The Guilt of Innocents by Candace Robb Page A

hear anything or remember anything else that you think might be of use, I need to know.’ Owen was about to give him leave to go, but thought of one more question. ‘Were you at the abbey gate when Drogo bled?’
    ‘I was, Captain.’
    ‘Did you see Master Nicholas approach him?’
    ‘I did.’ Geoffrey frowned. ‘Why?’
    ‘Did he carry a weapon?’
    ‘Not that I could see.’
    ‘Did he try to sneak up to Drogo?’
    Geoffrey shook his head.
    ‘Did he seem worried? Frightened?’
    ‘No, Captain.’
    ‘I am grateful, Geoffrey. And – you might tellthe other lads what I’ve asked. I would like to hear from anyone with anything to add.’
    Geoffrey nodded and hastened out.
    Hempe awaited Owen at the York Tavern, thoughtfully staring at the ceiling beam, a tankard of ale firmly in hand. As Owen greeted him he seemed to remember that he was cross, and pulled his brows together.
    ‘He’d been in the tavern, a cloaked man entered, said something and left, and then Drogo left.’ Hempe shrugged his powerful shoulders. ‘Precious little in that.’
    ‘No one recognised the man?’
    ‘Cloaked and hooded.’ Hempe snorted and shook his head. ‘It could not be much more useless, could it?’
    ‘So it might have been a priest?’
    ‘I suppose it might have been a woman for all they could tell.’ Hempe cursed under his breath.
    ‘You are so caught up in this?’ Owen asked, curious about this man who was becoming a friend.
    ‘I don’t like the smell of it,’ said Hempe. ‘What did you learn?’
    Owen filled him in, by which time Hempe thought he ought to head home.
    ‘Being raised to a bailiff of the city has been a mixed blessing for my trade.’ Hempe was a mercer. ‘I have more business, but I’m far less efficient.’
    ‘You’re likely to hold public office for the restof your life,’ said Owen. ‘You’re a worthy man, and it’s noticed.’
    Hempe grumbled something as he departed, but it was plain he appreciated the compliment.
    He was no sooner out the door than Bess Merchet joined Owen. She did not like to be seen socialising with the city officers – it made some customers uncomfortable. Over an ale she recounted for Owen her conversation with the two bargemen.
    ‘Already bleeding when he arrived,’ Owen said, realising Brother Henry might have been right about the attack happening elsewhere. ‘What else?’
    Bess told him how, to her thinking, Hubert’s carrying the scrip about with him was unusual.
    ‘I’d not considered that,’ Owen admitted, as much to himself as to her. He would ask Jasper what he thought of that. ‘Did the one who suggested someone having cause to be after the bargemen say why he thought that might be?’
    ‘That was Hal who suggested it,’ said Bess, glancing towards the corner of the room. ‘I did not ask, Bart was so certain it was about the lad’s scrip.’
    Owen followed her gaze, but saw only a pair of travellers and a young man in a goldsmith’s livery in the corner. ‘Are they still here?’
    She shook her head. ‘No. Hal honoured my request to take Bart away before he grew restless. I could find out where they bide.’
    ‘Would you, my friend?’ Owen pressed her hand. ‘I may need them before I’m finished.’
    ‘Lucie looks herself again,’ said Bess, ‘you’ve naught to fret about there, though she’ll be less pleased than I am that His Grace has already set you to the task of finding Drogo’s murderer.’
    ‘He hasn’t,’ said Owen, leaning back to drain his tankard. Wiping his mouth, he rose. ‘But he will. Abbot Campian sent for me, and in the next day or so he’ll begin to worry about the safety of the abbey bargemen – after all, we have no idea why someone attacked Drogo, and he’ll ask His Grace for my assistance. His Grace will be only too happy to agree in order to bring peace to St Peter’s School. So I have begun to ask questions while folk still remember what they thought they witnessed. Though some are already