While they were talking, Owen joined Hempe where he stood warming his backside at the hearth.
‘Not a morning I want to be abroad in the city,’ said Hempe. ‘Why do murderers choose the most cursed weather?’
‘With the archbishop’s enthronement so near …’ The precentor paused to ensure he was heard.
‘Is this about the man who fell from the chapter-house roof and a murdered vicar?’ asked Owen.
‘You have heard of that?’ Adam glanced at Michaelo, who had moved to a bench a little away from the fire. ‘Yes, of course.’ His nose quivered as he closed his eyes and began again. ‘The fallen stranger is now removed to the shed behind the deanery. But the other soul – it has been a fell night for us, Captain – Ronan, one of my vicars …’
‘May God have mercy on his soul.’ Michaelo’s voice broke as he lowered his head in prayer.
‘A fell night indeed,’ Owen said. ‘And you believe he was murdered, Master Adam?’
‘There is some blood, though we did not investigate. We have left him lying in the snow, awaiting your study,’ said Adam. ‘The coroner should be there by now, but I wanted all left as it was until you have seen him. Will you come?’
Only now did he ask for Owen’s help, long after sending the young woman to him. ‘If the mayor has agreed, of course,’ said Owen, uninterested in forcing an apology fraught with righteous nonsense. With the woman sleeping in the solar and his suspicion about ‘Master Ambrose’ he would not rest until he knew the truth of the night’s tragedy. ‘I would see both bodies.’ And then the chapter house. Owen regretted that his conversation with Magda must wait, but this was more urgent.
The precentor rose. ‘I am most grateful, Captain Archer.’ He paused, cleared his throat. ‘As long as Prince Edward would not object.’
The relief that Owen had taken on the role of captain of the city’s bailiffs had lasted only so long as it took for the news to spread that he was also now Prince Edward’s man. His friends knew that he straddled both worlds as a means of keeping safe all he held dear, but some saw it differently, that he had divided loyalties. ‘His Grace knows and approves of my position in the city. Though I should note that the minster liberty is not the city’s responsibility.’
‘Peace must be restored before the nobles and ranking churchmen arrive for the archbishop’s enthronement. The mayor agrees.’
‘Of course. When Prince Edward’s representatives arrive I will convey to them your concerns.’
‘The prince is sending … But of course. Yes. I— Yes, I pray you, express my thanks, and that of Dean John and all the chapter.’
Owen bent to kiss Lucie. ‘I will send Alfred to you,’ he whispered. Alfred had been his second in command when he was captain of Archbishop Thoresby’s household guard. Owen now retained him and several others to serve him in his dual role.
‘To guard our house?’ she asked.
‘As we know nothing of the woman, I think it best. If Ambrose should come here seeking shelter …’
He watched her consider. ‘Of course.’
Master Adam had turned to Michaelo. ‘You brought the youth? Where is he?’
Seeing a benefit in letting the precentor believe their guest was a male, Owen took the question. ‘He is asleep up in the solar.’
‘Ah. He did seem a delicate lad. Sick, was he?’
‘No stomach for excitement,’ said Michaelo with a sniff.
God be thanked Michaelo caught the omission. Not that Owen meant to keep the young woman a secret, but she was an unknown.
‘Do you think him capable of murder, Captain?’ Adam asked.
‘He was in a faint by the time Brother Michaelo appeared at my door, so I could not say. We will know more when he wakes.’
‘Ah. Of course.’
Sitting down to pull on his boots, Owen suggested the others do likewise. ‘You will not want Ronan lying in the snow so long.’
Michaelo perched beside him, reaching for his own boots. ‘I will accompany you.’
Quietly, for his ears only, Owen suggested Michaelo follow his lead in how much to share about what they already knew, or surmised. ‘I must see the bodies, hear the stories, see how it all might fit together.’
‘To begin with secrets seems a precarious foundation.’
‘Even so.’
‘I will do as you wish.’ Michaelo bent to his boots.
Hempe was giving Owen a look that said: you will explain this over an ale in the York Tavern this evening. God grant Owen had something to share by then.
In the garden their boots punctuated the early morning hush, crunching and squeaking in the wet snow. Owen noted the slight warming of the air, not his ally in studying tracks in the snow, though better than a dry, frigid wind blowing what had fallen into drifts. Trees shed the weight of the night’s storm, branches creaking overhead, showering them with snow as they passed beneath. Michaelo had fetched the sledge from the tavern yard and dragged it behind him. Before fastening the latch of his garden gate, Owen gazed back at the snow-laden linden, a grand old tree, the children’s favorite. God grant my children long, fruitful lives.
Beyond St Helen’s churchyard the men were able to walk four abreast, the street almost deserted with the snow, cold, and the early hour. The light was just enough now to distinguish colors, though not subtleties. Owen enjoyed the chill, refreshing after his sickroom vigil.
He asked Master Adam what he knew so far.
‘Just before dawn a clerk stumbled over a body in the snow, in the shadow of the chapter house. As I was praying over him, a servant came upon Ronan lying in a drift by the gate of the chancellor’s house.’
‘Whose servant?’ Hempe asked.
‘The chancellor’s. Master Thomas’s kitchen help.’
‘What else can you tell me about the body, besides some blood?’ Owen asked.
‘His face’ – Adam paused in the street, eyes wide with the memory – ‘such terror. Perhaps some bleeding at the nose? Some bruising?’ He shivered and resumed his
