Jehannes’s summoner, Colin, was a trustworthy man. ‘Were they friends?’
‘I’ve noticed Franz cowering from Ronan, but Colin says he did his bidding. It would be in Ronan’s character to threaten to bring him before the chapter to be chastised for living with the mother of his five children.’
‘Is that not your summoner’s duty?’
‘His duty is to obey my bidding. I prefer to make examples of those who take no responsibility for their weaknesses. The children and their mother depend on Franz’s income. And he is in all other ways a pious man who goes about his duties with nary a complaint.’
Time and again Jehannes restored Owen’s faith that there were amongst the clergy dedicated shepherds of men’s souls.
‘And what of Ronan’s relationship with the chancellor? What might connect them?’
‘Ah. Last evening’s meeting. The Nevilles, I should think. They might be generous benefactors for Thomas’s work for the minster. He is keen to raise sufficient funds to complete Thoresby’s lady chapel.’
‘Is he?’ That was news to Owen. ‘Did Ronan still have such influence with the new archbishop?’
‘That remained to be seen. It was said that Ronan had expected to become the archbishop’s confessor or personal secretary, his Brother Michaelo. He was said to have been angry about being passed over by two men who had never set foot in York Minster.’
So Ronan might have been the one hoping to gain by a friendship with members of the chapter. Owen tucked that away.
‘What of Beck, Ronan’s clerk?’
‘According to Colin, Beck admired Ronan for all the wrong reasons. He had heard whispers about Beck threatening to reveal secrets – limiting himself to servants, avoiding being squashed by one with some influence.’
‘I thought him a weasel.’
‘You are a good judge of men. But then you need to be in your work.’
‘Any others like him?’
‘He did say Ronan spent a curious amount of time on Stonegate. Offering his services as an intermediary between the archbishop and the merchants?’
‘Did you ever see Ronan with a psalter?’
‘A psalter? No. But then, a vicar owning something of such value might raise eyebrows amongst his betters, and envy amongst his peers. Hence he might reserve such items for private prayer. How long will Beck be here?’ Before Owen could respond, Jehannes held up a hand. ‘As long as you judge him safest here, here he will stay. Now go, see Franz.’ He told Owen how to find the man.
Heading toward the Bedern, Owen moved against a tide of clerks hastening toward the minster. Sext, he thought, midday prayer. Franz might not be at his lodgings. But his mistress might afford Owen some insight into her sense of Ronan. He pushed along toward the address at the edge of the Bedern. The house as described was down an alleyway, narrower than most in this part of the city, not one of the lodgings refurbished for the vicars. Owen almost passed it in the shadow of the jutting stories. Before he could knock the door was opened from within by a man dressed to depart. He started at Owen’s presence, took a step backward. Franz, Owen guessed. How now to proceed? Their proposed conversation was one he did not care to conduct where others might hear. He needed to lure the man back inside.
How better than to trespass? Pushing his way into the room, Owen kept moving, his sight adjusting to the dimness as he reached a second, inner room. Deserted. No further door affording an escape out the back.
Franz had followed, now blocking the doorway to the outer room. ‘Who are you to force your way into my home? I am expected at midday prayers in the minster. State your business.’ The last word was little more than a squeak.
Owen felt a twinge of guilt. And also interest. The man’s speech had a hint of Flemish. So the Antwerp was not a legacy from parents, but based on his own origins.
‘I pray you, forgive me. I am Owen Archer, captain of the city. In my concern for your safety I overstepped.’
‘Concern for my safety?’ The man opened the shutter wider on the lantern near the door. He had thrown back one side of his short cloak to reveal that his right hand, childlike in its dimpled softness, rested on a small dagger.
‘I pray you, allow me to explain myself,’ said Owen. ‘I am searching for the murderer of the vicar Ronan. You were recommended to me as one of his closest friends. Until I understand someone’s motive for murdering him, I cannot be certain that his friends are safe. I did not know whether a vicar would think to protect himself. I see that I was wrong about you.’ He gestured toward the dagger.
‘You were ensuring that no one lurked in my house? That was your purpose in calling on me?’ Franz did not relax his hand.
‘There is more. I hoped you might be able to help me find the man who attacked Ronan. As his friend, you might know who might wish him harm.’
‘Who sent you here?’
‘Forgive me, but people are less willing to help me if I divulge names. I will share nothing of what you share with me. No one you name will hear of our meeting.’
As Owen spoke he caught whiffs of scents peculiar to a home with infants. Milky, soured by the baby’s excretions from mouth and nether regions. Stale now, not fresh. And all sign of such children had been cleared from the room. Indeed, except for a narrow pallet near the door and some men’s clothes hanging from hooks the room was empty. Blind in one eye, Owen was obvious when looking round a room. Noticing, Franz cast furtive glances round his lodgings as well.
‘Someone has led you astray, Captain Archer. I knew Ronan, worked for him on occasion. But a friend? No one who knew either of us would call us friends.’
‘You were seen with him of late. Frequently.’
‘That
