A Spy for the Redeemer (32 page)

‘For the love of God!’ Baldwin cried, lunging towards a smoking pool of spilled oil.

A healthy fear of fire, but Owen saw there was no need. ‘It is a small lamp,’ he said, ‘and an earthen floor.’

‘But the barrels.’ Baldwin made to stomp out the smoke.

Owen pulled him back. ‘Save your boots. You are more at risk if the hem of your gown touches the smouldering oil.’

Simon bent down to retrieve the empty lamp, sat it on a barrel. ‘Have you found what you sought, Captain?’ he asked in a voice lacking all emotion.

‘He claims –’ Baldwin began.

‘I have two of the stones,’ Owen said.

‘You cannot,’ said Simon. ‘I removed them this morning.’

‘What is this?’ Baldwin grabbed his secretary’s arm. ‘What do you know of this?’

Simon shook off the archdeacon’s hand. ‘Cynog came to me. I did not go to him. But neither did I turn him away.’ He spoke to Owen.

‘What is it?’ Baldwin looked from one to the other. ‘What have you done, Simon? What are these stones?’

‘I ask only that Bishop Houghton judge me, not Archdeacon Rokelyn.’

Not the words of a man intending to run. Owen thought fresh air and light was worth the risk. ‘Let us go up. We have much to talk about.’

The servant in the hall was dismissed. In the light, Owen saw the ravages of the day on Simon. Hollow-eyed, slack-mouthed, he was a man who had seen the enormity of what he had helped put in motion. He sat down on a bench, head bowed.

Baldwin stood over him. ‘You meddling man. Tell me. Tell me all of it.’

Owen eased down into a chair. ‘What did you do with the maps?’

‘I meant them for Bishop Houghton. He has the forces to capture Hywel, save our holy city from civil war.’

‘What are these maps?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘The way to Hywel’s camps. Cynog carved markers based on stone maps such as these and placed them in the countryside,’ said Owen.

‘And then scratched maps on stones for Father Simon?’ Baldwin did not sound as if he believed it.

Simon shook his head. ‘The maps were already on stones – they were delivered to Cynog that way – Lord Hywel must have thought it a clever ruse. After using them to set the markers, Cynog brought them to me. Under cover of working on the undercroft. I hid them in the wall until I could deliver them to Bishop Houghton.’

‘Lord Hywel,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘I begin to understand. But you should have gone to Archdeacon Rokelyn.’

Simon sat silently, his eyes downcast, his hands limp in his lap.

‘Cynog thus gave you the means to locate Owain Lawgoch’s supporters,’ Owen said. ‘And it was for that, his betrayal of Hywel, that he was executed. Am I right?’

‘I should not have agreed to it,’ Simon whispered.

Baldwin sank down on to a chair with a look of horror. ‘This is how you meant to protect us from bloodshed?’

‘Cynog was angry,’ said Simon. ‘I should have guided him to prayer, not deceit.’

‘You should have kept your own counsel,’ Baldwin cried.

‘I pray you,’ Owen said to the archdeacon, ‘let Simon speak. We must hear the truth of this.’

Baldwin put his head in his hands.

‘What made Cynog so angry?’ Owen asked.

Simon lifted anguished eyes to Owen, shook his head slowly, as if wondering how he came to be here. ‘Why do you torment me with questions? You know the tale.’

‘Tell me the tale.’

‘Cynog loved Glynis. She told him she admired the men who were joining Hywel’s cause. To win her admiration he approached Hywel, joined his men. And after a time Glynis withdrew her affections. At Hywel’s command, she turned her eye to Piers the Mariner.’

‘Why him?’

Simon’s breathing was shallow, quick. ‘Piers had boasted that he might join Hywel’s army. His brother Siencyn encouraged him – Piers was not a man any captain wanted on his ship, even his brother. He used his fists rather than his wits.’

‘And Piers executed Cynog,’ Owen said.

‘He did. He confessed to me that he did it to prove himself trustworthy to Hywel. It might have worked, had you not come along. People wanted to believe they had fought over Glynis, that Cynog had been winning her back.’

