The King's Bishop (9 page)

Owen’s part; that was what troubled Lucie. The company’s arrival meant Owen’s departure was imminent. And despite her confiding to Bess that Owen was driving her mad with his litany of worries, that she prayed for a respite, Lucie did not wish him to go. If this was the answer to her prayers, they had been misinterpreted. She had meant to pray that he would realise their little family was as safe as any family in York, not that he would leave the city.

Already she missed him, thinking of the cold bed, the nights when she needed his ear and must write instead, the countless possible dangers he might encounter that would haunt her throughout her days and nights while he was gone: Scotsmen on the road – they were not wont to observe the King’s peace; packs of wolves – folk said they were hungry after the hard winter and moving in larger packs than usual; men jealous of Owen’s favour with the powerful John Thoresby who might cause an ‘accident’ in order to take his place; even such mundane matters as spoiled food, and no one with her skill with physicks to care for him if he should fall ill. When Owen was at home Lucie did not fret over such things, but the moment he rode out of the city her imagination betrayed her. She had thought it would be easier to part with him in time, but instead it grew worse. He was more and more a part of her. And now there was Gwenllian. She was growing so quickly. He would miss so much while he was away.

‘Will they come here directly?’ Jasper wondered, climbing up on to a stool with Crowder in his arms.
The ginger kitten swatted at a fly that buzzed past. Jasper lunged to catch the unbalanced kitten and they both crashed to the floor, the stool following with a clatter. The kitten squirmed out of Jasper’s grasp and hissed at the stool. Jasper lay on his back and giggled.

Lucie stood there, hands on hips, knowing she should caution Jasper that Crowder was safer tumbling through the air than clutched tightly, but too thankful for the boy’s laughter to bring herself to chide him. ‘I doubt they will come here directly. They have ridden a long way and will wish to rest.’

Jasper sat up, brushed himself off. Bits of dust and herbs clung to his pale hair. ‘I should like to see them come across the bridge.’ Eyes wide, smile eager, he willed her with all his energy to consent.

‘Why?’ Lucie teased, picking the debris out of his hair. ‘You have seen King’s men before.’

Jasper’s pale eyebrows came together; he stretched his hands towards her, palms up in supplication though she had not yet said no. ‘I want to see the men the Captain is going to lead.’

Lucie made a great business of whisking the last bits of debris from Jasper’s hair. ‘But surely you mean to be there to watch when they depart? You will see them then.’

Jasper’s shoulders slumped, his head drooped. ‘And I have work to do.’

Lucie could tease him no further. ‘You may go as soon as you tell me how fares Mistress Thorpe.’ Jasper’s errand had been to Gwenllian’s first godmother, the wife of Lucie’s guildmaster. Mistress Thorpe had taken a fall with a cauldron of hot washing water a few weeks past and had scalded her left foot. Jasper had delivered a second jar of salve for the terrible blistering.

‘Mistress Thorpe says that she has not awakened with the pain in two nights, which is a blessing. And she was most grateful you had sent the salve. She blessed you for knowing she had used the last of it this morning. She has the children helping with the washing and cooking and did not know when she could spare one to come to the shop.’

Lucie could tell nothing from that; Gwen Thorpe believed that to complain of pain was to criticise God’s judgement. Even when she had almost died in childbirth last year she had suffered the pain with a white-lipped, white-knuckled silence that had so angered Magda Digby, the midwife had threatened to leave the birth chamber, for how was she to help if she did not know the condition of her patient. But Lucie knew Jasper was a keen observer. ‘Did you see her foot?’

Jasper shook his head. ‘She did not show me.’

Still badly blistered then, else she would have shown him. It was time for Magda Digby to visit Gwen Thorpe. ‘All right. Off with you.’

Lucie stepped back into the kitchen to check on Gwen’s namesake and found Owen lounging on a bench, cup in hand. The cradle beside him was empty. ‘Where is Gwenllian?’ The excited pitch of her own voice surprised Lucie.

Owen grinned. ‘And you call me a worrier. I am tempted to tell you a tale of Scotsmen crashing into the kitchen, but the truth is Tildy took Gwenllian out in the garden to watch the clouds. No harm will come to her.’

