11

A LIE, HOWEVER WELL MEANT

After the meeting with Katherine and Bess at the York Tavern, Elric welcomed the late afternoon chill. It cleared his head as he turned onto Stonegate. Walking down this street beside Katherine was fresh in his mind, flanked by her noble hounds, her movements graceful, with a rhythmic quality not unlike dance. Beauty and strength in motion. And, considering her keen mind and martial skill, he was glad to be on her side. More than glad. If he succeeded in freeing Berend and proving his innocence, would she . . . ? Might they . . . ? Pah. This was not the time for such dreams. Nor could he shrug off the feeling that she was up to her usual tricks, telling him partial truths.

Shaking his head at himself he turned down Davygate. Not so busy as earlier, the shops closing, people hurrying home to the warmth of their fires. As he approached Jon Horner’s house he slowed his pace, seeing in the dusky light that Kevin was in conversation with a handsome woman who seemed vaguely familiar. He did not wish to interrupt, but the cold and his mission made him keen to reach the castle.

Kevin happened to glance his way, raising his hand in greeting, and the woman turned to see who approached.

“Sir Elric, if I might introduce the widow Wheeldon,” said Kevin.

Ah, the widow Wheeldon, yes, he remembered now. She was in the company of a maidservant who stood at a slight distance, staring down at her feet, looking far more grief-stricken than did the widow. But then, Wheeldon had not struck him as a woman who would spend much time grieving anyone.

Elric had first met—Cecily, that was her Christian name, yes. He’d met her a few years earlier, at Raby Castle, when her husband, a man of considerable wealth and apparently thwarted ambition, was still alive. Earl Ralph had approached him for the wherewithal for a venture. Eager to oblige, Wheeldon’s price was simply an invitation to Christmas at Raby Castle. The earl complied, giving Elric the task of escorting the couple north. The old man and his young wife were annoying travelers, ridiculously surprised by the unpleasantness of a winter journey. But once ensconced at Raby, they enjoyed the festivities, the old man hobnobbing with the nobles and fellow merchants of influence, though he had little of that except for his wealth. No widow then, though she behaved as one, Dame Cecily teased the men with her low-cut gowns, locking her eyes on them, inviting them to her side. Elric danced with her, finding her a graceful partner, but too hungry for gossip about her host. He had not danced with her a second time.

“Sir Elric,” she held out her hand, her face sliding from a smile into a mask of grief.

He touched her hand as he bowed to her. “Mistress Wheeldon.”

“I was explaining that I cannot permit her inside the house,” said Kevin.

“You wished to enter?” Elric asked her. “To what purpose?”

“I was concerned about Goodwife Tibby, Jon Horner’s housekeeper,” said the widow. “I thought to offer her solace.”

“As I explained, she has gone to her sister’s house,” said Kevin.

“Yes, so you did.” Suddenly Cecily Wheeldon seemed not to care for all the attention, averting her eyes, motioning to her maidservant that they should move on, it was near curfew.

Unable to decide whether his hackles were raised for good cause or simply because of his dislike of the woman, Elric proposed to escort her home.

“Oh, no, I pray you, you need not, Sir Elric.”

“But your home is on my way. You would not deny me your company?”

She blanched. And it was not simply from the cold, he was certain. Whatever she had intended to do next, it was not heading straight home. And that she did not argue that she had errands confirmed for him his instinct that something was not quite right about her sudden concern for Horner’s housekeeper.

As he proffered her his arm, she put a good face on it, resting her hand on his forearm and bidding good day to Kevin. Even on the slushy street, she moved with remarkable grace. So why did he dislike her so?

“Forgive me if I seemed abrupt,” he said as they continued down Davygate, the servant quietly following. “You have lost a friend to violence. I pray that you find solace.”

“Friend?” the widow said the word as if tasting it. “He was, on occasion, my late husband’s trading partner, one of several, and we met a few times in regard to an outstanding contract. I considered him an acquaintance, hardly a friend. My concern was more for Goodwife Tibby, his housekeeper. A housekeeper for a widower is often regarded in an unkindly light. Gossips, you know. An unmarried woman living under the same roof—You see the problem.” She paused as they reached St. Sampson Square, looking to see his reaction.

“Ah,” is all he said, with a knowing nod, while in truth he wondered why she had chosen to begin such a rumor. What was her purpose in maligning Goodwife Tibby?

Apparently she did not find his reaction satisfying, for she withdrew into silence as they continued down Peasegate, except to greet passersby. No doubt she still enjoyed being on the arm of a knight in the service of the Earl of Westmoreland. He was glad when they reached her home at the foot of Castlegate. Bowing to her, he wished her a quiet evening.

His first matter of business on reaching York Castle was to request that at least two armed men be placed at Jon Horner’s home on Davygate and another two at Merek’s lodgings.

“But we have the murderer in custody,” said the bailiff on duty.

“I very much doubt that you do,” said Elric. “Have you examined the prisoner? Is he wounded?”

“The man’s head and hands have more scars than I can count.”

“Fresh wounds on his arms or torso? So fresh they are still weeping?”

The bailiff wrinkled his nose. “I did not undress him. Such a search is not my responsibility.”

