The King's Bishop (17 page)

Abbot Richard quietly joined Owen. ‘It is just as I feared. And I doubt any prayers were said over him. He was pushed in, covered up.’

It was true. No shroud covered Don Ambrose. No coins covered his eyes. His hands and feet were bound, his mouth open, as if crying out.

Owen nodded. ‘The mud makes it difficult to guess the cause of death. May I cut the habit?’

The Abbot closed his eyes. ‘Do what is necessary.’

Owen knelt, slipped his dagger under the neckline and slit down. He did not need to go far. He could feel the fabric clinging to the body hair. Dried blood did that. He knew that all too well. He ripped the cloth free. Three wounds on the chest. He lifted the hem, examined the friar’s legs and the bottom of his torso. No more wounds. He stood up. ‘He was stabbed three times in the chest.’

The Abbot crossed himself. ‘Captain Townley is known for his skill with a dagger.’

‘Throwing daggers, not stabbing with them. And Captain Townley would not bind the man. He would insist on a fair fight.’

The Abbot sighed. ‘We shall talk later. Let us see to Don Ambrose first.’ He turned to Brother Augustine. ‘Find something to use as a shroud and move him to the barn. We shall set a watch over him until we leave the wretched place.’

‘You will bury him at Rievaulx?’ Owen asked.

‘He was a consecrated priest. He deserves burial in consecrated ground.’

Owen nodded. ‘I had not thought, but it is fitting.’

The afternoon’s grim work had brought a gloom on the company. Owen and his men sat silently round
the fire while the monks said their evening office in the next room.

‘Abbot Richard has tried and condemned Captain Townley,’ Matthew said, more to his cup of ale than to the others.

‘I can’t say I blame him,’ Curan said. ‘Quick temper, has Captain Townley.’

Matthew’s shaggy head shot up. ‘So do you, you –’

‘Men!’ Owen shouted, rising.

‘There are other men missing as well,’ Ralph said. ‘I don’t know as I believe one man overcame him, bound him, stabbed him, and then brought the slope down atop him.’

With that grim recitation of the events, the men grew silent once more.

Later, Abbot Richard sent Brother Augustine and his servant to join the men at the fire and invited Owen into the more private room. Several oil lamps sat on the floor near two benches. A small bottle and two cups sat beside the lamps.

‘Would you take some brandywine?’ Abbot Richard asked.

‘After this day’s business, I should dearly love some,’ Owen said.

The Abbot bent down, filled the cups, handed one to Owen. ‘My compliments on your discovery today, Captain. I doubt I would have noticed that it was no natural slide.’

The comment relaxed Owen. They had progressed beyond their pointless sparring. ‘One-eyed and all, I have trained myself over the past years to make note of things, my lord abbot.’

‘Ah. Your work for Archbishop Thoresby.’

Owen nodded. ‘I propose to escort you back to Rievaulx before we continue our search.’

While the Abbot sipped his brandywine, he fixed his deep-set eyes on Owen. ‘Why is that?’

‘You might be in danger.’

The ghost of a smile. ‘I might indeed. But so might you.’

What was he after? ‘It is my duty to protect you. And you are shifting a body someone wished to hide.’

‘From whom do you think you protect me, Captain Archer?’

Ah. There it was. ‘Perhaps Captain Townley. Perhaps the other men. Perhaps someone we have not yet encountered.’

‘So you accept that your friend might be involved?’

‘As you said this afternoon, he is known for his skill with daggers.’ The Abbot made a move to protest. Owen shook his head. ‘No need to withdraw the comment. It was made and it should be considered. My wife would tell me I am too fond of Ned Townley to trust my judgement.’

The Abbot inclined his head. ‘A wise woman. How are the men?’

‘Truth?’

‘Of course.’

‘Matthew believes you have tried and condemned Captain Townley. Curan is eager to blame the Captain and head back to Windsor. Ralph does not think Don Ambrose’s murder and burial were the work of one man.’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think we do not know what happened. I must talk to my captain, hear his story. For all we know – God grant that it is not so’ – Owen crossed himself – ‘my captain, too, lies in this valley.’

