The Lady Chapel (21 page)

"I am not shocked to hear of new proof of Your Grace's remarkable fertility," Thoresby said in what he hoped was an affectionately teasing voice.

Edward fell back in his seat and roared with laughter.

Praise be to God, Thoresby still could dissemble convincingly.

"You never disappoint me, John. You never preach." The King sobered. "Did Mistress Alice tell you the child's name?"

"No."

Edward's face lit up in an expansive smile. "He was christened John. After you, for your friendship."

Dear God, make it not so. Surely the boy had been named after Edward's son, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. Yes, Thoresby was sure that was the case. This was simply a ploy to endear Thoresby to the child.

"I require no reward but your friendship, my King." Thoresby raised his glass. "Let us drink to the young John."

Edward beamed. "I knew you would be pleased."

Thoresby took a long drink. "As to the gift of London property, if you are determined in this, I would advise that the gift be made in private." Thoresby chose his words with care. "Your affection for Mistress Alice is already noted at court. To call more attention to her special standing might cause her difficulties. And in later years the child might bear the brunt."

The King frowned into his cup. "Mistress Alice is a remarkable young woman. To what could they possibly object?"

That was not a question that Thoresby could answer truthfully, much as he yearned to.

"It would be so with anyone. Your courtiers are jealous of your affection. It is their great love for you that makes it so."

Edward finished his wine, waved away the servant who hurried to pour more. "It is late. I am weary." He studied Thoresby's face for a long moment. "You are a good friend to me, John, and I thank you for it. But you need not pamper me. I know that Mistress Alice offends with her sharp wit and canny business sense. My Queen has these abilities, but they are softened by a nurturing gentilesse that makes the people love her."

So Edward was not so blind. Thoresby was relieved. "And Queen Philippa was born to a noble family, my King. That is important to the people. Mistress Alice comes from nowhere."

The King nodded. "Which makes her all the more admirable, John."

"You are a wise man who can see that, Your Grace. The people are not so wise."

"Indeed." The King rose. "We will talk more about the gifts. A list of the properties will be brought to you." Edward began to depart, but turned, with a softened expression, to say, "Philippa and I are most glad to have you here, John. My Queen is unwell, as you can see. We need the comfort of good friends about us."

"I am most honored to be here, Your Grace." Thoresby left after the King, exhausted from his journey and his efforts to be civil to and about Alice Perrers. It would be a long December.

Brother Florian arrived at Windsor on the third afternoon of Thoresby's visit. He was soaked through, having shared a barge with a group of jongleurs who had contrived to fill the enclosed area with their gear and persons before the clerk boarded, forcing him to make the trip as unprotected as the bargeman. Fortunately the sleet of the previous few days had subsided to a chill mist and occasional drizzle, but it was enough moisture to weigh down Florian's cloak and his mood.

"Might one ask, Your Grace, why these papers could not be entrusted to Brother Michaelo, your secretary, who sits so cozily in your chambers in London? Can he really have so much to do with the ordering and shipping of supplies to York that he could not be spared for this journey?" Brother Florian, white-haired and confident from years of experience, was not one to mince words.

"You have asked, Brother Florian, and I am happy to answer." Thoresby smiled. "I do not entrust the papers to Brother Michaelo because I cannot be certain that he will not trade their contents for some of the luxuries he finds irresistible. Whereas Michaelo is very good at the tasks to which I have set him because he knows that he will share in the enjoyment of these items if they reach my houses in Yorkshire. It is all actually quite tidy. Do you not enjoy being indispensable?"

Brother Florian snorted. "Had I been truly indispensable, you would not have passed me over when looking for a secretary to replace Jehannes, Your Grace. It is no doubt Brother Michaelo's Norman wealth that is truly indispensable." Florian raised his cup to his lips, discovered it was empty, and thumped it down with a growl.

"I see that your river voyage chilled your soul, a penance out of all proportion to your petty sins." Thoresby pushed the flagon of wine over to the monk. "We will dine well tonight. That should cheer you."

