The Cross Legged Knight (10 page)

‘I could go –’

‘No!’

‘I shall attend the funeral.’

‘That is a different matter.’

They both looked up as someone banged on the door down below.

L
ucie dropped Cisotta’s ruined girdle on the bed and hurried out of the room. Owen grabbed his clothes, fumbled through dressing and followed her downstairs. The trestle table was set up in the hall and Kate was feeding the children there rather than in the kitchen. Gwenllian sat, straight-backed and solemn, watching the door that led out to the kitchen as she chewed a piece of bread. Hugh sat in Kate’s lap.

‘I thought to keep them out of the way,’ the maid said.

‘You will have your kitchen back soon, Kate. It was a mistake to bring Poins here.’ Owen kissed both of the children.

Gwenllian wrapped her arms round his neck and whispered, ‘Aunt Phillippa says you walked into the burning house and saved a woman. Is it true, Papa?’

‘Aye, my little love. But the fire was down below. I was in no danger.’ It was one of Phillippa’s most annoying intrusions into their lives, to tell the children about incidents that Owen and Lucie chose to keep from them. ‘Where is your mother?’

‘She took that man to the kitchen.’

He looked up at Kate.

‘Master Fitzbaldric, Captain.’

Here was another reason to find some other place for Poins – the house would have no peace while he was here.

‘You will not go back into his house?’ Gwenllian asked, touching Owen’s cheek with the back of her hand, so gently, just as her mother would do.

‘Not until carpenters shore it up. Now you must not frighten Hugh with tales of fires.’

Gwenllian nodded and let him go.

The warmth of the kitchen intensified the odours of blood, sweat and Magda’s remedies. Owen was grateful Kate had the sense to keep the children out of the room. Lucie stood beside Magda, holding the bowl of foul-smelling lotion Magda had made during the night. Poins still lay naked on his stomach, his eyelids trembling as Magda anointed his blisters, smoothing in the ointment with her knobby fingers.

Fitzbaldric held back from the trio, eyeing them uneasily. ‘Good-day to you, Captain,’ he said in a quiet voice, as if unwilling to call attention to himself. He looked freshly scrubbed, reminding Owen how filthy he yet felt. Fitzbaldric wore borrowed clothing, a tunic that fitted him ill, short in the sleeves and exposing too much of a pair of faded leggings. ‘I must speak with you, Captain.’

‘Then let us retire to the hall.’ Owen had just caught sight of what was in the covered dish that had smelled of rotten meat – Magda was about to apply maggots to the worst of the burns, to clean away the dead flesh.

Kate scooped up the children and took them upstairs as Owen invited Fitzbaldric to sit at the table in the hall.

The merchant slumped down into a chair, propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. Owen stood uncertainly, wondering whether he should return to the kitchen, where Magda and Lucie were talking in loud, angry voices. He had never heard them argue before.

Fitzbaldric lifted his head. ‘Forgive me, I am not accustomed to a sickroom. His arm – was it necessary to remove it?’

‘If he is to live.’ The voices quieted. Deciding it was best to leave Magda and Lucie alone, Owen sat down opposite Fitzbaldric.

‘I cannot imagine his agony.’ The merchant was growing pale.

‘Do you need something to drink?’

Fitzbaldric shook his head. ‘Who is she – that woman in there working on Poins?’

‘Magda is the best healer in all York, perhaps in all the shire.’

‘In truth?’ Relief returned some of the colour to the merchant’s face, but in a moment he was frowning, pressing a cloth to his forehead. ‘We have lost all the household goods, I fear, and much of my merchandise. I do not know how I shall afford the best healer in the city.’

Magda often worked for nothing – but the Fitzbaldrics were not so needy. ‘You might speak with the bishop. He may feel duty bound to assist you. If you like, when I go to the palace today I could mention your situation.’ While Fitzbaldric considered the offer, Owen added, ‘I must tell you, I mean to find another place for Poins. It is too much for my household, having him here.’

