The Nun's Tale (17 page)

‘Still,’ Jehannes said, ‘her family wishing to dispose of her suggests that she has ever been difficult.’

‘Do you think Dame Joanna is mad, Mistress Wilton?’ Thoresby asked.

Lucie shook her head. ‘I think she is burdened by a guilt that gnaws at her and gives her no peace.’

‘They tell me she spoke more clearly to you than she has to anyone else.’ Thoresby sipped his brandywine thoughtfully. ‘If you will agree, Mistress Wilton, I think it wise you speak with Dame Joanna.’

Lucie clutched her cup. ‘I have the shop, Your Grace.’

‘You shall rule when the meetings occur.’

‘I have not agreed.’

‘No. But I beg you to consider it. Two men lie injured at St Mary’s infirmary, one perhaps mortally. A young woman was raped and murdered, Longford’s servant was murdered and buried in the grave dug for Joanna. Something is amiss here, and we must discover what before worse befalls us. The Reverend Mother has tried to gain Joanna’s confidence, but she has not been as successful as you. In truth, I have little faith in Dame Isobel at present.’

‘You are asking my daughter to place herself in danger,’ Sir Robert said. His voice was quiet, but angry.

Thoresby nodded. ‘I would not ask it of most women. But I also know something of Mistress Wilton’s mettle. She will not fail me.’

Lucie felt a confusing assortment of emotions. ‘You hope to convince me with flattery, Your Grace?’

He smiled. ‘You are as blunt as Archer. No. I ask only that you consider it.’

‘Owen asked me to promise not to become more involved in this.’

Thoresby raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah. He anticipated me. He is angry that I sent him off so quickly to Leeds to speak with the Calverleys.’

Lucie shrugged. ‘I did not promise.’

Sir Robert interposed. ‘I do not understand, Your Grace. Why have you pulled Owen away from his work with the archers? Is not Lancaster’s mission to Prince Edward of greater importance than a runaway nun and at worst a band of cutthroats hoping to silence her?’

Lucie was shocked by her father’s boldness.

But Thoresby looked unsurprised. ‘To Lancaster it is certainly more important. But he might change his mind.’

Sir Robert shook his head. ‘You cannot think that your concerns for York are more important than the welfare of all England. You are the King’s Lord Chancellor.’

‘True enough. But I am not at all certain that England is best served by restoring Don Pedro to the throne of Castile.’

‘The King has pledged his support,’ Ravenser said softly.

Lucie wished to hear more, this being the mission Owen was helping prepare. ‘If Don Pedro is the legitimate heir, how can there be a question? And the French helped Enrique take Castile. Are we not at war with France?’

Thoresby studied the dregs of wine in his cup, placed the cup on the table beside him. He clasped his hands and pressed both thumbs on the muscle between his brows, then looked up at Lucie. ‘From time to time we are at war with France, yes. But as to the legitimacy of Pedro, the Pope himself has refuted that. He excommunicated Don Pedro and legitimised Pedro’s half-brother. If one believes the Pope to be infallible, the French are in the right.’

‘Why did the Pope excommunicate him?’

Thoresby shrugged. ‘For no more than that Pedro is on good terms with the Moorish king of Granada. His Holiness might have found far worse with which to charge Pedro. There are rumours that would have him a tyrant of astonishing cruelty. They say he had his wife, a princess of France, murdered the day after he wed her. I find it difficult to believe such blatant evil. It is a fact that he repudiated her, and that she died shortly thereafter, but surely a king has advisers enough to be subtler. And yet he is said to have had many nobles of his country murdered.’

Jehannes crossed himself. ‘Then why do Lancaster and the Prince support him?’

‘Because of a treaty our King signed four years ago. Because the King believes Pedro is King of Castile by Divine Right. Because Pedro promises Prince Edward lordships in Castile. But perhaps most of all because the French support Enrique. You see why I question the wisdom of this dangerous campaign.’

‘This is treasonous speech,’ Ravenser said quietly. ‘Our King is already plagued with one treasonous blackguard in the York chapter.’