When Brother Florian had gone away to improve his disposition with prayer and a nap, Thoresby opened the packet of notes and documents and settled back to read. He was pleased to find that Florian had done his usual thorough job.

According to court records, just as Chiriton and Company had informed on Goldbetter, Goldbetter had informed on business partners who had smuggled wool to Flanders to avoid customs fees. Various Goldbetter and Company agents had provided a list of smugglers in exchange for a blind eye to their own less questionable but still not quite legal activities. Ridley and Crounce had been among the agents who provided names, but it was not recorded who had informed on whom.

Florian had included a list of the smugglers who had been sent to the Fleet prison, annotated with information gained at the prison itself. Excellent Florian, to take the time to visit the prison. Most of the smugglers had been released after a brief stay, two were still there because of later information brought against them to compound their sentences, and one had died in prison. The last had been one Alan of Aldborough.

That interested Thoresby. Aldborough was near Boroughbridge, where Will Crounce had lived. Crounce might have been privy to local gossip about Aldborough's business dealings. It was possible that someone in Alan of Aldborough's family was avenging the man's death.

Brother Florian had discovered another interesting fact about Aldborough. After two cups of brandywine, the jailer confided that he had been most surprised when Aldborough sickened and died in two days. Up to that point, he had been remarkably healthy and optimistic.

The next day Thoresby found a courtier who was sending a messenger north and added a letter to Owen Archer to the messenger's load.

15/ Nightmares

Wind rattled the shutters and sent drafts dancing through the house. Lucie woke to the sound, realized it was just the wind and curled up against Owen's warm back. And then she heard the scream. And again. The second one woke Owen.

"What the Devil?" he grumbled, sitting up and rubbing his scarred eye.

"It's Jasper again. I'll go see if Tildy needs me." Lucie threw on her shift, then a shawl.

Owen caught Lucie's arm. "Let it be. Tildy likes comforting him. You need rest. You've been so pale. If you get up every night for Jasper's nightmares, you will sicken, and then I'll have him out of the house."

Lucie sat on the edge of the bed. "Owen, please. He's just a boy. I had nightmares after my mother died. I know how frightened he is. I remember."

"You've taken him in. You've done that for him. And Tildy's down there right now rocking him and crooning--you know that. Let it be. She's done wonders with the boy." Owen grabbed Lucie's shift and dragged her over to him, holding her tight.

"He's frightened, Owen. He needs to feel welcome. A part of the household. Then he'll feel safer. He keeps apologizing for being here."

"I will talk to him in the morning. I will not let you lose more sleep over the boy. There is no need."

When Owen went down to the kitchen in the morning, Jasper sat beside the fire clutching a cup of steaming liquid. He was a handsome lad with expressive eyes and golden hair.

Owen pulled up a stool and sat down beside Jasper. "I'm glad to see you mending, lad. We're all grateful that the Lord did not mean to take you just yet."

"Thank you, Captain Archer." Jasper's eyes were wary.

Owen poured himself some ale. "How old are you, Jasper?"

"I will be nine this winter."

"Nine years." Owen nodded, took a drink. "A good age to begin to build the strength for the longbow, it seems to me. What do you say, Jasper?"

The boy shrugged and looked away, but Owen saw the glitter of a tear sliding down Jasper's cheek. "My arm's still bandaged." The boy lifted his right arm.

"It's healing well, I hear. We can work slowly at first. Besides, a strong lad like yourself must find it hard to be stuck indoors. After you've broken your fast, would you like to go out with me and start strengthening your left arm?"

Jasper turned back to Owen with a friendlier look, but then frowned. "I must not be seen."

"So much the better that we have a walled garden. Mistress Merchet at the York Tavern has no guests staying in the room with the window that looks down into the garden, and no other buildings around us are tall enough for anyone to see in, unless they climb atop roofs to do so. And scaling a roof--well, we would notice that, wouldn't we, lad? So you've got a bit of space outdoors to walk about in."

The boy's face brightened a little, but he still looked uncertain. "Why are you being so good to me?"

Owen grinned. "Now, that's a good question, Jasper. You know that Mistress Wilton is a Master Apothecary?"

