A Murdered Peace

Berend was standing by the one window in the tower room when Kate entered. A fire burned in a brazier, a jug of ale and a cup sat on a table, several blankets were folded at the foot of a narrow bed and the pillow was plump and clean. Even from behind she could see that Berend no longer looked as if he had been sleeping along the roads for weeks.

“Have you no welcome for me?” she asked.

Berend turned, his expression quiet, perhaps a little sorrowful. “Dame Katherine, forgive me.”

For not welcoming her? Or for leaving, and all that had happened since? She did not ask, but instead released Lille and Ghent from their leads so they might go to him. “You do not look as bad as I feared you would,” she said. He looked unhealthy, tired, his eyes sunken, the lines in his face deeper than she remembered. But uninjured, and alert.

He knelt to the hounds, resting his large, scarred hands on their backs, visibly moved by their affectionate greetings. “How is it that of all I have encountered since returning, these two make me feel most human?”

She crossed the room to the window and gave him a moment to collect himself. When she heard his knees creak as he rose, she turned back to him. “Are you eating?” She’d seen no sign of food in the castle chamber.

“I asked the sisters to offer today’s meals to the poor. Tomorrow, Candlemas, I will take communion.”

He proffered the jug of ale, but she shook her head and settled on a bench beneath the high window. Lille and Ghent padded over to sit at her feet.

“You will be permitted to attend mass?” That was an unexpected courtesy.

“In the castle chapel. Sister Clara has arranged for a priest – one of the friars.”

“If she promised, it will be so.” Although Kate’s mother was the founder of the small group of beguines on Castlegate, Sister Clara was their spiritual guide, and adept at the art of accomplishing her goals by wearing down her naysayers with stubborn persistence. “After communion, you will break your fast?”

He bowed his head.

“Berend, I need you strong and ready to do what must be done. And I’ve something to tempt you.” She opened her scrip and took out the food, wrapped in parchment. “The girls sent gifts. Marie’s pandemain rolls, Petra’s favorite cheese.”

A smile creased his face as he accepted the gift, laying the package on the table beside the ale. “You are right. Already I weaken in my resolve. Marie’s bread should be eaten this very day. No later than after mass in the morning.”

“They have always known how to coax you from a mood.”

He sank down on the bed opposite her. “My greatest regret is disappointing them.”

Not me? she thought, and felt foolish. She had never known him to be so ill at ease with her. Even when he had come to her the other day he had seemed more the Berend she knew. He was on alert, guarded. She needed to let him talk for a little while, get to know him now. “Tell me about Pontefract. Did you see the royal prisoner?”

“Pontefract? Why do you ask?”

“I am curious. What did you do there?”

“I went to an old friend who works in the castle gardens. A modest job, he welcomed the money I offered. His grandson, just a lad, is a serving boy in the castle. He enjoyed giving me much detail. Apart from having none of his supporters or friends with him, Richard might have been quite comfortable.”

Kate settled back on the bench. “The boy described his lodgings? Just like that?”

“As I said, his grandfather is an old friend.”

“A gardener at Pontefract Castle?”

A sad smile. “That is not a tale for today. But, yes, the lad thought nothing of it. Neither the steward nor the captain of the guard seem aware that servants have eyes and ears, and mouths once outside.”

“So Richard’s prison is comfortable?”

“As much as a prison can be so. The steward gave his own lodgings to him, near the gatehouse, a large apartment over the bread ovens, so it is well heated, with windows facing into the inner ward. Old tapestries on the wall, faded and a bit dirty. There is even a garderobe, a warm one – right next to one of the bread ovens.” Berend paused. “Rumor has it that the king is now refusing food.”

“Like you.”

“Mine is a penance. One day.”

“His is not?”

“I do not presume to know his mind.” Berend rubbed his injured leg. “But it strikes me as a cruel place to fast, in a chamber directly over the brew house and baking ovens. The aroma.” He rubbed harder. “I would find it difficult.”

He was sounding more himself. “Is your leg no better?”

“Much better. Just habit now.” Straightening, he studied her a moment. “Why do you want to know all this?”

Careful, careful. You are doing well, Geoff warned.

“According to Margery, Thomas Kirkby felt Richard was poorly treated. He railed at the steward and guards about Richard’s treatment.”

“Lady Margery told me.” A shrug. “I can speak only of what I heard from the grandson of a man I trust. A difference in rank? The lad lives with his large family in a small house.” He paused, frowning. “Lady Margery. Did she come to you?”

“She did.”

He cursed under his breath. “I told her to go to the widow Seaton or Dame Jocasta. I would not so endanger you and the children.”

“Bless you for that.”

“We had gone our separate ways by then. She must have felt safer with you. Did she come to the house?”

“No, God be thanked.” She told him how Carl had waited outside the guesthouse. “I could not in good conscience turn her away, leave her stranded outside the gates on a snowy night. I have done my best to keep her safe.”