The Lady Chapel (17 page)

Lucie said nothing. She wondered the same thing. It was as if their humours were opposite. They could turn the simplest conversation into an argument. She worried about it.

11/ The Wool War

By the time Owen reached the Archbishop's house, it was midday. Brother Michaelo sniffed at Owen's timing, but he returned in a moment to extend Thoresby's invitation to sup with him.

Owen was shown into the hall, a lofty room hung with tapestries almost as lovely as the ones in Thoresby's chambers in London. The floor was tiled. A huge fireplace promised warmth; in front of it, a cloth-draped table was set for supper. A servant was pulling up an extra chair, setting out another plate and cup, and a spoon.

Thoresby stood in a simple black cassock, hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Owen paused halfway across the tile floor, puzzled by this unaccustomed glimpse of the great man. Nochain of office, no scarlet robes, fur-trim. Owen was surprised to see how slender Thoresby was for his age and importance. John Thoresby turned and caught Owen studying him. He motioned forOwen to join him.

"You wonder about the dress?"

Owen nodded.

Thoresby looked down at himself. "It is unusual. And I find it difficult to explain. I went to St. Mary's this morning to help with the food distribution to the poor. Can you imagine that? I woke with a desire to do something unselfish. Charity. God's work." Thoresby smiled. "You should like that. You once suggested that I had lost sight of my duties as a man of God."

"Aye, so I did." Owen did not know whether to grin or steel himself for trouble. The Archbishop's behavior was so odd.

Thoresby moved to the table. "Sit. I am in need of food and wine at the end of that experience."

"Gladly."

They filled their cups. Maeve brought in a fish soup and bread to begin. Owen cleaned his knife on a piece of cloth.

Thoresby tasted the soup. "Maeve, your cooking is a gift from Heaven."

The heavyset woman flushed and hurried away for the next course.

Thoresby took another spoonful of soup. "This would be a feast to be remembered for those folk I saw today. Only this, the soup and bread. The wine would be an unimaginable delight." He did not possess his usual comfortable demeanor.

"I do not mean to sound impertinent, Your Grace, but you do not seem yourself. Are you well?"

Thoresby frowned down at his soup for a moment, then burst out laughing. "That is what delights me about you, Archer. You are not in awe of my ring and my chain of office."

"You wear no chain today," Owen reminded him.

"Indeed. But the chain has never stopped you from saying your mind to me. I am humbled by my experience, a state in which you have never seen me."

Owen feared there was danger in being too bold with the Archbishop. "I meant that you looked uncomfortable. Pale, Your Grace."

Thoresby seemed taken aback by this. "Pale?" He thought about it, shrugged. "Perhaps God is warning me that my time is passing quickly."

"Gloomy thoughts, Your Grace."

"Sinfully self-absorbed--that is my problem of late." Thoresby

drained his cup and filled it. "So. What did you learn in Beverley?"

Owen, realizing Thoresby did not wish to discuss his mood further, described the dramatic relationships at Riddlethorpe. They were cutting into the roast when Owen came to the information Mistress Ridley had offered about Goldbetter and Company.

"Ah. I am not at all surprised that's coming round again to haunt the Crown," Thoresby said.

Owen was surprised the name Goldbetter was so familiar to the Archbishop that he had not even paused to recall it. "Is it true?" Owen asked. "Is wool financing the war?"

Thoresby sighed. "Yes and no. Let us finish this fine meal, then I will tell you about King Edward's war financing. I cannot think about it while I eat or I will never digest this much-needed sustenance."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, but Thoresby was not in a mood to continue so for long.

"This daughter, Mistress Scorby. What do you think of her?"

Owen tasted his wine and considered how to put it. "Anna Scorby is in love with God, not with her husband. I think perhaps she truly has a vocation. But she was the only daughter, and Gilbert Ridley wanted to forge a link with the Scorbys--he seemed impressed by their bloodline. According to Mistress Ridley, her son-in-law has been as patient as his character will permit, which is not very patient. She believes that Paul Scorby made an unfortunate match. A gentler man might have wooed Anna away from the spiritual life."

"Some time at St. Clement's Nunnery might convince her that her life has not been so dreadful."