“I disagree,” said Elric. He reminded him about the bloody knife in Merek’s hand. “If Berend does not have any fresh wounds, the murderer is likely still abroad in the city. If you wish to retain your position you will arrange for men to be posted at Horner’s house, as well as Merek’s, if you have already removed them. Tonight. And, for good measure, at Thomas Graa’s warehouse at the corner of Castlegate and Hertergate.” He explained why.

“I shall need permission from the sheriffs, sir,” the bailiff insisted, but it was clear that Elric had made his point.

“Then get their permission. When I return from my meeting with your prisoner I expect to hear that you have dispatched men around the city.”

Though he bristled, the bailiff did not argue, and, as Elric made his way to the stairs that led down beneath the street level, he heard the man loudly ordering someone to watch his station while he went to Sheriff Edmund Cottesbrok’s home.

Through the iron-bound door Elric heard a chain rattling.

“Pacing back and forth, back and forth. Has not stopped since I shut the door on him,” said the jailer as he put the key to the lock and called out, “Visitor, Master Berend!”

Elric commended him on his courtesy.

“He’s a fine man, Berend is. And if he did murder those men, I’ll warrant they deserved it.” The jailer opened the door and bowed Elric through, handing him an extra lantern and pushing a bench through the door. “Might as well be able to see each other, and to sit.”

Attached to a heavy chain secured to an iron ring in the far wall, the iron bands around Berend’s ankles were linked together so that he could not stride, but must shuffle. Even so constrained, he had worn a path through the rushes laid on the packed earth floor. Elric could sense his frustration, this magnificent bull forced into a paddock far too small. It was enough to make Elric want to shout for an axe that could cut through the chain. He was glad when Berend paused, shielding his eyes against the light from the lantern he carried, so much brighter than the torch set in the wall just inside the door, out of the prisoner’s reach. Apologizing for the sudden glare, Elric set the lantern down where its light would be reflected from the wall, softening it.

The cell was cold, damp, the air not yet fouled, though certainly neither sweet nor copious. Elric noticed the bastards had removed Berend’s shoes. Did they fear the chains and the iron-bound door would not hold him? That the snow would better deter him from escaping? Addlepated cowards, all of them. At least Berend showed no signs of rough handling. That was something.

Elric nodded to him. “I hoped we might talk, Berend.”

The man shrugged his wide shoulders, as if to relieve a kink in his neck. “Did Dame Katherine send you?”

“I come of my own accord, but I carry words of support from her. And Bess Merchet.”

“Merchet? How does she come into it?”

“Katherine sought her out, wanting information about Horner and Merek. In the process, she seems to have made a friend, one who is already your friend.” Elric moved the bench so that Berend could reach it without straining the chain. “Shall we sit?”

Berend shook one of his feet, rattling the chain. “I am at your mercy, it seems. What is it you want?”

“If you are innocent of the murders of Merek and Horner, I want to find the murderer before he kills again. For that I need your help.”

“If I am innocent.” A sound that was almost a laugh. “I am hardly that. But I am innocent of their deaths.”

“Then you won’t mind removing your jacket and shirt?”

“To what end?”

“Merek’s attacker was injured. If you have no fresh wounds, I have physical proof to offer the sheriffs.”

“And your lord?”

“A fair assessment,” Elric admitted. “Before I use the power of the Earl of Westmoreland’s name to convince the sheriffs to release you into my custody, I want proof of your innocence.”

Berend lifted his bound hands. “This makes it difficult.”

“I can remedy that.” Elric drew his dagger.

“Why would you trust me?”

“Katherine’s entire household trusts you, including the great hounds. Who am I to question their wisdom?”

When Berend extended his arms, Elric noticed that the knot was sloppily done. In time, he might have freed himself. Friends in the castle? Elric sheathed his dagger and untied the rope. “Now if you would remove your jacket and shirt.”

Berend’s expression relaxed. “Bring the lantern closer.” He went one better, rolling up his leggings as well, then turned as best he could, lifting his thick arms, twisting them this way and that, revealing a network of old scars like rivers and tributaries.

Elric saw nothing that could account for the bloody knife. “Enough. I believe you.” Thank God for that. The last thing he wanted was to condemn Katherine’s good friend. “Dress yourself before you freeze to death,” he said. “Who took your shoes?”

Berend rolled down his leggings and put on his shirt. “The bailiff.”

“I’ve met him. Bloody fool, that man.”

Berend shrugged on his jacket. “Took my cloak as well. I could use that in here.”

“I do not intend for you to stay here tonight.”

“No?” Elric felt the man’s eyes on him, sizing him up. “It is not your decision to make.”

“As I said, I am invoking the power of my lord earl, whose power is at present second only to the king’s. Make use of me. Help me leave this place with you. I need your help.”

“How are you so certain I can help?”

Elric settled on one end of the bench, straddling it. “Come, sit down. I will tell you what I know, and you can decide for yourself.”

Berend did not move. “I am listening.”

“As you wish.”

Elric began, doing his best to ignore the rattling chains as Berend resumed his pacing. Eventually, Lionel Neville’s account of the night of Merek’s murder brought Berend to perch on the opposite end of the bench. He rested his hands on his thighs and bowed his head. Elric told him all he knew, except what Katherine had told him of her conversation with Berend. He need not know she had shared that.

