The Nun's Tale: An Owen Archer Mystery

by Candace Robb

  ‘Jasper is coming along quickly in his studies.’

  ‘I look forward to the day when he is back with us,’ Lucie said. ‘I think he will be a good apprentice. He is quick and level-headed.’

  ‘He is fond of Captain Archer.’

  ‘They have spent much time together. Owen has been readying Jasper to master the longbow.’

  ‘Your husband possesses an odd mix of talents.’

  ‘Indeed he does.’ Lucie’s eyes kept returning to the blue mantle on the fresco. ‘You have of course heard of the furore over the blue mantle Joanna keeps by her?’

  Campian smiled. ‘Ah yes. Rumours of miracles.’

  ‘Are they all – the holy relics, I mean – are they all …’ Lucie could not say it.

  The abbot nodded, understanding her unvoiced questions. ‘Are they what we claim?’

  Lucie waited.

  The abbot folded his hands and studied them. ‘We pray that they are, Mistress Wilton. And if they perform a miracle or two, it must be so, must it not?’ He raised his eyes to hers.

  ‘Do you ever doubt? I am thinking of the fuss at St Clement’s.’

  Campian sighed.

  ‘Forgive me for that question.’

  Campian’s eyes looked sad though his mouth smiled. ‘We would not preach so much of faith if we expected the faithful never to doubt, Mistress Wilton.’

  A far more honest answer than Lucie had expected. ‘Thank you, Father.’

  Seventeen

  Vengeance Interrupted

  The house that Hugh Calverley had found so intriguing was a house like any other: wattle and daub, waxed parchment windows that would hum and thrum in a North Sea gale, a jutting second storey, a heavy oak door. The door was a wrong-headed attempt at security, for beside it were patches in the wall where intruders had found the wattle and daub easier to break through.

  Harry had led Owen, Ned, and Alfred to the house the previous night. They had sent Harry back to the castle and settled in for a long watch, crouching in the shadows, alert to every sound in the street – the skitter of rats, the splash of night waste, the hesitant steps of drunks and thieves out after curfew. But no one had showed an interest in the house. No one had entered, no one had left. It had appeared deserted.

  Tonight was different. Early in the evening a pale glow through a rear window had suggested occupation. When the darkness was complete and the street deserted, Owen motioned Ned to one side of the door and stationed himself on the other side. His ear to the narrow opening, Owen listened, his dagger ready. Ned leaned towards him, pointed to himself, to Owen’s shoulders, and then to the upper storey. Owen nodded. Ned took off his sword belt, handed it to Alfred, put one of his daggers in his mouth. Owen crouched down, hands on knees. Ned climbed onto his shoulders and Owen rose slowly. With his dagger, Ned poked at the waxed parchment, puncturing it, then sliced slowly, trying to be quiet. It was not a silent procedure, requiring some sawing of the waxed and weathered hide, but it was not a noise that the listener would necessarily find alarming. When Ned judged he had a sufficient opening, he tapped for Owen to lift him higher. Owen took Ned’s ankles, lifted. Ned grabbed the top of the frame, lifted his feet, and slipped them through the opening in the parchment, ripping it wider as his body followed.

  Down in the street, someone else had judged the night now to be sufficiently advanced for stealth. He slipped towards Owen and Alfred, dipping in and out of doorways.

  ‘Is there some way to warn Ned?’ Alfred whispered. Owen shook his head and pulled Alfred with him into the deep shadow across the street. The man checked round the house, then pressed his ear to the wall beside the front door and listened for a long while. At last he moved to the door, crouched down, slipped his dagger in the crack by the door, moved it up slowly, slowly, and at last gently pulled. The door opened silently. The man knew the workings of the door, that was plain.

  When he had slipped inside, Owen and Alfred crept towards the house. A cry came from within, the sound of a struggle, shouting. Fearing it might be Ned, Owen rushed in. Two men stood in the middle of the room, daggers in hand, circling each other, loudly cursing. One bled from a slice high on his arm. Ned was up above them, crouched at the top of the ladder; he nodded to Owen.

  The bleeding man noticed Owen and gave a shout, then dashed into the back room. Owen rushed after him while, with a cry, Ned leaped down and knocked the other backwards.