Lucie trusted Tildy; it was coming upon Owen unaware and remembering the separation to come that had tightened her throat, but perhaps it was better to let Owen think she was just a fretting
mother. ‘Is it warm enough for Gwenllian in the garden?’

Owen sat up, handed Lucie his cup to taste. ‘You must trust Tildy, my love. She is very good with our child. You cannot do everything in this house, though I’m damned if I know how to keep you from trying.’

Lucie took a sip of the cool well water, handed Owen the cup. ‘It is Tildy who tries to do everything in the house. I worry that with cooking, cleaning, and tending Gwenllian she is overworked.’

‘Tildy will tell you when she has need of help, my love. When she fears that things are not as perfect as they might be.’ They both knew that Tildy would ask for assistance only if she felt the quality of her work was disappointing them.

Lucie studied her husband, so handsome, so much a part of her. He was sweaty and covered with a fine film of rich earth; he looked content. ‘The work is going well?’

‘I have one more bed to prepare. God help me, the rocks I dug out last year are back, and with a year’s extra growth.’ His damp linen shirt clung to his muscular chest and back as he flexed and stretched.

Lucie never tired of looking at him, such a fine man. Already she missed him so keenly that the quiet, companionable joy of the moment pained her. ‘Rocks growing indeed, Owen! I’ll ask you to hold your tongue with nonsense such as that or Gwenllian and Jasper will grow up with unholy notions of God’s creation.’ She could see at once that her effort to sound jolly had failed.

Owen’s eye held hers. ‘What is wrong?’

Lucie allowed herself to go to him, stroke his wiry dark hair. ‘The King’s company has entered the city. We’ve little time together before you leave.’

Owen wiped his hands on a cloth, draped it over his lap, clean side up, and pulled Lucie down. ‘I won’t pretend I’m sorry to hear you are already missing me. I’ve been thinking you wanted me out from underfoot.’

Lucie took a cloth and gently wiped his face. ‘You drive me mad at times, ‘tis true, my love. But I would have you no other way. And I would have you home and safe, not riding north in this uncertain season on the King’s business.’

Owen grabbed the hand that held the cloth, kissed Lucie’s palm. ‘How do you know the company is here?’

‘Tom Merchet told Jasper.’

The bell on the shop door announced a customer. With a groan, Lucie began to rise. Owen held her down. ‘Let Jasper see to them.’

‘He has gone out to watch the company come across the bridge.’ Lucie stood, brushed her skirt, kissed Owen’s forehead.

‘Mistress Wilton? Captain Archer?’ a young, reedy voice called from the front of the house.

They looked at each other. ‘Harold,’ they said together. Archdeacon Jehannes’s clerk. Owen rose, hugged Lucie, went into the shop. Lucie followed with a heavy heart, knowing Harold would be summoning Owen to meet the company.

Harold bowed to them. ‘God go with you, Mistress Wilton, Captain Archer. I am sent to ask the Captain to come to my master’s house after vespers. The King’s men are to arrive shortly.’

Vespers, Lucie thought. And then Owen’s mind would be filled with the coming mission. His eyes would shine with the prospect. For though Lucie had no doubt that Owen loved his family, she knew he
could not be happy long without a battle, or at least a good problem to solve, preferably outside York. She had warned him when he chose to stay in the city as her apprentice that he would tire of the life. And since Lucie had predicted it, Owen tried to hide his yearning for action from her – but she knew him far too well to miss the signs, the pacing, the stretching, the cutting of too much firewood.

Owen nodded to Harold. ‘Tell the Archdeacon I shall be there.’

After Harold departed, Owen held his arms out to Lucie. Grateful that he understood her mood, she stepped into his embrace.

Their quiet moment did not last long. Soon Jasper came puffing in, obviously winded from a good run. ‘God go with you,’ he cried, then hesitated at the door.

Lucie could see that he was about to burst with news. She moved away from Owen, smoothed her apron and the kerchief holding up her hair. ‘What is it, Jasper?’

‘It’s Ned leading the company! Did you know? Was it to be a surprise?’

Owen frowned. ‘Ned Townley?’ The boy nodded. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I would not mistake him,’ Jasper said. The lad had been quite taken with Ned when he had met him the previous summer. ‘So you did not know. And I have been first to tell you.’ Jasper was pleased.