He ended with a question. “Why did you not run when Paris discovered you? You know how to disappear quickly.”

Berend shifted on the bench, the chains rattling. “You believe you can get them to release me?”

Not an answer, but at least it was a sign of interest. “I cannot promise, but if you agree to help I will go to the sheriffs and do my best. It will help if you tell me something I might offer to them as proof you could be of help to me. Then they have every reason to release you into my custody.”

Such piercing eyes. “I ask again, why? Why do you care about this? Why are you even in York?”

“The earl charged me to keep the king’s peace in the city. Imprisoning an innocent man and concluding that the case is closed while the murderer is still at large is not in my interest, or my lord’s. Am I wasting my time? Are we foolish to trust you? You were seen arguing with Merek, and your possession of the casket of jewels—”

Berend glanced up, wary.

“Yes, Katherine found it with the help of her fine hounds. If I did not know you, I would think the sheriffs were right in confining you here. The contents of the chest would seem proof that you at the very least helped Salisbury and Lady Kirkby, both accused of treason.”

Berend averted his eyes, but not before Elric saw his confusion. Was it possible he had not been aware of the contents?

“You escorted Lady Kirkby to York,” said Elric, “of that I have no doubt.”

A mumbled curse. Berend resettled with his back to the light, resting his head in his scarred hands.

“Do you want time to think? Or would this help?” Elric drew a wineskin from beneath his jacket, tapped it against Berend’s arm. “Bess Merchet’s best brandywine.”

Berend took the wineskin, held it for a moment, then drew out the stopper and tilted back his head. Not a long drink, but more than a sip. He closed his eyes and almost smiled as the heat moved down his throat. After a pause, he replaced the stopper and lay the wineskin in his lap, turning round to face Elric. “There are things I would not have you share with Dame Katherine.”

“Then we have no agreement.” Elric retrieved the wineskin and rose.

Berend caught his arm. By the rood the man was strong. “It is not that I wish to deceive her. But there are things she does not know, and, hearing them now, so late, I fear they will cause her pain.”

“As would your execution.”

“I might be powerless to prevent that. But I saw how it went to learn from you about the land bequeathed me by my late lord. She might have been glad for me if I had been the one to tell her.”

Elric was sorry for that. “If you help me so that I can convince the sheriffs to entrust you to my custody, you will be able to tell her all this yourself. In your own way, however much you judge necessary. But I warn you, Salisbury’s crest and his signet ring, and the pouch holding Lady Kirkby’s jewels—she means to find out how you came to possess them. Every moment you hesitate causes her suffering.”

He watched the man’s struggle, the shake of the head, how he clenched his hands, worked his jaw. Who was he protecting? Whatever the reason Montagu lost him, he had been a fool. Elric would give half his men for the one before him. Strength with such a strong sense of honor.

“I’d no time to examine the contents of the chest.”

“Well, Katherine has.”

A muttered curse.

“Do you think we are looking for one murderer? Or two?” Elric asked, hoping to ease Berend into telling him more. “Can anyone vouch for you after you left Lionel? That you came back to the warehouse for the night?”

“The night watchman at the warehouse seemed asleep when I returned,” said Berend. “As to Horner’s murder—I would say someone wanted to silence him. But I would have thought that person would be Merek. Horner attacked him—” A perplexed lift of the hands. “Merek killed Horner and then was murdered?”

“No.” Elric eased back down on the bench, placing the wineskin between them. “Katherine says that Horner had not been long dead when she found him. Merek died the previous night.”

“Perhaps Horner was coerced to attack. And then was silenced . . .”

Elric considered that. “By whom?”

Berend shook his head. “I hardly knew the man.” He studied the floor. “What if the sheriffs refuse to release me after hearing my tale, they hear my story and still doubt my innocence, and she hears my tale from the city gossips?” His eyes were mournful, his posture weary. “It is easier to prove a lie than it is to prove the truth, you know that.”

He was right to be cautious. “We can discuss how much I tell them.”

Berend was reaching for the wineskin when a commotion outside the door interrupted him. “Here for my hanging already?” he said.

Elric went to the door, listened. The bailiff to whom he had spoken was giving the jailer hurried instructions, too muffled to understand. Another voice interrupted. Familiar . . . A knock.

“Mistress Clifford has sent her man with information for you, Sir Elric,” the jailer called out.

Matt. It was Matt’s voice Elric had recognized.

“Let him in.”

As the door swung open, the bailiff stepped forward and bowed to Sir Elric, this time with due deference. “My lord sheriff sends his greetings, and wishes to know what you have discovered regarding the prisoner’s injuries.”

“He has no fresh wounds, which tells me that you are holding the wrong man,” said Elric. “The murderer is still at large. Tell the lord sheriff that I want Berend released into my charge. I believe he can help me with the search.”

The bailiff looked doubtful, but when Elric barked, “Go deliver my request!” the man bowed out of the room and rushed off.

Matt took his place, the jailer bowing to Elric and shutting the door behind the new arrival.

