The Nun's Tale (27 page)

‘I am honoured.’

Joanna let go of his hand. ‘But I am cursed now. I yearn for death.’

‘Then why complain that someone poisoned you?’

‘I was not complaining.’

‘What, then?’

She shrugged. ‘Wondering is all.’

‘I wanted to tell you about Hugh and the arm of St Sebastian.’

‘He sold it to Will Longford.’

‘No. He sold nothing to Will Longford. It was a seal he carried, from a French soldier.’

Joanna giggled. ‘We lied to him. It was St Hardulph of Breedon, not St Sebastian.’

‘There was no arm,’ Owen said softly.

Joanna looked away. Her hands clenched the Magdalene medal. ‘Am I to understand that Hugh did not sell the arm of St Hardulph to Will Longford?’

‘That is right.’

Joanna took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘It is still at the parish church in Leeds?’

‘Yes.’

‘Poor Hardulph,’ she said flatly.

Owen closed his eye and pressed beneath the patch, where a shower of painful needle pricks gave physical form to his frustration.

Joanna leaned forward, gently touched Owen’s scar beneath the patch. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I see the eye?’

‘No. Why do you think Christ was cruel?’

‘Because He was. To Mary Magdalene He was. He took her love, then cast her aside.’

‘That is not the usual version.’

Joanna bit her bottom lip, looked away. ‘How goes my mother?’

God’s blood, Owen had almost forgotten. He had prepared a gradual approach to the sad news, but now his plans were undone. However, perhaps a shock might trip Joanna up. Lucie would not approve. But if he did not ask, she could not protest. ‘Your mother is dead.’

Joanna started. ‘What?’ She fluttered her hands as if swatting the thought away. ‘No.’ She leaned forward and peered into Owen’s good eye for a long moment, then sat back, shaking her head. ‘The Boulains are mad. But that is no death.’

‘She is dead, Joanna. She drowned in the river.’

Joanna looked frightened. She glanced over her shoulder, shivered. ‘Watery graves,’ she said softly.

‘Who else has a watery grave?’

Joanna stood up abruptly. ‘Go away, you one-eyed scoundrel. You cannot have my body. It has been promised to the Devil. He shall devour me as –’ She shook her head, sat down suddenly. Hiding her face with her hands, she began to sob.

Lucie knelt down beside her, felt her forehead. ‘Owen, call the Reverend Mother. We must leave now. Joanna needs to rest and calm down. Her spirit overcomes the physick.’

‘It is an excellent act.’

Lucie met Owen’s eye. ‘It is no act. She is feverish.’

After they had passed through Bootham Bar, Owen drew Lucie to the side of the street and paused, looking down at her, holding her hands. ‘I was clumsy. Sweet Heaven but I was clumsy. Can you forgive me?’

Lucie shrugged and gave him a half-hearted smile. ‘Your blunt speech
might
have worked. She
might
have responded more helpfully. As you have seen, Joanna is unpredictable.’ Lucie glanced round. ‘But let us speak of this at home, for pity’s sake.’

Owen, seeing she looked a bit pale, offered, ‘Shall I carry you? Are you feeling faint?’

‘Conspicuous. Most couples do not pause at street corners for serious discourse.’

Ned arrived, breathless, late in the day. Owen came round the counter to greet him and introduce him to Lucie.

‘Charming,’ Ned said as he held Lucie’s hand overlong, gazing into her smiling eyes. It was clear to Owen that Lucie found Ned charming as well. Not an auspicious introduction. But Ned at last dropped her hand and turned to Owen. ‘I have been sent to beg your presence at the abbey infirmary.’

Ned a messenger? ‘Why?’

‘One of the archbishop’s retainers has died, and his friend is threatening to murder any man in the shire who looks even vaguely like the attacker.’

‘Colin is dead, then?’ Owen said.

Ned nodded.

‘God grant him mercy,’ Lucie whispered, bowing her head and crossing herself.

Owen kicked the doorway. ‘I’ve a cursed knack for getting folk killed.’

Ned grabbed his friend by the shoulder and gave him a shake. ‘You were not with them when they were attacked.’

