The Cross Legged Knight (17 page)

The servants whispered among themselves as they set the table. Faintly, Owen heard Thoresby’s and Michaelo’s voices in the garden.

‘Would you be willing to walk the undercroft with me when it is shored up, My Lord Bishop?’

‘I am flattered, but no. You must see – that this has happened in my house makes it likely an attempt to get to me. I should be a fool to walk into such danger.’

His sojourn as lord chancellor had taught him extreme caution.

‘If you are so concerned for your safety, would it not be prudent to distance yourself from the danger, to leave York?’

‘Prudent, yes. But first I must meet with Lady Pagnell and her son Stephen.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘You forget yourself, Captain.’ Wykeham emphasized the last word.

‘My Lord Bishop, you cannot insist that the fire was meant as a threat to you yet refuse to tell me why. One of York’s bailiffs has already challenged my involvement.’

Wykeham looked away, quiet for a few moments. With a sigh, he said at last, ‘I must convince the Pagnells that the circumstances in which Sir Ranulf died were beyond my control, that I was caught between the king’s will and theirs. I must make them see that I am most grieved by what happened.’

‘You have done what you could to appease them.’

‘It is more than that. I believe it is my enemies, those
now close to the king, who have turned her against me. Lady Pagnell and her son Stephen have many Lancastrian friends. I intend to confront those who are ruining my name. But for that I need information.’

‘You believe the Pagnells will confide in you?’

‘I must try to reason with them.’

Wykeham glanced up with annoyance as Michaelo interrupted them, followed by Maeve, red-faced and wheezing.

‘My Lord Bishop, forgive me,’ said Michaelo.

‘Captain, you must come at once,’ Maeve cried. ‘Eudo the tawyer is in the kitchen saying he means to murder Poins.’

Owen was well past both Maeve and Michaelo before the bishop could say anything. Weapons drawn, the guards swept into the hall and disappeared down the kitchen corridor at Owen’s command.

‘Be alert for companions.’

If Eudo were somehow involved with the Lancastrians, he might have support. Belatedly Owen thought to warn the guards not to attack except to save a life. He cursed the gossips of the city for telling the widower where Poins had been taken.

A great shriek came from the kitchen, an unearthly sound that sent a shiver through Owen and propelled him towards it. His heart was pounding in his throat by the time he heard the voice of Magda Digby, now raised in anger, but coherent.

His men stepped aside for him. One of the large screens had fallen, exposing Poins’s area. Magda stood on a stool beside Poins’s pallet, pointing a dagger at Eudo, who stood stock still at the foot of the bed, his arms spread out as if he had intended to throw himself on to the injured man. He held his head stiffly, his eyes locked in Magda’s angry gaze.

‘He murdered my wife,’ Eudo said through clenched teeth, his jowls quivering. ‘Why should I spare him?’

‘What if thou art wrong?’

‘They found him with her.’ Eudo flicked a glance sideways as Jasper, panting, joined Owen in the doorway.

In the circumstances, Owen was not happy to see his adopted son. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came after Eudo. He’d been in the shop.’ Jasper took off his cap and mopped his brow. ‘Mistress Lucie sent me to warn you.’

‘Go away,’ Eudo shouted. ‘He is mine! Away, all of you!’

‘Stay back,’ Owen said in a quiet voice to Jasper, then stepped forward. ‘Be ready,’ he said under his breath to the three men standing by him, then nodded to the bishop’s pair who stood behind Eudo.

As Eudo turned to look on the bishop’s men, two of Owen’s lunged forward and grabbed the tawyer. He struggled in vain against the men as they bound his hands behind him.

Magda sheathed the knife. ‘Thy wife’s murderer will be found, thou shouldst have no doubt of that,’ she said. ‘Shame on thee. Thy children need thee and now thou art trussed like a game hen ready for the spit.’

Hearing the commotion in the kitchen, Thoresby opened the door of his parlour and listened long enough to catch the drift of the crisis, then commanded a passing servant to fetch his secretary. None of this had figured in his plans when he invited Wykeham to lodge at the palace while conducting his business in York. First the alienation of the Pagnells and Ferribys, then the falling tile, the fire, the murder, and now an attack in his very kitchen. Thoresby grew weary of the
scandal that followed the bishop, weary of everything if truth be known. He was easing himself down into his cushioned chair when Brother Michaelo arrived, breathless and damp at the temples.