Fitzbaldric kneaded the back of his neck, then dropped his hand to the table as if it were too heavy to
hold up. ‘Adeline and I need to move as well.’

‘Your welcome is already stale at Robert Dale’s house?’

‘That is what I came to tell you. They say that such disruption and threat to the household is intolerable – an intruder in the night, a desperate husband pounding on the door at dawn. Dear God, why is this happening to us?’ Fitzbaldric dropped his head on to his hands once more.

Owen remembered Alfred’s fears. ‘Did someone break into Robert Dale’s house?’

Fitzbaldric straightened. ‘We were not long in bed when the cook began to shout – someone had slipped into the kitchen, then ran when he found the cooks of both our households sleeping in there, as well as a kitchen maid. The Dales’ cook cried out. My cook took up the chase, but he was too slow, awakened out of a sound sleep. It is a house with many locks, Captain, being a goldsmith’s, the kitchen the only vulnerable chamber. But it is understandable that the Dales are afraid for their livelihood. Such valuable materials.’

‘They are certain the person broke in because of your presence?’

‘It happened last night, the first night we spent under their roof – what else could they think? I must speak with my guild master.’

‘He will surely be able to help, or Bishop Wykeham. But you said this morning someone came to the Dales’ house?’

‘A tawyer, pounding on the door, demanding to know whether his wife had been at the house – the bishop’s house – last night. He was drunk, quite red in the face and impossible to calm. She had not come home.’

‘Eudo the tawyer?’

‘The very man.’ Fitzbaldric looked surprised. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Where is he now?’

‘I escorted him to the shed where the woman lies. He bent over her ruined body, searching …’ Fitzbaldric put a hand to his stomach. ‘It sobered him and he said that he wished to be alone with her.’

‘So he was able to recognize her.’

‘He
believed
it to be her, though she is so disfigured.’ Fitzbaldric crossed himself. ‘I honoured the man’s wish for solitude, though I told the people in whose shed his wife lies of his presence. They said they would send for Father Linus of St Michael-le-Belfrey, the priest who gave the woman the last rites.’

Owen was glad of that. He had worried that Eudo might do himself or others harm – he was a passionate, sometimes violent man, if Cisotta’s stories were true.

‘When I returned, Julia Dale was telling Adeline about the man’s wife. She was a weaver of charms, Julia said.’

‘She was a midwife.’ Owen was disappointed that the man looked baffled.

‘Adeline and I knew her not, nor her husband. But you have not told me how you guessed who he was.’

‘I brought a piece of clothing from the fire. My wife knew it.’ Owen nodded towards Lucie as she came through the door from the kitchen.

‘Mistress Wilton.’ Fitzbaldric bobbed his head.

Lucie smiled warmly at him. Owen wished he knew what Magda had said to her.

‘Poins is covered now, if you wish to see him,’ Lucie said.

Fitzbaldric looked uncertain.

‘I shall tell the bishop of your plight,’ said Owen.

‘Do not trouble yourself. I shall speak with him.’ Fitzbaldric bowed to Lucie, to Owen and, with the posture of a man facing an onerous task, headed for the kitchen, letting the door bang shut behind him.

The smile faded from Lucie’s face. So it had been a mere courtesy.

Owen took her arm. He wanted to make sure of her state of mind before he went on to his business of the day and he wanted to reassure her that Poins would be out of their house as soon as another place had been found for him.

Lucie tried to pull her arm away. ‘You need sleep,’ she said.

‘And what of you? I can feel how you are trembling.’

‘It is not just Cisotta, but the fire. I imagine it happening to us. What if we could not get the children out in time? What if no one thought to go up to the solar for them? It almost happened to the Fitzbaldrics’ maidservant.’

‘But it did not happen to us.’

‘No.’ Lucie did not look comforted. ‘Yours is a rough touch for one who claims to be concerned for my welfare. What is this about?’

‘What did you tell Fitzbaldric before I arrived?’

