The Lady Chapel (39 page)

Lucie took his arm. "Tildy, will you lock up tonight?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Lucie led Owen up the stairs and closed the door behind them.

"All right," Owen said, "what does Magda know that I don't know? Are you with child? And you've told her but not me?"

"I am, but I didn't. She just knows these things, Owen. So? What do you think?"

"I don't like these games."

"It is no game, Owen."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm only just now certain. Believe me."

"You're not sorry?"

"Sorry? What a fool you are!" Lucie hugged him.

Owen reached his arms round her, but stopped, uncertain.

Lucie laughed. "You don't mean to deprive me of hugs till high summer?"

"High summer?"

Lucie pulled Owen's arms round her. "For pity's sake, Owen, don't make me regret what our love has wrought."

"The babe might grow up to be a soldier."

"Better that than an archbishop."

Now Owen hugged her, but more tenderly than usual.

28/ Blood Enemies

The King greeted his Chancellor warmly. "So you have returned, John. Does this mean you found your murderer and have him safely locked up in your dungeons? Or perhaps you've executed him already."

"The major accomplices are dead, my King, but not the one who conceived of the murders."

"And he is locked up?"

"On the contrary. She is living the life of royalty."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "She? Your villain is a woman?"

"A most cunning woman."

"Living the life of royalty? What do you mean by that, John?"

"She is here at court, my Lord."

"At my court?" Edward stood up abruptly, walked over to the fire, held out his hands to warm them. "I hope you are not going to accuse Mistress Alice."

Thoresby felt a chill run down his back. How had the King guessed? He had told no one here at court. "Why do you say that, Your Grace? Why Alice?"

Edward turned a stern look on Thoresby. "She told me that she imprudently let you know she was privy to information about you that you would prefer no one knew. She has worried that you would try to discredit her before she could convince you of her discretion. You had made her fear you distrusted her and disapproved of her presence at court."

All cleverly true--except the fear part. Alice Perrers feared nothing. What could Thoresby say? "I was thinking of Queen Philippa--how ill she is, how much love she needs. It seemed cruel to let her see you with the Perrers woman."

"You would judge your King?"

"Forgive me. I saw it as a spiritual matter."

"And so you were about to accuse Alice?"

"I did not say that. I confess that she is right in fearing that I distrust her and disapprove of her presence at court. You have a wife, Your Grace. A most loving, beautiful, gracious--"

"Enough! You do not have to recite my Queen's virtues for me." The blue eyes had turned cold. "But I wonder what has changed in ten years, John. When I loved Marguerite you did not preach at me."

Thoresby felt the courage draining from him. He gulped some wine while he thought what to say. Marguerite. Obviously the Perrers bitch had told Edward. Sweet Jesu. "The circumstances were different ten years ago. Marguerite was at court, but not acknowledged as your mistress. It was all done discreetly so that no one would guess your relationship, particularly the Queen."

There was a nasty glow in the King's eyes. "Discreetly. Yes. As I recall, you pretended to be smitten. You escorted her here and there. And into my chamber. But perhaps you did not pretend, eh, John? Or did you act the part so well that you grew to believe it yourself?"

"Your Grace?"

"I have here a copy of a letter in which you swore your fealty to the fair Marguerite, described her body in intimate detail, and claimed the babe that she died trying to bear was yours." With his ever-present jewel-handled dagger, Edward poked through some papers on the table, squinted, selected one. He held it out to Thoresby.

"Your Grace." Thoresby took the paper, but did not look at it at once. He remembered the letter. Why had Marguerite not burned it as she had all the rest? What could he do? He held it up to the light, skimmed it. Dear God, it was worse than he'd remembered. The moles between Marguerite's buttocks and beneath her left nipple, the seallike bark she made as she rode him to ecstasy.

How ridiculously in love had Thoresby been to write such things? Completely, totally, overwhelmingly. And Marguerite had died so soon after he'd written the letter.

Thoresby knelt to his King, his head down, his right hand to his breast, his left hand crushing the letter.

"Useless to destroy the letter, John. 'Tis but a copy."

"Forgive me, my Lord. 1 was put in the way of temptation and could not resist."

