business. But most times he lived a quiet life, helping Lucie in the apothecary, overseeing repairs at the archbishop’s palace of Bishopthorpe, finding things to occupy the time of the archbishop’s retainers. What would Owen do with Iolo? Would Thoresby accept him as one of his retainers? If not, Owen was not grand enough to have a squire. What would Lucie think?
And then there was the matter of Iolo’s bloodlust. The young man had a taste for violence. Owen had discovered quickly that he needed to be quite clear that he wished his victims to live.
‘Much of my time at home is dull.’
‘I should keep your retainers in line.’
No doubt. And in constant rebellion. What would Alfred think, to be unseated from his role as Owen’s second in command? ‘What of this Owain Lawgoch? Now he’s a man could use someone like you. If I were free to take up arms for him, I would.’
Iolo’s pale eyes searched Owen’s face. ‘In truth? I should think if you felt that way you would find the means to do so.’
‘You are young and free. I have responsibilities.’
‘Fighting for our rightful prince would be a proud legacy for your children.’
‘If we won.’
Iolo shook his head. ‘Spoken like a shopkeeper and clerk of the archbishop. I never thought to hear such a thing from you.’
Nor had Owen ever thought to say such a thing. Had his love for Lucie and his children unmanned him?
Five
SIX HORSEMEN
T he bells of York Minster thundered overhead as Lucie knelt in the nave, head bowed, trying to hear the ceremony in the choir. The bells and the screen made it difficult. And her own weeping. Why had they taken her father’s body to the high altar, from which she was barred? And Jasper – what was he doing in there?
‘He is taking his vows, of course,’ her father said.
Lucie turned, found her father sitting beside her. He wore his shroud like a hooded gown. ‘But you are dead. You are lying in the coffin by the high altar.’
Sir Robert took her hand. His was cold and dry. ‘I heard you weeping. I wanted to comfort you. It is a good thing, your adopted son taking his vows. Why do you not share his joy?’
‘He did not tell me. And why today?’
‘He hopes to join Owen in St David’s. He will accompany me.’
‘St David’s. You died in St David’s.’
Sir Robert nodded. ‘Just so.’
‘You cannot be here. And why would Jasper go there? I do not understand.’
‘Jasper did not think you would mind. You have Roger Moreton.’
‘That is not true!’ Lucie shouted, waking herself.
She sat up, damp with sweat, shivering as the blanket fell from her and her clammy skin met the chilly morning air. Or was it the dream that made her shiver? Talking to her father’s corpse – had that been a dream, or a vision? Had she made Jasper so unhappy that he would take vows? Or had it nothing to do with his mistake, her reprimand, his suspicions about Roger? Had she not been listening to Jasper? Did he truly wish to take vows? He was so difficult these days, so quick to accuse her of prying when she asked what he was thinking, where he had gone. Lucie knelt on the cold floor and prayed for understanding.
Later, when she had dressed herself, she remembered her father’s last words in the dream. Roger Moreton. Now that, surely, was the stuff of dreams, not a vision. Still, her father’s presence had felt so real. And what of St David’s? Was Owen not to return from there?
Still shivering from the dream, Lucie hurried towards the hearth, joining her aunt, who sat at a small trestle table set near the fire.
Lucie crouched down by the fire, warming her hands. ‘Have you been up long?’ she asked.
Phillippa did not reply.
‘She is far away, Mistress,’ Tildy said, setting a bowl of broth on the table. ‘Daimon says this happens often. Come, warm yourself with this.’
Phillippa’s eyes seemed unfocused. Her hands were limp in her lap. She smiled slightly, as if amused.
Tildy withdrew.
Lucie
And then there was the matter of Iolo’s bloodlust. The young man had a taste for violence. Owen had discovered quickly that he needed to be quite clear that he wished his victims to live.
‘Much of my time at home is dull.’
‘I should keep your retainers in line.’
No doubt. And in constant rebellion. What would Alfred think, to be unseated from his role as Owen’s second in command? ‘What of this Owain Lawgoch? Now he’s a man could use someone like you. If I were free to take up arms for him, I would.’
Iolo’s pale eyes searched Owen’s face. ‘In truth? I should think if you felt that way you would find the means to do so.’
‘You are young and free. I have responsibilities.’
‘Fighting for our rightful prince would be a proud legacy for your children.’
‘If we won.’
Iolo shook his head. ‘Spoken like a shopkeeper and clerk of the archbishop. I never thought to hear such a thing from you.’
Nor had Owen ever thought to say such a thing. Had his love for Lucie and his children unmanned him?
Five
SIX HORSEMEN
T he bells of York Minster thundered overhead as Lucie knelt in the nave, head bowed, trying to hear the ceremony in the choir. The bells and the screen made it difficult. And her own weeping. Why had they taken her father’s body to the high altar, from which she was barred? And Jasper – what was he doing in there?
‘He is taking his vows, of course,’ her father said.
Lucie turned, found her father sitting beside her. He wore his shroud like a hooded gown. ‘But you are dead. You are lying in the coffin by the high altar.’
Sir Robert took her hand. His was cold and dry. ‘I heard you weeping. I wanted to comfort you. It is a good thing, your adopted son taking his vows. Why do you not share his joy?’
‘He did not tell me. And why today?’
‘He hopes to join Owen in St David’s. He will accompany me.’
‘St David’s. You died in St David’s.’
Sir Robert nodded. ‘Just so.’
‘You cannot be here. And why would Jasper go there? I do not understand.’
‘Jasper did not think you would mind. You have Roger Moreton.’
‘That is not true!’ Lucie shouted, waking herself.
She sat up, damp with sweat, shivering as the blanket fell from her and her clammy skin met the chilly morning air. Or was it the dream that made her shiver? Talking to her father’s corpse – had that been a dream, or a vision? Had she made Jasper so unhappy that he would take vows? Or had it nothing to do with his mistake, her reprimand, his suspicions about Roger? Had she not been listening to Jasper? Did he truly wish to take vows? He was so difficult these days, so quick to accuse her of prying when she asked what he was thinking, where he had gone. Lucie knelt on the cold floor and prayed for understanding.
Later, when she had dressed herself, she remembered her father’s last words in the dream. Roger Moreton. Now that, surely, was the stuff of dreams, not a vision. Still, her father’s presence had felt so real. And what of St David’s? Was Owen not to return from there?
Still shivering from the dream, Lucie hurried towards the hearth, joining her aunt, who sat at a small trestle table set near the fire.
Lucie crouched down by the fire, warming her hands. ‘Have you been up long?’ she asked.
Phillippa did not reply.
‘She is far away, Mistress,’ Tildy said, setting a bowl of broth on the table. ‘Daimon says this happens often. Come, warm yourself with this.’
Phillippa’s eyes seemed unfocused. Her hands were limp in her lap. She smiled slightly, as if amused.
Tildy withdrew.
Lucie
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