  Alfred took off after Owen, but they were both too late. The bleeding man had disappeared down the dark back alley.

  When they returned, Ned was busy tying his captive’s hands.

  Owen picked up the lantern that lit the room, opened its shutter all the way, and went off to search the house for more intruders or clues as to whom it belonged. The house was simply furnished: in the upper sleeping loft, a pallet and a chest which was empty; downstairs, a trestle table and two benches in the front room, two pallets and another chest in the back room. The latter chest held a man’s clothes. Nothing to give Owen any idea why Longford had visited the house or who the two men were.

  Owen returned to the front room. ‘Time for a walk up to the castle.’ He shined the lantern on Ned’s captive. Ned yanked the man up by his tied hands. He bled from the nose and mouth. Owen found a rag and wiped his face.

  ‘Come on, stand up,’ Ned said, jerking the man off his knees.

  The man stood, but kept his head down, as if hiding his face. He was of average height, but stocky, broad-chested, with muscular arms and legs. He was the one who had stolen into the house while Alfred and Owen had watched. The other had been tall and skinny.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Owen asked. The man did not respond.

  Alfred grabbed him by the hair, jerked his face up, stared. ‘Murdering bastard!’ Alfred shouted and got in two punches, one in the mouth, one in the groin, before Owen got him off the man.

  ‘I cannot have you silencing him, Alfred. We need to talk to him.’ Owen put the lantern down on the table and helped the man back onto his feet, wiped his face again.

  ‘You killed Colin, you bastard,’ Alfred shouted, lunging towards him again.

  Owen pushed Alfred away, walked the man over to the lantern light. ‘So you are the man who was watching St Clement’s?’ He studied the man. Dark, thinning hair, bushy eyebrows. That was about all he could tell at present, with the swelling and bleeding. ‘Perhaps you would tell us your name so we can call you something other than bastard.’

  ‘What good will that do you?’ The man’s words slurred round his swollen tongue. He coughed. ‘I was not the one killed his friend.’

  ‘What was your purpose here tonight?’

  ‘Unfinished business.’

  ‘Are you one of Captain Sebastian’s men?’

  He stared at the floor.

  Owen shrugged. ‘Someone at the castle will know you.’

  Hugh Calverley’s manservant identified him as Edmund, one of Captain Sebastian’s men. He guessed the escaped man to be Jack, often in Edmund’s company. Harry knew nothing else of use.

  ‘So what is this unfinished business between two of Sebastian’s men?’ Owen asked.

  Edmund’s dark eyes were wild with fear. ‘You have killed me, breaking in before I could finish him. Letting him escape.’

  ‘You meant to kill Jack?’

  ‘Or die in the attempt.’

  ‘On Sebastian’s orders?’

  Edmund pressed his lips together and said nothing, but his eyes burned into Owen.

  Two of Percy’s retainers took Edmund off to clean his wounds and keep him under guard.

  While Ned and Owen slept, Louth went down to the house with some of Percy’s men and searched it. They found a jacket with a St Sebastian emblem sewn inside; in a small chest hidden behind panelling they found gold coins and a St Sebastian seal. All in all, proof of little except that they were on the right track.

  Ned, Louth, and Owen summoned Edmund to a meeting.

  Louth presented the jacket. Edmund shrugg
ed. ‘Folk put all sorts of patterns on their clothing. I favour a plain fashion, myself. As you can see.’

  Louth showed him the chest with the seal. Owen noted that Edmund looked less comfortable. ‘A nice piece of metalworking.’

  Louth pretended to study it for the first time, holding it up to a lamp, turning it this way and that. ‘Indeed. Quite skilful.’ Sir William Percy had noted it was not exactly the same as the one Hugh had lost to Longford.

  Owen grew impatient. ‘We believe it belongs to a Captain Sebastian, whom the King has sent us to find. You can point us towards him.’

  Edmund’s eyes widened. ‘King Edward sent you?’ His tone was less surly.

  Louth nodded.

  ‘Captain Sebastian must be important.’

  Louth shrugged. ‘There are many ways in which to be important. Your captain is about to fight on the wrong side of his King. An unpleasant sort of importance.’