Owen shrugged. "They are Benedictines. I do not think they deny themselves much."

"All the better. She will see that even in a convent the world is difficult to put aside." Thoresby chuckled at his own joke. The food and wine had brought him back to himself. Owen was relieved. He did not want to like the Archbishop too much.

When Maeve brought out a hard cheese, more bread, and more wine, Thoresby pushed his chair back from the table and sighed with pleasure. "Now I can think about the court. But first, I must give Michaelo an assignment."

He rose and crossed the tiles. Owen took the opportunity to seek out the back door and a privy. He returned through the kitchen, a warm, savory-smelling place. Maeve smiled at him. "You're a pleasure to serve, Captain Archer. A good soldier's appetite, you have."

"Believe me, the pleasure was all mine."

"I'll give you some wastel as you leave. For you and Mistress Wilton. She has eased my bones with that salve she made me. As God is my witness, you would find no better apothecary in London."

Owen knew Lucie loved the white loaves that Maeve baked. Wastel was the second-highest grade of bread, but in Maeve's hands it was transformed into the finest pandemain. "She will be most grateful, Maeve. And so will I."

Owen was seated and pouring another cup of wine before the Archbishop returned. Thoresby surprised him by coming in from the kitchen. "Now. We shall not be interrupted. I would take you to my chambers, but that fire was just lit. It cannot have warmed the room yet, and I had a most chilling morning."

"Do you think this Goldbetter business could have bearing on the murders?"

Thoresby sipped some wine, then tilted his head back and contemplated the rafters. At last he looked back at Owen, nodding. "It might well have something to do with it, though I cannot say what at this point. When Edward began to play with the wool merchants, I warned him. You play them one against the other and you destroy all loyalties, all the honor that keeps commerce civilized. And uncivilized merchants are more dangerous than an army of mercenaries. Especially the wool merchants, men who control a commodity critical to all the nations involved in Edward's war."

"You speak so plainly to the King?"

"I have ever done so. But these days I am uncertain that is wise." Thoresby looked down at his hands, resting on the arms of his thronelike chair, lifting the finger on which he wore his Archbishop's ring, letting it catch the light. He seemed lost in his contemplation of it, his face sad.

Owen pulled the Archbishop back to the present. "Do you know this John Goldbetter?"

Thoresby shook his head as if to clear it. "Although we have

never met, I know something about him. He is much like William de la Pole in his respect for law, and I know de la Pole. In fact, it was de la Pole who first mentioned Goldbetter to me. He pointed out that Goldbetter had done much the same as he, and yet Goldbetter was not being brought up in Chancery. I assured de la Pole that I knew many were guilty, but on such a smaller scale than he that it was not worth our time."

"You enjoy your power as Lord Chancellor."

Thoresby shook his head. "Not often. The power is a heady wine, but of inferior quality. It brings on nausea and headache as it sours in one's belly."

"You would stay away from court?"

"If that were possible."

"Because of the war?"

"Sadly, because of the King." Thoresby's deep-set eyes were fixed on Owen. "This is why I made sure that we had no ears about, especially Michaelo's. Whenever one criticizes his King, one speaks treason. I trust you to understand the difference between disaffection that might lead to rebellion and that which is merely an expression of disappointment; but I do not trust Michaelo."

Owen was not comfortable with this direction, but it was unlikely that Thoresby would excuse him from the task he had set for him. "You can trust me, Your Grace."

Thoresby nodded. "There are precious few I can trust."

"Why do you keep Michaelo as your secretary?"

"On what unsuspecting soul would I thrust him? I have come to see Michaelo as my hair shirt."

The image of the elegant Brother Michaelo as a hair shirt amused Owen. He laughed.

Thoresby nodded as he reached for more wine. "Well might you laugh over my foolishness," he grumbled, but his eyes smiled. He poured his wine, cut off a piece of cheese, and dropped it in his mouth, savoring it, then drank some wine. "When all is said and done, this is the reward of rank, not the power that comes with it. So much danger rides with the power." The Archbishop shook his head, serious once more. "And so. On to the business. When the King set his mind on claiming his birthright to the crown of France, he needed a great deal of money to realize his ambition. He listened

to some crafty explanations about how he might obtain higher revenues than usual with wool by manipulating the supply and raising duties. The merchants and lawyers who suggested this were no doubt in the pockets of the earls who feared the war expenses might somehow come from their pockets."