Sweat glistened on the young man’s face. “I’ve come as quickly as I might, Sir Elric.” He beamed at Berend. “It is good to see you.”

Berend nodded to him.

“Dame Katherine has news from William Frost that she says you need to hear, Sir Elric.”

“Come, take a seat.” He indicated the bench.

Matt settled down, shaking his head when Berend held out the wineskin. “The lord sheriff took pity on me—I was that out of breath—and he gave me a cup of ale.” He quickly delivered his news. “Dame Katherine hopes that this will be of use.”

Elric watched Berend as Matt spoke. About the king’s men he seemed concerned, asking whether they had proof that Lady Kirkby was in the city, looking relieved when Matt shook his head. Elric knew Sir Peter, and thought the “captain” accompanying him might be his household retainer, given a more impressive title in order to add prestige to the team. That the king had sent an elderly knight more renowned for his piety and his ability to bend with the wind rather than for his military prowess suggested to Elric that King Henry’s men were spread so thin he had been reduced to sending someone not up to the task.

When Berend flinched at the mention of Pontefract Castle, Elric interrupted Matt to ask, “You were unaware you had been seen?”

“I must have been careless,” said Berend, making a noise in his throat like a growl. “God help me, did I lead the king’s men to the gathering in Oxford? Am I to blame for so many deaths?” He bowed his head.

“It was not the king’s men who killed most of the rebels but the townsfolk, incensed by the fire the rebels set to draw away the folk surrounding the inn, so they might escape.”

“So they say.”

“You dispute it?”

“I did not linger to find out.”

Berend looked so aggrieved, Elric thought to give him a moment. He asked Matt if he had any more news. But the lad had nothing more.

“Did Dame Katherine wish you to wait for a reply?”

The young man glanced at Berend, back to Elric. “She did not say. Her concern was that you should know what she had learned as soon as might be.”

Elric looked to Berend. “Do you mind if Matt stays and hears your tale?”

Berend rubbed his bald pate with both hands, looked sidewise at the messenger. “It is not that I doubt you, Matt. I would trust you with my life. But there are things I must tell Sir Elric that—we must consider how to relate them to Dame Katherine.”

To his credit, the young man gave a nod. “I understand. Shall I step outside and wait? Or would you prefer me to go back across the city?” Sitting back, Matt doffed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, still damp from his race here, as he turned to Elric. “And you, what would you have me do, Sir Elric?”

He knew precisely what he wished Matt to do, but looked to Berend, who shrugged and said, “Whether or not Matt awaits you without is not my concern.”

Elric nodded. “I would have you stay without, Matt, keeping your ears pricked for any other visitors. I am concerned that the king’s men might be too curious about our business. If you hear anything of that nature, rap on the door.”

Matt bobbed his head, replaced his hat, and rose. “I am at your service.”

“I will rest easier knowing you are on guard, alert for trouble.” Elric knocked on the door, and, as the jailer opened it, explained that Matt would be waiting with him.

“Glad of his company,” said the jailer as Matt joined him.

When the door had closed again, Elric settled back on the bench. Berend stretched out his legs with a groan. The burden of guilt he now carried was a heavy weight for a man, that he might have led the king’s men to the plotters in Oxford. No matter that what they had intended was abhorrent, to die without a chance for confession, absolution, was nothing any Christian wished on another. To ease Berend’s burden was not in Elric’s nor any man’s power. But he might ease his physical circumstances.

“The cold and damp on that injured leg—I hope to get you to a warm space before a new day dawns,” said Elric. “Why don’t we begin with the casket of jewels?”

“Are they safe?”

“They are.”

Berend seemed to consider, examining a spot on the far wall, shaking his head. “To understand you must know what came before.”

“I’m listening.”

“Merek came to York with a message for me from the Earl of Salisbury. I was to undertake a mission for him, to Pontefract Castle. He called it a debt I owed to his father, for abandoning my post and betraying his trust.”

Elric would have told the man he owed no such debt. He guessed Berend did as well. But he asked only, “When precisely did Merek arrive in York?”

Berend shook himself, as if casting out a demon. “Several weeks before Christmas. I was to travel to Oxford, where they were assembling. He assured me I would be back in York by Christmas. The earl presumed I would agree, no questions. Arrogant bastard.” Berend muttered a curse.

“You did not go to him at once.”

“No. I had no intention of answering such a summons.” Berend paused, leaning back, pressing his hands to his face for a moment, then sat up, hands on thighs. “So Merek invoked the name of Rosamund Lacy, Salisbury’s mistress.”

Ah. She of the posey ring? Something about the way Berend spoke the name, soft, sorrowful, prompted Elric to ask who she was to him.

“We were lovers, once.”

“This is what you do not know how to tell Katherine, about Rosamund Lacy?”

“Part of it. God help me, I am not the man she believes me to be.”

“You met Rosamund in Montagu’s household?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how you came to be in his service.”

“There is little to tell. My parents ran a tavern, expected me to continue working for them, but I ran away to war. I knew my way around knives, hunting bows, axes. My strength and speed came to the attention of my captains. Baron Montagu noticed me. One of his men suggested me for his household.” He glanced up at Elric. “I was grateful I had landed somewhere. It was a modest household. He came to know me, liked to talk to me.”

