Sir Robert straightened up. ‘Excellent. Stealing our fighting men — it is the sort of small, sneaky manoeuvre King Charles favours. And du Guesclin.’
Owen hoped that he would have as sound a mind at his father-in-law’s age. ‘How do you find your daughter, Sir Robert?’
Sir Robert smiled fondly. ‘A formidable woman, Owen. Lovely as her mother, but much stronger. In spirit more like my sister Phillippa than Amelie. I am much relieved. I had thought Lucie’s marriage to Wilton a terrible mistake — all my fault, of course, but still a mistake. Yet had she not married him, she would not have this life that contents her.’
This was a new tone from Sir Robert. ‘I am happy you see that she is content.’
‘Owen!’ Lucie called from the top of the stairs. ‘Did I hear you come in?’
‘I must go to her.’ Owen tapped Sir Robert’s sleeve. ‘And you must ready yourself. Ravenser seems anxious that we all attend.’
Sir Robert patted Owen on the back. ‘You are a good man, Owen My daughter chose wisely.’
Lucie and Owen slept little, talking into the night after they had returned from Ravenser’s, wondering what Owen might discover in Scarborough and trying to organise what they knew about Will Longford and Joanna Calverley. Owen had proposed that they go first to Beverley to speak with the vicar of St Mary’s and the gravedigger. Rather than find the suggestion an insult — for he himself had spoken with them in May — Louth was in favour of this action. He did not trust his own investigative talents. But Thoresby insisted that they follow Lancaster’s orders and go first to Scarborough in the hope of finding Captain Sebastian. Lancaster sought to have Captain Sebastian back on his side before he left for Gascony in the autumn.
Lucie had been surprised by Thoresby’s support of Lancaster. ‘I did not foresee His Most Arrogant Grace the Archbishop bowing to Lancaster’s interests.’
Owen wagged his finger. ‘You misunderstand, my love. It is a question of priorities. Thoresby wishes to resolve the problem of Dame Joanna and the deaths surrounding her, surely. But his hatred for Alice Perrers takes precedence. And if he becomes Lancaster’s ally in the matter of Captain Sebastian, Lancaster may become Thoresby’s ally in ousting Mistress Perrers from the King’s bedchamber.’
‘Ah.’ Lucie could hear the smile in Owen’s voice. It irked her that he was in such good spirits when he must leave her in the morning. ‘I think you begin to enjoy taking part in these weighty matters of the realm.’
Owen pulled her over on top of him, stroking her hair. ‘I prefer matters of the bedchamber. My own bedchamber.’
Lucie kissed him and resolved to enjoy tonight. She would worry about the morrow on the morrow.
It required considerable noise on Tildy’s part to wake them in the morning, and Owen had only just finished dressing when one of the archbishop’s grooms arrived, leading a fine mount. Lucie watched Owen strap his pack to the saddle, check all the fittings. He hummed as he worked. She remembered his high spirits last night. It had not been her imagination — he was happy to be on the move.
‘Will you be back for Corpus Christi?’ She hated the yearning in her voice.
Owen heard it, turned round, pulled her to him. ‘Unless fortune shines on us, I think not, my love. But once back from this, I shall not leave your side until the baby comes. Thoresby be damned.’ He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. ‘Promise to take every care, Lucie.’
She held him, drinking in his scent, his warmth. She forced herself to smile up at him, not wanting him to remember her with tears in her eyes. ‘I have no reason to risk my life, and every reason to stay well, my love.’
They kissed. Lucie handed Owen a cup of warmed, spiced wine. It was a damp, cool morning for summer. He drank, kissed her again, hugged her hard, and took his reins in hand.
‘They await me at the minster gate.’
Lucie nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. What was the matter with her? In their nineteen months of marriage she had seen him off enough times to be over this anxious care. He always returned. She touched his arm. He put his hand over hers, pressed it, and slowly led the horse out to the street.
‘God go with you,’ Lucie called softly.
Owen did not hear over the horse’s hooves.
Lucie watched his broad back until he disappeared beyond St Helen’s Square. She hugged herself and pressed her feet into the ground, resisting the urge to run up the stairs and hang out their chamber window for one last glimpse. It took all of her willpower to stay put.
What was the matter with her? A premonition of danger? Or was it merely her condition making everything difficult? She would go to the minster and say a prayer at vespers.
Alfred sat stiffly in his saddle, fighting to keep wide the eyelids that preferred to close. Perhaps the workout had been too exhausting. But once they were on the move, he would perk up. Owen was glad to see Ned and Louth plainly dressed for the journey. They were headed into rough country and he did not relish attracting thieves. Ravenser saw them off, with Jehannes, as Archdeacon of York, giving the blessing.
It was a long, slow journey up onto heather-clad moorland. They spent their first night in the modest guest house of a Gilbertine priory in Malton. Owen and Ned rubbed Alfred’s upper back down with hot oil to loosen his cramping muscles. Louth watched the proceedings, amused.
‘I would fain pity you, but it was your own doing,’ Louth told Alfred. ‘The best remedy for sorrow is the solace of a head full of wine. What you chose was penance, not solace.’
Owen scowled at Louth. ‘If Alfred had passed out last night with a head full of wine, he would have slept fitfully and been no good for the journey today.’ He grew weary of Louth’s pampered paunch. Twice today they must need halt for him to rest a while. Owen hated travelling with such folk. He might have said much, but seeing Louth’s frown at his sharp tone and scowl, he stopped at that. For now it sufficed that Louth knew he did not agree, not at all.
The second day was an easy journey to Pickering Castle, one of Lancaster’s, where the company were to be joined by a Percy youth who would escort them through the forests and bogs that stretched out from Pickering to the North Sea. The castle was often used as a grand hunting lodge for nobles taking their sport in the Forest of Pickering, and their accommodations, in the Old Hall, were much more comfortable than those of the previous night. Although the castle stood on a bluff overlooking marsh and moor and caught the northern winds, the Old Hall was built into the curtain wall and enjoyed a sheltered situation.
After a pleasant evening meal, the travellers shared wine and swapped stories of their journeys. Owen thought he might learn something of Hugh Calverley from the young John Percy.
John grimaced. ‘Oh, aye, Hugh Calverley. Once met, not forgotten, unless you’re a fool. Cross him and he butts you with his horns, make no mistake about it. I have been so unfortunate.’ The young Percy was fair, with a toothy grin and boyish features.
‘You crossed him and he struck out?’ At a boy? Owen found that surprising.
John nodded. ‘I greeted him out on the street in Scarborough. When next he came up to the castle he sought me out and beat me, said I might have revealed him to the enemy. I have never seen a man so angry for so little cause.’
Owen thought it passing strange the Percies had allowed one of their own to be treated in such a manner by a merchant’s son. ‘Your family did not punish Calverley for such behaviour?’
John shook his head. ‘Nay. They looked the other way.’
Ned nodded. ‘Thought it a good lesson, didn’t they?’
John shrugged, but his eyes spoke of a festering anger.
Owen thought it best to speak of other matters. ‘How long have you been away from Scarborough?’
‘I have spent two years at Richmond Castle sharpening my bones, as my father says.’