Owen shrugged out of Ned’s grasp. The man had no conscience. He would not understand. But it must be said. ‘I recommended them to His Grace.’

Ned rolled his eyes and flashed Lucie a sympathetic look. ‘Your man never changes. He has ever been one to take on the blame. If evil befell anyone in his company, ’twas his fault, no matter the truth of it. He cares not a whit that His Grace might have chosen them anyway.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘Colin was Thoresby’s man.’

‘Say what you will, ’twas I who involved them in all this. Colin was a simple soldier, obedient, eager.’ Owen saw Ned prepare for another argument. ‘Alfred will be thirsty for blood. I believe what he says.’

‘So what is to be done with Alfred?’ Lucie asked.

‘Ravenser wants to lock him in the archbishop’s gaol,’ Ned said.

Owen groaned. ‘Then Ravenser’s a fool. What has the man done but obeyed orders and been a true and faithful friend?’

Ned shrugged. ‘So what shall we do?’

‘Take him with us to Scarborough. Alfred can then trouble no one in York.’

Ned folded his arms across his chest and gave Owen a murderous look. ‘He will trouble us.’

‘I take responsibility for him.’

‘Fool,’ Ned said softly as he followed Owen out of the door, stopping to blow a kiss to Lucie before stepping out into the street.

Louth and Ravenser sat in the abbot’s parlour with Alfred between them, his hands bound behind his back.

‘Surely it is not necessary to bind him, gentlemen?’ Owen said, though he saw in Alfred’s face a dangerous mixture of grief and fury. ‘I should think him more in need of movement.’ He knelt down in front of Alfred. ‘Care to join me on St George’s Field for a round with the broadsword?’

Alfred stared ahead. ‘I knew it was an ambush, Captain. But I always gave Colin his way. Most times ’twas the right way. Wish to God he’d been right as usual.’ Alfred’s eyes were dry, but glassy. Owen could hear the tightness in the man’s throat, see the clenched jaw muscles.

‘I want you to come with me to Scarborough, Alfred.’

Now the dark eyes focused on Owen. ‘What for?’

‘Never mind that yet. But I need you, and I need you clear-headed. So how about the broadsword drill? Work up a sweat? Take it out on a wooden dummy? For now, anyway. Clear your head for some talk and then the journey?’

‘What will they do with Colin?’

Owen turned to Ravenser and Louth with a questioning look.

‘Was he a York man?’ Ravenser asked.

‘Nay,’ said Alfred. ‘Lavenham.’

‘Then we shall bury him in the minster yard, I think. He died in service to the archbishop.’

Owen turned back to Alfred. ‘Will that satisfy you?’

Alfred nodded.

‘If I cut your bonds, you will not attack the first person who annoys you?’

‘Colin would wish me to do your bidding without question, Captain.’

Owen had once thought that a soldier’s duty. That was before he’d begun to understand more about the world, through Thoresby’s tutelage. Now he believed one should always question. But in Alfred’s present state, blind obedience was advisable. ‘Good.’ Owen drew his knife and cut Alfred’s bonds. ‘Come.’ He stood up. ‘Let us say goodbye to Colin, then go hack up some solid oak.’

Ned joined them at the door. ‘Might I join you? I could use a good whack at my enemies.’

Ravenser rose as the door opened. ‘You are dining with me tonight, gentlemen? To discuss the journey?’

Owen bowed to him. ‘And my wife and her father, as requested.’

‘Good. I should not want this incident interfering with the plans.’

‘Nothing will interfere with them, Sir Richard. Fear not. Ned and I shall be all the better for a good sweat.’ Owen grinned and stepped out of the door, Ned and Alfred with him.

The two canons were left to puzzle out the strange ways of fighting men.

W
hen Owen returned, dirty, sweaty and relaxed, Tildy put a cup of Tom Merchet’s ale in his hands. He sat down with a contented sigh and drained the cup with one tilt of his head.

Tildy hovered. ‘Mistress Lucie is dressing, Captain. I would hurry if I were you. The provost of Beverley is expecting you.’

Owen groaned. ‘I had forgotten.’

Sir Robert came in from the garden. The elderly man wore a homespun tunic and breeches, spattered and caked with dirt.