‘Why would he be part of the company?’ Lucie asked, suddenly adding another worry to her growing list. Was this a matter requiring more armed men? ‘You did not tell me that there would be need for two such fighters as you and Ned.’

Owen squeezed Lucie’s shoulder. ‘We do not know that is the case, though it is possible.’ He shrugged.
‘We shall know soon enough. It would be very like the Archbishop to lead me into trouble with nary a word of warning.’

As Archdeacon of York, Jehannes had a substantial house near the minster. It was simply furnished, his spiritual life being that which drew his attention. Neither hangings nor painted plaster softened the walls, nor embroidered cushions the chairs. But the fire was welcoming and the food and wine were good.

However, this evening the room seemed more ascetically furnished than usual, with Ned Townley’s elegance radiating from the corner, standing as a contrast against the dark walls. Even in his travelling gown and leggings, Ned looked too elegant for the room, the clasp on his travelling cloak a heavy circle of bronze, his leather belt intricately tooled and clasped with a silver buckle, the sheath of his dagger tipped in silver, his boots of fine make, his hair precisely cut to frame his handsome face.

Owen lounged in the doorway as he took in Ned’s appearance. ‘So you’ve taken to baiting the thieves in the forests, flaunting Lancaster’s generosity to his spy?’

Ned had begun to cross over to greet his friend, but he hesitated at the comment, his smile frozen. ‘Baiting … ?’

Owen nodded towards the ornate scabbard. ‘A bit of silver to lure them?’

Ned glanced down, then laughed and slapped Owen on the back. ‘I must keep the King’s men in fighting form, my friend. How better than to invite attack?’

‘You will not wear the silver on the road?’ Jehannes asked with a worried frown.

Ned wiped the grin off his face when he saw the Archdeacon’s concern. ‘Fear not. I am no fool.’

Owen slapped his friend on the back, nodded to Jehannes. ‘He is a good man, I assure you.’ He turned his good eye on his friend. ‘I am glad to see you, Ned, never doubt it, and glad to have you riding with me. But knowing you as I do, I know there’s a story to why you are part of this company. And the others who join our company in York will ask. It is common knowledge that Lancaster opposed Wykeham’s advancement to the Privy Seal, believing he climbed too high. Bishop of Winchester, Lord Chancellor – the titles would make Wykeham even more powerful. As Lancaster’s spy, it’s passing strange you would come with us to speak for Wykeham in this matter – unless Lancaster has had a change of heart?’

Ned raised an eyebrow, burst into hearty laughter. ‘Nay. The enmity goes too deep for that.’

‘Then come, my friend. Sit down and tell us how it is you are here.’ Owen joined Jehannes near the fire, motioned to Ned.

Ned returned to his seat, settled back in his chair, nodded. ‘It was not my design to hide the sad circumstances that bring me here. I merely waited for the proper moment.’

Jehannes asked Harold to pour wine. ‘You may speak in front of my clerk, Master Townley. Harold can be trusted.’

‘To be sure, it is nothing so horrible that I need worry about Harold,’ Ned said. ‘My fault is merely loving too well and acting a fool.’ As he sipped his wine he told them of his unfortunate argument with the page Daniel on the evening of the lad’s death. ‘His protectors in Wyndesore’s household did not believe my assurance that I could not have followed him from
the hall and murdered him. It seemed wise to remove me from Windsor Castle while Daniel’s death was fresh in people’s minds.’

‘But you are most unjustly accused,’ Jehannes said with a look of dismay. ‘Had no one a thought to clearing your name?’

‘Oh, aye, my lady’s mistress, Alice Perrers, declared me innocent, and that was enough for the King. And more than that they could not easily do, eh? Even the King cannot return to that night and follow Daniel. Would that he could. I would be grateful for a means to prove to my Mary that I did not touch the lad.’

‘
Your
Mary?’ Owen grinned. ‘You do sound as if you have lost your heart at last.’ And to someone in Mistress Perrers’s household.

‘Aye.’

‘You look a bit sad for such good fortune, Ned.’ Owen could always read Ned’s eyes.