Much the same as Elric’s rise in the earl’s household. Westmoreland had found him a good listener. And discrete. “And you met Rosamund?”

Berend took a swig of the brandywine. “She was a servingmaid for Montagu’s daughters. Bold, she made a point of being near when I was alone. We talked, kissed, became lovers. It seemed to be her intention, but I—Did I love her? I never stopped to ask myself.” He paused, head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I wanted her. Simple as that.” He looked at Elric. “I did not have her long. She caught the eye of my lord’s son. When Montagu saw how it was between his son and Rosamund, he offered me land so that I might wed her and take her away. It was for me to ask her. I did. With half a heart. She refused me, saying she wanted to stay in the noble household, not be a farmer’s wife. Montagu thanked me for trying, assured me there was no honor lost and the land was mine in any case. But—I was disgusted with myself. He had such faith in me and I had failed him. Was relieved to have failed him. I fell into a darkness—drank, fought—and when I saw the disappointment in my lord’s eyes, I ran away in the night.”

“That was the last contact with the family?”

“No. Years later, when I was at my lowest, Montagu’s man found me. He offered me a task. Clean in comparison with what I’d been doing. If I managed this, I would be deeded the land he’d once offered me. He was dying, and he felt he had failed me. Failed me. For his repentance, he must give me a chance to right myself, to be the person I might have been had he not sullied my honor with such a request, to wed a woman to save his son. I will never know why he had such faith in me.”

“You agreed?”

A nod. “Fulfilled my end of the bargain and the land was mine.”

“And now, years later, Merek hoped to persuade you to do something for Rosamund?”

“He told me that her life—and that of her son—was in my hands. If I would not help, she would have no protection from his enemies. If I agreed to help, they would be safe, whether or not Salisbury succeeded in his plan to restore Richard and his good name. When I’d completed my mission to Pontefract I would be free to return to York, I was needed only for the planning.”

“Why you?”

“I once succeeded in extracting someone from the castle who’d been held under close guard.”

“Your favor to Montagu?”

“Yes. I rescued his—kinsman.”

“But you did not love Rosamund, nor do you now, I presume.”

“No. I told Merek that Salisbury was mistaken about my feelings for her. And then, as I stormed away, righteously cursing Salisbury for his callous use of another of God’s creatures—my own body rebelled. Bile rose in my throat. Callous cur! Who was I to judge Salisbury when I’d so used Rosamund? And after that, my work as an assassin. No mercy. Coldly playing God. I choked on my own sins. What in the name of all that is holy had Montagu seen in me? What had Katherine seen in me? What if someone used Petra or Marie as I’d used Rosamund?”

The girls, but not Katherine herself. Of course. She would slit the gut of anyone who attempted to seduce her. “So you agreed to go to Pontefract—why?”

Berend looked him in the eyes. “Knowing a woman and child might die if you refused a summons, what would you do?”

Those eyes, burning into Elric. He knew what he wanted to say, but was it true? “I don’t know.”

Berend thanked him for his honesty. “I thought it would be easy to say no. And, knowing Merek, he might be using the ghost of Rosamund and the hint that the boy was mine. She might be years in the grave. The boy as well. But I couldn’t sleep. The child knew.”

“I’m confused. Rosamund’s son knew what?”

“Not the boy, Petra, Katherine’s niece. She sensed something. She kept taking my hand, assuring me that I am a good man.” He looked away.

Elric could believe that. The child had a way about her, as if she saw into one’s soul. “This boy. He might be your son? Was Rosamund with child when you left? Your child?”

“I don’t know. It is possible. And how could I refuse to help my son? What would Katherine—” He pressed his hands to his eyes. “Look how she loves and protects children who are not even hers. Marie and Phillip—no one can prove Simon Neville was their father, yet Katherine took them in. Without question. Can I not do as much for a child who might be mine?”

Elric understood. This was what Berend could not bring himself to confess to Katherine, and who could blame him?

“So I went to Pontefract. Not for Rosamund, but for the boy. And to prove to myself once and for all that I was worthy of Montagu’s faith in me.”

“But this summons had nothing to do with Montagu.”

“I did not promise to make sense. Only to recount what I did.”

Elric took a swig of the brandywine while he considered his next question. “Did you discover where Richard is kept?”

A nod.

“And then you went to Oxford.”

Berend eased his legs in and resettled on the bench. “On the way I had time to think, and I reckoned they were planning far more than the rescue of Richard.”

“Tell me how it went in Oxford. Who was there?” This might be information to barter with the sheriffs.

“I knew three of them. Salisbury of course, his manservant, and the Earl of Kent—Thomas Holland, the former king’s nephew. He was none too keen to speak with me. Another sign that there was more to the plot.”

“Was Ralph Lumley there?”

“I heard his name, but I kept my head down, avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. I went straight to my business, showing Salisbury my drawing of the castle. He wanted me to stay while one of his men reconciled their larger map with what I’d drawn. When I’d told Salisbury and his man all I knew and thought to leave, he said not so hasty. Handed me a map of Windsor Castle and ordered me to draw a route to the royal apartments that would have the fewest guards. I refused. He threatened. I said I had fulfilled my part of the agreement, now I wanted his assurance that Rosamund and the boy were safe.”

