The Riverwoman’s Dragon
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: Owen Archer #13
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Severn House
- ISBN: 978-1-4483-0563-6
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Riverwoman’s Dragon». Краткое содержание книги:
When the wise woman Magda Digby is suspected of murder, Owen Archer sets out to prove her innocence in this intricately plotted medieval mystery.
May, 1375. Owen Archer returns from London to find York in chaos. While the citizens are living in terror of the pestilence which is spreading throughout the land, a new physician has arrived, whipping up fear and suspicion against traditional healers and midwives. With the backing of the new archbishop, he is especially hostile towards Magda Digby, the wise woman who has helped and healed the people of York for many years. At the same time, Magda is uneasy about the arrival of two long-lost kinsfolk. Though they say they are seeking her help, she senses a hidden agenda.
Magda’s troubles deepen when she discovers a body in the river near her home – and finds herself under suspicion of murder. Days later, fire rips through a warehouse in the city. Amongst the charred debris lies the body of a man – not burned, but stabbed in the back. Could there be a connection to the corpse in the river?
Determined to prove Magda’s innocence, Owen sets out to find answers – but the more he uncovers, the deeper the mystery becomes…
When at last she returned to her own fire she added a small log, cold after frolicking with the dragon, and covered Einar with a second blanket. Asa waked, murmuring prayers of penance. Magda helped her to more of the poppy juice, smoothing her brow and whispering about Raven, who had announced her coming, ever watching over her. A small smile. For the moment, her daughter found peace. It would not last.
Owen woke before dawn. Lucie must have risen earlier, her side of the bed cold. He dressed and stood on the landing, listening. Two familiar voices, Lucie’s and Jasper’s. No strangers. No new problems. Returning to the room for his eye patch, he headed down the steps to begin the day.
‘You will eat before you set out to track the Wolcotts,’ said Lucie.
‘I will. As much as you can spare, Kate,’ he called as he headed out the door to the midden. The air was thick, dew heavy on flowers and leaves, the sort of morning when one wished to cover mouth and nose against the pestilence-laden miasma. By the time Owen stepped back into the kitchen his hair and his clothing felt damp. The fire welcomed him, and Lucie’s kiss. He had just settled by the fire and plucked up a chunk of bread when someone knocked. Kate set a bowl of ale beside him and went to the door.
‘Bailiff’s man. I’m here for the captain,’ said an unfamiliar voice. ‘I stood watch in the Ferriby garden through the night, and I think– Captain!’
‘Step inside,’ Owen said in a quiet voice, glancing out into the yard as the young man stepped in.
‘Forgive me. I did not think about who might listen.’ Blushing, the young man took off his cap and held it over his heart.
‘Your name?’ Owen asked.
‘Roland, sir. I mean, Captain.’
‘Come. Talk to me while I break my fast. Are you hungry?’
Roland’s eyes lit up, but he folded into himself. ‘I must still report to Bailiff Hempe–’
‘You can surely have a bowl of ale and some bread,’ said Owen. ‘A bit of cheese. Sit.’
Kate handed Roland a bowl of ale.
‘I am most grateful.’ He perched at the edge of a bench near Owen. ‘Mistress Wilton,’ he bobbed his head as she settled by Owen.
‘Drink a little to wet your throat before you deliver your report,’ said Lucie. ‘I can hear by your hoarseness that it would be welcome.’
Eager to please, the young man did as he was told, and then launched into a description of something long, heavy, and unwieldy being carried out to the cart before dawn, two serving men struggling with it, Gavin Wolcott holding a lantern and directing them in a hushed voice, glancing about often, as if fearful of discovery.
‘A rolled-up featherbed, I think, but so heavy, and heavier in the middle than the edge, the way it sagged. They put their burden down on the ground so they could uncover the cart, moving things about, all as silently as they might. The longer they worked, the more Master Gavin looked about, shushing them for every noise louder than a whisper. When they lifted it to load it into the cart it was tilted for a moment and – I might be making a fool of myself but I swear I saw a foot poking out.’ Roland gulped the rest of the ale.
