Beyond the heavy oak doors, the great hall was in chaos. Servants rushed about as Neville retainers shouted conflicting orders. A far cry from the serene elegance of Thoresby’s household under the direction of Brother Michaelo. Owen searched the hall for an oasis of calm and found it surrounding a man of imposing stature standing beneath one of the opened casements, his back to the noise. Owen made his way toward him. When he was within hailing distance, his way was blocked by an armed retainer bristling with self-importance.
‘Who are you? What is your business here?’
‘Owen Archer, captain of the city, here to see Sir John Neville.’
‘Wait there.’ Rudely pushing aside a servant as he turned, the man headed straight for the figure at the window.
Neville continued to face out as the man delivered his message. Only when the man had backed away did Neville turn slightly and gesture for Owen to be brought to him.
Without waiting, Owen joined him at the window, standing facing the same direction. Ned followed at a slight distance.
‘My lord Neville,’ said Owen.
‘Captain Archer. You hold two of my men at York Castle. On what charges?’ A low, resonant voice that required no volume to be heard despite the noise in the hall.
‘One is dead, drowned, ready to be claimed. That would be Gareth. Pit is held until his name is cleared of murder.’
‘Whose murder?’
‘That of Ronan, former vicar to His Grace the archbishop.’
Now Sir John turned to study Owen. ‘A Neville retainer murdering a Neville servant?’
‘A vicar of York Minster, not a Neville servant, once answering to your brother, but no longer. There might be reasons to find him an embarrassment to your family.’
‘I am intrigued, Captain.’ Cool grey eyes studied Owen for a moment. ‘Have you proof of Pit’s guilt?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then I question your right to imprison him.’
‘I understand. But as the city fills with the worthies attending your brother’s enthronement you can appreciate that we are taking precautions against violence. Your safety and that of His Grace the archbishop are our first concern.’
‘You claim to protect me from my own man? Amusing.’
Owen did not flinch at the threatening grin. Though he knew his argument sounded weak, better that than admit that he expected Alexander Neville to draw many enemies down on the city.
‘I know you are Prince Edward’s man, Archer.’ Neville slowly shook his head. ‘I wonder that he can stomach you. He cannot have missed what his fair wife sees when she looks at you – her beloved Holland resurrected.’ Princess Joan’s late husband. ‘She forsook her rightful first husband the Duke of Salisbury for one-eyed Holland, and now … I would wonder. You must be good indeed for the prince to overlook the resemblance.’
‘Many lose eyes in battle.’
‘Of course. I give you two days to solve your puzzle, and then you will hand over my man, the French spy, and the young woman disguised as a lad, or I will drag you out of Micklegate Bar and all the way to Windsor to deliver what’s left of you to the Christmas court.’
Owen had known Sir John would be a challenging adversary. There was nothing for the arrogance of the man but to nod and wish him good day, measuring his steps with care so that he did not falter, not for a breath, as he strode out through the chaotic hall, Ned scuttling to keep up. Out in the minster yard Owen continued for a while, letting the rising wind cool him.
‘Will he do that?’ Ned asked, breathing hard as he kept up with Owen.
‘No doubt it would give him pleasure, but no, he would not dare cross the prince. He might be arrogant, but he did not rise to such a height at court by reckless acts. I stood up to him with a reasonable argument. He saw need to strut boldly before his men, making threats dripping with bloodlust, the howl of a savage beast. They will drink to him tonight, and brag of him in the taverns.’ Meanwhile, Owen had two days before the man did all he could to distract him from his work.
And was there something in the way he described Marian suggesting he knew who she was? Lucie had reminded him as he went out the door that Sir John Neville’s wife, Maud Percy, was sister to Sir Thomas and Lady Edwina, the aunt who had commissioned the lost prayer book. If Neville’s men had found that book Sir John would be all the more keen to reclaim his wife’s kinswoman.
Ned pulled him from his thoughts. ‘Where now, Captain?’
‘Alfred awaits you at the castle. Tell him all that you heard, then follow his orders. You will be working under him. No punishment. I need you.’
Ned searched Owen’s face, nodded. ‘Thank you, Captain. I will not disappoint you again.’
‘I count on that.’
They parted ways, Owen heading for the archdeacon’s.
As he passed the west entrance to the minster Owen heard someone calling him, but so softly he had almost missed it. Glancing round, he saw the lad with whom he had talked the previous day standing in the corner where the south transept jutted out from the nave. The lad removed his dusty hat and looked round, as if checking that they were not observed.
‘You are worried about talking to me?’
‘There are eyes.’
‘From the roof?’
‘No. The stone workers. They’ve warned me to stay out of the troubles in the chapter and liberty.’
‘But—?’
‘I thought you might like to know that Sir John Neville’s men followed Dom Jehannes’s cook
