The Nun's Tale (35 page)

Only Alfred seemed in good humour, grinning at the taverner’s daughter, who kept glancing over her shoulder at him while she passed among the trestle tables. She was young and plain, with a sharp tongue for the grabbers and pinchers who slowed her down, and an amazing kick that landed true every time. Alfred was smitten. ‘Now there’s a woman knows her own worth, keeps to her business.’

Edmund closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘She’s probably bedded more lovers than you ever will and is riddled with disease.’

Alfred just laughed. ‘You are jealous that she smiles at me, not you.’

Edmund gave him a disgusted look. ‘You haven’t a brain in your head.’

The taverner’s daughter put Owen in mind of Bess Merchet. ‘You might find her harder to bed than you think,’ he warned Alfred. ‘A woman with such a backbone does not fall into the arms of the first man who flirts with her.’

Alfred shrugged. ‘I can but try.’ He rose.

Owen grabbed his hand. ‘We must rise early, ride in to Beverley. I do not want to dawdle on the road because you had little sleep and cannot sit your horse in a gallop.’ Nor would he be of any use if they must turn and fight.

For a moment, Alfred’s face changed, hardened, his eyes narrowed, his colour rose. He moved his eyes slowly to Owen’s hand on his. ‘I never liked you much. ’Twas Colin worshipped you.’

Owen squeezed the hand harder and gave Alfred a look that warned he was not amused. ‘I am not asking you to like me. But you are mine to command on this journey. We have business in Beverley and York. And Edmund to keep an eye on. You shall leave off the lovemaking until we finish our business. Then be damned if you will.’

Alfred backed off, not liking the look in Owen’s eyes. ‘I was just having some fun. Meant nothing by it.’

Owen let go of Alfred’s hand. A hush had spread round them as folk eyed the two men with curiosity and apprehension. ‘We are calling unwanted attention to ourselves,’ Owen said softly. He picked up Alfred’s tankard, shook it, and said loudly, ‘Empty? Is that all you’re bellyaching about?’

Alfred lifted his hand and balled it into a fist, turned suddenly to the room at large and belched. He grinned, relaxed his hand. ‘Better now.’ And sat down, banging his fist on the table. ‘So I’ll have another, now you’ve asked.’

Edmund shook his head. ‘You’re a pig.’

‘But not an ass. I know an eye that threatens bloody murder when I see it.’ Once Alfred had drunk down his ale, he went stumbling off to bed.

Edmund soon followed. Owen stayed below until he had made a thorough study of each face in the room. He would remember them if they turned up again on his journey.

For all their growing unease, they arrived without incident in Beverley at dusk the following day, pushing their way against an opposing force of folk leaving town after the Corpus Christi pageants, picking their way through the guild members disassembling the pageant wagons. By the time they reached Ravenser’s house, they wanted only something to drink and then bed. Ravenser recognised their condition and showed them to a bedchamber. The provost held Owen back while Alfred and Edmund went in.

‘The stocky one. You did not set out from York with him.’

‘No. He is one of Captain Sebastian’s men. Come along to help us question Joanna.’

Ravenser’s eyebrow went up, just as his uncle’s would have. ‘Unbound?’

‘We have come to an agreement,’ Owen said.

Ravenser gave him a look that clearly said he thought him a fool. ‘I must hear about this. But first, let me give you this letter and leave you alone to read it.’ Ravenser drew from somewhere in his fine houppelande a sealed letter. The Wilton’s seal, now Lucie’s, with a mortar and pestle. ‘I received one as well,’ Ravenser said.

Owen went back down to the hall with an oil lamp and read of Joanna’s self-mutilation. Lucie asked whether Owen thought Joanna’s attack on herself might have been her response to her mother’s death. Owen tucked that idea in the back of his mind and read on: Lucie grew larger and clumsy, Sir Robert was proving a patient, helpful gardener, Jasper was to come stay for the eve and day of Corpus Christi; and Lucie had adopted a stray kitten, an orange tabby, whom Melisende disliked. Owen groaned. Melisende was intrusive enough in their small house. Why was Lucie adopting another cat? She wrote that she hoped Owen would take time to see Beverley Minster, which was said to be almost as beautiful as York Minster. By now she trusted he would desire a peaceful place where he might think. Owen smiled. She was right. And her concern was a comfort; a man could feel so alone. Lucie closed with the unexpected request that Owen check the grave in Beverley once more. ‘ “No one should suffer the grave before Death’s sleep”. . . it is very important, my love.’

