On arrival at the palace they had been told Archbishop Neville was celebrating Mass for his family in the chapel. Sir John was there, but would be informed of their presence. And then the long wait. Did Sir John mean to keep them there until he had heard from all the men out scouring the city for Ambrose? Or was he not in the chapel but out on other business? Excusing himself, Owen hastened to the stonemasons’ lodge where young Simon was laying out tools for the day’s work.
‘No, Captain, I’ve not seen the great lord this morning, and I’ve been here since first light.’
It was the best he could do. Heading back, Owen was gratified to see Sir John entering the hall, followed closely by the archbishop. The contrast between the two was sharp – Sir John tall, lean, handsome, with an air of cordiality – false, but to the untrained eye welcoming; Alexander a bloated man with a small mouth frozen in a scowl, jowls that trembled as he walked, and hands too tiny to wear well the ring of office. He looked far older than his brother, though he was the younger by a decade. As they were drawn aside by a man standing too far in the shadows to identify, a woman appeared, pausing to study the crowd. Catching sight of Owen, she approached his group, people scattering from her path. Brother Michaelo followed in her wake, arms folded, hands tucked into the opposite sleeves, head bowed. The woman’s gown flowed round her as she moved, a mark of costly fabric, though the cut, design, and color were simple to the point of austere, the only jewels the rubies and emeralds studding the crispinette encasing her dark hair. As she drew close Owen saw the family resemblance in the shape of her face, though in Marian the colors were faded almost to white whereas this lady’s eyes were dark, her color high, the brows and lashes as dark as her hair.
Brother Michaelo introduced Lady Maud Neville to Owen, Dean John, and Master Adam.
She repeated their names as she welcomed them to the palace. Turning to Owen she held out a slender, long-fingered hand graced with a gold ring of intricate design holding one ruby, one emerald. ‘Captain Archer, I am grateful for the chance to thank you for all you did for my niece Marian.’
Owen’s response was cut short by the arrival of the lady’s husband, who nodded to the three and demanded to know why Ambrose Coates was not with them.
‘He is recovering from a grievous injury inflicted by the murderer of the vicar, Ronan,’ said Owen.
‘The murderer? You have found another to blame for the crime?’
‘As I said, Sir John. The murderer. The dean and precentor have been informed of the circumstances and provided evidence, though we lack one item that is, I believe, in your possession.’
‘And what is that?’
‘A small book of accounts kept by Ronan, stolen from the chancellor’s hall by two of your men, Porter and Diggs.’
The archbishop had been making a slow progress through the crowd, pausing to speak to select folk. He reached them in time to hear the names.
‘They are Crispin Poole’s men, I think,’ Alexander said as he held out a small hand burdened by his ring of office for the three men to kiss.
All three made their obeisance.
‘The two were in Crispin’s service,’ said Owen, ‘but no longer, Your Grace. They resumed their place in Sir John’s household once his party arrived at the palace.’
The archbishop glanced at his brother with annoyance. ‘Is this true?’
‘I do recall now, yes, they brought me the little book. A curious thing. Have you forgotten?’ Sir John raised a brow to his brother.
Alexander turned to Owen. ‘The book has to do with the vicar’s murder? A man has confessed?’
Owen nodded.
‘Where is he?’
The dean stepped forward. ‘The miscreant is being held at the castle, awaiting the decision as to his fate, Your Grace. Although Captain Archer kindly stepped in to assist us at the request of Master Adam, the chapter precentor and the one responsible for our vicars choral, I feel that as the crime occurred in the minster liberty we should defer to you on the matter of the resolution.’ He gave a little bow as he took a breath and tore his gaze from the chilly hostility emanating from the archbishop. ‘There is a – complication, Your Grace. If we might retire to a more private place to speak of it …’
Alexander raised his hand and from the shadows stepped his secretary Leufrid.
‘Cousin,’ said Brother Michaelo with a little bow.
Lady Maud looked between the two with interest, the one most courteous, the other gracelessly pretending not to hear. A small smile played round her mouth and eyes. ‘What is the nature of this complication?’ she asked.
‘This matter is not your concern,’ said Alexander. ‘Leufrid, have some wine brought to my parlor. Four cups – I have matters to discuss with the officers of the chapter.’ Nodding to Owen, he took his leave, the dean and precentor following, the latter glancing back with a look of pleading.
For his part, Owen was relieved. His work was done.
‘And what of the spy Ambrose Coates?’ demanded Sir John. ‘When will he be brought to me?’
‘Ah, but he is no spy, husband,’ said Lady Maud.
‘No? How did you come to that conclusion? Your niece?’
‘My lady is correct,’ said Owen. ‘Ambrose is under the protection of Prince Edward. I will be handing him over to Sir Lewis Clifford as soon as he arrives in the city.’
Sir John grunted. ‘Clifford. You are known to him?’
‘He was in Princess Joan’s party when she paid a visit to the late archbishop,’ said Owen.
‘Ah yes, you were Thoresby’s man – steward and captain of his household guard.’
‘I had that honor.’
‘Have you heard we found Pit’s body floating in the Floss this morning?’
‘I have.’
‘Two of my best men drowned in your treacherous waters. And your bailiff has arrested
