warned he was at the end of his patience.
'Forgive me. I did not come here intending to pry.'
'No matter.'
Owen looked out at the medicinal garden. Lavender and santolina edged the beds, whose snowy blankets would be dark earth dotted with green shoots in a month.
He felt the Infirmarian's eyes on him,
'Master Roglio said I must make a study of the two great medicinal gardens in York - yours and Master Wilton's. I thought the medicinal garden at Kenilworth magnificent. Twice the size of this. But Roglio said it offered far less variety’
'We have a long tradition at St. Mary's. But the Wilton garden is the work of one man - Nicholas Wilton. It is his pride and joy. His masterwork, in fact. It was I the Guildmaster brought in to judge Nicholas's worthiness to be raised to Master Apothecary. I had no idea a layman would have access to the books he must have consulted. But I think he was already planning this when he was a student here.'
'He went to the abbey school?'
The guard went up again.
Owen wondered what Wulfstan feared he would ask.
'You must excuse me’ Wulfstan said. 'I have much work to do.' He rose.
Owen stood also. 'I am sorry to take your time. I look forward to seeing your garden in spring.'
Wulfstan frowned. 'You intend to be here so long?'
'I have come seeking work.' Owen touched the patch. 'One-eyed men do not make good soldiers, in my way of thinking,'
The eyes were sympathetic. 'Master Roglio could do nothing?'
Owen shook his head.
'Pity. If anyone could, it would be him. What sort of work do you seek?'
Owen glanced around the room, 'I know it is unusual for someone my age, but I hope to apprentice to an apothecary or surgeon.'
Wulfstan frowned. 'From soldier to healer is a great leap. But if God calls you, He will provide a way.'
Owen noted how the monk glanced back at his work. 'I have taken enough of your time.' He took his leave.
He did not feel much enlightened. What had he learned? That Brother Wulfstan was troubled by the deaths at the abbey and nervous about something. He did not like questions about the deaths or about Nicholas Wilton. Perhaps that meant nothing, but Owen would think about it. And the Infirmarian stuck to the story that Fitzwilliam had died of an illness. But then if the man was murdered in Wulfstan's infirmary, it would look bad for the monk, so he was unlikely to admit it.
An unprofitable interview, all in all. Owen decided to take the opportunity to ask some of the other monks what they knew about Fitzwilliam. He gestured to a young monk hurrying past.
'I was hoping to speak with some who might remem ber a cousin of mine, Sir Oswald Fitzwilliam?'
The fresh-faced monk looked Owen up and down, then grinned. 'You are of a different sort than your cousin, sir-?'
'Archer. Owen Archer.' He extended his hand.
The young monk gave a slight bow, but did not bring forth his hand from his sleeve. 'I am Brother Jonas. I remember your cousin. He was a' - Jonas averted his eyes for a moment, thinking - 'he was a character. His death must have been unexpected.'
'How he met his death surprised me. With his tendency to collect enemies, I expected he'd meet a violent end.'
The eyebrows rose. 'I had heard he was one for the ladies. With those tight leggings and short tunics, his intentions were obvious. But that is the worst I had heard of him.'
'Was he well liked here?'
'He was not disliked.' The monk glanced around, then pushed his hands farther into his sleeves. 'I must go about my business now. Shall I show you out?'
'No need.' Owen nodded to him and continued up the corridor, then out into the cloister walk. There he met another, older monk. 'God be with you.'
'And with you, my son’ the old monk whispered.
'Forgive me for disturbing your meditation, but I wondered if you were one of the brothers who helped my cousin, Oswald Fitzwilliam. He spoke with affec tion and gratitude about the peace he found here.'
The old monk's gaunt face registered mild surprise. He
'Forgive me. I did not come here intending to pry.'
'No matter.'
Owen looked out at the medicinal garden. Lavender and santolina edged the beds, whose snowy blankets would be dark earth dotted with green shoots in a month.
He felt the Infirmarian's eyes on him,
'Master Roglio said I must make a study of the two great medicinal gardens in York - yours and Master Wilton's. I thought the medicinal garden at Kenilworth magnificent. Twice the size of this. But Roglio said it offered far less variety’
'We have a long tradition at St. Mary's. But the Wilton garden is the work of one man - Nicholas Wilton. It is his pride and joy. His masterwork, in fact. It was I the Guildmaster brought in to judge Nicholas's worthiness to be raised to Master Apothecary. I had no idea a layman would have access to the books he must have consulted. But I think he was already planning this when he was a student here.'
'He went to the abbey school?'
The guard went up again.
Owen wondered what Wulfstan feared he would ask.
'You must excuse me’ Wulfstan said. 'I have much work to do.' He rose.
Owen stood also. 'I am sorry to take your time. I look forward to seeing your garden in spring.'
Wulfstan frowned. 'You intend to be here so long?'
'I have come seeking work.' Owen touched the patch. 'One-eyed men do not make good soldiers, in my way of thinking,'
The eyes were sympathetic. 'Master Roglio could do nothing?'
Owen shook his head.
'Pity. If anyone could, it would be him. What sort of work do you seek?'
Owen glanced around the room, 'I know it is unusual for someone my age, but I hope to apprentice to an apothecary or surgeon.'
Wulfstan frowned. 'From soldier to healer is a great leap. But if God calls you, He will provide a way.'
Owen noted how the monk glanced back at his work. 'I have taken enough of your time.' He took his leave.
He did not feel much enlightened. What had he learned? That Brother Wulfstan was troubled by the deaths at the abbey and nervous about something. He did not like questions about the deaths or about Nicholas Wilton. Perhaps that meant nothing, but Owen would think about it. And the Infirmarian stuck to the story that Fitzwilliam had died of an illness. But then if the man was murdered in Wulfstan's infirmary, it would look bad for the monk, so he was unlikely to admit it.
An unprofitable interview, all in all. Owen decided to take the opportunity to ask some of the other monks what they knew about Fitzwilliam. He gestured to a young monk hurrying past.
'I was hoping to speak with some who might remem ber a cousin of mine, Sir Oswald Fitzwilliam?'
The fresh-faced monk looked Owen up and down, then grinned. 'You are of a different sort than your cousin, sir-?'
'Archer. Owen Archer.' He extended his hand.
The young monk gave a slight bow, but did not bring forth his hand from his sleeve. 'I am Brother Jonas. I remember your cousin. He was a' - Jonas averted his eyes for a moment, thinking - 'he was a character. His death must have been unexpected.'
'How he met his death surprised me. With his tendency to collect enemies, I expected he'd meet a violent end.'
The eyebrows rose. 'I had heard he was one for the ladies. With those tight leggings and short tunics, his intentions were obvious. But that is the worst I had heard of him.'
'Was he well liked here?'
'He was not disliked.' The monk glanced around, then pushed his hands farther into his sleeves. 'I must go about my business now. Shall I show you out?'
'No need.' Owen nodded to him and continued up the corridor, then out into the cloister walk. There he met another, older monk. 'God be with you.'
'And with you, my son’ the old monk whispered.
'Forgive me for disturbing your meditation, but I wondered if you were one of the brothers who helped my cousin, Oswald Fitzwilliam. He spoke with affec tion and gratitude about the peace he found here.'
The old monk's gaunt face registered mild surprise. He
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