So she was not a Neville. ‘How did you come upon them?’ Owen asked.
‘I overheard the leader at the tavern bragging that they were to perform at Cawood Palace. I knew it to be one of the properties of the Archbishop of York. An opportunity to learn something of use to you. A lure.’
‘Found you a lure?’
‘Sir John has placed Alexander on the archbishop’s throne to dominate the Northern lords, keep them in place.’
‘Anyone with half a wit guessed that.’
‘But I can attest to it. He sees Ravenser as a difficulty. And you.’
Also not surprising. ‘What does he propose to do about us?’
‘That I cannot say.’
‘Pity.’
‘He wanted to know which merchants might be supportive.’
‘Supportive of what?’
‘My impression was that the prince’s health emboldens them to hope for the crown to go to Lancaster, the king’s brother, rather than Edward’s son, Richard of Bordeaux. They spoke of this in France, the powerful Lancaster ready to steal the throne from the boy, who is much favored by the French. Malleable. His mother fond of France.’
‘This might be of use to the prince.’ This and a warning against the treacherous physician. ‘Is there more?’
‘Will you help me?’
Owen needed to know just how much trouble he was taking on. ‘First, the young woman. You heard this man boasting …’
‘Sacré Dieu,’ Ambrose muttered, but he nodded. ‘I took up my crwth and performed right there in the tavern, singing a mournful ballad. They were impressed and invited me to join them. I noticed the lad – as I thought him them – using his fingers to mark out the notes of the song, as many are trained in abbeys. He interested me. The leader noticed and warned me away. But the lad, Matthew as he – as she called herself, had a voice to complement mine, so I worked with her. Noticed how she knew the modes – a way of learning what notes belong together in sacred music.’ He hummed a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. ‘You recognize it, yet it could be many hymns you have heard. Because it is. My point being she is well trained. Convent-trained, I would guess.’
Michaelo had been right. Again. ‘She has not confided in you?’
‘No. How did Brother Michaelo hear her? God help me, is she at the abbey? They will discover her.’
‘No. Michaelo bides in the minster close. He was passing the minster before dawn and heard her singing in the chapter house.’
‘Singing where?’ Ambrose looked stunned. ‘How did she come to be there?’
‘I would guess she followed you to the minster last night. Perhaps witnessed your exchange of cloaks.’
‘My— You know of that.’ A muttered curse. ‘I have not been so careful as I thought. No. I left her with the fiddler, Tucker. Why would she follow me there?’
‘I know not. What did you do with Ronan’s cloak?’
Ambrose gestured to a hook on the wall beside the door. ‘It hangs there.’
From his seat, it looked to Owen very much like the one he had taken from Ronan’s lodgings. He rose to examine it. The lining was not the same, but from a distance it would seem a match. ‘Where did you go from the minster?’
‘I came here. I wanted Dame Magda’s advice about coming to you. And my meeting with Ronan troubled me. I’d sought his help, calling on our old acquaintance, favors I’d done for him. I asked him if he knew whether any Nevilles had arrived. I feared they’d followed me from Cawood. He said he would find out, and, if so, vouch for me – in exchange for my costly cloak.’
‘I question the wisdom of offering yourself to the Nevilles.’ Nor did he sense that Ambrose was telling him the full truth about the exchange. Something in his eyes, the smooth explication.
‘How would you advise me?’ asked Ambrose.
‘I will think on it after you have told me all. It was not you who suggested the exchange?’
Ambrose looked surprised. ‘To what purpose?’
‘Disguise?’
A mirthless laugh. ‘If they are Neville’s trackers, they will not be so easily fooled.’
‘You did not first go to Ronan’s lodgings, switch to a different cloak?’
‘Why would I? And how? It has been a long while. I’ve no idea where Ronan lives now. In any case, you see the cloak right there. Why are you asking this? Did Ronan come to you?’ His voice broke on the last question. He was lying. Or holding something back.
But it seemed someone else had been in Ronan’s room, and in the chest. Owen resumed his seat, more and more unsettled about what he might have missed. ‘Ronan is dead. Murdered.’
‘Dead? Deus juva me. But— How? When?’
Owen looked at Magda. ‘You told him nothing about the deaths?’
‘Magda spoke only of trouble,’ she said. ‘Better he heard of it from thee.’
‘Deaths?’ Ambrose whispered. ‘More than Ronan?’
Owen told him of the other two.
Ambrose, already pale, turned ashen. ‘Mon Dieu, what did I do?’ He looked away, breathing shallowly. ‘Ronan. May God grant him peace.’ He crossed himself with trembling hands. ‘And the other two? Who were they? Oh God help me.’
Magda rose and went to him, gently guiding his head between his legs. ‘Breathe slowly, three heartbeats in, three out.’
Hearing a shout from the riverbank, Owen went to the door, opening it just enough to see Hempe arguing with the river boy.
‘Bailiff Hempe, is it? Wast thou followed?’
‘I am as certain as I can be that I was not. Someone must have told George I’d asked about the tide, damn them.’
‘Bailiff?’ Ambrose stumbled up from his seat and caught Owen’s arm. ‘I’ve done nothing.’
‘Three deaths in a matter of hours, Ambrose, and your exchange of cloaks with Ronan could be seen as connecting at least his murder to you. I need to talk to Hempe, hear why he has come.’ Owen sensed Magda’s eyes on him. ‘I will do what I can.’
She nodded
