The Apothecary Rose (35 page)

'As a soldier you would have valued such a man.'

'Why did you send the novice? Why not Michaelo?'

'I could not trust Michaelo not to try to save
Anselm at the last.'

'You are too cold.'

Thoresby chuckled. 'I like your moral outrage, Archer. I want you to remain in my service. I can use a man
like you.'

'Why would you want me? I have made a mess of it.'

'How so? You solved the riddle of Fitzwilliam's
death. I am pleased his death was accidental. I do not
feel such a failure with him knowing that he was not
yet so evil that God struck him down.'

'I don't understand you.'

'You are not yet accustomed to the ways of the
world, Archer. In battle the sides seem clear. They are
not, you know. Out in the field you see none of the
play behind the lines. Today's enemy is tomorrow's
ally, sometimes over a mere strip of land along a river. You are behind the lines now, seeing the muddled truth of things. Nothing is so clear as you thought. You have
lost your innocence.'

'I fear I have lost my soul. You once gave me
a choice between yourself and Gaunt. I chose you,
thinking you were more honourable.' Archer looked
disgusted with himself.
'Dine with me tonight. We will talk.'

Thoresby found Owen in the hall at the appointed
hour, darkly watching some soldiers who hovered
round a cask of ale, trading stories, comfortable in
their brotherhood.

'You could return to that life. Would you like that?'
Owen shook his head. 'The reasons I left have

not changed. With one eye I am less reliable. I need

to work alone. That way I risk only my own life.'
'Good. I can use you in my household.'
'I would rather find more honest work.'
'Honest. Ah. What did you have in mind?' 'What will become of the Wiltons' shop?' Thoresby cocked his head to one side. 'You would

be interested in it? But you're merely an apprentice.'
'I would like to continue my apprenticeship with

Mistress Wilton.'
Thoresby raised an eyebrow. 'I have not decided

whether she will keep the shop.'

'You would be a fool to take it from her. She may

prove to be even more skilled than her husband.'
'And hence your interest in apprenticing with her.'

Thoresby smirked.
Owen glowered at Thoresby. 'You think I mean

to bed her. But it is the life I want. It is honest
work.'

'You killed my Archdeacon for her, not for me,

didn't you?'
'At that moment it mattered not a whit who it

was up there. I could not let him hurt her.'
Thoresby thought back to the funeral. There had
been no signs of affection between them. 'Have you
discussed your plans with her?'

'No.'

'What if she refuses to keep you on?'

'Then I will look for a similar post.'

'I see. Either way, I am to lose you. Pity. I liked that
you hated the work. It is what keeps a man honest.'

'When will you decide about the shop?'

'Soon.'

'I mean to spend some days at St. Mary's.'

'Honest work and prayer. I wonder if your old
comrades would recognise you?'

'Ever since you made up the story for me that I
had lost the heart for soldiering . . .' Owen shook his head. 'I don't understand it. But I can't forgive myself
for Digby.'

Thoresby put a hand on Owen's shoulder. 'We
can never predict the losses that we find hard to
bear. Come. Let us eat.'

Forgiveness

1 cannot hope for that so soon, Bess. But you're a
good friend to say it.' Owen put his pack down beside Bess, lifted her to her feet, and hugged her hard.

'My.' Bess took a step backward, flustered. 'If she
doesn't look forward to that, my friend Lucie is not
near as smart as she seems.'

'Look after her, Bess.' Owen hoisted his pack.

'The room will be waiting for you,' Bess called
to his departing back. But would Lucie Wilton, she wondered. The young woman had a mind of her own,
and a stubborn will. Bess could not predict her reaction

to Owen's plan.

*

Lucie rose to get more mulled wine for the Arch
bishop. He waved her down. 'I cannot stay longer.
You are satisfied with the terms?'

She examined the paper with what seemed inor
dinate care, but he wondered how much of that was
show. Her pale, drawn face spoke of her grief and her
ordeal. The bruises were dark against her white wimple. It was too soon after her husband's death and her
confrontation with Anselm to bargain for her future.
And that was precisely why he had chosen the day
after the funeral. No time to stew over it, begin to
question any of it. She would have what she wanted
as long as she vowed to remain silent. That was where
he wanted her.

'I am happy with it. What does Guildmaster Thorpe
say?'