‘A man does not hang a rival, Father.’

Simon stared down at his hands in silence.

‘And what did Cynog do to win Hywel’s trust?’ Owen asked.

Simon took a deep breath. ‘I do not know how he first won it. But of late, Hywel sensed Cynog backing away and set him a new task – he was to find out what he could about you, so that Hywel might have something to use in persuading you to join his cause. Cynog was sorry for that. He meant to warn you when you returned.’ He raised his eyes to Owen. ‘And what was your test, Captain? I cannot think you managed the execution of the brothers, not injured as you are. What did you do? Or is it my execution that will confirm your standing with the madman?’

Baldwin’s head shot up.

Dear God, is that what he thought? Owen began to protest. But he was so close to understanding. This was not the moment to reassure Simon. ‘Hywel had Piers executed because he confessed to you, is that not true?’

‘His tongue cut out.’ Simon covered his face with his hands.

‘But Piers must have done far more than that,’ Owen prodded.

The secretary said nothing.

‘Piers named others in St David’s who worked for Hywel,’ Owen guessed.

‘Yes,’ Simon whispered.

‘Why?’

Simon raised his head, his face defenceless. ‘I told him that Archdeacon Baldwin meant to urge Rokelyn to send him on to the bishop’s gaol at Llawhaden, to be tried as a traitor to the king. Unless he helped us.’

‘I see why the archdeacon called you a meddling man.’

Simon did not deny it. ‘All along, Piers believed that Hywel would save him. But help had not come.’

Foolish man. ‘Piers had not understood he was to be a martyr for the Welsh cause.’

Simon shook his head. ‘But Captain Siencyn guessed. And he explained it to Piers.’

‘He did his brother no favour. From martyr to traitor – he merely hastened the execution. Did Siencyn not understand that traitors are executed in war?’

Simon looked at Owen as if he were mad. ‘We are not at war.’

‘
You
are not. Hywel is. So Captain Siencyn was executed for convincing his brother to betray Hywel?’

‘He, too, betrayed him. It was from him that I learned much of what I know. Even some of the names. There were not many in the end. So. Are you here to execute me?’

‘You would not dare!’ Baldwin thundered.

Owen rose. ‘I know little more than what I have heard here. I came not to execute you. I wished only to resolve Cynog’s death and learn more about Hywel.’

‘You tricked me,’ Simon cried, rising.

‘Not at all. I merely delayed correcting you.’

‘How can you be so cruel?’

‘How? You ask
me
that?’

‘Now what will you do?’ Baldwin demanded of Owen.

‘I shall tell Archdeacon Rokelyn all I have learned.’

‘That is it?’ Baldwin asked. ‘You want nothing of him?’

‘I wanted only the truth. There is precious little of that to be had in this holy city.’ Owen slung the now much lighter pouch over his shoulder. ‘God go with you, Father Simon, Archdeacon.’ He strode across the hall and through the doorway.

Outside, the sunshine caressed his face. Though beneath his tunic his shirt stuck to his bleeding side, he did not turn towards the city, but to Patrick’s Gate. No one stopped him.

TROUBLING UNCERTAINTIES

I
rises, some early roses, sprigs of rosemary and lavender. Lucie tied them with long grasses and took them to Roger Moreton. Goodwife Constance, exclaiming at the bouquet, stepped aside to allow Lucie in.

‘I shall not take them until the master has seen the fruit of your garden,’ the housekeeper said. She called to a servant, had him fetch Roger. ‘Come into the hall, do.’

‘It was good of Master Moreton to join the search for my Aunt Phillippa yesterday evening.’

‘Poor Brother Michaelo sat here and told me of such wonders as he waited. He is a most patient man.’

‘Brother Michaelo?’

‘Goodwife Constance,’ Roger said from the doorway. His tone sounded a warning to the woman, who could not seem to remember that all the city did not need to know the details of her master’s life. Indeed, should not know some details.

The goodwife curtsied and left the room.

‘Mistress Wilton.’ Roger bowed to Lucie.

