‘I am tempted to refuse them food and board. Let His Grace see to their needs. Though I believe they are in truth Sir John Neville’s creatures.’
Owen had never understood why Crispin had felt the need to keep armed retainers when he put aside his military past to become a merchant in York. It had not occurred to him that someone else had assigned the men to him. ‘Is Beck alive?’
‘As far as I can tell.’ Crispin stepped aside, gesturing that Owen was welcome to enter. ‘It is anyone’s guess what he was doing here before he scuffled with someone, whether he was searching or they were. Have a care where you step.’ He leaned heavily on his cane, his face drawn as if he’d had little sleep.
‘Who was here first? Him? Or the attackers?’
‘I do not know. As I said, watch where you walk.’
The furnishings had indeed been tossed about, bits and pieces of the bedding, the legs of a broken stool, all ready to trip one up. The searcher had found the hiding place behind the wall boards, though of course it was empty. Beck lay on a bare mattress on the bed, a bloody cloth wrapped round his head. Owen sat down beside him.
‘Beck, can you hear me?’
The yes was more of an outbreath.
‘It’s Captain Archer. We met yesterday. Who did this to you?’
‘Did not see.’ He reached up to clutch Owen’s arm, opening his eyes wide, closing them, opening them and forcing them wider with his fingers. ‘I cannot see, Captain.’ A pitiful keen.
Owen understood the terror of that realization, the frantic testing, the disbelief. Lifting the man’s hands from his eyes, Owen held them firmly. ‘I will send for the Riverwoman, Beck. Were you here when they came, or did you walk in on them?’
‘Walked in. Swearing and tossing stuff about, they were. Why can’t I see?’ He tugged at his captive hands.
‘You suffered a blow to the head. That can cause such a loss. Dame Magda will be able to tell you more. I mean to find who did this to you. Did you see anything at all? Smell? Hear?’
‘Both wore hoods. Scarves over faces. Something about salt. Salt!’ A moan.
‘Salt or psalter?’ Brother Michaelo asked in a soft voice.
‘Psalter.’ Beck licked his lips as if tasting the word. ‘Mayhap. I had not thought—’ He moaned and closed his eyes.
‘You will soon have something to ease the pain,’ Owen assured him. A psalter? There were no books in the bag he had taken to the archdeacon for safekeeping.
‘Bless you,’ the injured man whimpered.
‘How many men?’
‘Two? All I saw before I saw no more.’
‘Shall we remove him to a safe place?’ Michaelo whispered. ‘The archdeacon’s?’
Owen agreed. Finding Rose and Rob hovering on the landing, he sent them to fetch Magda Digby from the Swann residence. ‘If she can be spared, ask her to come to Archdeacon Jehannes’s house. If not, fetch Mistress Alisoun from my house.’
They nodded and skipped down the steps.
‘Might I be of help?’ asked Crispin.
It was tempting to use his men to carry Beck, but Owen did not trust them. Or Crispin, at present. Finding him in Ronan’s lodgings once might be accident, but not twice.
‘How did you hear of Beck’s beating?’
‘Folk talking of it in the street.’
‘Have your men been with you all morning?’
Crispin checked Owen’s expression. ‘No. They were off on a task for His Grace.’
Searching for a psalter? ‘Do not follow me,’ said Owen.
‘Owen—’
‘Good day to you and your men.’
Back in the room, he fashioned a bandage out of a piece of clothing in the pile of things flung about, then hoisted Beck up and slung him over his shoulder.
‘Lead the way, Michaelo.’
Jehannes’s cook stood with hands on hips, shaking her head as Owen laid Beck down on the pallet the archdeacon’s clerk had dragged near the hearth.
‘What now? I thought we were safe in the shadow of the great minster. The folk have lost their way. They are wandering in the wilderness, led by the devil himself.’
‘Be so good as to set aside the sermon and bring the captain a basin of warm water and some cloths, goodwife,’ said Michaelo. He crouched down beside Owen. ‘What might I do to assist?’
‘I am trying to settle him on his stomach, with his head to one side so that he is not pressing on the injury. But our patient wishes to lie on his back.’ Beck wriggled about, clearly trying to flip himself.
‘Perhaps something warm on his back,’ said the cook, standing over them with a bowl of water. ‘If this is placed right, he will find it soothing to his back and lie still. My ma taught me the trick. My da would come in from a day of plowing swearing he’d broken his back.’
‘Preacher and nurse. You are a marvel, Goodwife Anna,’ Michaelo murmured as he moved away to allow her access.
Once the bowl was balanced Owen wet a cloth and began to clean the blood from the parts of Beck’s face and neck that he could see. As he worked he felt Beck relax beneath him. While holding the bowl so that Beck could turn his head to expose the other cheek Owen sensed Magda standing over him. He resettled the bowl and rose to allow her to take over.
‘Jehannes wishes to speak with thee, Bird-eye. Magda can manage from here.’
Quietly Owen told her how Beck had been found, and that what most frightened him was that he could not see.
‘Thou knowest the dread,’ she said. ‘Magda will do what she can. Now go. Put an end to these troubles so that Muriel Swann can birth her babe in peace.’
Out in the hall, Owen sat for a moment to speak with Jehannes.
‘My summoner advises you to talk to Franz of Antwerp, one of Ronan’s fellow vicars,’ said Jehannes. ‘According to Colin, though Master Adam will tell you that all in the liberty sought Ronan’s advice regarding the new archbishop, in truth few trusted the man.
