Кэндис Робб - The Lady Chapel

Thoresby did not like it, but desisted. “They’ll be separated for a long while,” Thoresby told Owen as they parted at the minster gate. “I’m going to take Wirthir to Windsor. He can tell the King about Alice Perrers and her family. Who better?”

Owen had begun to walk away, but that made him turn back to Thoresby. “Martin won’t like it. And what sort of reward can he expect?”

Thoresby shrugged. “He is a pirate and a foreigner. I care not whether he likes it or not.”

Owen pulled up the hood of his cloak and walked away, disgusted.

Lucie listened solemnly to Owen’s long tale, saying nothing until he recounted Thoresby’s parting words about Martin. “He learned nothing from his treatment of Jasper! How can he think to deliver Martin to the woman who had arranged his death? Is Thoresby human?”

“Human, yes. But arrogant. He hates Alice Perrers, and nothing is more important than bringing her down. Yet what can we do? Perhaps Martin will find a way to get lost on the way.”

They sat up late, mulling over possible escapes. At last they went up to bed with nothing resolved.

Ambrose made up a pallet next to the brazier while Martin drank some of the brandywine the Archbishop had given him to get through the night.

“I don’t know that we should spend the night here, Ambrose.”

“You want to go to the Abbey now?”

“No. I’d like to get out of the city.”

“Too late for that tonight. The gates are closed.”

“Damn. Well, play something soothing and I’ll try to rest. We must be up early. Before anyone else stirs.”

“What are you worried about?”

“They spent a long time searching for the letter we delivered.”

“What are you getting at?”

“They found nothing, you know.”

Ambrose nodded. “I heard some such pass between them.”

“So who could go with the Archbishop to Windsor and be his witness to the Perrers family’s perfidy?”

The pallet ready, Ambrose sat down next to Martin. “You’re thinking he means to feed you to the lions.”

Martin nodded. His forehead and upper lip were beaded with sweat.

Ambrose felt Martin’s forehead. “You are feverish. You must lie down under the covers and sweat this out if you’re to travel.”

Martin let himself be led to the pallet. Ambrose tucked him in. “Do not worry, Martin. You are not destined to be a martyr.”

Ambrose took up his crowd and played softly until Martin snored. Then he tiptoed around, getting some rope and a good hunting knife. He had work to do before morning.

Lucie tickled Owen’s nose with a feather until he sneezed and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Good morning.”

He lunged for her with a growl.

She giggled and rolled away. “Not yet.” She stood up just out of reach, wrapped in a thick shawl and nothing else. Which was obviously not enough, seeing how she shivered.

Owen, too, felt the cold outside the covers. “Damn you, come back to bed. I don’t want to put my feet down there yet.”

“I know. And you need not if you stay quiet and listen to what I’ve decided.”

Owen retreated under the covers. “What you’ve decided about what?”

“About Martin. Do you promise to lie still and listen?” Her teeth had begun to chatter.

Owen laughed. “Cold out there, eh?”

“My feet are going numb.”

“Then why not come back to bed?”

“You must promise to lie still and listen.”

“That seems reasonable. Why wouldn’t I do that?”

“You have that look in your eyes.”

“What look?”

“Please, just promise. I shall be frostbitten if you don’t hurry.”

“How do you know you can trust my promise?”

“Damn you.” Lucie got back on the bed, but stayed atop the bedclothes, clutching the shawl about her.

“Come on, under the covers before your toes fall off. I’ll behave for a few moments.”

Lucie wriggled under the covers. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, it’s cold this morning. I cannot feel my toes.”

Owen reached under the covers and grabbed her icy feet, holding them in his warm hands. “Now tell me this decision.”

“You are going to Ambrose’s house, as planned, but instead of escorting him to the Abbey, you will warn him and Martin to leave the city.”

“A good plan if Martin were in condition to travel.”

“The Perrers family will destroy him, Owen. He cannot go to Windsor with Thoresby. And once at St. Mary’s, how can he escape?”

“I’ll talk to Brother Wulfstan. Perhaps he can devise a plan.”

Lucie shook her head. “Martin must not go.”

“I don’t want him to go to Windsor either, Lucie. But he cannot escape the city right now. He is too weak.”

“Then we’ll hide him.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet, but we will.”

“Thoresby is no fool.”

“I should have gone to warn them before you woke. But I thought you would be reasonable. That you had a heart and a conscience.”

“I do, damn it. I just cannot see how we can hide a wounded man from the Archbishop.”

Lucie bit her lower lip and thought. Suddenly she sat up, smiling. “We’ll take him to my Aunt Phillippa.”

“Lucie, what would she think?”

“She will agree when she hears what he faces.”

Owen thought about it. Freythorpe Hadden was a large manor. Surely they could keep Martin hidden there.

“All right. I will take him there today.”

Lucie threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, then pushed him away. “Now hurry.”

He stared at her bare shoulders, bare breast where the shawl had slipped away. He moved her feet so that she could feel how she affected him. “You mean for me to go at once?”

She let the shawl fall the rest of the way. “Not quite yet.”

As Owen crossed St. Helen’s Square, he began to have doubts about the plan. How could they be certain that Lucie’s father, Sir Robert, would agree to hide Martin? Freythorpe Hadden was his manor, not Phillippa’s. And even if Sir Robert agreed, could they trust him not to give Martin up when the Archbishop’s men appeared? Not so much perhaps the Archbishop’s, but Thoresby was also Lord Chancellor. Sir Robert had been long in the King’s service. Would he be able to put aside that habit of loyalty?

By the time he reached Ambrose’s door, Owen had decided to make the offer of Freythorpe, but to be honest with Martin about the flaw in the plan.

He knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Waited. Put his ear to the door, heard nothing. But then it was a thick door. He pushed with his shoulder. The door opened. The house was dark, though a few glowing embers in the brazier assured him that someone had been there recently. And had covered the fire.

Owen felt around, found an oil lamp, lit it from the embers, climbed the ladder. A chest in the loft sat open, empty. He went back down the stairs, lit a few more tapers. It appeared that anything of value had been removed from the room. On the floor was a bloody length of rope, and by the back door a bloody footprint. He opened the back door, stepped outside into a pearl gray dawn. No one out here. A few steps from the door the ground was blood-soaked. Some bloody rags had been discarded nearby.

Owen did not know what to make of it. Could something have caused Martin’s wound to bleed so much? Or could someone have broken in last night and attacked Martin and Ambrose? But who? Only the gatekeeper had fled the Scorbys – unless the servants had released Jack and Tanner. Owen could think of no reason the servants would trust that the men would not harm them if released.

Could Martin and Ambrose have staged the blood to confuse him? Had Lucie actually come here during the night and warned Martin? No. She would not have gone through the exercise this morning of coming up with a plan if she’d already set one in motion. That was not the way her mind worked.