‘Heath is the Pope’s man not because he believes in Urban’s infallibility but because he has found the way to Urban’s ear and makes money whispering into it for his countrymen. I am not such a weasel, Richard. Nor am I part of the chapter. Indeed, had the dean and chapter their way I should never venture closer to York than Bishopthorpe.’

Lucie found this digression tedious. What cared she about the dean and chapter? She wondered how to bring this conversation to a close.

Fortunately, Thoresby came to the point. ‘Whether we are in the right or no, surely it should not take long for Archer to speak with the Calverleys. And then he will continue to Pontefract to present the archers to Lancaster. I am confident that Lancaster will be pleased. Besides, Sir Nicholas de Louth is to tell Lancaster of all that has happened, particularly concerning Will Longford and Dame Joanna’s story of soldiers sailing out of Scarborough harbour.’

Jehannes leaned forward. ‘What is this?’

‘The abbess of Nunburton recounted several versions of the nun’s story,’ Ravenser said. ‘But the consistent items were soldiers and archers sailing away with men who spoke a variety of tongues. Luring away our fighting men to weaken us? It has the flavour of du Guesclin.’

‘Do you have proof of this?’ Jehannes asked.

Ravenser shook his head.

‘You see how the events surrounding Dame Joanna’s reappearance concern me both as archbishop and lord chancellor?’ Thoresby said. ‘And they might change Lancaster’s mind as to the importance of Joanna Calverley.’

Sir Robert shrugged. ‘Regardless, our cause in Castile is just. Whether or no Pedro has earned the popular title “the Cruel”, he is king by Divine Right.’

‘As an excommunicate, has he not forfeited that right?’ Thoresby asked.

Sir Robert frowned. ‘You sound more the Pope’s man than the King’s.’

‘As archbishop and lord chancellor, I have three lords, Our Divine Lord, the Pope, and my King.’

Disturbed by Sir Robert’s growing agitation, Lucie rose. ‘Forgive me, but it grows late, Your Grace, gentlemen. I must thank you for your hospitality.’

Thoresby rose and bowed to Lucie. ‘I hope you will see your way to helping us, Mistress Wilton. And that you do not pause too long over your decision.’

‘I am not in the habit of pondering choices overlong, Your Grace. I am already resolved to assist you.’

Thoresby smiled. ‘God bless you, Mistress Wilton. I am in your debt.’

‘I shall go to St Mary’s tomorrow.’

The archbishop himself escorted Lucie and Sir Robert to the door. While they waited for Lizzie to fetch Lucie’s mantle, Thoresby took Lucie aside. ‘I wish to apologise for involving you in this, and for sending your husband away when you carry your first child.’

Lucie studied his face, saw that he seemed sincere. ‘I thank you. It is not easy being away from Owen at this time. But I would not dream of using my being with child to keep Owen from his duties. Or to shirk my own.’

‘I would not expect you to,’ Thoresby said, and was about to say more when Lizzie returned with the mantle. Lucie could tell that he put aside what he’d been about to say and said instead, ‘You and your unborn child are in my prayers.’

‘I thank you.’

‘God go with you.’

‘And with you, Your Grace.’

Sir Robert bowed stiffly.

Gilbert and Daimon appeared from nowhere to escort them home. Lucie was grateful for Gilbert’s presence – it delayed dealing with Sir Robert.

As soon as they were back at the house, with the door closed against Gilbert’s ears and Daimon upstairs, Sir Robert spun round. ‘That arrogant cleric! To question the King and Prince Edward!’ The voice that had been so soft all evening now boomed.

Lucie hoped he would not wake Tildy. ‘Is it not a wise check on the King that his counsellors should have their own minds, Sir Robert?’

Sir Robert huffed with disgust. ‘Spoken like a woman. A man’s duty is to obey his king!’ His eyes flashed with anger.

Lucie closed her eyes, too familiar with that look from her childhood. ‘Please lower your voice.’

‘And to involve you, in your condition . . .’ Sir Robert tugged at his belt and called for Daimon.

‘Lower your voice, Sir Robert,’ Lucie said between clenched teeth.