"Or the Church?" Owen suggested.

"No, it was not the Church's scheme to avoid taxes." Thoresby sipped his wine. "At the time, the wool merchants had the largest cash resources of any group of men in the kingdom. And wool was"--he shrugged--"perhaps remains, the most valuable product of our fair isle. And so very important to the Flemings, who have such a changeable allegiance, sometimes to us, sometimes to the French King." Thoresby sighed, shook his head sadly. "Golden Edward. Tall, kingly, bullheaded. I was not the only counselor who reminded Edward that the King of France could just as easily lavish gifts and level threats at the Count of Flanders."

"The King does not welcome criticism?"

"Not when to his mind he has invented a brilliant scheme. So he met with the merchants in the ninth year of his reign and declared an embargo on exporting wool. He meant this to persuade the merchants to accept an increased subsidy, and to coerce Flanders into siding with him. What it actually did was cause a glut of wool and low prices here, a scarcity of wool and high prices in Flanders. The Flemings were alarmed. Our wool merchants were delighted. They agreed to increased duties and a list indicating the highest prices wool producers could charge, which would ensure the merchants of profits despite the rise in customs rates."

Thoresby absently crumbled the cheese on his bread, then poured himself more wine. "Such a muddle. As with everything in this scheme, the purpose of the price list has varied over the years, sometimes serving the producers, sometimes the merchants. No one feels the King is truly on their side. I thought it was a mistake from the beginning, but it was one of those things so difficult to see clearly at the time that it was impossible to know whether my misgivings were valid."

"The King does not think it a muddle?"

Thoresby touched his fingertips together and stared at the fire. "It is a painful thing, to watch a warrior age." His voice was pensive.

"Edward was a tall, golden lion of a man. You have seen him before a battle, riding down the lines, inspiring feats of astounding courage in mere mortals. You have heard his men cheer him, haven't you, Archer?"

Owen nodded. "Many a time as I sat with my arrows stuck in the ground beside me, waiting for the French to appear."

"Edward was regal. Resplendent. But off the battlefield"--the Archbishop shook his head--"he has not always been wise. This war. Oh, there is precedent. He does have a claim, and a better one than Valois, but it is mostly to satisfy a kingly ego."

Owen's scar began to prickle. "I do not want to hear this, Your Grace. I don't want to hear that I lost my eye, and so many men, on a whim of the King."

"Ah." Thoresby moved his gaze from the fire to Owen. "I should not digress. I have probably drunk too much wine. Do you know, Archer, 1 think I begin to feel my mortality." Thoresby glanced down at the piece of bread in front of him, then pushed it aside.

Owen stayed silent, made increasingly uncomfortable by the Archbishop's mood.

Thoresby nodded. "I disturb you. 1 disturb myself these days." He rubbed his eyes. "Where was I? Oh, yes, the merchants could not be sure of the King's support. He paid no heed to the edge in their voices. In the tenth year of Edward's reign, the merchants agreed to loan the Crown two hundred thousand pounds and pledged to pay the King half of the profit on thirty thousand sacks of wool. In return, the merchants would receive a monopoly; only those merchants who agreed to the terms of the bargain would be permitted to export wool. They were promised that their loan would be repaid by splitting the customs receipts with the Crown, and the customs were raised to forty shillings a sack. The wool was to be sent to Dordrecht in three shipments, and the King was to be paid in three installments. A substantial number of the monopolists were members of the English Wool Company, which was led by a small core that included Reginald Conduit, William de la Pole, and John Goldbetter."

Owen sat forward. This began to sound like what Cecilia Ridley had told him. "I cannot see why any wool merchants disagreed. At least it permitted them some trade."

"By now many did not trust the King. In fact, it was those with enough power and money to hope to twist this state of affairs to their increased profit who agreed, not the smaller merchants. They hoped to continue trading by hiding their shipments with the help of--unofficial shippers."