Kate Sedley - The Brothers of Glastonbury

But when, half an hour later, just as darkness fell, the three returned home, they had nothing more to impart. There had been no further sighting of Peter since Friday afternoon, when he had last been seen by Abel Fairchild.

Mark Gildersleeve joined us above stairs, having first stabled Dorabella and sent his two apprentices to the kitchens in search of their belated supper. He had refused all his mother’s offers of food, being, he said, too tired to eat.

He was very like his uncle to look at, having the same curling red hair and sturdy, thickset body, although he was, I judged, a good half a head shorter than William Armstrong. His expression was also less truculent, but he could be just as surly when unsure of his ground.

‘Who in the devil’s name is this?’ he demanded, suddenly becoming aware of my presence.

So Cicely repeated her story, once again omitting the fact that I was not really one of the Duke of Clarence’s men. But Mark was more astute than Dame Joan.

‘Why doesn’t he wear livery then?’ he grunted suspiciously.

Cicely would have made up some story — I could see the sparkle in her eyes as she warmed to the deception — but I judged the time ripe to admit the truth.

‘I used to be a novice here at the abbey,’ I said, ‘but I renounced my vocation to become a chapman, a calling much more to my liking. I am however known to my lord of Clarence, having done several small services in the past for his brother, the Duke of Gloucester.’

‘He saved Duke Richard’s life,’ Cicely cut in, and smiled admiringly at me across the table.

I saw Mark shoot her a sidelong glance. He plainly felt it his duty to keep an eye on his volatile cousin. ‘If you’re a chapman, where’s your pack?’ he asked, his tone belligerent.

‘I left it at Farleigh Castle. I shall pick it up again when I return with the horse.’

‘What horse?’

Patiently, I explained about the rouncy and where he was stabled.

Mark Gildersleeve continued to stare dubiously at me. ‘You sound a very strange chapman to me. What were these services you rendered my lord of Gloucester?’

Reluctantly, and as briefly as possible, I sketched in my version of the events which had linked me, in the past, to Duke Richard, but my listener’s frown only deepened.

‘If what you tell me is true,’ he said when I had finished, ‘why are you not a rich man? Why are you still a pedlar? God’s teeth! Do you think I’m a greenhorn?’

Cicely was on her feet, spots of colour burning in her cheeks. ‘You may not be green, but you’re very ill-mannered!’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘Roger is not a liar! Do you suppose that my father would have entrusted me to the care of a stranger if that man hadn’t been recommended to him by the Duke himself? And do you also then accuse my lord of Clarence of being a liar?’

I could see that her hot-headed defence of me was making Mark even more suspicious than he had been before, and I hastened to intervene.

‘Your cousin is justified,’ I told her soothingly, ‘in finding my story at odds with my present condition. The fact is, Master Gildersleeve — ’ and I smiled placatingly at him — ‘that I prefer to be my own master. I have never taken kindly to being at the beck and call of other people. Nor do I like being confined for any length of time between four walls, which was one reason among others that I quit the monastic life. As a pedlar, I do my own bidding and no one else’s. My existence may sometimes be hard, but in terms of freedom I am a wealthy man.’

Mark grunted, his hostility fading somewhat. He poured himself more wine. ‘I can understand that,’ he conceded grudgingly, but then he grew more expansive. ‘I’ve always known what it is to be my own master — or, at least,’ he amended, ‘to work for nobody except my father — and now for Peter, which is the same thing. Or very nearly the same…’ His voice tailed off as he remembered his brother and, with a great groan, he covered his face with his hands.

Dame Joan, affected by this sign of despair, began to cry quietly, the tears trickling unheeded down her cheeks. Only Cicely seemed unable to express her grief — if, that is, she felt any. Instead, she asked, ‘Where do you mean to spend the night, Master Chapman?’ And I felt her kick her aunt’s leg under the table.

I said hurriedly, ‘I shall find somewhere, never fear. I’ve money in my pocket and can procure a place easily enough at one of the ale-houses in the town. If I recall rightly, there are a vast number of them, so I’m certain of getting a bed. They can’t all be occupied by pilgrims.’

Dame Joan shook her head. ‘You must stay here,’ she said, wiping away her tears with trembling fingers. ‘We have only one guest chamber, which must now belong to Cicely until … until…’ She could not bring herself to add ‘until she marries’, but continued bravely, ‘You may sleep in Peter’s bed in his and Mark’s room.’

I glanced quickly at Mark to see how he would respond to this invitation to share his bedchamber, but, to my surprise, he raised no objection. He seemed rather to be sunk in a reverie of his own, not even looking up when Cicely exclaimed, with a clap of her hands, ‘Good! That’s settled! You deserve our hospitality after squiring me all the way from Farleigh.’

I tried to quell her exuberance with as stern a glance as I could muster, but she ignored me, laying a hand on her cousin’s arm and giving it a little shake. ‘Mark! Why don’t we persuade Roger to remain with us for a day or two? On his own admission, he has solved other mysteries. Why shouldn’t he give us the benefit of his past experience and try to discover what has happened to Peter?’

‘Eh?’ Mark blinked at her, obviously not having listened to a word she’d said, and Cicely was obliged to repeat her question. When at last he understood, Mark looked at me doubtfully. ‘Would you be willing to delay your journey?’ he asked. ‘As I understand it, you were on your way home when you reached Farleigh. And what about this cob that has been lent to you from the Duke of Clarence’s stables?’

I hesitated. Here was my chance — the one chance God always gave me — to extricate myself from whatever it was that He had planned. But, as on all the previous occasions, I could not do it. God had bestowed on me the gift of solving puzzles as well as endowing me with an insatiable curiosity. ‘Nosiness’ my mother had called it, and she was probably right.

‘I can spare a few days,’ I said. ‘The weather is still very warm and the evenings light; my mother-in-law and child can do without me a little while longer. As for the rouncy, I doubt it’s one of the more valuable horses in His Grace of Clarence’s stables. Its absence won’t worry the Farleigh grooms as long as they hold my pack in exchange for it. Besides, the groom who was instructed to saddle it for me and Mistress Cicely will probably have moved on with the Duke, and those left behind may care nothing for the transaction, or even know of it.’

‘You’ll stop then?’

It was impossible to tell from Mark Gildersleeve’s tone whether he was pleased by my decision or not. But there was no mistaking the pleasure on Cicely’s smiling countenance, nor Dame Joan’s tearful gratitude, although I did not delude myself that either had any special belief in my abilities to unravel the problem of Peter’s disappearance. I could only hazard a guess at Cicely’s reason for wishing me to stay, and I resolved to keep a wary eye on that young woman. Dame Joan simply looked upon me as just another person to join in the hunt.

‘I’ll stop,’ I agreed, ‘for a day or two at least.’

Mark nodded. ‘Well, the lads and I will be up at first light tomorrow morning to continue the search. Rob and John will go the shorter distances on foot. I shall ride Dorabella to Wells and beyond, so you’d better join me on that rouncy.’