‘Sit down and calm yourself before you attempt to speak,’ Thoresby said. He settled back in his chair, fighting the instinct to steel himself for bad news.

Michaelo sank down in a backless chair, dabbed his temples with one of his scented cloths, cleared his throat.

‘Now. Tell me what damage the tawyer has done,’ said Thoresby.

‘I saw little of the event, Your Grace. You might have learned more had you not summoned me.’

‘Tell me what you do know.’

Michaelo described Maeve’s interruption in the great hall, her account of Eudo rushing into the kitchen. ‘When I arrived the man stood over Poins most menacingly, yet frozen by the Riverwoman’s shriek. She stood upon a chair, threatening the intruder with a dagger.’

‘It sounds as if the matter is under control.’

‘Let us pray, else the man is a demon in the guise of the tawyer. Do you wish to speak to him before he is taken away?’

Torment him with questions in his grieving
? Thoresby began to decline, thinking it one of his secretary’s crueller ideas, but perhaps he should consider the matter. He knew that the city was abuzz with the rumour that the midwife had been murdered. It was not uncommon for a man to kill his wife, but to do so in Wykeham’s house and then call attention to himself with an attack in the palace kitchen seemed too ridiculous an idea to entertain. Yet the man had broken the peace in Thoresby’s
palace, wanting vengeance, no doubt. He must be reprimanded, but also assured that Archer would find the guilty man and that Thoresby would punish him sufficiently.

‘Yes, bring him to my hall.’

‘What of the meal, Your Grace? The servants are setting up a table for your guests in the great hall. But with the state of the kitchen …’ Michaelo lifted his hands and shook his head.

‘Have a servant inform the Fitzbaldrics that Maeve will send for them when the meal is ready.’

Owen and Jasper slipped from the kitchen by the garden door. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a contrary breeze sent swarms of leaves swirling round them. The swift change in the weather chilled the sweat on Owen’s neck, yet the air felt heavy. They paused at the crossing of two paths, one leading round the palace and off to the minster and the city, one to the rear entrance to Thoresby’s hall.

‘Are you sure your mistress is not injured?’ Owen asked.

‘I cannot say for certain,’ said Jasper, ‘but her voice sounded strong.’

‘God be thanked.’ Owen trusted the lad’s powers of observation. ‘I am grateful to you for coming to warn me.’

Jasper shrugged. ‘I was too slow.’ He poked at a fallen bird’s nest with his toe. ‘Do you think anyone would miss this?’

The prisoner and his guards would soon be in the hall.

‘Take it and hurry home,’ said Owen.

Jasper crouched and scooped it up. ‘What will happen to Eudo?’ he asked as he straightened, his hands gently
cupping the nest. ‘Is it a bad sign, being summoned by His Grace?’

‘In truth, I do not know. Now go. Your mistress will worry until she sees you.’

Jasper nodded to Owen and set off down the path for home, his long legs covering a good distance in no time. Owen turned and entered the hall.

Thoresby and Wykeham waited in seats arranged near the hearth. The darkening day brought a gloom to the hall even with the window shutters flung wide.

‘Light some lamps and close the shutters,’ Thoresby ordered the servant who was trying to blend into the corner shadows. ‘Have I lost all sense of time? Where is the sun?’

‘A storm is gathering,’ Owen said.

Wykeham sat a little back from Thoresby. In the sputtering lamplight Owen saw that the bishop’s face was set in a frown befitting a judge. ‘Was anyone injured?’ he asked.

‘No, My Lord,’ said Owen. ‘At least I hope that Eudo is unharmed.’

‘Why such concern?’

‘He has suffered enough, My Lord, and will continue to do so. It is the worst loss in a family, that of the mother.’

‘Are you condoning his behaviour?’

‘Not a whit. But if you punish him, you punish his children as well. My Lord,’ Owen added, not wishing to be responsible for offending the two powerful men who were about to rule on Eudo’s deed.

‘Here they are, Your Grace,’ Michaelo said quietly.

