‘He abused you?’
A step backward. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Cheated you. Took credit for your work. I pray you, I need to know who he was, why someone would cut him down.’
‘You will be hard pressed to find anyone in the Bedern who called him friend, I can tell you that.’
‘Why? What do they have against him?’
A slight shift of posture, less alert. ‘His behavior toward all of us. He was of the opinion that his university training set him above us, made him our superior. He pretended to do us favors by offering to pay us to do his work, but we received no credit and a pittance of his earnings, while he moved about the city selling himself to prospective patrons, free as a bird, wealthier by the day.’
As Owen had suspected, it was likely that not all the treasure Ronan hoarded was meant for Alexander Neville.
‘I understand these are reasons to shun him. But murder? Did he commit more serious, even less forgivable transgressions? I ask because – you must understand, the anger I sense in you as you speak would seem an inordinate response to what you describe, a greedy partner. Though I suppose with a family to feed …’
‘You know about my family?’
Owen took a gamble. ‘Your mistress is known to my wife, the apothecary.’
‘Ah. I should realize that all the women of the city will be aware of my circumstance. But I am not the only one.’
‘I am well aware of that. I am curious, though.’ Owen gestured round the room. ‘I see no sign of your family. Have you sent them away?’
‘I have. The new archbishop – I fear him. Archbishop Thoresby could be harsh, but I knew him to be fair. As is Archdeacon Jehannes. But Alexander Neville – I fear what he would do to my family were he to learn of it. Ronan was his source of gossip about his fellow vicars.’
‘I see. So Ronan was a threat to you.’
‘If you are asking whether I would murder him to silence him, no. I have no such courage. I have thought of leaving, but how would I support my family?’
‘I understand.’
‘I realize it might be too late. Ronan might have already reported me to His Grace. If that is so, I will join my family. Until then, I support them by fulfilling my duties in the chapter. Which I must be about …’
Owen bowed to Franz. ‘I will not keep you. Forgive my intrusion.’
Franz stepped aside to let Owen pass, then followed with the lantern. The outer room had a small table, a few benches, and hooks on the wall by the door, empty at present. One of the benches had a solid base, as if used for storage. Owen resisted opening it.
Turning just as he was stepping out, he said, ‘I could not help but notice that your speech carries a memory of Flanders.’ The lantern light wavered. ‘Have you by any chance noticed a fellow Fleming in the city, one who might be mistaken for me – at a distance, though I have both hands, and wear this patch?’
Franz peered more closely at Owen, shook his head. ‘I have seen no such man, Captain.’
‘You are certain?’
‘I have no reason to lie about it. I thank you for your concern. Good day to you.’
Owen believed him. Hempe was right, he risked being blinded by his unproven theory that Martin Wirthir was Ambrose’s protector. But then who was the Frenchman?
Owen followed Franz at a discreet distance until he was confident the man was heading straight to the minster. Along the way Stephen joined Owen, who set him the task of arranging a watch on Franz’s house.
‘He might be our murderer?’
‘No. But add Franz to someone’s circuit.’
‘I will arrange it.’
‘And my home, the shop.’
‘Jasper told me about the watchers and visitors. I went straight to the bailiff. He’s sent someone for the day. Ned.’
Trustworthy. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘No need, Captain.’ Stephen turned and headed back toward the castle.
As Owen turned toward Jehannes’s, he glimpsed two figures making haste from the chancellor’s door, slipping round the side of the house, one of them glancing back as if checking that no one followed. A hood kept his face in shadow, but Owen thought he glimpsed the twisted grin of Crispin’s man. He gave chase, but by the time he reached the back garden the men were gone. Already he doubted his impression of the man’s face. Yet at the moment the impression had been strong.
A servant leaned against the kitchen doorway, spitting blood on a mound of melting snow and cradling one arm.
Owen identified himself as he approached. ‘What happened? You look badly injured.’
‘They shoved me aside so hard I fell on my shoulder. God’s blood, I think it is broken.’
Owen guessed it was pulled out of joint. He knew the pain of that. The blood came from a split lip. ‘Who were they?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Come into the house. I will look at the arm while you tell me what happened.’
As Owen felt round the shoulder the man told him how he’d returned from market to discover two men searching the hall, turning things over, looking behind hangings.
‘You came through the front door?’
‘No, round to the kitchen with the baskets.’
‘Was that still locked?’
‘In the minster yard we don’t lock doors unless going away for a long while. We’ve never had trouble.’
Until Ronan was murdered just outside the gate. ‘How did you discover them?’
‘I was unpacking when I heard what sounded like someone shoving the furnishings about. The chancellor is a quiet man, as are his clerks. All wrong, and none of us feeling at ease since the vicar was murdered right outside the gate.’ He crossed himself with his good hand. ‘From the doorway I saw two men doing just that, moving things about, heavy items even, peering under and round and behind. I thought to run to the archdeacon’s house. I looked again to make certain I