'He intended you to take over the shop. He need
not know that his plan would have been blocked had you refused to co-operate.'

Lucie studied Thoresby's face far longer than he
found comfortable. 'I think I am right in trusting
you,' she said. 'I hope I do not find I was a fool.'

'As long as you keep your side of the bargain, all
will be well.'

'And what of Owen Archer?'

'He is disillusioned by his service in the Church.
He means to find honest work.'

'Can you let him do that?'

'It depends. Has he said anything to you?'

She shook her head. 'We will talk when he returns from the abbey.'

'Ah, yes. He is praying over it.' Thoresby rose.

Lucie rose. 'Your Grace, his eye. Could he still be
Captain of Archers with one eye?'

Odd question to ask him. 'Certainly. An archer
closes one eye to aim. The sighting is not the same, but the old Duke said Archer had almost attained his old accuracy’

'So why did he leave that life?'

'He did not trust himself any more’

'That is what he says. But what do you think,
Your Grace?'

Thoresby smiled. He liked her. 'I believe him. And
I think he was done with killing. He lost that eye
because he saved someone's life who did not find his life anything to be grateful for. Archer is an innocent.
Was. I think he has learned something in my service.'

'He saved my life.'

'It's fortunate that Archer still has the reflexes of
a soldier, if not the heart. God be with you, Mistress
Wilton’

'You will not punish him for your Archdeacon's
death?'

Another odd question. 'I did not become Archbishop
of York and Lord Chancellor of England by being a fool,
Mistress Wilton’

Lucie sat long into the evening. Melisende came in, drank some water, napped in Lucie's lap, Tildy
put food before Lucie and took it away cold, Bess
looked in and decided to leave her in peace, the cat
left for her night revels, and at last, cold and stiff in
all her joints, Lucie dragged herself up to bed, where
she buried her head and wept.

Owen tossed on his cot, holding his ears. But still
he heard the bells, felt them vibrate through his body. Damnable bells.

A timid knock. 'Pilgrim Archer. It is time for the
Night Office’

Owen sat up, realising why the bells had sounded
so loud. He was at St. Mary's. He groped for his eye
patch, put it on, and opened the door of his cell.

A novice bowed to him. 'Follow me.'

The bells stopped. In the echoing silence, his and many other sandalled feet whispered along the dimly
lit stone corridors. The black-robed company filed into
the candlelit chapel and flowed into the rows of seats,
all without speech, with few even looking up. The
novice led Owen to his place. He looked round at his companions, most with their hoods up, heads bowed,
no one bristling with resentment, no one jostling for a
better seat. All these men moving with humility and
quiet obedience. It filled Owen with a sense of peace.
In this he could see the appeal of monastic life. As they
began to chant the office, he felt lighthearted.

Until his eye rested on Brother Wulfstan. Gentle Wulfstan. Since the attempted poisoning, there was a vague cast to the old Infirmarian's eye, as though his thoughts were fixed on the next life. Owen wondered
how long Michaelo's poison would linger in Wulfstan's
body, and whether the novice Henry had thought to bleed the old monk.

Owen's feeling of peace was gone.

After he had broken his fast the next morning,
Owen wandered to the infirmary to speak with Henry.
But he found Wulfstan alone at his worktable, drip
ping various essential oils into a salve paste. As each
oil touched the warm paste, it released its intense
perfume. Owen understood why the old monk stood
near a slightly opened window.

'May we speak?' Owen asked. He was not sure
how closely they followed the Rule of Saint Benedict
here.

Wulfstan motioned Owen to a seat near him. 'The
infirmary is necessarily an exception - and, as our
Saviour knows only too well, I have grown lax in my
vow of silence over the years.'

This morning the old monk's eyes looked clear.
'You seem much recovered’ Owen said.

Wulfstan thought a moment, then nodded. 'A bad
business. Who would have thought Michaelo would
do such a thing?' He gave a little laugh. 1 find it quite
miraculous that he had the energy.'

The laughter surprised Owen. 'You have forgiven
him?'

Wulfstan shrugged. 'He has confessed and performed
penance.' He squinted while he measured another drop.
'And if in his heart he truly repents, the Lord God will
forgive him. I can do no less.'

'And Nicholas Wilton. Do you forgive him?'

