The Nun's Tale: An Owen Archer Mystery

by Candace Robb

  ‘I have travelled this way with the archbishop in those years,’ Alfred offered.

  His companions turned to him, surprised.

  Alfred ran a hand through his coarse, sand-coloured hair, making it stand up in random peaks. He seemed unaware that he should have offered this information long ago. ‘We twice came this way, once to join another party making for Whitby, once to meet with Sir William Percy at the castle. Between John and me, we can find our way to Scarborough.’

  ‘Twice over terrain does not make you sure-footed.’ Louth still had his doubts.

  ‘Meaning no disrespect, Sir Nicholas, twice as one of the forward party teaches you much about the lie of the land.’

  Owen and Ned agreed. Louth shrugged. ‘I do not have another plan to offer, so I must be content. But I shall pray all the more fervently tonight.’

  Contrary to Louth’s expectations, they passed through Pickering and Wykeham forests without mishap. John Percy did know his way, that was clear. And Alfred worked well with him. When the path forked and John hesitated, considering, Alfred would sniff the air and search the ground like a bloodhound. Between the two of them, the forks hardly slowed down the party.

  The boggy moorland proved more difficult. The wayside was laid with stone slabs to support the horses and donkeys slung with panniers that carried loads across the moorland, the rocks and bogs being too treacherous for carts. The company dismounted, their horses following the slabs, while the men cautiously trod the spongy ground alongside. It was slow going, and even worse when the slabs forked, for the road snaked round dangerous pools and outcroppings and it was not always the fork that seemed most direct that moved them towards their goal.

  Once they chose the wrong fork and rode on unaware until young John Percy’s horse reared. Concentrating on steadying his mount, John paid no heed to his footing and slid backwards into a bog. Alfred and Owen ran to his aid, fishing him out, while Ned calmed the horse and studied the cause of the near disaster. The horse had stepped onto a slab that teetered over the bog. The tip of what had once been the next slab could be seen sticking out of the muck. John wrapped himself in the blanket from his pack and gamely led the way back and onto the correct fork, determined to make it out of the bogs before dark. Louth pulled his own cloak closer about him and prayed for their deliverance from this hellish landscape.

  At sunset they could see the castle of Scarborough rising far to the east, seemingly carved out of the rocky headland. A magnificent and comforting sight, but too far to reach that night.

  ‘There is an inn just over the next rise,’ John said. ‘We should stop there for the night.’

  All agreed.

  The innkeeper’s surly greeting changed to a welcome when he recognised the Percy among them. ‘My father was groom at the castle as a lad. Sir Henry de Percy would let no one but my father touch the destrier that he rode against David the Bruce.’ He was even friendlier when he learned that the company travelled under Lancaster’s protection. The innkeeper led them to an airy sleeping loft, relatively clean, where they stored their packs, then provided a simple but hearty meal for them.

  Owen soon realised that they were most fortunate for the man’s interest. The inn filled quickly, and latecomers were given the bad news that there was no room. In fact, some travellers who had arrived earlier were being displaced by Owen’s party.

  Two of these unfortunates took exception to the news that they would be spending the night in the stables. A well scarred pair, their daggers notched and worn with use, they drew themselves up to full height and threatened the innkeeper, telling him they would upend everything not nailed down and skewer him on the signpost.

  Owen and Ned rose to reason with them. Doe-eyed, elegant Ned whipped two daggers seemingly out of the air and threw one at the upraised arm of one of the men, nailing his sleeve to an oak beam. As Ned slowly approached the man, he tossed the other dagger from hand to hand and grinned lazily. Owen stretched out a long leg and tripped the other man, then grabbed him by the collar and lifted him until only his toes touched the ground.

  Ned’s man looked uneasily at his mate, dangling in Owen’s grasp, then at the dagger that now rose and fell inches from him. ‘The stables will do us for tonight, gentlemen,’ he assured them.

  ‘And what do you say to our host?’ Owen asked.

  ‘We meant no harm. ’Twas the ale talking.’

  Ned pulled his dagger from the oak beam, touched the man’s startled face gently with the blade. ‘’Tis a wise man knows when he’s had his fill.’

