A Gift of Sanctuary (30 page)
Read A Gift of Sanctuary Online
Authors: Candace Robb
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Crime
At the next table Brother Michaelo noticed several Benedictines. ‘Perhaps I might assist you in your inquiries by gathering the gossip of the clergy,’ he said, rising. He eased his way round to the monks’ table.
Sir Robert glanced round, irritated with Brother Michaelo for leaving him. Without the benefit of the monk’s eyesight he could not make out much of the crowd. But a rustle of silk and an exotic scent made Sir Robert turn.
‘My lady.’ He bowed to the woman who had hesitated behind him.
‘My lord,’ she said, inclining her head. A warm smile in a beautiful young face. ‘Are you recovered from your memories?’
‘I have managed to escape them for the evening.’
She told the servant that she would sit where she had paused. ‘Am I intruding?’
‘Not at all. Forgive me for not rising, but it has been a tiring day.’
She slipped in beside him. The servant poured wine.
‘Tangwystl ferch Gruffydd,’ she said.
Holy Mother of God, could this be? Could the object of their discussion be this lovely lady? ‘Sir Robert D’Arby,’ he said with a little bow, ‘of Freythorpe Hadden in Yorkshire. And my companion, when he returns, is Brother Michaelo, secretary to His Grace John Thoresby, Archbishop of York.’
‘I am honoured,’ she said quietly. ‘You and Brother Michaelo are pilgrims?’
‘We are. Though dining in such a hall, with such company, is not the behaviour of a pilgrim.’
‘You have travelled far. In the chapel – I heard how you struggle to breathe. You are brave to come on such a journey. Forgive me, but I wondered how your wife could bear to let you go when your health is so delicate.’
He bowed his head. ‘My wife died many years ago.’
‘The happy memories you spoke of – were they of her?’
Sir Robert stared into Tangwystl’s green eyes, pale, like emeralds, and he felt he could confide in her. He told her of his vision. While he spoke, he saw her colour deepen, her eyes grow moist. He apologised for upsetting her. ‘I should not speak of such things.’
She touched his hand. ‘God bless you, Sir Robert. I would hear more of her, your Amélie.’
They were interrupted for a time by Brother Michaelo’s return and the arrival of the first course. And the second. Though meat was not served in the palace during Lent the variety of fish and pastries seemed decadent to Sir Robert. He ate little, in truth just picked at his food, and Brother Michaelo fussed.
‘He is a good friend to you,’ said Tangwystl.
‘He would lose me all the indulgences I hoped to gain by this pilgrimage,’ Sir Robert said.
‘Your Amélie forgave you. Was that not the purpose of your pilgrimage?’
‘I had not dared to hope for that.’ He told her of Lucie and her family, the miracle of their all surviving the pestilence, how he had feared for her, being an apothecary. ‘I came to give thanks. God allowed me to live long enough to witness my daughter’s happiness.’
‘Your daughter is an apothecary in York?’ Tangwystl glanced over at Brother Michaelo, who sat quietly, leaning slightly in their direction, obviously trying to eavesdrop. ‘And he is the secretary to the archbishop. I remember now. Captain Archer and Master Chaucer escorted pilgrims to St David’s. That is how they came to be here when John de Reine was found.’
Sir Robert hoped he had not now silenced her. ‘It gives me joy to hear they made it safely to Cydweli. Did you meet Captain Archer?’
‘Your daughter is fortunate. He seems a good and gentle man.’
‘I am content for her.’
Mistress Tangwystl grew quiet. So now she did not trust him. Sir Robert was sorry for that. But in a little while she turned to him again and asked him about his grandchildren.
‘I have a son,’ she said in such a sad tone Sir Robert thought she might be about to correct herself and say ‘had’. But she did not. She described a fair, chubby boy with a laugh so rich that all who heard must laugh with him.
‘Sir John must be proud,’ said Sir Robert.
‘No. He is not. For Hedyn is not his son.’ She changed the subject to the bleak, treeless character of this westernmost part of Wales.
Brother Michaelo paced impatiently as he waited for Sir Robert, who was taking his time saying good-night to the fair Tangwystl. He had walked her to her chamber and was rewarded with an invitation to accompany her on the morrow to St David’s Well at Porth Clais. Sir Robert could feel the monk’s eyes boring into his back but he did not care. He had found a way to help Owen and he felt rejuvenated.