The boy nodded.

"So we have the skill here to get you well. So does the Riverwoman, but she has no space that's private like this. We do not invite strangers back into the house. All in all, it seemed a good place for you."

"But why are you helping me?"

"Because it is the Christian thing to do?" Owen grinned as Jasper shook his head. "You are right to distrust such an answer, Jasper.

The whole city knows of your trouble, and there are doubtless some murderers looking for you."

Jasper looked down at the cup in his hands. "You've heard that 1 watched them murder Master Crounce."

"A terrible thing to watch, a friend being attacked."

"1 didn't help him," Jasper whispered.

So that was part of the boy's problem. He felt guilty. "That is nothing to feel guilty about, Jasper. What could you do against armed men? A soldier is wise to know when it is best to keep quiet, stay alive, and go for help. Which you did."

The boy looked up at Owen. "Really?"

Owen nodded. "I have also heard that your mother died afterward. That is what the city at large knows."

"Did Mistress Digby tell you anything more?"

Owen wondered where the boy was going with that question. He wanted to be as honest as possible with the boy without telling him how involved he was in finding the murderers. That would surely make the boy nervous.

"Would it bother you if Mistress Digby had spoken to us about you?

Jasper shrugged. "I wondered, that's all."

"We know what Mistress Digby knows."

Jasper attempted a smile. "If the Riverwoman trusts you, then I do, too."

"Thank you. Well." Owen stood up. "You finish what you're drinking and have a bit of bread and cheese, too, for it's cold outside. Then we'll go out in the garden and see how strong you are."

Tildy took her cue and bustled Jasper over to the food she'd set out for him. The boy bolted down his food and declared himself ready.

Low, gray clouds threatened snow, but so far the day was dry. Last night's windstorm had scattered some debris from the trees about the garden.

"You might pick up the branches and take them to the back of the garden later," Owen suggested.

"I will, Captain Archer." Jasper seemed pleased to be given a task.

Owen had a bow slung over his shoulder. When he and the boy reached the woodpile, Owen shrugged off the longbow and held it up to the boy. The seven-foot bow was several feet taller than Jasper, though he was tall for his age.

"My father's bow was decorated," Jasper said, eyeing the plain wood.

"They're beautiful when they're painted, aren't they?" Owen said, though he preferred his plain. He liked a clean sweep of wood. "Do you have your father's bow hidden somewhere?"

Jasper dropped his head. "I had to leave it when I went into hiding."

"That must have been hard for you. You've had to be a brave lad. I doubt I would have survived so well when 1 was your age."

"Tildy says you're from Wales."

"Tildy's right about that. I'm a long way from home." Owen held the bow out to Jasper. "Do you know how to hold this?"

"I've watched them practicing at the butts."

"Show me." Owen kicked a wide plank of wood over to the boy. "Keep the bottom of the bow on that so that it doesn't dig into the mud. The string would be no use to me then."

Jasper took the bow, an unwieldy thing being so tall for him, and managed to reach his left hand to the middle. With his right, he touched the string. He looked up at Owen for approval.

"Excellent. Now pull back with your right hand."

Jasper looked down at his splinted forearm. "I can't."

"See what you can do. We need a marker to see where we began. Then you can track your progress."

The boy took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and managed to pull the string. The movement was tiny and brought sweat out on his forehead and upper lip, though the day was cold.

"Enough!" Owen said.

Jasper let his breath out as he let go the string. Owen caught up the bow and slung it over his shoulder again.

"Now we'll begin to work on your left arm. You must grasp the bow strong and steady with your left hand, and a strong, steady arm is what makes that possible. So"--Owen picked up a round, smooth stick he'd brought along and handed it to the boy--"hold

this out in front of you in your left hand, arm straight and stiff, and don't move."

"How long?" Jasper asked, raising his arm.

"Until you cannot hold it out there any longer. Your arm will feel as if the stick has become a lead ball or a rock. That's what you want. That makes you strong."

Jasper took a deep breath and held it as he stood with his arm out, his hand grasping the stick.