Wulfstan sighed, wiped off his hands, sank down
beside Owen. 'That is more difficult. He used me to
poison my friend. Abbot Campian explained that it
was because Nicholas feared Montaigne. But he need
not have done, of that I am certain. Geoffrey had come
to make his peace with God. He would not have put his
soul in peril. He would not have attacked the Wiltons’
Wulfstan brushed tears from his eyes.

'I am sorry for the pain this has caused you’

The Infirmarian studied Owen's face. 'I believe you.
I did not like you at first’

'I know’

'You knew too much for a stranger. Asked too many questions.' The old monk shook his head. 'Poor Lucie.
Will the story be told? Will she lose all that Nicholas tried to give her?'

'The Archbishop has no desire to publicise a scandal involving his late Archdeacon. But whether he will let
Mistress Wilton keep the shop, I do not know’
,. 'You do not approve of the Archbishop's silence?'

'I am pleased for Mistress Wilton. And for you.
But the people have been misled about Anselm.'

Wulfstan shrugged. 'He was a benighted soul. As
are we all, more or less. Let him rest in peace.'

Owen was quiet.

'What will you do now?' Wulfstan asked.

'I would like to continue as Mistress Wilton's ap
prentice.'

Wulfstan sighed. '1 see’ Owen would bide his time,
work his charm, ask for her hand. And who could
blame him?

Early one morning two weeks after the funeral, Lucie
woke to a fresh scent that reminded her of spring. She
smiled when she turned towards the garden window
and saw the quince branches she had brought in two
days ago. The warmth in the room had coaxed them into bloom. A good omen on her first waking in this
bed alone. She had dreaded this first night. She had
put it off, sleeping in the smaller room with her Aunt
Phillippa while they aired out this room and scrubbed
away the illness and death.

Philiippa had left the day before, with misgivings. 'I
should not leave you so soon. You have not even tried
a night in the room they died in. Some people find it
frightening. Though Heaven knows, others must have
died here before Nicholas and Anselm. It is knowing
it. Having seen Nicholas here in his shroud -'

'Please, Aunt Phillippa.' Her constant chatter would
drive Lucie mad. 'You have been here when I needed you most. I can tell you're worrying about Sir Robert
and Freythorpe. A fortnight is long enough to be gone.'

Phillippa sighed. 'You do seem to have things under
control.' She looked round the tidy kitchen with sat
isfaction.

Lucie smiled. It was Phillippa and Tildy, not she
herself, who had thoroughly cleaned the house. 'I am
sure that Tildy will keep this room clean now you've trained her.'

Phillippa straightened a bench. 'She's a good girl.
Your Guildmaster has done right by you.'

'And the Archbishop’

'Hmpf. It was in his own interest to keep silent about
the matter. I would not waste too much gratitude on
him, child.'

'Will you tell Sir Robert about Nicholas and Geoffrey?'

'I have prayed over that. I fear it might send Robert
off on another pilgrimage. But I think he ought to be
told. Who knows? A sense of the circle closing might
wake him up to the world again. He might even think
to come see his daughter’

Lucie thought of that this morning, and did not know
how she felt about the prospect. She had banished Sir
Robert from her thoughts fifteen years ago. And before
that he had been more of an ogre than a parent.

But the thought of him and Aunt Phillippa at Frey
thorpe Hadden, thinking of her, made her feel less
alone.

She had never been so alone. As a child she had
slept with her mother or her aunt. At the convent she
had shared a room with other girls. And then she had come to Nicholas's bed. Suddenly she was all alone. And would be so indefinitely.

Dreary thoughts. Perhaps Phillippa had gone too
soon. But Owen was to return from St. Mary's today.

Owen. The thought of his return cheered her. Silly.
She could hardly expect him to keep up the ruse of
apprenticing to her. Some pilgrim to the abbey may
have offered him a post already. He might not even
stop in to say good-bye.

More dreary thoughts. Even the quince blossoms
could not cheer her. Lucie scooped Melisende up from
the foot of the bed and cuddled her. The cat had been
sleeping peacefully. Now she opened an eye to see why
she had been disturbed. And, seeing her mistress's
teary face bent over her, applied a rough tongue to
the tears.

'I thought if I had the shop I would be quite content,'
Lucie whispered into Melisende's warm fur, 'but I had
not thought what it would be like all alone.' She put
the cat down and got out of bed. The best antidote for
this sort of mood is hard work’