Edward touched Thoresby's head with the dagger, then lifted Thoresby's chin. The King smiled on his Chancellor. "You are forgiven, John. And for that you must thank Alice. She has made me see that I never really loved Marguerite. She was a pretty thing, a toy. 1 lusted for her body. But I did not love her. Not as I love Alice. Or my Queen. Rise, John. Let us embrace and let the past rest."

Thoresby stood and let himself be pulled into the King's crushing embrace. "Your Grace has the noblest of hearts."

Edward beamed down on Thoresby. "So." He slapped Thoresby on the back. "Now. Do you still accuse Alice?"

Thoresby took a deep breath. "Her cousin, Paul Scorby, had his men murder two members of York's Mercers' Guild. He would have murdered another man if I had not intervened. Scorby claimed that he had gotten his instructions from his cousin Alice."

"Did he? And in what form? Letters?"

"Yes."

The King held out his hand. "Then give them to me."

"I cannot."

"Do you have them?"

"No, Your Grace. But his widow is searching the manor."

The King threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Oh, John. Your holiness of late has addled your wits. I hope that you did not let this man go on the strength of this claim, for I assure you that is why he told you such a thing--to be set free so he might escape the country."

"He is dead, Your Grace."

"Good. For you never will find any letters, I am certain. Alice was an innocent when she came to court. And while here she has been treated so gently that she could have neither cause nor opportunity to get caught up in such a plot. And let that be an end to it."

"Her uncles put her up to it, Your Grace. Scorby was to kill the people who knew how the Perrers family bought their way to you."

Edward reared up, threw his dagger at the table, where it stuck, vibrating. "You say that people buy their way to me, John? Is that what you think of your King?"

"I--it is what he said, Your Grace." Thoresby hated himself for sniveling.

"Get out of here before I change my mind, John." The King's voice was quiet. Menacing.

This time it was Alice Perrers who discovered Thoresby waiting for her. He lifted his own jeweled goblet to her. "I believe your cellar is even better than mine, Mistress Perrers. Or shall I call you Alice, since we know such intimate details about each other?"

Alice hesitated, then dismissed her maid. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, John?"

"I wanted to thank you."

The cat eyes darted nervously around the room. The daringly low-cut bodice could not hide the frightened breathing.

"Do not worry, I've brought no one with me. Not on such an intimate errand."

"Intimate?"

Thoresby stood and walked over to Alice. Insolently, he placed a hand on her chest.

"You are drunk, John."

He shook his head, squeezed a breast.

Alice gasped, but did not move away from him. "You wanted to thank me?"

"Yes, indeed. You have reminded me that I am but a man, Alice. A man with passions. Heat. I lie awake at night, dreaming of the pleasure of ravishing you. Isn't that a healthy sign?"

"1 am not Marguerite."

"No. No, you most assuredly are not Marguerite. My love for her was gentle. Not like the angry passion 1 feel for you."

He put an arm around her waist, one hand still on her chest, and stared into the cat eyes.

They did not flinch. Alice did not move. Thoresby could hear her heart pounding. He felt his own pounding. He reached down and sank his teeth into her right breast. She screamed and tried to pull away. He held her tight until he tasted the salt of her blood. Then he let her go.

She slumped against the wall, crying out when she looked down and saw the tooth marks. "You're a monster."

"No, just a man, seeking vengeance. My King loves breasts. And now you will have to cover one for a while. Or explain. Which might be amusing in itself."

Alice stared at him, her hand on her wound. Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Pity we are sworn enemies, John. 1 would enjoy more rounds with you."

"I am sure we shall meet again, Alice. You have not won. Not the whole battle." Thoresby took up his jeweled goblet and left with the pleasant taste of her blood in his mouth.

The Archbishop returned to York in March and sent for Owen.

As Owen entered the Archbishop's chambers, he noticed that Thoresby looked pale.

"It did not go well, Your Grace?"

"It went well enough--though the King could not be bothered with my claims. Alice Perrers has bewitched him."

"Anna found no hidden papers, so I could send you nothing to support your accusation."

Thoresby nodded. "I received your letter."

"You stayed a good while."

"I left court last month. I have been visiting some of my deaneries. I think now I shall withdraw to Fountains Abbey to think on my future."