Ravenser joined Owen. ‘You have read about Dame Joanna?’

Owen nodded. ‘Bad luck she has been unable to speak.’

‘The woman is dangerous. My uncle sees no difficulty in returning her to St Clement’s once we know all is safe, but I do not agree.’

‘His Grace is in York now?’

Ravenser shook his head. ‘At Windsor or Sheen on the King’s business, but he hopes to return shortly after you arrive. What do you think about the nun’s obsession with someone being buried alive?’

‘Lucie wrote of that to you?’ What had possessed her? Owen hid his anger with a shrug.

‘Jaro could not have been alive when they buried him.’

Ravenser frowned at the memory of the corpse. ‘I agree. I cannot see how one’s neck could be broken in the grave. So it is Dame Joanna’s own burial that haunts her?’

‘According to Edmund, she was not long in the ground. A few shovelfuls of earth over her. Can a momentary experience leave such a scar?’

‘Edmund told you this? The man who sleeps upstairs?’

‘He took part in the ruse.’ Owen rubbed his eyes, weary from days of journeying with the tension of Edmund’s spectral pursuers. ‘I have much to tell you. But Joanna’s obsession with someone buried alive – perhaps it should make me more uneasy, Sir Richard. How thoroughly did you examine Jaro?’

‘We opened the grave, cut open his shroud, noted the broken neck.’ Ravenser tilted his head to one side, leaned back in his chair. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘That I should take a look at that grave. And speak to the gravedigger.’

‘You doubt our thoroughness?’

‘They tell me Jaro was huge. Fat. Much could be hidden with such a corpse.’

Ravenser pressed the bridge of his nose. ‘I confess my own doubts on the matter.’ He closed his eyes, leaned his head back. ‘I shall attend you. When do you wish to proceed?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Ravenser whispered to himself. He opened his eyes, lifted his head. ‘I ask you to wait one more day, until the Corpus Christi revellers are safely gone. It is so crowded in the city at present that nothing can be accomplished without an audience.’

Owen agreed. ‘Tomorrow I shall speak with the gravedigger and the priest who buried Joanna.’

Ravenser nodded. ‘I shall arrange for them to come here.’

Owen tucked Lucie’s letter in his belt, slapped the arms of his chair and rose, stretching.

Ravenser smiled. ‘You are not comfortable sitting in a chair for long, are you?’

‘True enough. Years of campaigning. Gets the body out of the habit.’

‘I look forward to hearing about Scarborough in the morning.’

Alfred and Edmund were up long before Owen. He slept like the dead, finally waking when a servant came in with a cup of spiced wine and Ravenser’s request that Owen join him as soon as possible in his parlour. He would find bread and more wine in there.

The parlour walls, hung with embroidered panels in vibrant colours, caught Owen’s attention. No stories were depicted, rather the panels looked like the edges in illustrated manuscripts, particularly one, on which animals formed an alphabet. Owen had long ago given up any effort to be inconspicuous when he examined a room, his single eye making it necessary to turn his head this way and that like a bird.

Ravenser stood by the window, the shutter opened to let in a lovely breeze, and smiled at Owen’s study. ‘You like them?’

Owen sat down, pulled apart a small loaf of pandemain, took a bite and washed it down with wine. He sighed and settled back. ‘I do, but with reservation, Sir Richard. They draw me in, invite me to turn myself on my head to see all the fine features.’

‘Too distracting?’ Ravenser took a seat opposite Owen.

Owen nodded. ‘I should accomplish little work in this room.’

‘Perhaps that is why the Irish are so difficult to rule. They are too distracted with their dreams.’

‘These are Irish embroideries?’

‘I was up in Ireland for a short time.’