‘You are playing the fool with her. She is beautiful, I grant you – but she is your enemy.’ His hands tucked up his sleeves, Michaelo leaned slightly forward as he walked, head bowed. He walked too fast for Sir Robert, who paused and waited for Brother Michaelo to realise he was alone.
When the monk turned back with an impatient sigh, Sir Robert said, ‘I would empty my bladder before retiring.’ They headed for the privy in silence. But as soon as they had done their business and were back on course, Sir Robert took up the argument. ‘You are being the fool. How is she my enemy?’
‘Her father is a traitor to the King. Have you forgotten?’
‘We do not know that he was. John Lascelles did not think so. Surely he would not have taken her to wife if he had.’
‘Lascelles.’ Brother Michaelo nodded vigorously. ‘Did you note? She is not using his name.’
‘By all that is holy, why do you persist in this? Many women choose what name they will.’
‘And of all men, who would be the one to follow her here, but her husband? Can it be he is the traitor of whom the Fleming speaks?’ Brother Michaelo tilted his head, awaiting a reply.
Could it be so? ‘Would Sir John be so blatant in his treachery? Marrying the daughter of one of his accomplices? One who had been caught in his treachery?’
‘It might explain the woman’s flight, had she discovered it,’ said Michaelo. To escape a father who was traitor only to discover she had married another.’
‘She is Welsh. She may not count it treason.’ Sir Robert was tired and confused. ‘She told me something passing strange. She has a son, but Sir John is not the father.’
‘You see? A Godless family.’
Sir Robert did not wish to pursue that. ‘You looked disappointed when you returned to the table. The Benedictines knew nothing?’
‘I wonder whether I should tell you what I learned. Will my words be repeated to Mistress Tangwystl?’
They had reached their chamber. Sir Robert opened the door. ‘You tire me, Michaelo. Keep your news to yourself.’
As Michaelo was about to shut the door, a young man in the bishop’s livery slipped from the shadows in the corridor. ‘I come from the Pirate,’ he said softly. ‘With urgent news.’
Michaelo pulled him into the room, shut the door.
The young man was dishevelled and breathless.
‘How did the Pirate get a message to you?’ Sir Robert asked.
‘He has his ways. I cannot say, my lord. He tells me to say only this. Father Edern has left the palace. The traitor follows him. The Captain must hasten to his aid.’ The young man dropped his head.
‘That is it?’
A nod.
Sir Robert dug in his purse, gave the young man a groat. ‘Go swiftly to my man Edmund, summon him here.’ He told him where he might find him.
Sir Robert and Brother Michaelo awaited Edmund in sombre silence, except for a begrudging ‘Thank God you insisted on delaying his departure’ from Michaelo.
It was not until Edmund had gone and they lay quietly side by side that Sir Robert remembered their argument in the corridor.
‘What did you learn from your brethren?’
The monk lay on his side. ‘We would not share a room, much less a bed, you know, but that I am to help you should you weaken. It is my duty to be quiet now, allow you your rest.’
How was the monk to be borne? ‘I cannot rest but you tell me.’
‘You threaten like a child. And now we go on so, you think I have much to tell you. I do not. They knew of Dyfrig, that his house is Strata Florida, a nest of Welsh rebels, they say. Though they have not heard Brother Dyfrig himself mentioned in that way. They say the monk used his influence to get Father Edern his position as vicar. But the most interesting part is no longer news: that Father Edern is already gone from the city.’
At dawn Owen’s party gathered in the courtyard to receive Bishop Houghton’s blessing, then mounted and rode from Llawhaden.
They now carried Tangwystl’s letter requesting annulment and a letter from the bishop, to be delivered to the Archdeacon of Carmarthen in St David’s. ‘I shall follow you to St David’s anon, but in such a circumstance it is comforting to know these documents are in a company of seven armed men,’ Houghton had said. He had also asked that Owen ensure no more blood was shed over the matter. ‘I would not have St David’s in turmoil during Passiontide.’
