hawk-like nose and dark, beady eyes made him look like abird of prey. ‘My lord abbot,’ Hempe said in a deep, inflectionless voice as he bowed. Catching sight of Owen as he rose, he said, ‘Archer.’
Owen nodded to him.
‘I am curious what business a city bailiff has with me,’ said the abbot, motioning Hempe to take a seat.
‘The dead man’s wife claims that her home was searched while she and her daughters were at the abbey last night, my lord. I’d hoped you might know whether that was a likely claim.’
Abbot Campian turned to Owen. ‘What say you, Captain?’
Owen was, of course, very interested in this bit of news. ‘How does she know it was searched?’
Hempe almost smiled. ‘So you think it is likely to be true.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Things were moved about, more than a stray animal wandering in might do. A jar was knocked off a high shelf. And the clothes in a chest were in disarray. There was also lamp oil on the floor where there’d been none.’
‘I would guess someone is looking for the contents of young Hubert de Weston’s scrip,’ said Owen.
‘I thought the same.’ Hempe looked down at his feet, then up at the abbot. ‘My lord, was Nicholas Ferriby in the abbey grounds all evening?’
‘Master Nicholas?’ Owen said before the abbot could respond. ‘Drogo’s mates don’t believe he knew the schoolmaster.’
‘He was here all evening,’ said the abbot. ‘He slept here because of the mood of the crowd when he kindly stopped to pray over a dying man.’ The usually impeccably composed Campian flushed a little. ‘Do you suspect a grammar master of ransacking the dead man’s home? What foolishness is this?’ Campian stared at Hempe until the bailiff looked away.
The abbot’s emotion surprised Owen. George Hempe had a rough way about him, but he was respected in the city. Campian must be quite upset about Drogo’s death.
Hempe rose. ‘Forgive me, my lord abbot, I meant no discourtesy. I will call upon Captain Archer with any further questions.’
Campian also rose, slowly shaking his head. ‘It is I who must apologise. I was not aware how disturbed I was by the witless crowd last night. You have had only rumours with which to work. Now the captain can supply you with more accurate details.’ He bowed to both of them. ‘I pray you, go about your good work and return peace to this abbey.’
Owen followed Hempe out of the abbot’s parlour. ‘I’ve never seen the abbot in such a temper,’ said Owen as they walked out into the cold afternoon.
‘No matter.’ Hempe paused and waited until Owen looked at him. ‘What was in the lad’s scrip, Owen?’
‘I still don’t know. But if God wills it, I’ll know soon.’ He told him his plan.
Hempe rubbed his head and then covered it with his felt hat. ‘I don’t like the smell of this, I’ll tell you that. And I’ll tell you something else – I didn’t ask you about Ferriby only because of some gossip trying to excite people. As I left Drogo’s house a lad told me he’d seen the man at Master Nicholas’s school.’ He waited for Owen’s reaction.
Owen cursed. ‘Who was the lad?’
‘Jenkin, Will Carter’s son. To hear Will talk, his son is a wizard and it’s the dean and chancellor’s loss that they did not accept him into the minster grammar school, and Nicholas Ferriby’s good fortune. The lad did seem quick.’
‘Not quick enough to realise he was harming his master by speaking up,’ said Owen. ‘But we must be grateful for his unwitting help. I will want to talk to the lad when I return.’
‘I thought you would.’
Thoresby would not be pleased with this possible connection. Nor was Owen. Nicholas had denied knowing Drogo.
By now they were out on the street just without Bootham Bar. A couple with a cartload of goods and a pair of wealthy merchants on fine horses were waiting to pass through the gate. Owen and Hempe joined the line.
‘I’m relieved that this is in your hands,’
Owen nodded to him.
‘I am curious what business a city bailiff has with me,’ said the abbot, motioning Hempe to take a seat.
‘The dead man’s wife claims that her home was searched while she and her daughters were at the abbey last night, my lord. I’d hoped you might know whether that was a likely claim.’
Abbot Campian turned to Owen. ‘What say you, Captain?’
Owen was, of course, very interested in this bit of news. ‘How does she know it was searched?’
Hempe almost smiled. ‘So you think it is likely to be true.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Things were moved about, more than a stray animal wandering in might do. A jar was knocked off a high shelf. And the clothes in a chest were in disarray. There was also lamp oil on the floor where there’d been none.’
‘I would guess someone is looking for the contents of young Hubert de Weston’s scrip,’ said Owen.
‘I thought the same.’ Hempe looked down at his feet, then up at the abbot. ‘My lord, was Nicholas Ferriby in the abbey grounds all evening?’
‘Master Nicholas?’ Owen said before the abbot could respond. ‘Drogo’s mates don’t believe he knew the schoolmaster.’
‘He was here all evening,’ said the abbot. ‘He slept here because of the mood of the crowd when he kindly stopped to pray over a dying man.’ The usually impeccably composed Campian flushed a little. ‘Do you suspect a grammar master of ransacking the dead man’s home? What foolishness is this?’ Campian stared at Hempe until the bailiff looked away.
The abbot’s emotion surprised Owen. George Hempe had a rough way about him, but he was respected in the city. Campian must be quite upset about Drogo’s death.
Hempe rose. ‘Forgive me, my lord abbot, I meant no discourtesy. I will call upon Captain Archer with any further questions.’
Campian also rose, slowly shaking his head. ‘It is I who must apologise. I was not aware how disturbed I was by the witless crowd last night. You have had only rumours with which to work. Now the captain can supply you with more accurate details.’ He bowed to both of them. ‘I pray you, go about your good work and return peace to this abbey.’
Owen followed Hempe out of the abbot’s parlour. ‘I’ve never seen the abbot in such a temper,’ said Owen as they walked out into the cold afternoon.
‘No matter.’ Hempe paused and waited until Owen looked at him. ‘What was in the lad’s scrip, Owen?’
‘I still don’t know. But if God wills it, I’ll know soon.’ He told him his plan.
Hempe rubbed his head and then covered it with his felt hat. ‘I don’t like the smell of this, I’ll tell you that. And I’ll tell you something else – I didn’t ask you about Ferriby only because of some gossip trying to excite people. As I left Drogo’s house a lad told me he’d seen the man at Master Nicholas’s school.’ He waited for Owen’s reaction.
Owen cursed. ‘Who was the lad?’
‘Jenkin, Will Carter’s son. To hear Will talk, his son is a wizard and it’s the dean and chancellor’s loss that they did not accept him into the minster grammar school, and Nicholas Ferriby’s good fortune. The lad did seem quick.’
‘Not quick enough to realise he was harming his master by speaking up,’ said Owen. ‘But we must be grateful for his unwitting help. I will want to talk to the lad when I return.’
‘I thought you would.’
Thoresby would not be pleased with this possible connection. Nor was Owen. Nicholas had denied knowing Drogo.
By now they were out on the street just without Bootham Bar. A couple with a cartload of goods and a pair of wealthy merchants on fine horses were waiting to pass through the gate. Owen and Hempe joined the line.
‘I’m relieved that this is in your hands,’
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