She held out the flowers, feeling a bit foolish now for the gesture.

But Roger was his usual gracious self, praising their beauty, assuring her that he needed no reward. ‘Jasper did not require my assistance.’

‘I felt better knowing he was not alone,’ Lucie said. ‘But I am sorry you were late to receive Brother Michaelo.’

‘You are wondering about that.’

She was also worried about it, seeing Roger’s smile fade. ‘What is it?’

‘See what friends we are, to read the other’s face.’

Lucie imagined Jasper standing with her, hearing that. ‘You need not tell me what you discussed. I do not mean to pry.’

‘But it concerned you. His Grace the Archbishop wants to know more about Harold Galfrey. I fear I did not impress the archbishop’s secretary with my confession that I knew little of the man. I intend to discuss him with John Gisburne.’

Lucie prayed she had not been foolish to trust Harold. She did not need more trouble. ‘I shall be grateful to hear what Gisburne says. The Riverwoman is also concerned about Harold.’

Roger threw up his hands. ‘Why does everyone suddenly distrust him?’

‘I do not, Roger. I think Harold an excellent steward. Magda truly had all good things to say about what he has accomplished. But Gisburne’s servant Colby went to Freythorpe to see Harold the other day. He asked for him by name. He warned Harold about Nan’s son Joseph being close at hand. Would John Gisburne send that particular servant on such a mission?’

It was plain from his expression that Roger was puzzled. ‘God forgive me for saying so, but it is not like John to trust Colby in such a thing, or indeed to be so thoughtful as to warn someone about a matter like this. I shall find out all I can. It is the least I can do.’

Roger was such a good-natured, well-intentioned man. But Lucie was belatedly realising that his trusting nature could be a liability. It seemed an odd quality in a successful merchant.

John Thoresby shifted his position on the stone seat. Old bones should not perch on cold stone. They would be down in the cold earth soon enough. The archbishop and Jehannes, Archdeacon of York, sat in the garden of the archbishop’s palace near the minster. Thoresby had put his servants to work airing out the great house. He grew weary of playing guest at Jehannes’s house, but the roof repairs at Bishopthorpe continued. So he had compromised by opening his house in the city. The sun this morning was warm enough to heat Thoresby’s head even through his hat, but the stone seat held the chill of the night and the morning dew. He would be sorry for this perch later. But he had wished to speak with Jehannes away from Brother Michaelo and yet be nearby if his secretary had any questions. Michaelo was occupied in the palace supervising the servants.

Thoresby disagreed with Archdeacon Jehannes regarding what to do about Brother Michaelo’s sudden passion for penance. Jehannes believed it might be a sign of spiritual awakening and thus should be encouraged, or at least not discouraged. Thoresby had never had patience with the idea that self-inflicted beatings were the way to God. And with Michaelo it was particularly questionable.

‘He is much changed, Your Grace,’ Jehannes argued.

‘Not for the better. The journey to Kingston-upon-Hull to inquire about Galfrey will be good for Michaelo.’

‘Seeing to this house will surely be enough of a distraction. Another journey is cruel so soon after Michaelo’s return from Wales.’

‘He journeyed to Wales as a pilgrim. This will remind him he is a representative of the Archbishop of York and as such has duties that require him to have his wits about him.’

‘Such devotion should be encouraged in him, sire. He is a monk.’

‘Of course he is. But that never bothered him before.’

Thoresby saw Jehannes struggle to hide a smile. Good. The man had been distracted from his pious protest. Michaelo was off to the Godwin manor at Kingston-upon-Hull on the morrow and that was the end of it.

‘Why are you disturbed about this man Galfrey?’ Jehannes asked. ‘Mistress Wilton’s message mentioned that the manor was well guarded and that work had already begun on the repairs. The man may be unknown to you, but he sounds a worthy steward.’

‘I merely wish to know. And Michaelo is idle. Three days, I should think. Another might ride there in one, return the next, but he will take a leisurely pace. Mark me.’ Thoresby rose, his bones demanding a change. ‘Let us see how the work progresses.’