A Spy for the Redeemer (38 page)

L
ucie and Roger rode out through Micklegate Bar into the grey, humid morning. The rain had stopped, but the clouds hugged the land and the river. The air smelled of rotting fish. The usually loquacious Roger was quiet this morning. Lucie had not slept and her thoughts shifted nervously from worry to worry.

What would Owen have done differently? He would not have hired Harold Galfrey, that is certain. But he could not have prevented the raid on the manor. How would he have dealt with it? What had she done wrong? She had not asked enough questions. Oft-times she had chided Owen for his distrust of everyone and everything until sufficiently known. Never again. Roger Moreton felt he was the culprit, but Lucie shared the blame. With Tildy and Daimon locked in the chapel – pray God they were there – the reliquary was safe. Unless Harold and Joseph had already found the parchment. What if they were already gone?

Halfway to Freythorpe they heard a rider pounding up from behind and moved to one side to let him pass. But he slowed, growled an oath. Alfred.

‘You have departed at leisure,’ Roger said.

‘I met with John Chamont, the High Sheriff. He has agreed to send additional men today.’ Alfred doffed his cap to Lucie. ‘Faith, Mistress Wilton, you should not be on the road.’

‘Do you think I can stay in the city when Jasper and Tildy are in danger? And my home?’

‘But you will be –’

‘In the way? I shall try not to be.’

‘In danger, Mistress Wilton. Captain Archer would never forgive me if aught happened to you. I would fear for my life.’

‘You are welcome to ride with us, or ride ahead, as you wish.’

Alfred fell in with them.

The three rode most of the way in silence, stopping only once to fortify themselves with meat pasties and ale, supplied by Bess Merchet.

‘Jasper is growing into a fine young man,’ Alfred said, breaking into Lucie’s agitated thoughts. ‘You must be proud of him.’

‘I am. How was he when you saw him? Frightened?’

‘I would say he seemed determined to do what needed to be done.’

Roger, long silent, had clearly been fuming. ‘How could John Gisburne be so careless?’ he cried suddenly. ‘How could he recommend a man he knew so little?’

‘Perhaps he knew more than he admits,’ Lucie said.

‘He would not use me like that. A liveried member of the guild.’

‘If he has, he will have taken care you will never prove it,’ said Alfred. ‘Just as he has protected Colby from the bailiffs and sheriffs.’

‘I shall bring it before the guild,’ Roger declared.

In the early morning, Jasper had slipped into the hall to warn Tildy, who nodded in a chair beside Daimon, that Nan was carrying food to the outbuilding they had been watching.

‘What have they waited for all night?’

‘They said it was better to attack when they can see that no one escapes. Nan may see the archbishop’s men surrounding the house. If there is fighting, you will be safe in the chapel. I shall come get you as soon as we can slip away.’

Tildy had waked Daimon and helped him to the chapel. But Harold had discovered the move and she was forced to lock them in before she could bring the medicines and some food. It was now mid-morning and she was so thirsty. She could not imagine how Daimon felt. Men needed far more food and drink than women. But he protested that being locked in the chapel with her was the greatest comfort.

Nan came to the door now and then, tempting them with offers of food and drink. Though they were hungry and Daimon in need of his medicines they did not open to her.

As Lucie and her companions neared the manor, she noticed a figure running across the fields, in the opposite direction. ‘Alfred! What is happening?’ Another running man appeared and a horseman following, leaning from his horse to grab the man.

‘Dear God,’ Lucie moaned.

‘The rider is one of ours,’ Alfred said. ‘We must have attacked.’ He loosed his sword.

‘Why, for pity’s sake, are they pursuing?’ Roger cried. ‘There are people in the hall who might be harmed.’

‘You want these men caught, certainly?’ Alfred asked.

Lucie did, most assuredly. But Roger was right, too.

‘Is there any way we might get to the hall without watchers seeing us?’ Roger asked her.