‘They say the Irish are much like us.’

‘I forgot. You are Welsh.’

‘Also difficult to rule. Also dreamers.’

Ravenser shrugged. ‘I want to hear about Captain Sebastian.’

Owen told him of the conversation in the church.

Ravenser sniffed. ‘Arrogant traitor. Why should such as he expect knighthood?’

‘He is an excellent captain, they say. Men have been knighted for less.’

Ravenser studied Owen. ‘But not you, eh? Ever resent that, Archer?’

Owen laughed. ‘A Welsh longbowman? Knighted? I was never fool enough to expect it.’

Ravenser did not join in the laughter. ‘Yet the old Duke and my uncle entrust you with delicate business. You are an odd one not to resent that.’

‘I have a good life, Sir Richard. Far better than I ever dreamed. What do I need with the responsibilities of paying for the mount, arms and livery of squires and soldiers?’

Ravenser grunted. ‘What of the stewards of Scarborough, the Percies? How did they behave?’

‘They have learned, I believe with the help of gold, to look away from the transgressions of the Accloms and Carters, the governing families of the town who happen to be smugglers and thieves. Sir William explained the need for compromise. If he did so with them, most like he also did so with Sebastian. And Sir William has not informed Matthew Calverley of his son’s murder. He thinks it was Accloms or Carters who ordered Hugh’s death. Best to remain silent.’

‘I see.’ Ravenser pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes. ‘You speak of a powerful family, Archer.’ A vein on one eyelid twitched.

‘Put aside what I have said if it disturbs you, Sir Richard. I offered it as an explanation, not a battle cry.’ Owen had no desire to take on extra investigations – he was ready to be done with them all.

Ravenser nodded, then glanced round to make sure no servants were present. ‘And what of Maddy’s murder?’

Owen told him about Jack. ‘I am sorry I let him get away. Edmund believes the man is following us, awaiting his opportunity to attack. Alfred and I are beginning to believe him.’

‘You have seen signs of pursuit?’

‘No. ’Tis just a sense of eyes at our backs.’

‘Good.’ Ravenser pushed his chair back from the table. ‘It is time we were off to St Mary’s.’

‘I thought the vicar was to come here.’

‘It appears that Thomas has an ague. We must speak with him in his bedchamber.’

Neither the priest nor the gravedigger had been forthcoming with any new information, though both recognised Edmund, which removed any doubts Owen might have had about Edmund’s story.

‘He stood there with his friend, very respectful, looking very sad,’ the priest said.

Before returning to Ravenser’s, Owen chose to walk from North Bar to Longford’s house with Edmund as guide. One of Joanna’s stories had been that she had lost her way. He wanted to see if that was likely. It was just Owen and Edmund on this pilgrimage. Alfred had been sent off to a tavern to sit quietly and hear what he might.

Edmund led Owen off the main street into a small churchyard. An oak shaded it, and a well tempted the thirsty. ‘This is where she lost the Magdalene medal. Stefan came here and retrieved it from the priest.’

‘Now there is someone who might have something interesting to say. How did Stefan find him?’

Edmund shrugged. ‘I did not accompany him. I never thought to ask.’

Owen stepped into the church, a cool, dark womb smelling of candle wax, incense, and damp stone. It reminded him of Lucie’s suggestion to seek quiet in the minster. He would do that later. An old woman knelt by a statue of Mary.

‘God be with you, good wife,’ Owen said. ‘I seek the priest of this church. Do you know where I might find him?’

‘He’d be at minster most days, being a canon,’ the woman said, never moving her eyes from the statue.

Owen had forgotten the priest might be a canon of Beverley. He could ask Ravenser about him. Back outside, Owen nodded to Edmund to lead on to Longford’s house. The way was not complicated. If Joanna had become lost, it was for some reason other than a few false turnings. The house was visible from the main street they had followed from North Bar.

Edmund stood by the door, watching Owen pace the main room. ‘What do you expect to find?’

‘Nothing. I am sure what is to be found here has been found. I just wanted to see it. See whether I might learn anything of Longford from his house.’