A Twisted Vengeance

Crossing over Ouse Bridge, Lille and Ghent were on high alert while Kate and Berend scoured the crowd for a shock of red hair. The need to concentrate helped Kate push back the unpleasant surprises of the day that clamored for her attention – Severen’s apparent betrayal of Nan, Sir Alan’s betrayal of Kate, Griffin’s betrayal of Dame Eleanor and all of them, including Werner and Hans, who had thought him one of them. Worst of all was that her uncle had betrayed her, that all this might be the doing of the Cliffords. A movement caught her attention, and she turned just in time to notice the cutpurse Bran moving through the crowd. Whistling, she caught his eye and motioned for him to meet her at the far side of the bridge.

“You have broken his cover, he’ll not help you,” said Berend.

Kate thought he might if he were sufficiently worried about his cousin Nan. And there he came, though he halted when he saw Lille and Ghent flanking her. She lifted her hand in peace.

“Nan is safe and sound,” she said.

His wry face crumpled in tearful relief. “God have mercy, that is a blessing, mistress.”

“Griffin, the red-haired Welshman who accompanied Dame Eleanor and the sisters to York, do you know him?”

A wary nod.

“Have you seen him this day?”

Bran frowned down at his feet, peering surreptitiously at Lille, who watched him with an unwavering gaze he might interpret as hunger.

“If I help you, will you call off the hounds? For good?”

“If you help me and trespass no more on my properties or those of my kin, yes, Bran, I will.”

“He wears a soft hat pulled down over that bright hair and sneaks about. He crossed the bridge early this morning. While the merchants were still setting up. Pack slung over his shoulder. Just beyond the bridge he gave a low whistle, and out hobbled Thatcher. I could not believe my eyes. We’ve fretted and searched and he’s been in hiding. He hobbled off up Micklegate with that Griffin fellow with nary a glance back.” An injured sniff.

“That is helpful,” said Berend. “Did you notice any other folk moving along toward Micklegate Bar earlier than their custom?”

“Dean of the minster and his comely housekeeper came trundling along with two ox-drawn carts this morning. A priest with his whore on a donkey came slowly past – she’s about to give birth, that one, on their way to a midwife, I reckon. And that knight Sir Alan with his men. All the knights and their companies are deserting the king, that is what folk are saying. Even the earl’s man, Sir Elric, came by with a small company not too long ago. They all came to hold York for good King Richard, but now Lancastrian gold has turned their heads round to their asses.” He winced. “Forgive my tongue, mistress.”

“You have been helpful, Bran. Your aunt Hawise will hear of this,” said Kate.

A bobbed thanks, and Bran disappeared back into the crowd on the bridge.

“My uncle took advantage of my trust,” Kate muttered as they headed on up Micklegate. “Did he think to make amends with the house and horses?”

“I never took him for a dishonest man,” said Berend. “He may not have known what was intended.”

“But I doubt he was unaware that Sir Alan’s livery would have shown the blue and gold of the Clifford arms, had he and his men worn it. My uncle hid that from me. A small matter of family business. To what purpose? To prevent me from warning Mother? That is betrayal to my mind.” Kate kicked a pebble on the street, then was forced to plant a false smile on her face as an acquaintance approached. The woman merely nodded as she passed, not attempting to start up a conversation, which was fortunate, for Kate had no patience for courtesy at the moment.

The bells of Micklegate Priory began ringing terce as they passed.

“Midmorning,” Kate noted. “I feared it was later than that.” Though the rain had ceased, the sky remained overcast, lending a gloom to the day.

“Helen said they were to rest the night at Bishopthorpe,” said Berend. “Perhaps they all mean to gather there. If we do not catch them before they reach the palace, will we confront them in the presence of the archbishop?”

Kate had not thought that far. “Do you think they would dare reveal their connections to Archbishop Scrope? If he became curious, asked questions … He, too, is from an old, established family, but is it so common for families to hire an assassin?”

“More common than you would care to know. But that Sir Alan Bennet is a Clifford retainer is all your uncle need say. And perhaps Griffin – well, Archbishop Scrope would not realize he was not in Sir Alan’s party.” He stopped, looking Kate in the eyes. “So. Will we confront them at the palace?”

“We will do what we must.”

A curt nod. “So be it.”

Kate bent to rub the hounds’ ears and whisper a prayer for their protection before continuing on through Micklegate Bar. As they moved through, she listened and watched for signs of trouble or anything that might inform their search. But she heard nothing of use and noticed only one soldier, directly behind them, expounding on the waste of such fine war dogs on the streets of York. Berend silenced him with little more than a growl. Yet Kate felt the rub – she was taking Lille and Ghent into danger.

They love it. They were trained to it, Geoff reminded her.

But they have not been run of late. Might they misjudge how quickly they can move?

“There he is,” said Berend. Sir Elric and four of his men waited for them just past the barbican. “Those are fine horses we’ll be riding.”

“I am grateful that someone is true to their word,” said Kate.

For once, she was glad of her Neville connections.