Owen nodded to the chain of office that glinted in the firelight. "For all that, you are still Chancellor."

"For now. For perhaps only a little while longer."

"What do you mean?"

"That is one of the things I must decide. Whether to step down."

"And then she wins."

Thoresby closed his eyes, sank back in his chair. "She is the Devil's creature, Archer. Mark my words. When the King lies dying, she will take what she can and desert him. She is cold and unnatural." He opened his eyes. "But no, she has not won."

"With treason she bought her way to court, with murder she covered her trail, but what is it that holds the King?"

Thoresby shook his head. "The illegal wool sales were her uncles' doing, not hers. And it was they, too, who used information about Enguerrand de Coucy to buy Alice's introduction to the Queen. But the murders and the hold on the King, yes, that is all Alice Perrers, young as she is. She has eyes like a cat's, Archer, an intelligence that misses nothing--no nuance of speech, no gesture--and a body clothed to reveal its youthful bloom. But it is her spirit--the power that emanates from her--that arouses." There was an odd flush to Thoresby's cheeks as he thought about her.

"She aroused you, Your Grace?" Owen tried to imagine the cold, bloodless man before him in a state of passion. He could not.

Thoresby opened his eyes and laughed. "Another man might take offense at your shock, Archer, but I am pleased by it. My mask is back in place."

"Are we finished with the deaths of Ridley and Crounce?"

"Yes. Pity we had to lose our best Town Wait in the reckoning. Did you warn him away, Archer?"

"No. Though Lucie and I had decided to. They had already fled."

"And you've never heard another word from them?"

Owen shrugged.

"You know where they are."

"No."

Thoresby stared at Owen for a long moment, then shook his head. "You have changed, Archer. You are growing into this life. You are learning to use the ambiguities to your own advantage."

Owen shrugged. "The money Ridley gave you for the Lady Chapel. Have you decided whether it is blood money?"

Thoresby smiled a little. "I am certain it was, Archer. Yet I am but a man. Is it not fitting that I accept an imperfect tomb?"

Owen stopped at the York Tavern to improve his mood with a tankard of Tom Merchet's ale. Tom joined him.

"So 'twas our King's leman ordered the bloodshed." Tom shook his head.

"Take care you forget that as fast as you've learned it, Tom. The King would call it treason to speak of it."

"But sure she's too young to have plotted it all?"

"Her uncles put her on the path. It was they who traded the wool illegally and bought the information from Wirthir about the King's French son-in-law. Either de Coucy or the Princess Isabella then bought their silence by presenting Mistress Alice to the Queen."

Tom frowned, thinking. "It was Kate Cooper had Scorby chop off hands?"

Owen nodded.

"A woman with a black heart," Tom muttered.

"She could not forgive her father's ruin, her brother's death."

"Was it her poisoned Ridley?"

"No."

"Bess had a mind to tell Mistress d'Aldbourg what her Kate did to our John."

Owen drank down his ale. "I'm sorry for that."

"Bess didn't tell her after all. Said it might kill her, and she'd not have such a stain on her soul."

"Bess is a good woman. And wise." Owen stood up. "I must get home to Lucie."

"Aye. Tell Bess to come home. There's a lad come to see her about working in stable. I'd thought to offer work to Jasper, but Bess says he's learning to read and write."

Owen nodded. "He thinks he'd like to apprentice to Lucie." "Well, some good will come out of much evil, then." "Precious little." Tom shrugged. "We must be content with it."

Author's Note

Many people think o f history as mighty figures, epic events, and statistics. But at their best, historians bring the past to life by suggesting the motivations of the mighty, like a biographer with a clear thesis of the subject's inner life. Historical novelists or dramatists go further by reducing the mighty to human scale. Shakespeare put a human face on Richard III in his fatal battle by using the fact noted by one historian, that the turning point for Richard was when he was unhorsed. The Bard lets us witness Richard's tragic awareness as he cries, "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" Novelists and dramatists paint in the detail of the period, set the mighty in motion with imagined dialogue, and create the less than mighty characters missing in the historical records, those Owen Archers and Lucie Wiltons working secretly behind the scenes, those Bess and Tom Merchets providing the lodging and brewing the ale. Believable characters bring history to life.