‘God forgive me, but to that I cannot swear,’ Owen had said. ‘We can but pray that we find a peaceful resolution.’
Geoffrey had taken exception to Owen’s reply, though he waited until they were alone to voice his disapproval. As Owen set his boots by the brazier to dry overnight and shook out his clothes, beat off some of the dirt, Geoffrey had paced with hands behind his back. ‘Why could you not swear that you would do all you could to prevent further violence?’
‘Why should I lie to the bishop? Peace or violence may not be in my keeping.’
Geoffrey stopped at the bench where Owen sat, looked down on him with an impatient shake of the head. ‘You have no tact. He will remember what you said.’
‘And blame me if anyone is wounded? You speak nonsense. Houghton is a reasonable man.’
‘He is a powerful man. A friend to the Duke. You would do well to impress him.’ The last point was emphasised by a wagging finger.
Owen pushed the finger away and bent down to his pack. ‘I am not looking for a bishop to serve. I have had enough of Thoresby. You would do well to undress and rest for tomorrow’s hard ride.’
Geoffrey sighed loudly and sat down to remove his boots.
Owen sank down on the bed. ‘With all this, Sir John sounds more and more like the murderer.’
‘If he is, he is a clever player,’ Geoffrey said. ‘And we were his unwitting audience.’
‘But why did Edern and Tangwystl say nothing of the chaplain’s injuries?’
Geoffrey had slumped down on to the bed with a groan. ‘I do not like to think it of them. But it is troublesome. Mistress Tangwystl had called Gladys to the chaplain’s room to witness his letter. Gladys heard them calling her. Surely they would have returned to that room seeking her.’
‘That is what I am thinking.’
Geoffrey suddenly pounded the bed with his fist. ‘But Gladys said nothing of them looking into the room. Therefore––’
‘They did not. Why not?’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Aye.’
Owen thought of that now as they rode off in pursuit of the three. Was Sir John a clever player? Or were Edern and the fair Tangwystl the dangerous ones?
Twenty
A TENDER HEART
I
n the middle of the night, a knee to his back woke Brother Michaelo. Sir Robert tossed and thrashed in bed, gasping for air. Michaelo sat up, mounded the pillows that had been thrown round the bed, and pulled Sir Robert up to a seated position against them. A hand dug into Michaelo’s shoulder.
n the middle of the night, a knee to his back woke Brother Michaelo. Sir Robert tossed and thrashed in bed, gasping for air. Michaelo sat up, mounded the pillows that had been thrown round the bed, and pulled Sir Robert up to a seated position against them. A hand dug into Michaelo’s shoulder.
‘Blow out, Sir Robert,’ Michaelo coaxed, as Owen had taught him. ‘Blow out and you will remember how to breathe in.’ He demonstrated with a hearty, puffy exhale.
Sir Robert’s face creased up, and with a gasp he began to laugh. The laughter led to coughing, and breathing.
‘I am glad to be so amusing,’ Brother Michaelo said. The cloth Sir Robert held to his mouth was flecked with blood. ‘Rest here a moment while I bring the steam.’ On the brazier sat a pot of water in which sage leaves simmered all the night. Michaelo tiptoed over the cool tiles, pulled down the sleeves of his linen shift to pad his hands, lifted the pot and carried it to the bed. Sitting it on Sir Robert’s blanket-covered lap, he told him to bend over it and breathe deep. Sir Robert obeyed. At first his breath creaked and wheezed, but gradually it quieted. When the cough began, Michaelo moved the pot to the floor and brought a pan for the flux. So much blood. The blood-speckled flux of the past few nights was now heavily streaked with crimson, though still watery. Or was that the weakness of Sir Robert’s blood? Brother Michaelo held Sir Robert’s head while he coughed. A physick of herbs and poppy juice in honey water to quiet him and allow his sleep, a compress over his hot cheeks and forehead of soothing lavender water, and soon Sir Robert closed his eyes, breathing evenly.
Michaelo returned the sage water to the brazier, shoved the pan beneath the bed, and washed his own face and hands with lavender water, then sat up in bed with a cup of wine. He did not expect it to calm him enough. He knew that he would sleep no more. His heart was too heavy. When he had finished the wine, he drew out his rosary beads and began to pray.
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