A Gift of Sanctuary by Candace Robb Page B

it about, my son?’
    ‘Houghton mistakenly believes that I care about his problems,’ Owen said, splashing water on his face. He departed before Sir Robert had a chance to ask more questions. Geoffrey waited in the main hall, speaking with much gesturing and wagging of the head to a woman who was richly dressed and fair of face. She covered her mouth daintily when she laughed.
    ‘We are summoned,’ Owen said to Geoffrey.
    The woman’s eyes drank Owen in and she smiled brightly, forgetting to cover her bad teeth.
    ‘Mistress Somery of Glamorgan,’ said Geoffrey.
    ‘God go with you, Mistress,’ said Owen. ‘I pray you forgive me, but the bishop is expecting me and Master Chaucer.’
    ‘Captain,’ she said with a flirtatious tilt of her head, a flutter of her lashes. ‘I look forward to making your acquaintance.’
    Geoffrey hurried away with Owen. ‘It is not fair how they look on you.’
    The man had peculiar priorities. ‘Have you any idea why the bishop sends for us?’ Owen said.
    ‘Not the least.’ With his short legs, Geoffrey had practically to skip to keep up with Owen’s long strides, which made him breathless.
    Owen relented, slowed down, told him of the body.
    Geoffrey was fascinated, but did not see what it had to do with them.
    That made a pair of them. ‘I cannot but think that the bishop has learned something to link the body with us. What of John de Reine? Do you know anything of his appearance?’
    Geoffrey paused, understanding Owen’s suspicion. ‘I do not like to think––’
    ‘Neither do I. Was he fair?’
    ‘I do not know.’
    ‘Let us hope I am wrong.’
    They marched in silence through the corridor leading from the great hall to the bishop’s hall.
    Bishop Houghton got to the point as soon as he learned Geoffrey knew of the situation. ‘How would you proceed in this business, Captain?’
    What had transpired since Owen left Houghton? ‘Surely you have a coroner, Your Grace. And staff who assist you in keeping the peace?’
    Houghton fussed with a sleeve, feigning distraction, as he said, ‘He wore Lancaster’s livery.’
    ‘I noted that.’
    ‘It is a delicate matter. The Duke of Lancaster and the Duchess Blanche, may God rest her soul, have provided me with the funds to build a college for the vicars. It is much needed. I cannot tell you the trouble the vicars manage to–– But that is not the point. The delicacy. You must see, I wish to keep it a secret . . .’
    How like Thoresby he sounded. ‘It is too late for secrecy – all the city buzzes with the news of the corpse at the gate,’ Owen said.
    Houghton seemed distracted by the hem of his sleeve. ‘I cannot keep the body a secret, of course. But who he was–– One of my vicars served as chaplain at Cydweli Castle a year past. He identified the body.’
    So that was what had happened while Owen slept. ‘Then you have the information you need.’
    ‘His name is John de Reine,’ Houghton said, as if he had not heard Owen. ‘The man you were to meet at Carreg Cennen.’
    ‘John de Reine,’ Geoffrey muttered, as if testing the name against his memory. He stole a glance at Owen.
    So he was right. But with the realisation came a twinge of unease. How much did the bishop know? Uncertain how to answer, Owen let the silence lengthen.
    Houghton glanced from one to the other with a puzzled frown that suddenly brightened into an embarrassed smile. ‘In faith, I leap ahead without explaining,’ the bishop said. ‘Forgive me. Pray do forgive me. It is a fault with which I continually struggle. I am in the Duke’s confidence, gentlemen. You need not worry about what you say to me. The Duke thought it wise that another Marcher lord know of your purpose. Of his concerns about Owain Lawgoch’s supporters, whether Lascelles has gone over to their side, what that might mean to Cydweli.’
    Looking much relieved, Geoffrey said, ‘Would that he had informed us.’
    Owen might have used stronger words than