Lucie knelt down beside her, felt her forehead. ‘Owen, call the Reverend Mother. We must leave now. Joanna needs to rest and calm down. Her spirit overcomes the physick.’
‘It is an excellent act.’
Lucie met Owen’s eye. ‘It is no act. She is feverish.’
After they had passed through Bootham Bar, Owen drew Lucie to the side of the street and paused, looking down at her, holding her hands. ‘I was clumsy. Sweet Heaven but I was clumsy. Can you forgive me?’
Lucie shrugged and gave him a half-hearted smile. ‘Your blunt speech might have worked. She might have responded more helpfully. As you have seen, Joanna is unpredictable.’ Lucie glanced round. ‘But let us speak of this at home, for pity’s sake.’
Owen, seeing she looked a bit pale, offered, ‘Shall I carry you? Are you feeling faint?’
‘Conspicuous. Most couples do not pause at street corners for serious discourse.’
Ned arrived, breathless, late in the day. Owen came round the counter to greet him and introduce him to Lucie.
‘Charming,’ Ned said as he held Lucie’s hand overlong, gazing into her smiling eyes. It was clear to Owen that Lucie found Ned charming as well. Not an auspicious introduction. But Ned at last dropped her hand and turned to Owen. ‘I have been sent to beg your presence at the abbey infirmary.’
Ned a messenger? ‘Why?’
‘One of the archbishop’s retainers has died, and his friend is threatening to murder any man in the shire who looks even vaguely like the attacker.’
‘Colin is dead, then?’ Owen said.
Ned nodded.
‘God grant him mercy,’ Lucie whispered, bowing her head and crossing herself.
Owen kicked the doorway. ‘I’ve a cursed knack for getting folk killed.’
Ned grabbed his friend by the shoulder and gave him a shake. ‘You were not with them when they were attacked.’
Owen shrugged out of Ned’s grasp. The man had no conscience. He would not understand. But it must be said. ‘I recommended them to His Grace.’
Ned rolled his eyes and flashed Lucie a sympathetic look. ‘Your man never changes. He has ever been one to take on the blame. If evil befell anyone in his company, ’twas his fault, no matter the truth of it. He cares not a whit that His Grace might have chosen them anyway.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘Colin was Thoresby’s man.’
‘Say what you will, ’twas I who involved them in all this. Colin was a simple soldier, obedient, eager.’ Owen saw Ned prepare for another argument. ‘Alfred will be thirsty for blood. I believe what he says.’
‘So what is to be done with Alfred?’ Lucie asked.
‘Ravenser wants to lock him in the archbishop’s gaol,’ Ned said.
Owen groaned. ‘Then Ravenser’s a fool. What has the man done but obeyed orders and been a true and faithful friend?’
Ned shrugged. ‘So what shall we do?’
‘Take him with us to Scarborough. Alfred can then trouble no one in York.’
Ned folded his arms across his chest and gave Owen a murderous look. ‘He will trouble us.’
‘I take responsibility for him.’
‘Fool,’ Ned said softly as he followed Owen out of the door, stopping to blow a kiss to Lucie before stepping out into the street.
Louth and Ravenser sat in the abbot’s parlour with Alfred between them, his hands bound behind his back.
‘Surely it is not necessary to bind him, gentlemen?’ Owen said, though he saw in Alfred’s face a dangerous mixture of grief and fury. ‘I should think him more in need of movement.’ He knelt down in front of Alfred. ‘Care to join me on St George’s Field for a round with the broadsword?’
Alfred stared ahead. ‘I knew it was an ambush, Captain. But I always gave Colin his way. Most times ’twas the right way. Wish to God he’d been right as usual.’ Alfred’s eyes were dry, but glassy. Owen could hear the tightness in the man’s throat, see the clenched jaw muscles.
‘I want you to come with me to Scarborough, Alfred.’
Now the dark eyes focused on Owen. ‘What for?’
‘Never mind that yet. But I need you, and I need you clear-headed. So how about the broadsword drill? Work up a sweat? Take it out on a wooden dummy? For now, anyway. Clear your head for some talk and then the journey?’
‘What will they do with Colin?’
Owen turned to Ravenser and Louth with a questioning look.
‘Was he a York man?’ Ravenser asked.
‘Nay,’ said Alfred. ‘Lavenham.’
‘Then we shall bury him in the minster yard, I think. He died in service to the archbishop.’
Owen turned back to Alfred. ‘Will that satisfy you?’
Alfred nodded.
‘If I cut your bonds, you will not attack the first person who annoys you?’
‘Colin would wish me to do your bidding without question, Captain.’
Owen had once thought that a soldier’s duty. That was before he’d begun to understand more about the world, through Thoresby’s tutelage. Now he believed one should always question. But in Alfred’s present state, blind obedience was advisable. ‘Good.’ Owen drew his knife and cut Alfred’s bonds. ‘Come.’ He stood up. ‘Let us say goodbye to Colin, then go hack up some solid oak.’
Ned joined them at the door. ‘Might I join you? I could use a good whack at my enemies.’
Ravenser rose as the door opened. ‘You are dining with me tonight, gentlemen? To discuss the journey?’
Owen bowed to him. ‘And my wife and her father, as requested.’
‘Good. I should not want this incident interfering with the plans.’
‘Nothing will interfere with them, Sir Richard. Fear not. Ned and I shall be all the better for a good sweat.’ Owen grinned and stepped out of the door, Ned and Alfred with him.
The two canons were left to puzzle out the strange ways of fighting men.
Fifteen
When Owen returned, dirty, sweaty and relaxed, Tildy put a cup of Tom Merchet’s ale in his hands. He sat down with a contented sigh and drained the cup with one tilt of his head.
Tildy hovered. ‘Mistress Lucie is dressing, Captain. I would hurry if I were you. The provost of Beverley is expecting you.’
Owen groaned. ‘I had forgotten.’
Sir Robert came in from the garden. The elderly man wore a homespun tunic and breeches, spattered and caked with dirt.
‘Have you been gardening, Sir Robert?’
Owen’s father-in-law raked a hand through his white hair, streaking it with dirt. ‘I have indeed. A fine garden you have out there. Healthy.’ He eyed Owen’s sweaty state. ‘You have not been idle this day either, I see.’
Owen told him about Alfred. ‘We worked him hard. He will sleep till morning, I think.’
Sir Robert nodded enthusiastically. ‘Just the thing for a fighting man. You must have been a good captain.’ He motioned for Owen to come away from Tildy’s hearing. ‘By the by,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘I wanted a word with you about Dame Joanna’s stories of Scarborough. Have you heard about the soldiers who sail away, never come back? Archers, she said once. I told Lucie it was important, but I am not sure she appreciated the significance.’
Owen bit back a grin. Lucie had told him of Sir Robert’s attachment to this detail. ‘Lucie did tell me. After meeting the woman I did not put much faith in my understanding of her meandering speeches.’
Sir Robert held his hand up, palm forward. ‘Pray hear me, then. ’Tis not the sort of thing a young woman would make up. That is my point. You must see that.’
Owen considered it. ‘Aye, ’tis true. But her brother is a soldier. If she did find him in Scarborough, and listened to him talking with his fellows, she might have heard something and misunderstood, or made it into a more intriguing story.’
Disappointment rounded the old soldier’s shoulders. ‘In faith, perhaps I make much of nothing.’
‘Not at all. Lancaster shares your interest in the story.’