‘You think they were moving a body?’
‘I do, Captain. A dead one. It never twitched, not in all that while on the ground, and when they almost dropped it.’
‘Any stains on the featherbed?’
‘Nothing so dark as to make me think of blood, if that is what you mean. But the lamp was not so bright …’
‘You did well to tell me of this, Roland. Have they left?’
‘Might have by now. The men were tying it down and Master Gavin had gone in to fetch Dame Beatrice. My mate John had come to keep me company till daybreak. I left him to watch.’
‘Good. Go back, and if they’re still there, follow them to the city gate. If they’ve chosen Bootham, you will see me there. If not Bootham, as soon as you see where they are headed make haste to find me there and tell me all that you noticed. I’ll go after them.’
Rising with a chunk of bread still in his hands, Roland nodded to Owen, Lucie, Kate, and hurried out.
‘Do you think they have murdered Alan Rawcliff?’ Lucie asked.
‘I mean to find out.’
13
Journeys
Armed with his bow, a quiver of arrows, and a dagger, Owen departed just as the city was waking. Carn greeted him at Bootham as he was looking out for Oswald, the young day guard.
‘Bailiff Hempe took men through a while ago, five of them yours, three on horseback.’
‘Horseback?’ Owen was glad to hear it. ‘Anyone else leave the city?’ The gates should not open before dawn, but Carn was in the habit of opening a little early for those departing the city.
‘Not long after your men young Wolcott drove out with his father’s widow. On their way to her parents. Taking her as a kindness.’ When Owen cursed under his breath for missing them Carn mistook it. ‘I agree. Seems soon, Guthlac buried only yesterday. But she was all draped in veils, as was her maidservant, and they clung to each other as if deep in mourning.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Not long. They won’t yet be far into the wood, not with that load. Seems to me a foolhardy undertaking, driving such a heavily laden cart along the track through Galtres. The carthorse seemed restive. Probably the squeaks and the cries of the women. You are expecting trouble, I’m guessing.’
‘I mean to be ready if it should arise,’ said Owen. ‘How many in Wolcott’s company?’
‘Besides the women and the young master, a manservant guiding the horse.’
‘Any other travelers before or after?’
‘After them, a carpenter and apprentice with a cart full of timber for a farm near Easingwold. Pulling it, they were. A long journey for them. Not long after two laborers. Said they work a night watch in the city. Rough sorts. Then a clerk from the minster who was called home to his dying mother. Red eyes, almost tripped over his own feet.’
The timber. That would usually be coming into the city, not out. Owen would look out for them. The laborers from Graa’s warehouse?
‘Did you recognize the grieving clerk as being from the minster?’
‘I cannot say as I did, for I thought him a priest, calling him father. He corrected me.’
‘And the carpenter. Was he familiar?’
‘No, but I do not know all in York.’
‘I owe you some of Tom Merchet’s ale,’ said Owen.
Carn’s weary face brightened. ‘I will be waiting, Captain.’
‘If a young man name of Roland comes looking for me, send him to assist the bailiffs’ men on the riverbank by the Riverwoman’s rock.’
‘My shift is over as soon as Oswald arrives.’
‘Tell him to pass on the word.’
‘I will. He’s a good lad.’ He motioned toward something behind Owen. ‘Here’s Brother Michaelo with two fine horses. For you?’
‘Benedicite, Carn, Captain,’ said Michaelo. ‘Am I late?’
‘You arrive at the very moment I need you,’ said Owen. ‘Come. Our prey has escaped the city.’
Carn waved them on through. ‘May God watch over your hunt.’
Owen cringed at the too-loud clue as to their intention.
‘The poor in the minster yard will be grateful for the meat,’ Michaelo called back in a volume matching Carn’s. ‘Fool of a Scot,’ he muttered as he turned back to Owen.
‘I thank you for that.’
Outside the gate they moved off to the side so they might adjust the saddles and prepare to mount.
‘Fine animals,’ Owen noted.
‘From the abbey stables,’ said Michaelo. ‘Dom Jehannes is standing surety that no harm will come to them.’