  ‘What is that to me?’ Edmund’s face was round, almost childish, though his thinning hair refuted youth. His voice was low and soft. His manner, now that he was not attacking, almost courteous. His thick brows arched as he tried to keep his face impassive. A futile effort, for his eyes were expressive.

  Louth held up the King’s letter.

  Owen noticed that Edmund’s eyes roamed over the letter, stopping nowhere. ‘You cannot read?’

  Edmund blushed. ‘I’m no clerk. Neither are you, I’d wager.’

  Owen grinned. ‘You are right that I am no clerk, but wager I cannot read and you would be out some money.’ He sat close to Edmund, stretched out his legs, folded his arms across his chest. ‘So you’re no clerk. What are you, then?’

  Edmund shifted his eyes back and forth, as if remembering a rehearsed answer, which came after too long a pause to be believed. ‘A shipwright.’

  Owen looked Edmund up and down. On his face, neck and hands his fair skin was freckled from the sun and his hands were calloused, but he did not look weathered enough to be a shipwright. Owen noted another usefully readable part of Edmund’s anatomy, his mouth, which puckered when he was not comfortable with what he had just said, as now. But Owen pretended to take his reply seriously. ‘A shipwright. I suppose that is a common trade here. And you were in York watching St Clement’s for – Let’s see. Perhaps the sisters owe money on a ship you built them?’

  Edmund looked down at his feet, pressed his lips together.

  Louth looked from Owen to Edmund, puzzled.

  Owen let the silence drag on.

  After several minutes in which nervous sweat slicked down the sparse hairs at his temples, Edmund lifted his troubled eyes and asked, ‘What does the King offer Captain Sebastian?’

  Owen nodded towards Ned, who came forward with a leather money pouch, shook it.

  Edmund tilted his head, considering the weight. ‘Show me.’

  Ned opened the pouch, shook a few gold coins into his hand.

  Edmund raised an eyebrow. ‘The King is so generous to a would-be traitor?’

  Ned put the coins back in the pouch. ‘The King allows that the captain might not realise this is a treasonous act,’ Ned said. ‘And, in truth, Captain Sebastian and his men are of more use to the King fighting for Don Pedro than hanging from a gibbet.’

  Edmund took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘The King is wise.’

  Ned grinned. ‘So you admit to knowing Captain Sebastian?’

  Edmund wiped his forehead. ‘What would it be worth to me?’

  Owen leaned back, looked up at the ceiling, scratched his tidy Norman beard. ‘Your life?’ He brought his eye back down to Edmund. ‘Would that suit you?’

  Edmund hunched his shoulders, looked down at his hands. ‘I do not know how this game is played.’

  Dangerously honest for the role he had taken on. Owen stood, looked out of the high, recessed window, hands clasped behind him.

  Louth, uncomfortable with silences, took over. ‘You killed one of the archbishop’s retainers as he was escorting you to a meeting with the archbishop, Edmund. Your life was not threatened. So you murdered a man for no cause, a man who wore the livery of the archbishop, who also happens to be our King’s chancellor. Such a deed is punishable by death. But if you assist us in the matter of Captain Sebastian, we shall perhaps spare your life.’

  Edmund’s eyes shone with fear. ‘I tell you I did not kill him. I merely ran to the men who were to help me if I got caught.’

  ‘You led him to his death then,’ Owen said quietly.

  Edmund hung his head.

  Owen resumed his seat, leaned towards Edmund confidentially. ‘What was it you wanted at St Clement’s that you did not dare speak with the archbishop?’

  Edmund crossed his arms, clenched his jaw.

  Owen smelled his fear. ‘Why did you attack Jack? Was he with you in York?’

  ‘What will you do with me?’

  ‘That depends. Will you help us, Edmund? For the freedom to walk down into the town on your own?’

  Edmund, eyes still fixed on his feet, sighed. ‘That you cannot do for me. Once Jack tells the captain that I attacked him, I will be marked for death myself.’

  ‘Why did you attack him?’

  ‘He is a murderous devil.’

  ‘Some folk might say the same of you.’

  Edmund shrugged.

  ‘So what do you want from us, Edmund? Protection from Jack?’

  The expressive eyes slid sideways. ‘I no longer know whom to trust.’

