‘My watchers,’ said Owen. He nodded to the twins. ‘Well done. You can release him now.’
The man staggered a moment as the two let go, but caught his balance and made a show of brushing off his cloak and straightening the padded jacket beneath.
‘You must be Captain Owen Archer,’ he said, struggling to regain his dignity. ‘I have heard much about you.’
‘And you are?’
‘I’m called Pit.’
‘Not a Christian name.’
‘It’s what I’m called.’
‘A stranger in York?’
‘I am. I came here—’ He glanced at Alfred, Michaelo, and the twins.
‘Wait outside,’ Owen told Alfred and the twins. ‘We will not be long. Brother Michaelo stays.’
Alfred bobbed his head and exited with Rob and Rose.
‘You carry yourself like a lordling,’ said Pit. ‘Or a commander.’
Owen ignored him. ‘You were explaining what brought you to the city.’
‘I was ordered to follow two minstrels who performed for my master and then slipped away.’
A surprising admission. But then Pit did not know how much Owen knew. ‘I see. Is your master Sir John Neville or His Grace Alexander Neville, Archbishop of York?’
He liked the man’s discomfited surprise, how he hesitated before responding. ‘I prefer not to say.’
‘Perhaps after a night in the castle jail you will feel otherwise.’
Pit glanced round as if sizing up his chance of escape. Owen grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.
‘God’s blood!’ Pit cried. ‘I’ve done nothing to warrant this. Or your threat.’
‘You would not tell me if you had,’ said Owen. ‘Whom do you serve?’ A yank.
Pit cursed. ‘Sir John Neville.’
‘Why is he interested in the minstrels?’
‘He thinks them spies.’
‘And your orders?’
‘What do you think?’
Yet he was confessing to Owen. ‘Why are you here now? Did you suspect the men lying on those slabs were the minstrels?’
‘No. I come to claim my friend.’
‘Which one might he be?’ Owen released him.
Nursing his arm, Pit moved to the drowned man, the one Edwin might have recognized. One of Neville’s men. That made sense.
‘Gareth was following one of the minstrels, the older man. We were fools to move about without lanterns in the winter dark.’
‘You say he was following one of the minstrels. Where were you?’
‘We’d argued about which one to follow. I tracked one to the chancellor’s house. As he entered and took off his hat I saw he might be wearing the cloak, but he was balding.’ A deepening frown. ‘Gareth chose the other for the way he walked.’ His voice had gone gruff.
‘What did you do then?’
‘Went looking for the other minstrel, the younger one. He’d gone into the minster, but I thought by then he might have returned to his lodgings. No sign of him. Downed a few tankards at an alehouse and stumbled to my bed. Gareth still wasn’t back when I woke. Thought he might be waiting for me in the minster yard. Didn’t really think he’d be so daft but I had to do something. Someone was pacing back and forth in front of the chancellor’s house.’
‘Could you identify him?’
‘No. Still dark. And snowing.’
‘How did you know it wasn’t Gareth?’
‘Didn’t move like him. So I gave up. Reached the hovels on the north side when I heard a cry. Ran back.’
‘What did you see?’
‘I heard a shout up above, on the chapter-house roof, I thought. Sounded like a scuffle. Then a sound nearer to hand, where the one had paced. Moved toward it and a body hit the ground. Just missed me. God help him.’ A pause. Cleared his throat. ‘Thought I’d best disappear or I’d be caught up in it.’
‘Would you recognize the voice calling from the roof?’
‘Shouts are shouts. I could see nothing but shadowy shapes. Even the man who fell, could not really see him. Just the snow darkening.’ He glanced over at the corpse and crossed himself. ‘Is that him?’
‘It is. Have you seen him before?’
A nervous swallow, a shake of the head.
‘Take a close look.’
He did so, lingering on the ruined face. ‘No.’
Owen sensed a lie. ‘You were to follow the two minstrels and then what?’
‘See who they met.’
‘Why?’
‘My lord did not say. Only to return to report where they are, who took them in.’
‘Not kill them?’
The man crossed his arms over his chest and averted his eyes.
‘They lodged with Tucker for several days,’ said Owen. ‘Yet you stayed.’
‘An old friend who would take him in for some coin. But he was not what drew them to York. I reckoned the old one, his clothing so fine, he would have important friends. I waited for him to go to them. Find out who might have sent him spying on my lord.’
‘That was why you followed him last night.’
‘Lost him at the minster. Did someone else make my mistake? Was the murdered vicar the one wearing the fine cloak? It’s what I thought I saw. A glimmer of the white lining when he turned.’
‘He was.’
‘Someone meant to kill the old minstrel and killed a vicar?’
‘It would seem,’ said Owen, seeing no need to provide more information.
‘Poor fool. I hear the old minstrel went to the Riverwoman, so Gareth must have been on the right path when the river took him.’ Cleared his throat again. ‘They say the Riverwoman has power. Did she know Gareth was coming and bade the river stop him?’ He crossed himself.
Magda would enjoy that tale. ‘And if the old minstrel did meet with someone of importance to your lord, what then?’
‘I would tell Sir John.’
‘No more.’
Silence.
As Owen had thought. ‘Have a moment with Gareth, but he stays in my custody until we know what happened here.’
‘My lord will not like that.’
‘What would you do with him? Drag him back to Cawood? Pay for his burial?’
‘Don’t know. I’d not thought so far.’
He pretended to be far simpler than he was. Owen stepped away while he considered what to do with Pit. He’d been sent to silence a pair of spies. And he’d failed. Sir John would not take that kindly. Seemed to Owen that Pit had two choices – either go to his lord, confess
