‘A night of such fear,’ said Lucie.
‘I walked to the edge. He came up behind me and shouted at me to take one more step. I wanted to fly but my legs gave out from under me. He must have reached to push as I fell and tripped over me. He went off the edge. I am doubly damned. I killed both brothers.’ She stared at nothing.
Lucie crossed herself. Not for the brothers, but for Marian. ‘And your prayer book?’ she asked.
‘I never saw it.’
‘Paul the drummer?’ asked Owen.
‘I don’t know whether it was him, or my fear manifest.’ She gave Owen a questioning look.
‘I will ask about players and musicians at the taverns,’ he said.
‘That morning in the chapter house, how were you able to sing after such a night?’ asked Lucie.
Marian turned to her. Tears wet her cheeks, but in her eyes Lucie saw the spark of anger as she swiped at the tears, an impatient gesture. ‘I was certain I would never again sing in a sacred space, not after— They would say I lured Phillip, and then Rupert. The woman is ever blamed. We are Eve’s children, the temptresses.’
‘The wrong was done to you,’ said Lucie
‘You are not the one who will stand in judgment.’
‘I will make Prioress Isabel understand.’
‘Will you?’
Would she?
‘I know this was difficult for you,’ said Owen, ‘and I am grateful, Dame Marian. I see now that what happened in the chapter house likely has nothing to do with Ronan’s murderer.’ He rose to leave. At the door he turned to assure her that she was safe with them, and he would find a way to take her to St Clement’s.
Thanking him, Marian took up the basket of needlework and said she would return to Bess and the children.
TWELVE
Complications
In a grim mood, Owen led Gabriel and Ned down Stonegate, away from the route to the priory on Micklegate.
‘You said you would take me to the priory,’ said Gabriel.
Lucie had suggested St Mary’s – it was closer, and the abbot and infirmarian more likely to cooperate with Owen’s request to alert him at once if anyone came seeking Gabriel or he tried to leave. ‘I prefer St Mary’s Abbey. I trust their infirmarian.’
‘My things—’ Gabriel tried to turn back.
Owen gripped his upper arm, yanking him around. ‘You will not need them today.’
At the corner of Stonegate and Petergate, Owen’s old friend Robert Dale stood in the doorway of his goldsmith’s shop as if welcoming a breath of fresh air. When Owen raised his hand in greeting Robert bowed his head and withdrew, shutting the door. Something was very wrong.
The incident troubling him, Owen made use of Ned’s and Gabriel’s silences to think. Today’s revelations brought him no closer to solving Ronan’s murder. Crispin Poole was questioning folk about Ronan. Perhaps Robert Dale felt the bite of that and wanted to avoid any further questions. How many of the merchants had Crispin antagonized? It might have been Crispin’s men who attacked Beck when he discovered them searching the vicar’s room. He did not like to think that. Had Crispin not worked for Alexander Neville, Owen might have been his friend. Crispin understood what it meant to try to start again after a debilitating injury ended a life of soldiering – Owen with the loss of his left eye, Crispin with his loss of half his arm. They had shared stories in the York Tavern, a comfortable camaraderie. But since learning that Crispin served the new archbishop, Owen had avoided him. Even before he had learned that his retainers were actually Neville’s men. How had Crispin injured his leg? Slipped on a snowy morning while attacking Ronan? Owen was so absorbed in thought that he barely noticed passing through Bootham Bar and turning toward St Mary’s gates.
As they entered the abbey grounds Owen felt Gabriel’s tension subside.
‘Much finer than Holy Trinity,’ he said.
‘Wealthier,’ said Ned.
Brother Henry welcomed Owen to his infirmary, calling for his assistant Peter to escort Gabriel to a bed in an area screened off from those of the infirm monks and make him comfortable. Ned took his leave, promising to return as soon as he had completed his mission. Owen explained to the infirmarian who Gabriel was, what had happened, why he must be watched.
A raised brow. ‘You would have him relaxed, sleepy?’ asked Brother Henry.
‘Brother Wulfstan taught you well.’
They both crossed themselves in memory of Henry’s predecessor as infirmarian, a wise, gentle monk who had been both Lucie’s and Jasper’s good friend.
‘My thoughts were filled with him as the pestilence struck this summer,’ said Henry. Wulfstan had died assisting victims of the pestilence. ‘We lost two members of the community this time.’
‘You have a new assistant.’
‘Yes. I blamed myself – my tales of Wulfstan’s self-sacrifice inspired him. Yet how could I forbid him? He was doing God’s work.’ A shuddering sigh. ‘You might wish to speak with Abbot William. One of Sir John Neville’s retainers called on him, wanting to know who had arranged to lodge at the abbey for the enthronement.’ He nodded at Owen’s thanks. ‘And now to work.’ Henry poured a cup of wine from a pitcher and emptied a small vial into it. ‘I will administer this after I tend to his injuries. I need him awake to tell me what he feels. Once he drinks this, he will soon find it difficult to rise from his bed.’
‘A little something first, to make him drowsy?’
Henry agreed. ‘A drop.’
‘If he should speak of a guest in my home, a woman, I ask you and Peter to