How could they know what was watched? In the name of heaven, how was she to think clearly? They must try to remain concealed. ‘I could lead you through the woods into the orchard behind the hall and from there to the maze, through the maze, and then it is but a short run to the hall.’

Alfred perked up. ‘You might just do that, aye. I shall ride up to the house, try to keep attention on myself. But you must not endanger yourself by approaching the house.’

‘I mean to find Jasper, Tildy and Daimon,’ said Lucie. ‘Beyond that I do not care.’

At first the noise had been so far off, Tildy could not be certain what she heard.

But Daimon sat up, his eyes fearful. ‘Men shouting.’

‘Where?’ Tildy whispered. She did not want Harold at the chapel door again. He had frightened her a while ago, pounding at the door. He had said she had imagined all this, that they would starve in here and she was depriving Daimon of his medicine, a warm fire, because she was mad.

Daimon had taken her hand. ‘He is wrong, Matilda. He wants to get in here. Mayhap this is the one place he has yet to search.’

How had he known what she had been thinking?

Now there were noises in the household, someone running, Nan shouting something. Tildy went to the door, pressed an ear against it.

‘The archbishop’s men have attacked,’ Nan was saying. ‘What do they want with my son? What has he done? Why is Ralph hiding the mistress’s apprentice in the stables?’

‘Go back to the kitchen, woman.’ It was Harold Galfrey’s voice, but different now, angry.

Footsteps approached the door. Tildy backed away with a horrible feeling that Harold could see through the heavy wood. But it had held so far. She did not know why Sir Robert had put a bolt on this side of the door, but she thanked God for it. She returned to Daimon, knelt beside him.

‘What is that smell?’ Daimon asked.

She smelled it, too. She glanced over, saw smoke beneath the door. Daimon pulled himself from the chair, caught her shoulder.

‘We must open the door, Matilda.’

A man stood just outside, sword ready. Tildy screamed as the small fire caught her skirt.

Lucie had lost Roger somewhere. They had heard a rustling behind them. He had waved her on. Now she stood just within the tall hedges of the maze, peering back, praying that he would soon follow. All along she had feared to see one of the running men, or a body – Jasper’s body. She pushed the idea away as often as it came to her, fearful lest even the thought would make the deed.

Something, now, in the orchard. Gone. A bird, mayhap.

What was that? A shout, from the direction of the house, another higher scream. Footsteps. Several pairs. Somewhere close. A quickly muffled cry. The hair at her neck prickled. Surely that had been Jasper’s voice. From the sheath on her girdle Lucie drew a dagger, one Owen had given her when first they wed, for protection if she should ever be surprised in the shop. She had never used it.

A pair of pigeons took flight above her. She could not be certain, but she thought they had flown from somewhere in the centre of the maze. The footsteps were closer, then a shout and the sound of a struggle.

‘What do you want from us?’ Jasper cried.

Lucie gathered her skirts and, holding the dagger in her fist, made her way swiftly, quietly to the centre of the maze as the sounds of a struggle grew loud, then suddenly stopped.

Harold sat on one of the stone benches with his back towards Lucie, wrestling to control someone thrashing on the stones beneath him. He was breathing hard. He leaned forward. Lucie crept closer, trying to see whether it was Jasper who lay on the ground. She recognised his shoes.

‘Where is it?’ Harold hissed, his bent right arm jerking.

Jasper coughed and struggled, gasping for air. Harold was choking him.

Lucie ran towards them. Hearing her approach, Harold turned awkwardly on the bench, but she plunged the knife into his back before he knew what was happening. He shrieked in agony. She pulled out the knife, slashed at his upraised arm. He knocked the knife from her hand as he fell sideways. Jasper had pulled himself up on to the bench. He bent double, struggling for air. There was blood in his hair.

‘Jasper!’

Suddenly Harold scooped up Lucie’s bloody knife and rose beside her. How could the man move? Jasper struggled up behind him. And then Lucie was falling to one side, twisting as someone ran past her. Her head hit the flagstones.

Had she fainted? She tasted blood in her mouth. Someone moaned by her side.

