King's Bishop (Owen Archer Book 4) Page 7

  Owen wiped his hands on a cloth, draped it over his lap, clean side up, and pulled Lucie down. ‘I won’t pretend I’m sorry to hear you are already missing me. I’ve been thinking you wanted me out from underfoot.’

  Lucie took a cloth and gently wiped his face. ‘You drive me mad at times, ‘tis true, my love. But I would have you no other way. And I would have you home and safe, not riding north in this uncertain season on the King’s business.’

  Owen grabbed the hand that held the cloth, kissed Lucie’s palm. ‘How do you know the company is here?’

  ‘Tom Merchet told Jasper.’

  The bell on the shop door announced a customer. With a groan, Lucie began to rise. Owen held her down. ‘Let Jasper see to them.’

  ‘He has gone out to watch the company come across the bridge.’ Lucie stood, brushed her skirt, kissed Owen’s forehead.

  ‘Mistress Wilton? Captain Archer?’ a young, reedy voice called from the front of the house.

  They looked at each other. ‘Harold,’ they said together. Archdeacon Jehannes’s clerk. Owen rose, hugged Lucie, went into the shop. Lucie followed with a heavy heart, knowing Harold would be summoning Owen to meet the company.

  Harold bowed to them. ‘God go with you, Mistress Wilton, Captain Archer. I am sent to ask the Captain to come to my master’s house after vespers. The King’s men are to arrive shortly.’

  Vespers, Lucie thought. And then Owen’s mind would be filled with the coming mission. His eyes would shine with the prospect. For though Lucie had no doubt that Owen loved his family, she knew he could not be happy long without a battle, or at least a good problem to solve, preferably outside York. She had warned him when he chose to stay in the city as her apprentice that he would tire of the life. And since Lucie had predicted it, Owen tried to hide his yearning for action from her – but she knew him far too well to miss the signs, the pacing, the stretching, the cutting of too much firewood.

  Owen nodded to Harold. ‘Tell the Archdeacon I shall be there.’

  After Harold departed, Owen held his arms out to Lucie. Grateful that he understood her mood, she stepped into his embrace.

  Their quiet moment did not last long. Soon Jasper came puffing in, obviously winded from a good run. ‘God go with you,’ he cried, then hesitated at the door.

  Lucie could see that he was about to burst with news. She moved away from Owen, smoothed her apron and the kerchief holding up her hair. ‘What is it, Jasper?’

  ‘It’s Ned leading the company! Did you know? Was it to be a surprise?’

  Owen frowned. ‘Ned Townley?’ The boy nodded. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I would not mistake him,’ Jasper said. The lad had been quite taken with Ned when he had met him the previous summer. ‘So you did not know. And I have been first to tell you.’ Jasper was pleased.

  ‘Why would he be part of the company?’ Lucie asked, suddenly adding another worry to her growing list. Was this a matter requiring more armed men? ‘You did not tell me that there would be need for two such fighters as you and Ned.’

  Owen squeezed Lucie’s shoulder. ‘We do not know that is the case, though it is possible.’ He shrugged. ‘We shall know soon enough. It would be very like the Archbishop to lead me into trouble with nary a word of warning.’

  As Archdeacon of York, Jehannes had a substantial house near the minster. It was simply furnished, his spiritual life being that which drew his attention. Neither hangings nor painted plaster softened the walls, nor embroidered cushions the chairs. But the fire was welcoming and the food and wine were good.

  However, this evening the room seemed more ascetically furnished than usual, with Ned Townley’s elegance radiating from the corner, standing as a contrast against the dark walls. Even in his travelling gown and leggings, Ned looked too elegant for the room, the clasp on his travelling cloak a heavy circle of bronze, his leather belt intricately tooled and clasped with a silver buckle, the sheath of his dagger tipped in silver, his boots of fine make, his hair precisely cut to frame his handsome face.

  Owen lounged in the doorway as he took in Ned’s appearance. ‘So you’ve taken to baiting the thieves in the forests, flaunting Lancaster’s generosity to his spy?’

  Ned had begun to cross over to greet his friend, but he hesitated at the comment, his smile frozen. ‘Baiting … ?’

  Owen nodded towards the ornate scabbard. ‘A bit of silver to lure them?’