  Owen decided to change the subject for now. ‘Where is Will Longford?’

  Edmund’s eyes shifted from Owen to Louth to Ned and back to Owen. ‘You do not know where he has gone either?’

  Owen ignored the question. ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Last time I saw him in Beverley.’ Edmund tried a smile.

  ‘You think to charm us with your wit?’ Owen did not smile.

  ‘When did you last see Longford in Beverley?’ Louth asked.

  Edmund stared at his shoes.

  ‘Who owns the house we followed you into last night?’ Owen changed tack.

  ‘Captain Sebastian.’

  Owen cheered up. ‘Indeed. Does he ever stay there?’

  ‘The captain is no fool.’ Edmund studied his dirty nails. ‘What is your interest in Will Longford?’

  ‘Sir Nicholas found a letter in his house from Bertrand du Guesclin, the French king’s constable. I should like to talk to Longford about du Guesclin.’

  ‘As I said, Longford’s disappeared. I don’t know where he’s gone.’

  ‘When did he disappear?’

  Edmund pressed his hands together to keep them still. ‘Longford and his man Jaro were expected here in late April and they never arrived.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Captain Sebastian sent me to Beverley to remind them. But they were not there. No one had seen them.’

  Owen caught Louth’s eye, motioned for silence, turned back to Edmund. ‘So you went to Longford’s house. Did you search it?’

  A pained look passed over Edmund’s face. He nodded. ‘After –’ He dropped his head, put a hand to his forehead. ‘Yes. I went through the house.’

  ‘After what, Edmund?’ Louth’s voice was sharp with tension.

  Edmund sat there for a few minutes, head in hand. The guard opened the door to a servant carrying a pitcher and four tankards. A table was set up between Edmund and his questioners, the pitcher and tankards placed on it. The servant bowed and backed out, the guard closed the door. And still Edmund sat. Owen poured the ale, offered one to Edmund.

  Edmund took it with shaking hands, held it up to his mouth with both hands, drank, set it back down, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘The maid. Jack killed her.’ Louth moaned. ‘Acting on no one’s orders. To clear the way for the search, he said. She was not important, he said.’ Edmund’s eyes were haunted.

  ‘Who is this Jack?’ Owen asked.

  ‘That bastard you let flee last night.’

  ‘And he was your partner?’
r />   ‘No. Well, of late I have worked with him. I did not know him well, and I sent him in first, never thinking –’ Edmund grabbed up the tankard, took another, long drink.

  ‘It was not because Maddy was wrapped in a mantle and mistaken for Dame Joanna?’ Louth asked.

  Edmund shook his head. ‘How do you know when such a devil crouches in the shell of what seems to be an ordinary soldier?’

  ‘Captain Sebastian sent him with you?’ Ned asked.

  Edmund nodded.

  ‘Have you told him what Jack did?’ Owen asked.

  ‘I have. He said that it was in the nature of a good soldier to act ruthlessly when needed, that I was too womanly in my aversion to such acts.’

  ‘The unfeeling bastard!’ Louth hissed.

  Owen had heard such theories before. The old Duke had not tolerated such captains; he’d said that such an attitude was an incompetent captain’s substitute for good sense and courage. In Owen’s experience, it might also hide a deeper motive. Perhaps it had been the mantle that signed Maddy’s death warrant. Perhaps Captain Sebastian had ordered Jack to kill Dame Joanna; no need for Edmund to know. ‘Did you find what you sought in Longford’s house?’ Owen asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What was it?’

  Edmund was silent.

  Some loyalty to Captain Sebastian remained? ‘And then you followed Dame Joanna to St Clement’s?’

  Edmund drew himself up, looked Owen in the eye. ‘I have been thinking all night. As you see, the captain is unhappy with me. And will be more so when Jack gets to him. I cannot bring Captain Sebastian to you. But I will tell you what I can.’

  ‘What do you ask in return?’

  ‘Information about Joanna Calverley.’

  Owen cocked his head to one side. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Has a man been to see her in York? Fair-haired. Handsome.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No one has been to see her?’

  ‘As far as I know, the only one who tried was you, Edmund. Why do you ask?’

  Edmund watched a spider moving towards him, reached out with his foot, crushed it. ‘She disappeared with my partner.’