‘Yes.’
‘And you were a soldier. Captain of Archers. Served Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster. Then Thoresby, now the prince.’
It seemed an odd way to begin. Owen offered him a cup of ale, which he accepted with thanks.
‘You must wonder why I am recounting your history.’ A mirthless smile. ‘I am reminding myself that great men have trusted you. Why should I not trust you, trust that you are searching for Ronan’s murderer? Yet so far …’
‘I’ve had but a day, a day riddled with three corpses before noon. I might ask you why no one from the chapter has come forward with helpful information.’
‘Was I to ask them?’ Adam lifted the cup to his lips. Drank a little.
‘You are in the best position to do so.’ The precentor scowled. ‘If no one steps forward, I intend to speak to all in the chapter,’ said Owen. ‘I welcome your advice in choosing the order.’
‘You think it is one of us.’
‘I did not say that. Chapter members might know something of use to me – perhaps without realizing it. A passing remark, a memory of someone missing prayers or neglecting their responsibilities, angry words overheard, a certain cooling between Ronan and another.’
‘I see. We were his companions. We would notice a changed pattern. I do see.’ The precentor drank down his ale and set the bowl aside.
‘Did he have particular friends?’
Adam wrinkled his brow as he stroked his chin with swollen fingers. Gout? ‘No one comes to mind.’
‘Were you friends with him?’
‘I preferred to keep my distance. His air of disdain, you see. Most vexing. I found him most vexing. As did many in the chapter. Not to the extent that they would wish him harm. We all prayed that he would learn humility. Unfortunately, with Alexander Neville’s elevation, and his previous preference for Ronan’s services over others, his arrogance only grew. I wondered what drew them together.’ A shrug. ‘But our feelings for the man are of no importance in this matter. What was done was wrong. Criminal. And with the archbishop expected at any time, Ronan’s murderer must be found and brought to justice.’
‘As Ronan was struck down in the minster liberty it will fall to the archbishop himself to mete out punishment,’ said Owen. ‘If his murderer proves to be a member of the chapter that is doubly true.’
‘Then you must find irrefutable proof, Captain.’
‘You do not trust a Neville investigation?’
Adam cleared his throat. ‘I meant exactly what I said, Captain.’
‘How do you propose I proceed?’
‘I might mention it at the chapter meeting this morning, that they should come to me if they know anything, if they have noticed anything that might help you find his murderer. In private, if they prefer.’
‘A good beginning.’
Adam rose. ‘And I shall prepare an ordered list of those with whom I am aware Ronan had cause to speak.’ Bristly. He had come to task Owen, not be tasked.
‘That would be most helpful. Would you like Brother Michaelo’s assistance?’
A sniff. ‘My clerks write a good hand. And know the names. Though I dare say Brother Michaelo has made a point of learning them. He seems keen to be of use in the city.’
Archdeacon Jehannes had put out the word that Brother Michaelo was available after the death of his patron, the late archbishop. The plan had been for Michaelo to return to Normandy, live out his days in a monastery near his home. But he had balked at the prospect, a man who had tasted the life of an archbishop’s aide, traveling, mixing with an array of worthies both religious and secular. For the most part the religious communities in the city shunned his services, though a few pastors and a sprinkling of Dominicans and, oddly, the prioress of St Clement’s requested his services from time to time. The communities knew the rumors about why the abbot of St Mary’s refused to take him back upon Thoresby’s death, a failed attempt on the life of the late infirmarian Brother Wulfstan, a beloved figure. Though the incident was years in the past, and, for the most part, Brother Michaelo’s behavior since had been above reproach, his reputation as both a poisoner and sodomite condemned him. An unfortunate incident the previous year had sealed Michaelo’s fate with many. It had done the opposite with Owen. Michaelo’s remorse had convinced Owen he was a changed man.
‘I have come to value Brother Michaelo’s talents,’ said Owen. ‘His Grace the archbishop trained him well, tested his skills, and expanded his assignments to his advantage. And now mine.’ He watched the precentor consider this revelation.
‘Perhaps I should reconsider. Dean John is challenged by the duties he is forced to shoulder as acting dean. With Brother Michaelo’s knowledge acquired in the archbishop’s service …’ He stroked his chin again, an odd gesture for a beardless man. ‘I will suggest he engage the monk, see whether he is of use to us. For now, God go with you, Captain. I will send word when the list is ready.’
Owen showed him out the front door.
As soon as the precentor left, Lucie ushered Jasper into the hall, watching Owen’s face as he listened to his son’s report. She was proud of Jasper’s calm, his detailed description of the men and their clothing. So was Owen.
‘You have a keen eye,’ he said. ‘Neither looked like the one you saw earlier?’
‘No. Different clothing, thicker limbs.’
‘From the garb I would guess them to be more of Neville’s men,’ said Owen. ‘Did Alisoun and Marian hear them?’
‘They did. I cautioned them to stay in my room, over the workroom, not the shop, and away from the windows.’
‘Good,’ said Owen. ‘I will see to that watch on the house and shop I spoke of. And we need to move both of them tonight, Marian to the priory and Ambrose – I need to—’
Someone pounded on the hall door. Owen thanked Jasper. ‘Best to open the shop before folk wonder.’
With a nod, Jasper left.
Lucie reluctantly climbed