He stood aside to allow Wykeham’s guards to enter. They came forward with Eudo thrust before them. He hung his head and hunched his shoulders as if hoping
to protect himself from curious eyes. But it was an open room with no place to hide.

‘Lift your head, Master Tawyer,’ Thoresby said. Unlike Wykeham, the archbishop seemed in a gentle mood. Perhaps it was just the lamplight softening the sharp lines of his bony face.

Eudo hesitated, then lifted his head, blinking in the lamplight. His coarse, jowl-heavy face was made pathetic by the anguish in its lines. ‘Your Grace.’ He tried to bow, but the guards held his upper arms and his hands were bound behind him, so he could do little more than rock slightly forward.

‘Unhand him,’ Thoresby said. To Eudo, who made as if to attempt a bow once more, he added, ‘No need. You are in mourning and sick at heart, I know.’

Wykeham leaned forward and whispered in Thoresby’s ear.

Thoresby nodded. ‘Was it your purpose to do violence in my kitchen?’ he asked Eudo. ‘Did you think to take the law into your own hands?’

‘He murdered my wife, Your Grace, orphaned my children.’

‘Hm.’ Thoresby seemed to be elsewhere for a moment. Then he said, ‘Let me remind me that your children are not orphaned while you yet breathe. And what makes you cry murder? Who has said your wife was slain by a hand other than God’s?’

The very question Owen wanted to ask.

‘The folk, Your Grace, I heard them in the streets. Why did she not run, they ask, and the answer is plain, I did not see it at first, but she must have been struck down before ever the fire began.’

‘Do you so think of anyone who dies in a fire?’ Wykeham asked.

Eudo glanced at Wykeham, over at Owen, back to
Thoresby. ‘You are trying to confuse me.’

‘We are trying to reason with you,’ Thoresby said, ‘although reason may be wasted on a man who would launch such an attack on the strength of idle gossip. Are you often befooled in such wise, Master Tawyer?’

‘I – then is it not so, Your Grace?’

Owen did not like this. It was one thing to omit the detail of the strangulation, quite another to toy with Eudo’s wits.

He stepped forward. ‘What would you like us to do with this man, Your Grace?’ He expected to be sent out of the hall, which would suit him, for he did not know how much longer he could hold his tongue.

But Thoresby sat back so that he might see Owen’s face, held his gaze a moment, then inclined his head. ‘Indeed.’ He turned back to Eudo. ‘Let me assure you that we are examining all that we can learn of the events leading up to the fire, Master Tawyer, and if we find that it was other than an accident we will hunt down the culprit and judge him with the stern hand of the law.’

‘What do you care about my Cisotta?’ Eudo mumbled as his tears began anew.

‘We care, Master Tawyer,’ Thoresby said in a gentle voice. ‘Do not doubt that.’ He sat back, rubbed his eyes.

Eudo hung his head.

‘Untie him, men,’ Wykeham said quietly.

His retainers knelt to the purpose. Once his hands were free, Eudo made good use of both sleeves to mop his face.

‘Now,’ Thoresby suddenly said, ‘we have the matter of what to do with you.’ He waited until Eudo raised his head before he continued, ‘I propose that two of my men escort you home and take up a watch at your house, a watch that will be kept until such time as I
judge your reason returned. In that time you shall see to your family, your work and your wife’s burial, but no more. My men will escort you on the morrow to St Sampson’s for the services. What do you say, My Lord Bishop?’ He twisted round to face Wykeham.

The scowl on Wykeham’s face spoke volumes. He was disappointed. ‘He must be given some penance, Your Grace.’

‘Penance. Yes. I leave that to you.’ Thoresby turned back to Eudo, who stood most humbly now, his eyes glistening, his great jaw trembling. ‘Do you deserve such trust?’

‘God help me, I will do so, Your Grace, My Lord Bishop.’ He bowed to each in turn.

That vow would stick in Eudo’s throat in a short while, when Owen began to ask more questions about Cisotta’s activities in the past few days, but for now it would get the tawyer home to his frightened children. Owen prayed Eudo did not take his frustration out on them. He bowed to Wykeham and Thoresby, then slipped away.