  Owen released his catch, who stumbled again but jerked away from Owen’s steadying hand. Ned returned to the table, still tossing the daggers back and forth.

  ‘I grow eager to pass through the town gates,’ Louth muttered, wiping his brow.

  ‘Scarborough is a fair town, gentlemen,’ John Percy assured them. ‘My family are right proud to be stewards of the castle.’

  ‘From the bog I could see the great wall that snakes up the hill from the town and surrounds the keep,’ Louth said. ‘Perhaps it protects the castle folk from the town folk, eh? If it guards such a wild and lawless people …’

  John Percy grinned. ‘Aye, you’d be hard pressed to find a worse lot all in one place. Pirates, every one of ’em. Even the Accloms and Carters, who take turns as bailiffs. Ask your lord of Lancaster about them. He has had to put them straight once or twice. But where is the honour in defending something that is never threatened? The Percies embrace the challenge.’ He nodded to Ned. ‘That was fancy work with the daggers.’

  Ned flicked one out, tossed it, spinning, from hand to hand several times, then put it away. ‘It impresses the court ladies and discourages trouble. A worthwhile skill to develop, even if one has the formidable Percy clan behind one.’

  John Percy blushed, hearing the tease in Ned’s words.

  Owen grinned into his cup. It was good to be on the road with Ned. He felt alive.

  Scarborough was walled on three sides, the fourth being the harbour, but it had long ago outgrown the walls. Almost two hundred years earlier a wide, deep ditch had been dug to encircle a new outer wall, but sufficient funds had not been found to build it, and now houses straggled far outside the old ditch. Within the walls the timbered, gabled houses squeezed one atop the next, down steep streets that ended abruptly at the sands of the harbour. Crowding was such that solars and stalls stretched out even there – in every generation there were fools who built on the sands and foreshore and had their homes and shops washed away by the fierce storms of the North Sea. It did not stop them rebuilding; everyone wished to be within convenient reach of the lucrative pirate trade and the fairs and markets that set up on the sands of the harbour.

  As the company rode along the top ridge of streets to the castle walls, Owen stared down at the townspeople going about their business seemingly unaware of the steep incline, the growling sea below. Were they spiders that this dizzy slope bothered them so little? Or was it peculiarly disturbing to him, with his one-eyed balance? He did not ask the others, for to ask would be to admit his weakness. It was hard enough to know it himself. He just hoped that Hugh Calverley lived up in the castle precinct so he would not need to spend much time on the steep, narrow streets.

  The way from the outer gatehouse of Scarborough Castle to the inner bailey climbed steeply heavenward. Sir William Percy had given orders that the company be shown directly to his parlour when they arrived. He had been expecting them since Lancaster’s messenger had arrived three days past. And this morning he’d had word of a small company putting on a show in an inn outside the city gates; one of that company had sounded like his son John.

  Sir William studied Owen with interest. ‘You have been described as a one-eyed giant who held Tom Kemp off the ground while another of your company threw a dagger at John of Whitby, attaching him to a beam and frightening him so thoroughly he agreed to sleep out in the stables with his horse.’

  Owen laughed and nodded towards Ned. ‘The
two men wished to fight for the room. We merely desired to warm your son after a tumble in the bogs and to get a good night’s sleep. So Ned and I convinced those two to oblige us.’ He shrugged. ‘As you can see, I am no giant.’

  Sir William was shorter than Owen, but looked no less a soldier, sturdy and battle-scarred. He nodded at Owen. ‘I’d not call you a giant, ’tis true. But I can tell you keep the strength of an archer.’ He gestured to the travellers with a large, beringed hand. ‘I am pleased to welcome you all, though I admit to being ignorant of your mission. My lord Duke did not enlighten me in his message. Obviously business of a delicate nature. But I shall help you as I may. My lord Duke is a good friend to my cousins Henry and Thomas. First, however, you must break your fast.’ He clapped the servants into action and at once they set up a small table. ‘And John must attend his mother who is most anxious to see how he fares.’

  Ned slapped John on the back. ‘He’s a fine lad, Sir William. Led us straight and true and carried on even when soaked and bruised.’