‘Have you been gardening, Sir Robert?’

Owen’s father-in-law raked a hand through his white hair, streaking it with dirt. ‘I have indeed. A fine garden you have out there. Healthy.’ He eyed Owen’s sweaty state. ‘You have not been idle this day either, I see.’

Owen told him about Alfred. ‘We worked him hard. He will sleep till morning, I think.’

Sir Robert nodded enthusiastically. ‘Just the thing for a fighting man. You must have been a good captain.’ He motioned for Owen to come away from Tildy’s hearing. ‘By the by,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘I wanted a word with you about Dame Joanna’s stories of Scarborough. Have you heard about the soldiers who sail away, never come back? Archers, she said once. I told Lucie it was important, but I am not sure she appreciated the significance.’

Owen bit back a grin. Lucie had told him of Sir Robert’s attachment to this detail. ‘Lucie did tell me. After meeting the woman I did not put much faith in my understanding of her meandering speeches.’

Sir Robert held his hand up, palm forward. ‘Pray hear me, then. ’Tis not the sort of thing a young woman would make up. That is my point. You must see that.’

Owen considered it. ‘Aye, ’tis true. But her brother is a soldier. If she did find him in Scarborough, and listened to him talking with his fellows, she might have heard something and misunderstood, or made it into a more intriguing story.’

Disappointment rounded the old soldier’s shoulders. ‘In faith, perhaps I make much of nothing.’

‘Not at all. Lancaster shares your interest in the story.’

Sir Robert straightened up. ‘Excellent. Stealing our fighting men – it is the sort of small, sneaky manoeuvre King Charles favours. And du Guesclin.’

Owen hoped that he would have as sound a mind at his father-in-law’s age. ‘How do you find your daughter, Sir Robert?’

Sir Robert smiled fondly. ‘A formidable woman, Owen. Lovely as her mother, but much stronger. In spirit more like my sister Phillippa than Amelie. I am much relieved. I had thought Lucie’s marriage to Wilton a terrible mistake – all my fault, of course, but still a mistake. Yet had she not married him, she would not have this life that contents her.’

This was a new tone from Sir Robert. ‘I am happy you see that she is content.’

‘Owen!’ Lucie called from the top of the stairs. ‘Did I hear you come in?’

‘I must go to her.’ Owen tapped Sir Robert’s sleeve. ‘And you must ready yourself. Ravenser seems anxious that we all attend.’

Sir Robert patted Owen on the back. ‘You are a good man, Owen My daughter chose wisely.’

Lucie and Owen slept little, talking into the night after they had returned from Ravenser’s, wondering what Owen might discover in Scarborough and trying to organise what they knew about Will Longford and Joanna Calverley. Owen had proposed that they go first to Beverley to speak with the vicar of St Mary’s and the gravedigger. Rather than find the suggestion an insult – for he himself had spoken with them in May – Louth was in favour of this action. He did not trust his own investigative talents. But Thoresby insisted that they follow Lancaster’s orders and go first to Scarborough in the hope of finding Captain Sebastian. Lancaster sought to have Captain Sebastian back on his side before he left for Gascony in the autumn.

Lucie had been surprised by Thoresby’s support of Lancaster. ‘I did not foresee His Most Arrogant Grace the Archbishop bowing to Lancaster’s interests.’

Owen wagged his finger. ‘You misunderstand, my love. It is a question of priorities. Thoresby wishes to resolve the problem of Dame Joanna and the deaths surrounding her, surely. But his hatred for Alice Perrers takes precedence. And if he becomes Lancaster’s ally in the matter of Captain Sebastian, Lancaster may become Thoresby’s ally in ousting Mistress Perrers from the King’s bedchamber.’

‘Ah.’ Lucie could hear the smile in Owen’s voice. It irked her that he was in such good spirits when he must leave her in the morning. ‘I think you begin to enjoy taking part in these weighty matters of the realm.’

Owen pulled her over on top of him, stroking her hair. ‘I prefer matters of the bedchamber. My own bedchamber.’

Lucie kissed him and resolved to enjoy tonight. She would worry about the morrow on the morrow.