fingerprints as she turned it this way and that. ‘So. What does Owen fear will happen?’

‘He says he cannot leave me with a babe in arms and an apprentice who is but eleven years old. Who will protect us?’ Lucie tucked the now sleeping baby into her cradle. ‘We have gone round and round about it. I cannot make him see reason. We live in a walled city surrounded by friends, under the protection of a powerful guild, and surely God will watch over Owen’s family while he is serving the Archbishop.’ Lucie settled back in the chair, pressing her fingers to her temples. ‘He hovers over us, Bess. He will drive me mad.’

Bess nodded. ‘I saw it coming while you still carried Gwenllian. Remember his silences, the frowns when he thought you did not see him? You thought he was sorry he was to be a father.’

Lucie smiled, remembering. ‘How wrong I was.’ Owen had been worried that a child would be frightened by his scarred face and his patch. ‘And how wrong he was; Gwenllian adores him.’ Lucie sighed. ‘I had hoped that he might thus see the futility of worry.’

Bess smiled at her friend. Level-headed Lucie expected all mankind to think as she did. ‘A worrier is a worrier, Lucie. Wait for Owen to change and you will go mad. So, what is this mission?’

‘He is to escort Archdeacon Jehannes and a small company to Fountains Abbey. The King wishes to convince the Cistercian abbots to support Sir William of Wykeham as Bishop of Winchester. The Archdeacon will carry letters from the King, from Thoresby as chancellor, and from Wykeham himself, I trust.’

Bess sat forward. ‘Thoresby is doing this for Wykeham, the man poised to take his place as chancellor? I thought John Thoresby loved his power.’

Lucie reached down, smoothed her daughter’s unruly hair, dark and soft as down. ‘It is strange. But with the King so keen on Wykeham’s promotion, Thoresby has little choice but to support the effort.’

‘So Owen is off to make plans with Jehannes?’

‘More likely to complain. I pray God Jehannes has his usual calming effect on my husband.’

‘It is passing strange Owen complains so about his work for the Archbishop, yet grows bored when he is too long at home.’

Lucie smiled, though her blue eyes were melancholy. ‘Owen is a riddle, Bess, one that I doubt I shall ever solve. To him, Captain of Archers was a noble profession. Spying for the old Duke of Lancaster was the least he could do for his lord’s loyalty in keeping him in his service after he lost the sight in his left eye. But his work for the Archbishop of York-’ she shook her head. ‘He thinks a man of God has no business retaining spies. In Owen’s opinion Thoresby is too much the Lord Chancellor and not enough the man of God.’

Bess leaned over and patted Lucie’s arm. ‘Then if the rumours that Wykeham is to become chancellor prove true, Owen might be a happier man.’

Lucie chuckled. ‘Trust you to find the bright side of gossip, Bess. But the Archbishop of York is still a powerful political force. Owen will still be called away. And worry all the while.’

‘You know, Lucie, if an obsession to protect his family is the only thing you find to fault in your husband, you are a lucky woman.’

‘You will not find me denying that.’

Jehannes paced his parlour, hands clasped behind his back. When Owen was shown in, the Archdeacon spun round, hurried forward, arms outstretched, his youthful face brightening. ‘Bless you for coming so quickly, my friend,’ Jehannes said breathlessly, putting an arm round Owen’s shoulders. ‘Please, sit with me by the fire.’ Though outside the day was warm, the stone house had not yet caught the heat, being in a dark street.

Owen settled into the chair, stretched out his long legs, steepled his hands before him. ‘I am curious about what is not explained in the letter.’