‘Lucie? My love. Lucie!’

Sweet heaven, Owen had returned in time. Lucie opened her eyes, closed them as the world spun and her stomach protested. Strong arms helped her up, held her as she retched.

‘I shall never forgive myself.’

It was Roger, not Owen.

‘Mistress Lucie.’ Jasper circled her with his arms.

‘Your head. You are alive?’

‘
I
am.’

‘Harold?’

Jasper lowered his head towards a still form on the path.

‘I killed him,’ Lucie whispered.

*

Lucie had been put to bed in Phillippa’s chamber in the solar. But she could not sleep. Horses in the yard below stomped and whinnied. Men shouted. She felt removed from it all, as if floating above them, listening to them from high in the air – a not unpleasant feeling.

Save that her head throbbed, her left hip ached, as did her left hand. She must have fallen on that side. Remembering blood in her mouth, she explored with her tongue. A tooth felt wobbly, the inside of her cheek was cut. She dozed.

She heard men’s voices down below, so many of them. Or was she dreaming? Was Owen among them? Why did he not come up? Her head had been bandaged. Something cool eased the pain.

Tildy tiptoed in. ‘Can you sip some steeped herbs, Mistress Lucie?’

As Tildy bent down, Lucie remembered someone talking of fire. She touched Tildy’s face. She was unscarred. ‘Nan told me your gown had caught fire.’

‘Aye. Nan saved me. Threw a bucket of water, then tore off my gown. I have blisters on my legs, but that is the worst of it.’

Lucie’s jaw ached when she spoke, and her head. But she had questions. ‘Then Nan was not one of the thieves?’

‘No, though she had been feeding them.’

‘Jasper? How is he?’

‘He has a nasty cut on his head, atop it, not to the side like yours. And a badly bruised neck. A black eye. Naught else that a young man would fuss about. And even those he counts nothing. But we have him resting in Sir Robert’s chamber.’

‘And Harold Galfrey?’ Lucie whispered.

‘He is dead and I say may he burn in hellfire. Now let me help you sit up a moment.’

May he burn in hellfire
. How easily Tildy said that. And what of Lucie? She had done the deed. Harold had murdered no one – she had.

Tildy tucked pillows behind Lucie’s head. ‘We have sent for the Riverwoman.’

She helped Lucie drink – mandrake, poppy. Tildy meant for her to sleep. Lucie turned her head away.

‘You must rest, Mistress Lucie.’

‘Horses, men, who is here?’

Tildy stood back a moment, shaking her head.

‘Answer my questions, then I shall drink it all, I promise you.’ Lucie rested her head against the pillows.

Tildy tsked, but sat on the edge of the bed. ‘The archbishop’s men, six of them, and a dozen from York Castle. The High Sheriff sent them.’

‘Not Owen?’

Tildy looked down. ‘No. Not the captain.’

‘The fire in the chapel.’

‘Just without the door. Nothing lost.’

‘The reliquary. Would you bring it to me?’

‘Master Moreton has seen the parchment. He said to tell you.’

Lucie’s eyes grew heavy. ‘And Daimon?’ The words were difficult to shape, her tongue thickening. Too much poppy.

‘Ash from the fire hurt his eyes, but Mistress Winifred showed me how to make a soothing wash. Are you asleep?’

‘Soon,’ Lucie murmured, unable to lift her heavy lids.

When Lucie woke, Jasper sat at the foot of the bed, watching her with concern. His hair was damp, combed back. His face looked gaunt. His neck was wrapped in cloth. In a corner of the room, Magda bent over a brazier, stirring something.

‘Are you in pain?’ Lucie asked.

‘No,’ Jasper whispered. ‘But the Riverwoman said my neck must be protected when we ride to the city.’

‘Thou shouldst not try to speak,’ Magda said, turning from her work. ‘And thee, Mistress Apothecary? Art thou in pain?’

‘I want to see the parchment.’ Lucie eased up, pushing her pillows behind her.