“Windsor Castle. You knew it well from your days as an assassin?”

A nod.

Elric had not guessed that Berend had done such work for the highest nobles in the land. Did Salisbury understand the danger in antagonizing him?

“You must have many powerful men who would come to your aid rather than have you reveal their secrets. Why have you not called on them?”

“Why would they come to my aid when they would not come to their sovereign’s?”

Elric rose to ease a cramp in his leg. “What did Salisbury say to your refusal?”

“Only if I completed the map for Windsor would Rosamund be spared. I demanded to know what they meant to do with it. He said that Duke Henry had sworn that he did not mean harm to King Richard, that he merely wanted the inheritance that was his by right. To Salisbury’s mind, when he broke that oath and took the throne he forfeited the honor of his family. Salisbury and his fellows meant to kill King Henry and his sons.”

“He did not intend to let you go.”

“No. I told him his father would have wept. He told me his father would have understood that with Henry on the throne, or any of his sons, his own family was doomed. As were the men who remained loyal to him. He said it was the same for all those loyal to King Richard.” Berend rubbed his injured knee. “For all I know, Rosamund is dead.”

“What of the boy?”

“He spoke mostly of Rosamund.”

“He might be Salisbury’s son.”

“Marie and Phillip might not be Simon Neville’s children. They look nothing like him. But Katherine did not demand proof.”

“No, she did not.” What proof could there be? For Berend, the boy’s age might expose the lie.

Berend shrugged as if to say no more need be said.

Elric left that line of questioning. “Did they try to hold you?”

“For a day, and then—confusion. Something alarmed them and they fled, leaving me locked up in a windowless room. Warren, an old friend, released me after Salisbury and his companions had ridden off.”

“And then?”

“I settled into a corner of the tavern and drank myself into sweet oblivion. Woke on a flea-ridden pallet to the news that the plotters had been routed. Warren meant to seek sanctuary at St. Mary’s Abbey in Cirencester. He wanted me to ride with him, guard his back.”

“Sanctuary in Cirencester.”

Berend nodded. “I disliked the plan, but not for the reason you have in mind. It took me west when I meant to go north and east to York, to Merek. I meant to force him to tell me the truth about Rosamund and the child. But Warren offered me a horse if I would ride with him. I owed him my life.”

“He was meeting up with the others?”

“You are asking whether Warren tricked me? I have had long to reflect on that, but I’ve come to no conclusions.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still at St. Mary’s, if he is wise.”

“Why did he not leave with you?”

“The abbot knows me, knows my sins. He permitted me to stay one night, but then I was to ride on. It suited me.” Berend flexed the fingers on his intact hand. “But I rode right into madness, the rabble furious about the fire the Earl of Huntington’s man had set as a distraction, and determined to show their loyalty by hunting down the traitors. Or incited to do so. So many townsmen armed so quickly, so adept at slaughter?”

“You believe there were king’s men leading them.” Elric nodded. “Do you think the abbot knew what you would find in the town? Did Warren?”

“I have wondered how I came to the market square just as the crowd attacked the escaping rebels.” Berend turned his scarred hands over and over in his lap. “They mobbed Salisbury and his men, shouting curses and ‘For King Henry!’ while tearing the men off their horses, seething like flies on a corpse, beating them, stabbing them. I fled for my life—down alleyways, through barns—”

“You were chased?”

“A few broke away and came after me, thinking I was one of the rebels. I left my horse in one of the barns and continued on foot. Lost them. For how long, though? I thought to lie low in a barn. God must have guided me. How else did I choose the very barn in which—” He stopped, as if remembering himself.

“In which Lady Kirkby hid?” Elric asked.

A curt nod. “And her manservant. I did not recognize her at first. I saw a woman perched on a milking stool in the corner, staring at nothing, a man whispering to her—‘My lady, we must go, we must hasten.’ But we were far from the crowd by then, and she was beyond hearing. When he noticed me, he caught up a pitchfork and came at me. By that time I knew her. I shouted my name, and Dame Katherine’s. ‘Your lady is my mistress’s dear friend. I would not harm her. I pray you—’ I don’t know what convinced him, but he tossed aside the pitchfork before he did me more harm than this eye.”

“God in heaven, he came so close?”

“I was certain I was dead. Or blinded.”

“But you did not run.”

“How did I come to find her? What heavenly agency led me there? I could not run, not seeing how she sat there, holding—it—in her lap, and she had begun to keen.” Berend crossed himself, covered his face, his breathing rough.

Are we animals? Is this what happens to a people when we raise up a king who murders his anointed cousin? Elric pushed the wineskin toward Berend. “Drink.” He wished he had two wineskins. But his companion was more in need.

Berend picked it up, took a long drink. Coughing, he stoppered the skin, wiped his mouth, faced Elric. “Her man fell to his knees before me. ‘My lady has seen such a thing as no wife should ever witness.’ He began to weep. I guessed what it was that she held in her lap. I went to her, knelt to her, asked her what we should do with her husband’s head.” His voice breaking, Berend looked away.