‘I misjudged you, Captain Archer.’

‘Indeed you did, my lord abbot.’

‘I gladly accept your escort to Rievaulx.’

They journeyed to Rievaulx without incident. The hospitaller crossed himself at their tidings, shook his head at their unhappy burden. ‘May Our Lord God welcome Don Ambrose into the Heavenly City.’

‘You have seen none of the other men? The search party?’

The hospitaller slowly moved his head from side to side. ‘But there is a shepherd to see you, Captain. He waits in the parlour.’

‘A shepherd? What does he want?’

‘He said his business was with you. I did not press him further. It is not our way.’

Owen stepped into the parlour, nodded to the man in russet tunic and leggings. His hair was grizzled, shaggy as the sheep he tended, and so redolent of them they must often have mistaken him for one of their own.

The man grasped his crook and supported himself as he rose. ‘Captain Archer?’ His voice was gruff with age.

‘And you are?’

‘Nym, sir.’

It seemed wrong for the elderly man to call him ‘sir’. ‘Would you take some refreshment?’

‘I never say no to a drop of ale.’

Owen went to a cupboard and returned with a pitcher and two drinking bowls, poured for both of them, handed a bowl to his guest, who had resumed his seat.

Nym drained the bowl, leaned forward to set it down. The movement was awkward, and Owen
noticed the shepherd had a malformed foot. He rose and took the bowl from the shepherd, who nodded in thanks, settling back on the chair.

Owen drank some ale. ‘Brother Hospitaller said you had business with me?’

A subtle nod. ‘It is said you seek six men travelling on the moors.’

‘Five.’

The bushy eyebrows drifted up, a broad shoulder shrugged. ‘You have found one of them?’

Nym obviously knew something. ‘Where did you hear about us?’

‘I was sent to lead you to one who might help.’

‘Where? Who?’

‘Hazel Head Wood. Widow Digby.’

Owen blinked. ‘Magda Digby?’

‘Widow Digby. Aye. Comes up here collecting roots and herbs, seeing to old friends. You know her as midwife in York.’

Owen could not believe his fortune. ‘And she knows something of these men?’

‘Aye, she said so. Sent me to bring you to her.’

‘When do we leave?’

‘Tomorrow would be pleasing to me.’

‘Tomorrow it is.’

M
ist hung low in the Vale of Rievaulx. The abbey seemed to float on clouds. But for the company standing beside their mounts awaiting the Abbot’s blessing, the damp ground was all too substantial. Moisture found the seams and tears in their boots and chilled their feet. Only Nym seemed comfortable, leaning quietly on his crook. Ralph stamped his feet and flapped his arms and muttered curses under his breath. Geoff repeatedly blew on his hands. Matthew’s nose dripped; he stood with his hands up his sleeves and occasionally pressed his arms up to blot his nose. Curan shifted from one foot to the other in a steady rhythm. Edgar held his cloak tight about him with gloved hands and stood as close to his horse’s warmth as the beast would allow.

Owen paced and swung his arms. His left shoulder ached in the damp, an old wound. It was far too early to be standing about. Yet as his eye travelled up the bank, he saw that the mist thinned, revealing the trees that clung to the steep sides. And high above, the
sky was blue, as it should be in early May, the sun touching the lead roof of the church and setting it aglow.

The horses snorted and stamped, their breath blending into the mist.

A door opened nearby, heard but not seen.

‘His royal highness at last,’ muttered Matthew.

A procession of white-robed novices appeared out of the mist, followed by Abbot Richard in his mass robes. The night before, he had questioned Owen’s judgement in riding up on to the moors to consult a midwife.

‘What can a midwife do for you, Captain Archer? Cast a spell? Weave a charm for your friend?’

‘I seek facts, my lord abbot. Magda Digby will know whether there is news of my men.’

‘So she is more than a midwife.’

‘As are we all more besides our callings.’

