The Nun's Tale: An Owen Archer Mystery

by Candace Robb

  Alfred snickered, but Owen did not laugh. ‘How long ago?’

  The guard stood to attention. ‘Just moments.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Aye. Unless he was trying to catch up with the three who came through earlier.’

  ‘What three?’

  The guard shrugged. ‘Said they were your men, coming to report on the nun.’

  Damn it, Edmund was walking right into a trap. ‘Armed?’

  The guard dropped his head, rubbed his chin. ‘Aye. Daggers and swords.’

  ‘One of them fair-haired, thin, with crooked teeth?’

  The guard nodded.

  Owen and Alfred hurried out of the gate, Alfred muttering that it was proof Edmund had murdered Colin and was using his friends once more to escape his punishment.

  As they came through Bootham Bar, Owen spun round and snapped, ‘Stop judging him before you know the facts! You talk like a simpleton sometimes. I despair of you.’

  Silenced and sullen, Alfred trudged down Petergate behind Owen. But he perked up when Owen slowed and whispered, ‘Trouble ahead.’

  Two men were piling apples into a lopsided cart just past Lop Lane. Owen noted their clothing – the subtle livery of Captain Sebastian. He glanced down Lop Lane, wondering if they had tricked Edmund into heading that way. But the overturned cart was an old trick that Edmund should not have fallen for.

  The men from the cart saw Owen’s patch and froze, then leaped over the apples and came for him and Alfred. The four circled each other, daggers ready; but when the Bootham gatekeeper spied the trouble and came running, Sebastian’s men tried to bolt down Lop Lane. Owen and Alfred gave chase, and by the time the gatekeeper reached them they had wrestled the men to the ground and were busy binding their hands.

  ‘Where’s Jack?’ Owen demanded of one.

  Despite his bound hands and Owen’s dagger at his throat, the man sneered, his resistance unwavering.

  Owen swore and sheathed his dagger. ‘We waste time, Alfred. Come along.’ They left the men in the custody of the gatekeeper and turned down Lop Lane. In the dark, Owen paused, listened. He heard the grunts of wrestlers up ahead. Signalling Alfred to stay right behind him, Owen crept forward, his dagger drawn. At the Blake Street crossing two figures struggled, daggers flashing. Owen flattened himself against the corner building, shadowed by the second storey overhang, and watched the two men.

  As one of them twisted away from his opponent with a cry of pain, Owen recognised Edmund. The other man had firm hold of Edmund’s arm and bent it behind him to pull him back, then throw him down on the ground. It was Jack, ugly Jack from Scarborough, little Maddy’s murderer.

  As Jack stomped on Edmund’s back and tossed his dagger aside to grab his sword, Alfred started. ‘The scabbard at that bastard’s waist,’ he hissed in Owen’s ear. ‘Matches the dagger I had off Colin’s murderer.’ Before Owen could hold him back, Alfred leaped out, his sword drawn, and with a blood-chilling cry charged Jack, who spun round to face his attacker. Alfred chopped down on the murderer’s unshielded shoulder just as Jack sliced into Alfred’s side.

  When Lucie opened the shop door, her face deathly white with fear, Owen cursed himself for coming straight here without first cleaning off the blood. ‘Thank Heaven you’re alive,’ Lucie cried, throwing her arms round Owen. ‘How badly are you hurt?’

  He felt her trembling. ‘I am unharmed,’ he lied. But she discovered his bleeding hand soon enough. ‘It is nothing. A struggle with an apple cart. It is Edmund and Alfred who need attention.’

  Lucie led them all back to the kitchen, where Tildy was already stoking the fire. ‘Jasper has gone for water.’

  ‘See to Alfred first,’ Edmund said, sinking down onto a bench. ‘My wounds are less serious and far more deserved.’

  Jasper struggled in with a bucket of water. With huge eyes he looked round at the bleeding men and crossed himself.

  ‘We are not half as bad as we look, lad,’ Owen assured him.

  ‘Come, Jasper,’ Tildy said. ‘Bring the water, then see to the Captain’s hand.’

  Jasper cleaned Owen’s palm with a calendula astringent, then applied an adder’s tongue poultice and wound a clean cloth round his hand.

  Owen was amazed by the boy’s gentle assurance. ‘You have learned much from Lucie and Wulfstan.’

  Jasper nodded, but did not take his eyes from his work. ‘I think this will heal quickly,’ he said solemnly.

  Lucie and Tildy packed Alfred’s deep wound with a blood-stanching paste and bandaged it. But Lucie was not confident. ‘He needs Wulfstan’s care, Owen. We must get him there today.’

  ‘I can go nowhere until I answer to the bailiff.’ Owen slumped on a bench beside Edmund. ‘We have broken the peace of York. A man is dead – we must answer for it.’ He turned to Edmund. ‘You must answer for it. What possessed you to wander the streets alone this morning? And to fall for that old trick! Did you not recognise your own livery?’

  Edmund’s face was as white as Lucie’s. ‘I was not looking for trouble. I was thinking of Stefan, bobbing on the tide.’ He closed his eyes. ‘About myself I care naught.’

  ‘So Stefan is dead?’ Lucie asked.

  ‘I have no doubt.’ While Tildy held a hot compress to Edmund’s aching shoulder, he told Owen and Lucie of his resolve after hearing Joanna’s confession.

  ‘What confession?’ Lucie demanded.

  Owen told her what he knew. Edmund added some details.