  Ned glanced down, then laughed and slapped Owen on the back. ‘I must keep the King’s men in fighting form, my friend. How better than to invite attack?’

  ‘You will not wear the silver on the road?’ Jehannes asked with a worried frown.

  Ned wiped the grin off his face when he saw the Archdeacon’s concern. ‘Fear not. I am no fool.’

  Owen slapped his friend on the back, nodded to Jehannes. ‘He is a good man, I assure you.’ He turned his good eye on his friend. ‘I am glad to see you, Ned, never doubt it, and glad to have you riding with me. But knowing you as I do, I know there’s a story to why you are part of this company. And the others who join our company in York will ask. It is common knowledge that Lancaster opposed Wykeham’s advancement to the Privy Seal, believing he climbed too high. Bishop of Winchester, Lord Chancellor – the titles would make Wykeham even more powerful. As Lancaster’s spy, it’s passing strange you would come with us to speak for Wykeham in this matter – unless Lancaster has had a change of heart?’

  Ned raised an eyebrow, burst into hearty laughter. ‘Nay. The enmity goes too deep for that.’

  ‘Then come, my friend. Sit down and tell us how it is you are here.’ Owen joined Jehannes near the fire, motioned to Ned.

  Ned returned to his seat, settled back in his chair, nodded. ‘It was not my design to hide the sad circumstances that bring me here. I merely waited for the proper moment.’

  Jehannes asked Harold to pour wine. ‘You may speak in front of my clerk, Master Townley. Harold can be trusted.’

  ‘To be sure, it is nothing so horrible that I need worry about Harold,’ Ned said. ‘My fault is merely loving too well and acting a fool.’ As he sipped his wine he told them of his unfortunate argument with the page Daniel on the evening of the lad’s death. ‘His protectors in Wyndesore’s household did not believe my assurance that I could not have followed him from the hall and murdered him. It seemed wise to remove me from Windsor Castle while Daniel’s death was fresh in people’s minds.’

  ‘But you are most unjustly accused,’ Jehannes said with a look of dismay. ‘Had no one a thought to clearing your name?’

  ‘Oh, aye, my lady’s mistress, Alice Perrers, declared me innocent, and that was enough for the King. And more than that they could not easily do, eh? Even the King cannot return to that night and follow Daniel. Would that he could. I would be grateful for a means to prove to my Mary that I did not touch the lad.’

  ‘Your Mary?’ Owen grinned. ‘You do sound as if you have lost your heart at last.’ And to someone in Mistress Perrers’s household.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You look a bit sad for such good fortune, Ned.’ Owen could always read Ned’s eyes.

  ‘’Tis a painful thing, love.’

  ‘But you said you were with her that night,’ Jehannes said. ‘Does she share the blame?’

  ‘’Tis not that sort of blame. What she says is that he drank too much that evening because of our argument; and the drink killed him.’

  Owen thought that a bit of wrongheaded reasoning. ‘But surely you do not believe that? Are we to be blamed for another’s mistaken impression of us?’

  ‘Of course I do not agree with Mary. In faith, had I frightened Daniel, had he feared for his safety, he would have stayed sober. Else he was a fool. Either way, I cannot see how I am to blame.’

  Jehannes sat forward. ‘And all this has naught to do with the Duke of Lancaster? You have no secret instructions to subvert our mission?’

  Ned glanced at Owen with raised eyebrows. ‘First Mary, now the good Arc
hdeacon. I find myself a man much distrusted of a sudden.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Jehannes said, ‘but I must know.’

  ‘He has understandable concerns,’ Owen agreed.

  ‘Rest easy, sir. My lord knows naught of this mission, or shall hear of it too late to prevent it. I tell you it is my suspicion that Mistress Perrers put my name forth. She is eager to separate me from my love. When I am out of sight, she will try to shift Mary’s affections to someone more suitable.’

  ‘The mighty Alice Perrers has ambitions for Mary?’ A selfless affection? Owen found that interesting indeed.

  Ned looked weary. ‘Mistress Perrers told Mary I shall lead her down a path of poverty and disappointment.’