‘I intend to notify King Edward of the circumstances.’

‘I never doubted you would. And I shall send a complete account to Archbishop Thoresby and to you when I return to York.’

The Abbot had been satisfied with Owen’s reply; his presence here this morning was testament to that.

‘
Benedicte
, Captain Archer; Nym; Matthew; Ralph; Curan; Edgar; Geoff.’ Abbot Richard made the sign of the cross over each man as he spoke his name. ‘Our Lord God shines His light upon this company. Let us pray it is a sign of a safe and productive journey.’

The men had grown still with the blessing, now they bowed their heads, pressed their hands together. Abbot Richard did not prolong the prayers overmuch, but neither did he skimp. When he was finished, the
men crossed themselves and moved towards their mounts.

Abbot Richard took Owen aside. ‘You have the trust of powerful men, Captain Archer. Do not ruin your future by misguided loyalty.’

‘Do not be so confident you are right to condemn Captain Townley, my lord abbot. I would delight in proving you wrong.’

An eyebrow raised, a smile flickered and died. The deep-set eyes looked sad. ‘God go with you, Captain.’

Owen found the Abbot’s blessing disquieting. He was silent as he joined his men. The company mounted, made secure the reins connecting them to the pack-horses carrying food, gifts from the infirmarian for Nym’s family and a bottle of brandywine for Magda Digby, and rode off towards the north.

Nym led the company up along the Rye River valley. The ground was sodden and muddy from recent floods. The shepherd assured them his ears were trained to hear the warning sound of a flash flood, which could come at any time now that the snow cover on the high moors was melting. They rode prepared for a sudden gallop up on to the high ground.

Owen rode at the rear, Matthew beside him. The puppy-faced man kept glancing up and about at the rolling moorland.

‘Nym has not lived to two score and ten by acting the fool, Matthew,’ Owen said. ‘Have faith that he does not mean to be washed away.’

‘’Tis not just that, Captain. Along the Thames, where I was born, a man may look out over many miles and see whence he came and where he is headed. But this …’ Matthew made a sweeping gesture over the surrounding heights. ‘Hills. Mist. Abbeys hiding in valleys where the traveller comes
upon them like giants lurking. ‘Tis a queer, dangerous country. There are too many hills from which the enemy might watch, valleys where they might hide.’ He screwed up his puppy face. ‘How might a man live here without forever glancing about, ready for mischief?’

Ah. Owen remembered such fears among his archers in Normandy. Unfamiliar terrain held unpredictable dangers. Some men eased into the new, learned it. Some resisted it, always feared it. ‘Knowing that men are missing, that someone murdered Don Ambrose, makes it all the keener, that feeling.’

Matthew ducked his head, embarrassed. ‘It does that, Captain.’

‘We are fortunate to have a guide who knows the land. I have faith he will get us there safely.’ Owen glanced over at Matthew, saw less fear in his eyes. Owen would not mention what bothered him, the uncertainty of what they sought.

Matthew glanced at Owen. ‘This Riverwoman. What is she?’

The man was a bundle of worries, to be sure. ‘A midwife,’ Owen said. ‘She brought my wife into the world. And my daughter.’

A puzzled frown. ‘What need have we of a midwife?’

Owen laughed. ‘Abbot Richard asked the same question. Her skill as a midwife is what most folk seek her for. But I think her the finest spy in the land. Folk hear of something out of joint, they tell Magda. Magda seeks knowledge of something, she spreads the word. If anyone has seen aught of Captain Townley or the other men up on the moors, Magda will know. Or will find out.’

‘Let us pray she knows something that will help Captain Townley.’

‘Magda would not send Nym for us if she had naught to offer.’

They reached the hamlet at the edge of Hazel Head Wood as twilight faded into night. A fire burned in front of one of the houses, its brightness making the darkness in which the company rode seem blacker still.

Matthew stared straight ahead. As the sun had set he had told Owen that the moorland hills on either side seemed like dark, crouching beasts, and the sky was too broad.