He threw the belt on a bench. ‘Why do you always call me “Sir Robert”? Why do you never call me father?’

Lucie sank down on a bench, yearning for her bed. What had he ever done to deserve her affection? Respect, yes, she gave him respect, as was his due. But affection . . . ‘I am not in the habit of saying “father”, Sir Robert. You were seldom about in my childhood. And as soon as
maman
died you thrust me away, sending me off to the sisters at St Clement’s.’

Sir Robert opened his mouth, closed it, bowed his head, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. In a moment, he made a fuss of picking up his belt, then yelled again for Daimon.

The squire came hurrying down the stairs. ‘Forgive me. I was turning down your bed, Sir.’

As Lucie followed them up, a great weariness came over her. It would be a long visit.

As Thoresby sat by the fire with his nephew, sipping brandywine, he studied the younger man. He realised he had never thought of Richard as a lusty man. He had been destined for the Church from birth. Thoresby’s sister had never spoken of her son’s having other ambitions. But after Richard’s behaviour that evening, Thoresby wondered. ‘I could not help noting how attractive you found Mistress Wilton. Your lust was quite evident.’

Ravenser grinned into the distance, where he evidently held an image of Lucie Wilton. ‘An enticing creature. But I fear she found me a bore.’

‘You are content in the Church, Richard?’

Now Ravenser turned to his uncle. ‘Quite content. Why? Is it too sinful to appreciate beauty?’

Thoresby shook his head. ‘Merely a word of advice. A man of your rising fortunes must beware ill-judged passions. They can return to haunt you in unexpected and dangerous ways.’ He spoke knowingly, from his recent experience.

Ravenser frowned at his uncle. ‘I am but a man. I have appetites.’

Thoresby downed his brandywine. ‘Satisfy them discreetly, Richard. And wisely.’

‘I meant nothing by it. I did not grab her, did I?’

‘I felt the heat in you. Had you been alone with her . . .’

Ravenser looked shocked. ‘I am not a beast, uncle.’

Thoresby relaxed. ‘The look on your face comforts me profoundly, nephew. I shall say no more.’

W
hen Lucie slipped down to the kitchen the next morning, hoping to break her fast with some bread and ale and be off to the abbey before anyone stirred, Sir Robert was already there, ale in hand, watching Tildy stoke the fire. Lucie cursed silently. On the walk home the previous night Sir Robert had insisted that he and Daimon would escort Lucie to meet Dame Joanna in the morning. Lucie had countered with the suggestion that Sir Robert do some gardening for her. He had assured her that there was time for both tasks, that he was there to do her bidding. But his first duty was to protect her.

And now Sir Robert was up betimes and eager to go. Tildy’s smile was sympathetic as she set some breakfast before her mistress.

Lucie tried once again. ‘Sir Robert, I would prefer to do this alone.’

‘I would not think of it.’

‘The archbishop’s man Gilbert will accompany me.’

‘It is best that Daimon and I are also with you. I shall not hover while you speak to the nun. I can be discreet.’

Lucie sighed. ‘You are stubborn, Sir Robert.’

When they left the narrow city streets, passing out through Bootham Bar, the sun shone down on the little party and lifted Lucie’s mood.

Sir Robert, however, found the open sky threatening. ‘The abbey should have a gate within the city walls. It is unsafe for you to leave the protection of the walls.’

‘The postern gate is just here, Sir Robert.’ They were already upon it.

But Sir Robert continued to fret as they passed through the gate. ‘They do not post sentries along the abbey wall, and the outlaws know it.’

Lucie made soothing noises and walked on, grateful for once to see Dame Isobel, who met them at the gatehouse, aflutter with gratitude. ‘God bless you for this, Mistress Wilton. I could not contain my joy when His Grace sent word you would come today. Every time I question Joanna she becomes more distant.’

Lucie followed Dame Isobel. ‘Does she expect us?’

‘Joanna looks forward to your visit.’ Isobel paused and turned to Lucie with a worried look. ‘But be forewarned, her moods are unpredictable.’ With a sigh, she resumed her heavy-footed march across the yard.