  Owen was happy for his friend’s new-found heart. He made a decision. ‘Then you must prove yourself worthy, Ned, that is all. Archdeacon Jehannes should ride directly to Fountains; I prefer not to risk his eminence and the important documents he carries. So I need a separate company to ride to Abbot Richard at Rievaulx and escort him west across the moors to Fountains for the meeting. I shall appoint you captain of Abbot Richard’s escort.’

  Jehannes let slip a chirp of dismay. As heads turned towards him, he lifted his hands, palms up, his expression one of apology. ‘Forgive me, but am I not to be consulted? We had not discussed dividing the company.’

  ‘I assure you Ned is a good man,’ Owen said. ‘I can think of no one better able to deliver Abbot Richard safely.’

  Ned cleared his throat. ‘I am honoured by the sentiment, my friend. But I think it best the Archdeacon choose his man. Only Our Lord might guarantee a choice of men. And the Archdeacon is closer to Him than you or I.’

  Owen was pleased. It seemed love had steadied his headstrong friend. ‘You grow wise, Ned. I agree. It is best to let Jehannes decide.’

  Jehannes rose, clasped his hands behind his back, moved over to the fire, stared down into it. The room was quiet while he considered. After a long while, he returned to his seat, lifted his cup. ‘To Ned, second in command.’

  Owen grinned, raised his cup. ‘To Ned.’

  Ned beamed. ‘Then it is agreed.’

  Lucie did not share Owen’s certainty. ‘Might there not be enmity hidden among the others that would flare up once they are up on the moors, far from witnesses?’

  ‘They might as easily have struck on the road to York. Yet they did not.’

  ‘They were on the King’s road to York and know full well the penalty for breaking his peace. But the road to Rievaulx Abbey is a different matter.’ Lucie spoke softly and in pleasant tones while she nursed Gwenllian. But the expression on her face said, ‘Beware.’

  Owen struggled to concentrate on tactics rather than the appealing scene before him, Lucie’s hair tumbling down over her sleepy-eyed daughter, her finger held tightly in Gwenllian’s dimpled hand. The room smelled milky, a calming scent from a time when fear is unknown in the presence of mother and father. ‘Let us not discuss it now, Lucie.’

  ‘Just think on this, Owen. If aught happens, Ned will be blamed. And if aught happens to him, with only his enemies about, we shall hear of it too late, and perhaps never know the truth.’

  Trust Lucie to have expanded Jehannes’s argument. ‘What might happen for which Ned would be blamed?’

  ‘I know not. I just warn you that any misadventure will be his to explain.’

  ‘I shall consider this.’

  Lucie sighed. ‘I speak thus, knowing full well my warning will go unheeded. You have decided. You will not turn back.’

  ‘No. I admit to having been caught up in the idea of Ned being changed by his love. But perhaps I read too much into it. He has ever been quick to anger, quick to speak his mind. Both faults that were at work in his latest trouble. With Easter upon us, he must wait at least four days to depart. I shall watch him and consider.’

  Lucie looked surprised. ‘I am glad to hear you retain an open mind, Owen. It is all I ask.’

  Seven

  Premonitions

  The afternoon sun brightened the solar and Alice hummed as she dressed. She liked it best here, her small house by the Thames. Though it was close to the river and wattle and daub above the first storey, the house seemed warmer than her chambers in Windsor Castle. Perhaps it was the absence of watchful eyes and incessant whispers. Here she could quietly enjoy the fruits of her labours.

  Though Alice hummed, she was not gay. She awaited the King, who was coming to see their son John and to discuss the boy’s education. He had chosen a household for John in which the boy would be tutored and brought up as a gentleman. Alice did not like parting from her son – he was but two years old. But he was the King’s son, bastard or no, and must be raised properly.

  Lifting John from his play in the sunbeam, Alice cleaned his face and then carried him to the window. From her vantage point on the second storey, she spied a cart clattering up the slope from the river, driven by a man in the livery of the castle guards. In the cart was a draped bundle the shape of a body. A fisherman followed, his head bowed, his gait melancholy. Beside him walked William of Wykeham. Alice crossed herself. A week past, Mary’s pack had been found down by the river. Since then Alice had waited in dreadful certainty.

  As Alice watched the curious procession, the King’s party drew up beside them. Wykeham hurried to the King, who leaned from his saddle with a grave face. Handing John to his nurse, Alice hurried from her private chamber down the ladder to the parlour. ‘The King and his privy councillor are without, Gilbert,’ she called to her servant. ‘Invite them in.’