Elric let the silence settle a while, fighting the urge to bombard the man with questions. When Berend’s breathing steadied, Elric permitted himself to ask, “How in the name of all the saints did she escape the crowd with the head?”

“A boy took it. A trophy, holding it over his head and crowing. She rushed after him. Her man said she ran swift as a greyhound, holding up her skirts and running like the wind, he had never seen the like. He found her in the barn, holding the head.”

“And the boy?”

Berend shook his head. “I saw no sign of him. Of course she was soaked in her husband’s blood.”

“So she is here in the city?”

A nod.

“Safe?”

“I believe so.”

“Why did she come here?”

“I asked her where she wished to go and she said it did not matter. I could not leave her. A sleepwalker she was, until we were close to the city. She seemed to wake then, talking about her husband, talking, talking, like bees buzzing in her head she could not stop talking about him. His love of truth. His belief in basic goodness.”

“Did Merek’s death have anything to do with the Epiphany Rising?” Elric asked.

“Epiphany Rising? Is that what they call it? An ignoble plot it was, not an uprising.” Berend rubbed his head. “It was madness. But to be slaughtered as they were . . . God rest their souls.”

Elric tried another approach. “How did you come to possess the casket?”

“Merek gave me the casket on my return. He said I was the only man he could imagine making it across the border with it. The arrival of Parr and Sawyer frightened him, you see. They’d been in Salisbury’s household, then Rosamund’s, then cast out, accused of theft, abuse of a maidservant, and spying on Salisbury when he visited. Merek believed they might have heard the scheme to return Richard to the throne. He said there could be no other explanation for their arrival in York. And they clearly seemed to know of a casket of great value.”

Parr and Sawyer spied on Salisbury? Elric could offer them to Sir Peter as even better informants about the uprising than Berend. “What did he intend to do?”

“Run. Lionel Neville was arranging Merek’s passage on a trading ship leaving the following day.”

Neville had failed to mention that to Katherine. “Why would Lionel agree to that?”

“I don’t know.”

“But why would Salisbury entrust the jewels to such a man?”

“Merek Lacy was Rosamund’s brother.”

It began to make sense. “Hence his determination to convince you the child was yours. So you would protect his sister and nephew. And you believe him? How old is the boy?”

“Old enough to be mine. Or so they say.”

“His name?”

“Rosamund named him after Salisbury, hoping he would believe the child his.”

“John? Berend, how likely is it—”

“A man with such sins as I carry leaps at any chance for redemption.”

Most men justified such a past as little different from battle. Eliminating the enemy. “So you’re proposing Parr and Sawyer murdered Merek before they had stolen the casket. Why would they do that?”

“I can’t solve this for you. All I can tell you is that evening Merek took me to the church where he’d hidden the casket, and then he went on to meet with Neville about his passage. Have you heard enough to free me?”

Had he? Elric wanted to believe Berend, for Katherine’s sake. But could he convince the sheriffs and the king’s men?

“I need to find Parr and Sawyer. If I can convince the sheriffs that you are the one to flush them out, they might release you into my custody. But the king’s men—I don’t know that I can convince them. Perhaps if you handed over Lady Kirkby—”

“No. Even if I knew where she is—which I do not—I would not hand her over.”

“You said you knew she was safe. How do you know that?”

Berend looked away. “With all searching for her, would we not hear if she had been found?” he asked.

Elric might have accepted that answer had Berend not averted his eyes. He did not like this. Was it possible that Katherine had been hiding Lady Margery all along?

Berend stirred.

Elric’s argument was not with him. “What of the men in the lodging at Oxford? Would you give Sir Peter a list of names?”

“I named the three I knew, and they are all dead.”

“What will you do if you are freed?”

“Take the jewels to Rosamund and the boy. I need to know he is safe.”

Elric understood. He hoped he would do the same. “And Lady Kirkby?”

“She wishes to go to Rosamund. She says it will give her a purpose, for the nonce.” A shrug. “If I am able to find her.”

“You spoke of a servant with her. Did he accompany you?”

Berend hesitated. “Yes. He was still with her when we parted.”

“You have heard something about him?”

“How could I?”

Elric rose. “I will speak with Dame Katherine.” He noted Berend’s alarm before he looked away. “I will say nothing of Rosamund and the boy. But you must tell her everything.” He described the two rings tucked into the pouch bearing the Montagu arms. “She senses the heart of the tale in that pairing.”

“Katherine.” Berend groaned.

“We must first devise a plan to get you out of here without the king’s men seeing us. They will have a watch on the castle.”

“Jennet can help.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt of that.”

This time Elric received a warm greeting from the bailiff, who motioned toward two chairs arranged before a fire, a flagon of wine, and two cups sitting on a small table in between. “Unless the young man will be joining you?”

Elric shook his head. He’d left Matt out in the corridor with orders to warn him at once if the king’s men arrived.

He had just settled and the bailiff had offered to pour the wine when Edmund Cottesbrok, one of the sheriffs, strode through the door, preceded by his clerk holding aloft his mace of office as he announced his master’s presence. Elric had forgotten the ceremony with which the sheriffs proceeded through the city. Tongues would be wagging. He cursed himself for not thinking of that. Too late now.