  When the company had eaten their full of brown bread, cheese, a hearty broth and cold venison, the servants cleared the table and left the room. A shorter, wirier version of Sir William entered the room.

  Sir William motioned for the newcomer to sit. ‘My brother, Ralph.’

  Ralph Percy nodded to the company without lifting his eyes to them.

  Sir William leaned into the table. ‘Now. Tell us what the stewards of Scarborough can do for you.’

  Louth cleared his throat and bowed slightly to the two Percies. ‘We hope to find three men, one of whom – Hugh Calverley of Leeds – is in your service.’

  Sir William grunted, frowned over at his brother, shrugged back at Louth. ‘I can show you where we buried him.’

  ‘Hugh Calverley is dead?’

  Sir William nodded.

  ‘How did he die?’ Louth’s disappointment rang in his voice.

  ‘Servant found him lying in a puddle of blood in front of his own fire. House had been searched, everything turned over, out of place. Someone looking for booty, no doubt.’ Sir William shook his head.

  Louth looked to Owen.

  ‘When did this happen?’ Owen asked.

  Sir William closed his eyes, screwed up his face. ‘I recall something in the service at his grave about St Ambrose.’ Early April.

  ‘Shortly after Will Longford disappeared,’ Louth muttered.

  Ralph turned beady eyes on Louth. ‘Longford?’

  ‘Aye,’ Owen said. ‘The man Hugh tried to catch for you.’

  Sir William nodded. ‘Was a time he came often to Scarborough, disappeared into the town with uncanny ease. We set Hugh to catch Longford in his game. Too slippery. Knew Hugh was up to something before the boy learned a thing.’ He downed some ale. ‘You think he came after Hugh? After so much time?’

  Owen shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘What else do you know about Longford?’ Sir William asked Owen.

  ‘Little more than that. We are here to discover what we can about him.’

  Sir William sat back, arms folded, one of his pointy eyebrows cocked. ‘Perhaps you should just tell us all of your business.’

  Owen nodded to Nicholas de Louth, who did not look pleased with the request. But he complied, giving a brief, clear account of the peculiar events of the past year.

  Sir William shook his head over the tale of Joanna Calverley. He nodded enthusiastically at Lancaster’s connecting Captain Sebastian with the soldiers Joanna had seen. ‘I would fain know where she saw them. We had word of Sebastian and his company crossing the Channel to recruit men. We have looked for their gathering place. Hugh searched for it. How is it his sister knew of it and he did not tell us?’

  ‘How well did you know Hugh?’ Owen asked.

  ‘He was not a boon companion, if that is what you ask. I never looked into his heart. But he dug a few Frenchmen and Scots out from under the rocks hereabouts. Did well for me.’

  Owen had not thought they would know Hugh well. He’d been a lackey, expendable. They were Percies, above everyone else in the town. ‘Your son had some trouble with him.’

  Sir William frowned, displeased. ‘John whined about it?’

  ‘No. I had asked what he knew of Hugh Calverley. He told me of the incident.’

  ‘It was a lesson John needed to learn. Hugh was not openly connected with the castle.’

  Owen nodded. ‘We have told you of Hugh’s sister. Did Joanna come looking for Hugh in late winter-early spring? A red-haired woman? Green eyes. Pretty.’

  Sir William looked to his brother.

  ‘Hugh said nothing about a sister, but he was a quiet one.’ Ralph frowned, drew his brows together. He had no right earlobe and a scar on that side of his neck told the tale of a near fatal sword blow. ‘But Hugh was away round that time. Perhaps he met her somewhere else.’

  ‘Away?’

  At last Ralph looked Owen in the eye. ‘He was gone for ten days or so not long before his murder. Said he was hunting down a man who might lead him to Captain Sebastian. He was always looking for folk he thought would lead him to the captain. Got a bit single-minded about Sebastian.’ Ralph shook his head. ‘Good luck to you in finding the man.’ Ralph Percy gave an ill-humoured grin, looked down at the floor. It was obvious he had done with them.

  Sir William made a conciliatory gesture. ‘It is possible Hugh was murdered because he had got close to Sebastian – but he had not found him. Or if he had, he had not yet told us.’