  Alice called to Katie to bring John. The child fussed as his nurse lifted him. He preferred to descend the ladder from the solar by himself. But it would not do to greet the King in ripped and soiled clothes. In the end, John discovered that Katie’s arms were a perfect launch for leaping into the outthrust arms of King Edward as he entered with his company and William of Wykeham.

  ‘Praise God, what a strapping fine lad!’ the King roared, throwing back his head and laughing. John’s chubby hands clasped the King’s wool-clad shoulders.

  Alice stood back, taking in the sight. Her son was as fair as his father had once been, pale blond hair, hazel eyes, a straight body, long in the limbs. You could see John was a Plantagenet. He had a promising future, for the King doted on him. And she would ensure that future while the affection lasted. For the King could be inconstant in his affections.

  Edward spun round with John, who giggled and hung on to his father’s beard.

  Wykeham cleared his throat. ‘My lady …’

  Alice gestured towards a cushioned window seat. ‘Come. Sit beside me and tell me of the curious group I saw without. Who is the fisherman? What is in the cart?’ She fought to keep her tone light.

  Wykeham glanced questioningly at the King.

  Edward’s face changed. He handed the confused child to Alice, who handed him to the nurse.

  ‘Come back when I call for you, Katie,’ Alice said.

  John chirped, reaching back towards the King as Katie carried him off.

  But Edward had turned away, the boy already forgotten. John screwed up his face and let out a howl of disappointment. The nurse hurried up the ladder with him.

  Gilbert had pulled up a high-backed armchair for the King, who settled down into it, comfortably at home. Alice returned to her seat on the bench beneath the window. Wykeham went to the door, called to someone, paused, returned with the fisherman, who bobbed nervously when he realised he was brought before the King.

  Edward turned to Alice, levelled his faded blue eyes at her, leaned over and took her hand. ‘We have news of your maid, Mistress Alice.’ He turned to Wykeham. ‘William?’

  Alice brought her free hand to her throat, glanced over at the King’s councillor.

  Wykeham’s eyes flicked towards Alice, back to the fisherman. ‘This man found her, Your Grace.’

  The King nodded. ‘And you identified her?’

  Wykeham closed his eyes and nodded. ‘I
did, Your Grace.’

  ‘Sit down, William. It is civilised to sit at eye level with a person when you give them evil news.’

  Wykeham lowered his long body on to the bench beside Alice, who sat stiffly at the edge. ‘Mistress Alice …’ He hesitated.

  Alice pressed her hands together. ‘This fisherman has found Mary. Which means she was in the river. Drowned.’

  Wykeham nodded, his eyes discreetly on Alice’s shoe.

  Alice pressed cold fingers to hot eyelids. ‘How long?’

  The councillor cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps ever since she went missing. She was caught in the weeds in an inlet. This good man found her early this morning.’

  Alice glanced up at the man who pressed one dirty foot down on the toe of the other as if so to force himself to remain in this uncomfortable place. His hair and clothes were grimy, but his face was clean, as were his hands. Alice rose and took his hand. ‘God bless you for ending my search, however horrible the outcome,’ she said. ‘Has she been much – Have the fish – ‘Sweet Heaven, why did she ask such a thing? She could see by the distress in the fisherman’s eyes that Mary was not whole. Alice shook her head. ‘No. Do not tell me. God bless you.’

  ‘Give him a purse for his troubles,’ the King shouted to his servant by the door.

  The fisherman grinned, showing healthy teeth but for a broken one on the top and a gap on the bottom. ‘Your Grace,’ he murmured. ‘My Lady. Father William.’

  ‘You may go now, Rafe,’ Wykeham said.

  The man gladly hurried out, the servant following.

  Alice turned to Wykeham. ‘Thank you for going down to the river, councillor. I would fain not see Mary so.’

  The eyes upturned to her were sympathetic. ‘I deemed it best you did not see her,’

  Alice shivered, aware of the river flowing just below the garden, its icy waters blackening as the sun set.

  The King rose and put an arm round her. ‘Let us save John’s future for another day. Are there any women from court might keep you company tonight in your grief?’