‘Ah, that is what worries you.’ Lucie jerked her arm out of Owen’s grasp. ‘What do you fear that I told him? That Poins strangled Cisotta with his belt? I am not a fool, Owen. I kept the conversation to Poins. And you? Did you show him the belt? Ask him whether he recognized it?’

‘No. I am not certain how much to tell him.’ He felt the fool, having voiced his worry without thinking how it would sound.

‘So you distrust Fitzbaldric?’

‘I have not yet decided how to approach him. His
visit caught me unprepared. Did he tell you that Eudo came to the Dales’ house this morning, drunk?’

‘No.’ Lucie’s arm went limp.

‘No doubt that is why Eudo did not notice Cisotta’s absence until morning.’

‘Poor Anna,’ Lucie whispered.

‘Aye.’ Owen realized the man’s eight-year-old daughter must have taken care of her younger brothers through the night. ‘Fitzbaldric took Eudo to the shed where Cisotta lies. Now he wants to know why the woman was at his house.’

‘As do we all.’

‘His visit this morning was just the beginning of the burden of keeping Poins here.’

‘Are we to toss him out on the street?’

‘We must find another place for him to be nursed. Do you think they would take him at St Leonard’s Hospital?’

‘They might. But Magda would not see to him there. Why do you want him gone?’

‘It is too much for this household. I must spend my days searching for Cisotta’s murderer, eh? Seeing to Wykeham’s safety. I cannot help you here. You have enough with the shop.’

‘I want to help you find Cisotta’s murderer.’

‘You can help best by giving me nothing to worry about.’

‘Like a child, or a favourite lap dog?’

It seemed he could say nothing right. ‘Lucie, you have been through so much with your injuries and the loss of our child. You cannot be unaware of the way you have been behaving since the accident.’

‘Of course I am aware.’ Her voice was tight, her lips pinched. ‘But Cisotta is dead, the woman who sat beside me so many days, selfless as ever Magda was. I
must do something to help. I cannot sit waiting for you. Let me do what I can.’

He did not like it. ‘Do you trust yourself?’

Her eyes wavered a moment, but then she faced him squarely with the familiar level gaze that he had not seen since the accident. ‘I do.’

There was something she might do, but he doubted she would agree. Still, if he suggested it and she refused, she could not accuse him of not considering her offer. ‘Emma Ferriby – would you be willing to speak with her, discover her family’s movements yesterday, and on the day of the accident at the lady chapel when the tile almost hit Wykeham?’

‘The bishop cannot think the Pagnells might be behind Cisotta’s murder?’

‘The tile and Cisotta’s death might not be connected,’ said Owen. ‘Perhaps not even the fire.’

‘Then Wykeham has been visited by a string of random misfortunes.’

‘Aye. And I am uneasy with that conclusion.’

Lucie looked uncertain. ‘But Emma and her family.’

‘I know. Would you feel a traitor to your friend?’

‘Let me think.’

‘There will be much to do in the shop with so many having helped at the fire last night – burns, sore throats, injuries. Perhaps you have not the time for this.’

‘You want me to decline, is that it? How clever – ask me to do something you might be sure I’ll refuse to do. I am not mad, nor so weak I cannot think, cannot read you. I am willing to do anything necessary to find Cisotta’s murderer, even this, what you ask. And if that man who lies in our kitchen is the murderer, I pray he lives to suffer even worse than he has already.’ Lucie’s face was flushed, her chin high, her hands fists held tight to her body, as if they must hold her down.

He put his arms round her, not in restraint as before, but in affection. ‘I shall be grateful for your help,’ he said. ‘I could not think how I might approach them without making them too aware of what I was doing.’

She relaxed her arms, then lifted them to encircle him and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

‘Promise me you will be careful,’ Owen whispered.

‘I meant to take Emma a sleep potion today and so I shall. She will want me to stay to tell her of the fire and of Poins.’

He did not warn her to watch how much she told Emma. He must trust her.