“No, I pray you, do not trouble yourself to rise,” Cottesbrok said, throwing off his cloak and perching on the other chair, nodding to the bailiff to pour for him as well. He lifted his cup, proposing a toast. “To your health, Sir Elric, and that of Lord Neville.”

“You have had some news?”

“I received a message from William Frost, the mayor-elect, who recommends we cooperate in this matter. He believes you are well on your way to discovering the murderer. True?”

Elric wondered how Frost knew of this. Katherine? He found her mark on everything he touched. “What I can tell you is that you have an innocent man in your dungeon, a man who is suffering crippling shackles, no fire, nor cloak, and bare feet in a cold, damp cell.”

Cottesbrok made a concerned sound, but a slight shift in posture prepared Elric for the refusal. “There is the matter of the king’s men,” he sighed. “You understand there is little we can do to deter them. Sir Peter has informed Wrawby and me that he will arrest Berend for treason the moment we release him.” John Wrawby was his fellow sheriff this term. “Until you can convince him that Berend took no part in the plot against King Henry and his family, our releasing him only plays into Sir Peter’s hands.”

Elric glanced back at the pair standing by the door. “Might we speak in private?”

Cottesbrok gestured to his clerk and the bailiff to refresh their cups and then leave. When the door had closed behind the men, the sheriff settled back in his chair, crossing his legs, looking down his long nose. “I can guess what you mean to propose. But before you suggest spiriting him away, Wrawby and I would have you consider the mood of the aldermen and freemen. Everyone has heard how mobs chased down those rumored to be part of the plot against the king and his sons and slaughtered them. Outside the law, without trial. Many here condemn that, it is true, and Berend has friends in the city. He seems to inspire strong loyalty. He might be safe, people might go far to see that is so. But Sir Peter and Captain Crawford are men determined to prove themselves to the new king. And they may have allies in the city. Are you ready to risk your future?”

His argument gave Elric pause, especially the part about Sir Peter possibly having allies in the city. King Henry might have chosen him for this task for precisely that reason. “What do you propose instead?”

“He stays here until you can clear his name.”

“What if I need his help to clear his name?”

“It is not ideal. Nothing is at present. This whole business has the stench of—” Cottesbrok cleared his throat and took a drink. “I merely point out the risk.”

Elric took his wine and went to stand by the fire, staring into the flames, considering how quickly word had spread through the city of the shifting fortunes of the warring cousins the past summer while soldiers were massed there prepared to defend it against Henry of Lancaster. Defending the city for King Richard they were, and heaven help the Lancastrian exile. But then, as the word traveled through the ranks of the great army that Henry was collecting as he rode west, and all the nobles and their men defecting to his cause—even York’s mayor and aldermen offering Lancaster financial support—the soldiers broke up their camps on Toft Green and quietly slipped out the city gates. They joined the uprising in support of Henry of Lancaster, who promised to be a more generous, wiser, more Godly king. Who could have predicted that sudden turnabout?

And now, how quickly would word of Berend’s release spread? How certain was Elric that the people of York would protect Berend? Would he have sufficient supporters with the power to protect him? There was wisdom in keeping him here. Safe.

“Is there another room like this in the castle?” Elric asked.

Cottesbrok frowned. “What do you mean, a room like this?”

“Warmed by a hearth, with a narrow embrasure allowing a little light and air, some comfortable furnishings.”

“Ah. For the prisoner.”

“For the man being held here for his own safety.” Elric marked the man’s apologetic wince, but still asked, “Or did I misunderstand your point?”

“No. Of course not. But if Sir Peter hears Berend might walk out at his leisure, that he is not in chains . . .”

“Would you consider yourself fortunate to be locked, barefoot and without a warm cloak, in a cold, damp dungeon with no fire, little air or light, shackled so that you could not take a full stride, and lacking even a bench on which to sit?”

The sheriff bowed his head. “You have made your point.”

“Either you prepare comfortable accommodations for Berend, or you assist me in slipping him past the king’s men. And swear on your life that no one in your service will reveal that Berend is no longer in the castle.”

“You would threaten me?”

Elric inclined his head, but did not speak the words as Cottesbrok glanced toward the door.

“You are not certain of your own men,” said Elric. “I understand.” A sheriff served from one Michaelmas to the next, one year, insufficient time to form a bond of loyalty he might trust. And the bailiff was likely to be standing right outside the door, doing his best to hear all that passed between them.

Cottesbrok rose. “I will show you the room. It can be locked, a man stationed outside.”

“For that I want the present jailer. He will choose a man he trusts to relieve him at night.”

The sheriff nodded.

“And you will permit the beguines on Castlegate to bring him his meals and see that he has all he needs.”

“God in heaven you test my patience, Sir Elric. Are we to bow to him when we enter?” Cottesbrok snapped.

“I have spent the past hour in a cold, dank dungeon, sitting on a hard bench, listening to a man bare his soul to me. I am in no mood to appease your temper. I simply want him treated as the honorable man I believe him to be.”

Raised brows, but a nod. “Of course. It will be as you decree.”