  ‘Where had Hugh gone?’

  Sir William shook his head. ‘He came and went all the time. I never felt the need to watch him.’

  ‘Who went with him?’

  ‘His two men.’

  ‘They are your men also?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Unusual practice.’

  Sir William took another drink.

  ‘I should like to speak with Hugh’s men.’

  Sir William looked down at his boots. Ralph Percy was left to explain. ‘They did not return with him, as far as I know. He came back without his quarry and without his men.’

  Owen sat with his back pressing against the wall, his long legs stretched out to the side of the table. Sir William and his brother Ralph were fighting men. He understood them. He could tell that at that moment Sir William was uncomfortable and angry with his brother. ‘Tell us about Hugh, if you would, Sir William. What was he like?’

  Sir William raised puzzled eyes to Owen.

  ‘You’re wondering why I ask such a question about a soldier?’ Owen said.

  ‘Most folk do not wonder about a soldier’s character, just his strength, his skill with weapons, his courage, his trustworthiness.’

  ‘A good place to begin. I assume you would not have used Hugh had you not trusted him.’

  ‘He proved eager to do my bidding. I tried him sorely with the Sebastian seal. He failed, but he did not tuck his tail between his legs and cower away. He asked for another chance to prove himself. Courage. Perseverance. Good soldierly qualities.’

  ‘You never doubted his loyalty?’

  Sir William tucked his chin in and frowned up through his eyebrows. ‘Should I have doubted it?’

  Owen shrugged. ‘Did he ever do anything to make you doubt him?’

  ‘Nay.’ His voice went up at the end of the word – with doubt?

  ‘But there was something about him that made you pause.’

  Ralph snorted. ‘Pause? Nay, run, by God. The man had a temper. Never cross him, that’s what his partners learned. So we let him choose his own men.’

  ‘He killed partners?’

  ‘No,’ Sir William said quickly, silencing his brother with a stern look. ‘No,’ Sir William repeated, this time softly, pleasantly, with a smile to Owen. ‘He fought with them. Came to blows. Afterwards they preferred to work with someone else. Said his temper flared with no spark that they could see. They were … uneasy about him.’

  ‘Word gets round the barracks and no o
ne will partner him.’ Ned nodded. ‘I’ve known some like that.’

  Sir William looked grateful. ‘But we never had reports of his turning on us, if I understand that to be your question.’

  Owen nodded. ‘Where did he find the two who disappeared?’

  Both men shrugged.

  ‘You were not concerned?’

  ‘They looked as if they would fight well,’ Ralph said. ‘’Twas enough.’

  Owen decided to ignore their puzzling indifference for now. ‘Hugh lived alone, did he?’

  ‘Aye,’ Ralph nodded. ‘A small house up on the bluffs south of here. Well hidden.’

  ‘Did he have a woman?’

  Sir William shrugged. ‘We would not know that.’

  ‘Servants?’

  ‘Harry, his manservant. He’s round here somewhere. Want to speak with him?’

  ‘I do indeed.’

  Owen leaned over towards Ralph. ‘You did nothing about his murder, did you?’

  Ralph looked up, startled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You did not ask around about it, try to piece it together. You thought it was one of his old mates, didn’t you? Perhaps the two missing men?’

  Ralph snorted. ‘And who would have cared?’

  ‘Why have you said nothing to his father about his murder?’

  Ralph reddened.

  Sir William coughed. ‘We have not had a messenger headed for Leeds since then.’

  Owen grinned.

  Louth looked at him, puzzled.

  Owen shrugged. ‘Can you find Harry for us?’

  Sir William nodded to Ralph, who departed without a word.

  The middle-aged Harry was hard of hearing. Owen sat close to him and spoke loudly into his ear. ‘Was there any trouble at the house before Hugh Calverley died?’

  Harry grinned a devilish grin. ‘A pretty redhead. Aye.’

  ‘He doesn’t understand,’ Louth said softly.

  Owen ignored him. ‘A woman visited him?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Called him brother.’ He rolled his expressive eyes.

  ‘What was her name?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Never gave it.’