A Spy for the Redeemer by Candace Robb Read Free Book Online

yard. His dry clothes did not keep his flesh from the memory of its drenching earlier in the day. Pulling his cloak close about him, he hunched into the misty wind. He had not far to go, a matter of yards, but his cloak and the neck and shoulders of his tunic were damp by the time he rapped on the great oak door to the house of Adam Rokelyn, Archdeacon of St David’s. A servant opened the door, bowed Owen in. A Welsh servant, Owen guessed. He tested him with the language. The servant replied in kind, looking pleased, ushered Owen to a chair in the hall near a hot, smoky fire, poured him a cup of wine. At least he could get warm again. Not drunk, however. There was too much he must remember not to say. A pity. The plummy wine slid silkily down his throat.
    Voices came from behind a tapestry-covered doorway near Owen. Thinking it might be to his benefit to hear the matter discussed, he moved his chair closer.
    ‘You are not the law here.’
    ‘In the absence of the bishop, I am. Go tend your flock in Carmarthen. And take your weasel Simon with you.’
    ‘Who are you to speak to me in such wise?’ Now, as the voice boomed in outrage, Owen identified the speaker – William Baldwin, Archdeacon of Carmarthen.
    ‘Hush, for pity’s sake. I am expecting a guest.’ That must be Archdeacon Rokelyn.
    Baldwin heeded the warning and lowered his voice to a murmur. Rokelyn did likewise.
    Not wishing to be caught listening, Owen did not draw closer. But the argument interested him. Even more so than in York, the archdeacons here were politically powerful. This was not only an important ecclesiastical city, it was a city in which the Church ruled completely. Bishop Houghton was the law. And in his absence, the archdeacons ruled. Owen would guess Rokelyn was correct to consider himself the bishop’s second in command, being the archdeacon of the area, as Baldwin was the bishop’s second in command in Carmarthen.
    ‘ Benedicte , Captain Archer.’ Rokelyn stood in the doorway, holding the tapestry aside for Baldwin. Rokelyn was a heavy-set man, with an unremarkable face save for its complete lack of hair – neither lashes nor brows, nor crown above. Something in his countenance made him look a man devoid of guile. Owen knew it to be a false impression – though he did not know Rokelyn well, he did know that a guileless man did not become Archdeacon of St David’s.
    Baldwin slipped past Rokelyn, nodded to Owen. ‘I trust you accomplished your task in Cydweli, Captain Archer?’ His deep voice was tempered now. He was Rokelyn’s opposite, olive-skinned, with a wealth of dark hair.
    They exchanged courtesies, then Baldwin excused himself and departed. Owen was not surprised after what he had overheard.
    ‘They tell me you were at St Non’s Well today,’ said Rokelyn, still with his pleasant smile.
    Had he spies at the well? Or was it mere gossip? Owen decided that he, too, could play the jolly innocent. ‘I was. And had I been judged worthy, I might stand before you tonight without a patch. As you see, I was not so blessed.’
    Rokelyn made a pitying face, then brightened. ‘They say you shoot straight and true, even with the loss of your eye. Perhaps St Non saw no need to intercede for you.’
    ‘In faith, I had little hope for it. But it seemed foolish not to try.’
    Rokelyn gestured to Owen to sit by the fire. Two heavily carved, straight-backed chairs with arms had been angled half facing one another, half facing the fire. Embroidered cushions softened them. A table with the wine stood between. Rokelyn settled into one of the chairs with a contented sigh. ‘We shall dine in a while. I thought first we might share this excellent wine. Talk of easy matters. About your family. Did you find them well?’
    ‘A sister and a brother, aye. The rest are with God.’
    The archdeacon expressed sympathy, spoke of God’s will being mysterious, then went on to explore many other topics, while Owen fought a dangerous drowsiness