‘Do you have reason to think they mean trouble?’
‘Dame Lucie is there. And I think the minstrel’s lad, dressed as a lass.’
God help them. ‘Bless you, lad.’
‘Simon.’
Owen nodded. ‘Simon, beware of His Grace the archbishop, and his kin. This is a dangerous time, as nobles and others seek advancement with a new regime. Do you understand?’
‘I do, Captain.’
‘Do you know where I live?’ When the lad nodded, Owen suggested he come to his home next time he had a report. His fellows would be less likely to notice. ‘Come through the garden gate, knock at the kitchen door. If I’m not there, Kate will be sure to feed you while you wait.’
With a grave, ‘Yes, Captain,’ the lad picked up the handle of a sled and trundled off toward the lady chapel.
Owen hastened toward Jehannes’s house.
A discreet knock. Brother Michaelo rose, assuring Lucie that he was the appropriate one to welcome his cousin. She settled back, sipping the wine, willing herself to calm. They had chosen the purpose of her visit as her concern for the clerk Beck, still recovering in the kitchen from his beating. At present he was asleep, and Marian, her hair wrapped in a clean white cloth, her sleeves protected by white cuffs, was scrubbing the table on which goodwife Anna would be kneading the dough rising on a counter by the garden window. Outside, Ambrose, wearing work gloves and a hat encrusted with stone dust, shoveled and tidied the path through the melting snow to the movable hut over the household midden.
‘Cousin. Are you come to invite me to dine at the archbishop’s palace?’
‘No, cousin.’ Dom Leufrid’s voice was hoarse, as if he were short of breath. ‘I would speak with Dom Jehannes, the archdeacon.’
Still standing in the doorway, Michaelo explained that Jehannes was at the deanery. ‘I will tell him you called.’
Too curious to sit back, Lucie rose. Dom Leufrid’s wide body almost filled the doorway. Over his shoulders she could just make out two men with grim countenances. One of them appeared to nudge the cleric, who jerked, then chided Michaelo for his discourtesy.
‘I propose to sit by the fire and await his return,’ Leufrid wheezed.
Congested lungs, weak heart, Lucie thought as Michaelo stepped aside to let Leufrid pass. A limp added gout to her list of his ailments.
Three armed men followed, taking a stance just inside the door, as if guarding the inhabitants from departing. She recognized the one who had nudged Leufrid forward as one of the men Crispin Poole had brought with him when he’d arrived in York in summer. She knew him by a scar that twisted his mouth to one side. Had he been Neville’s man all the time? Curious. The archbishop’s household was doing little to earn him a welcome in York.
Leufrid looked inquiringly at Lucie.
‘Dame Lucie, this is my cousin Dom Leufrid, personal secretary to His Grace, Archbishop Neville.’ Michaelo’s blank face gave no hint of his clear insult, giving her the higher rank in the order of introduction.
Leufrid sniffed and raised a thin brow in response to his cousin, turning to Lucie with a chilly smile. ‘Should I know your name, Dame Lucie?’
Before Lucie could answer, Michaelo said, ‘If you have need of an apothecary while in York, I would advise remembering the name of Dame Lucie Wilton.’
‘I enjoy good health,’ said Leufrid, glaring at his cousin as if to challenge his thinking otherwise. ‘Is there illness in this household?’
‘An injured clerk,’ said Lucie. ‘I came to consult with Brother Michaelo on his care.’ As she spoke, a voice wafted out from the kitchen, a woman singing a few lines of a rhythmic song. Listen, lordings, what I shall say / A great marvel tell I may … Quickly hushed.
Both thin brows raised. ‘A beautiful voice.’ Dom Leufrid’s three chins jiggled as he spoke, a comic accent on a tense moment.
‘A gift to one in pain,’ said Michaelo.
‘You are fortunate in your servants.’
‘Dom Jehannes inspires harmony in his household.’
‘I shall say a prayer over the injured clerk.’ Leufrid moved toward the kitchen, accompanied by twisted mouth.
‘We pray with him throughout the day, cousin,’ said Michaelo, following close behind.
As they reached the kitchen doorway, Owen stepped through. ‘Ah, Brother Michaelo, forgive me. I did not see that you had company.’ He glanced from Leufrid to the retainers and rested a hand on his dagger. ‘What is the trouble, Dom Leufrid?’
‘Of course, you have met.’ Michaelo’s voice was tight.
Lucie watched with interest as Owen waited for the cleric to explain.
‘Hearing that two men have been murdered in the minster yard, His Grace thought it best we move about with protection at all times.’
‘I see.’ Owen stepped forward, forcing Dom Leufrid to either step aside or retreat.
The secretary chose the latter, backing toward Lucie, lowering himself down with effort into the chair farthest from her.
Owen came to stand by Lucie, a hand on her shoulder. ‘I see my wife has already met you. Seeing to Beck?’ he asked her.
‘Judging whether it is time for a milder plaster for his head.’
‘I noticed as I came through the kitchen that he improves.’
‘We were interrupted before I could examine Beck,’ said Lucie. ‘Brother Michaelo tells me he has not yet regained his sight.’
‘The clerk was blinded?’ asked Leufrid. ‘Both eyes?’
‘Yes,’ said Owen. ‘Not a direct wounding, like mine, but caused by a hard blow to the head. He surprised someone ransacking the chamber of the murdered vicar.’
‘I pray you caught them,’ said Leufrid.
‘Not yet,’ said Owen. Lucie noticed him watching the one with the twisted mouth, who averted his eyes.
‘A pity, the one witness blinded,’ said Leufrid.
‘Would you care for some wine?’ Michaelo was rising to play host when Jehannes opened the door, starting at the sight of the armed guards in his hall.
‘Am I to be arrested?’
Dom Leufrid rose, with some difficulty. ‘Dom Jehannes, I am Dom Leufrid, personal secretary to His Grace,