  Lucie rose from Alfred’s side, pressing her fists into the small of her back. ‘Sweet Heaven! And yet there are still so many questions. What of the seal of St Sebastian? Joanna said “we needed but the seal”. Who did she mean by “we”?’

  Owen did not like Lucie’s energy. ‘You will stay put while I am with the bailiff?’

  But Lucie did not respond, busy tsking over Edmund’s wounds.

  Twenty-three

  Mary Magdalene

  Lucie paced the kitchen, from the open door to the fireplace, while Bess sat at the table, stripping mint branches. Lucie sighed. ‘So many answers, yet still so many questions. If Stefan loved Joanna as Edmund claims, why would he have murdered the brother she loved so much?’

  Bess put aside her work and brought a pitcher of ale down from a shelf. ‘You must be in need of this. I am.’ She poured a cup of ale, passed it to Lucie, poured one for herself, drank. Her nose and cheeks flushed with the impact of her husband’s strong brew. ‘Thank the Lord for my Tom.’ She grinned at Lucie. ‘What are you thinking?’

  Lucie stood by the window, cup in hand, frowning. ‘Of what did Hugh and Joanna speak when they met? I must know that.’

  Bess grunted. ‘’Tis curious, isn’t it? She was so angry with her brother for leaving without a word, still begrudging his deserting her years ago. What were those two up to?’

  Lucie slowly lifted the cup to her mouth, but paused, lowered it. ‘And the medal, Bess. Mary Magdalene. Such a curious patron saint for a girl of thirteen. The patron saint of repentant sinners. Of what sin was Hugh thinking when he gave her that medal?’ Lucie began to pace again. ‘I assumed that Matthew Calverley was right, that his wife despaired of Hugh and Joanna because of her family taint. But might it have been something else? Something Hugh and Joanna had done?’

  Bess took another long drink, her eyes faraway. She nodded. ‘And they meant to run off together.’

  Lucie finally sat down opposite Bess and sipped her ale, staring into her friend’s face, seeing her own questions mirrored in Bess’s shrewd eyes. ‘Why did Stefan kill Hugh and not just capture him? He made enemies, doing that.’ Lucie put the cup down, pressed the heels of her hands into her brows. What else? Something niggled at the back of her mind. ‘Stefan would have spied on Hugh and Joanna before he went into Hugh’s house. What did he see that threw him into a murderous rage?’ Lucie met Bess’s frank look and nodded. ‘“Noli me tangere.” Who said that to Joanna?’

  Bess tapped Lucie’s cup with hers. ‘Why did she r
un away with Stefan and then murder him?’ A knowing nod.

  ‘Where is Daimon?’

  ‘He and Sir Robert went to St George’s Field. They will return soon.’

  Lucie found it difficult to wait for an escort, but it was no use arriving at St Mary’s before Joanna woke.

  Sir Robert returned early from St George’s Field, exhausted, admitting his age. Bess rose from her seat. ‘Come, Sir Robert. Let us go back to the tavern and rest. Lucie has business with Daimon. Some heavy lifting.’ Bess winked at Lucie.

  When Bess had led Sir Robert safely away, Lucie asked Daimon to escort her to the abbey. He agreed at once, eager to oblige her in any way.

  But for the church bells the city was quieter on Sunday than on other days. People moved about the streets, but they did so in more measured paces. It was midday, the sun warm on Lucie’s back as she crossed the abbey grounds. She noticed little of her surroundings, rehearsing in her head how she would confront Joanna.

  Prudentia rose from Joanna’s bedside as Lucie entered and hurried over, her hands outspread, her ruddy face crumpled in distress. ‘God help her, Joanna will take neither food nor drink today, Mistress Wilton. She says she must die now. That it is Our Lady’s wish. You must reason with her.’

  Lucie assured the infirmaress that she would try. ‘And you must have some food and rest. Go now. I shall watch over her.’

  ‘I should stay with her.’

  ‘God go with you, Dame Prudentia,’ Lucie said firmly. ‘I wish to speak with her alone.’

  ‘Ah.’ Prudentia was suddenly all smiles. ‘Then I shall of course leave you with her.’ She shuffled off in good cheer.

  Joanna lay on the bed with the medal pressed to her heart, her eyes fastened on Lucie. ‘I have confessed my sins. You have heard?’ Her voice was hoarse.

  Lucie took a seat beside the bed, dipped a spoon into the cup of wine the infirmarian had poured for Joanna, grabbed Joanna’s jaw with one hand, pressed the spoon to Joanna’s closed mouth. Joanna tried to turn away, but Lucie held her firmly. ‘You shall drink this, Joanna, for we must talk.’

  Joanna pressed her lips together.

  ‘Must I bring in Daimon to pry open your mouth? For I shall, Joanna, so help me God. You should be grateful that I have discovered your secret, the sin you have not confessed. If you died without confessing it, you would die in a state of sin, not of grace.’

  Joanna relaxed her jaw, accepted the spoon, coughing as the liquid trickled down her dry throat.

  Lucie nodded, sat back. ‘When you wish for more, ask.’

  Joanna studied Lucie’s face. ‘What secret?’

  ‘I speak of that sin of which you repented all those years ago. Of which that medal is a symbol.’

  Joanna’s eyes went cold.

  Lucie took a deep breath. ‘How young were you when you and Hugh became lovers, Joanna?’

  Joanna clutched the medal.

  ‘Young enough not to know what you did? Incest is not a venial sin, Joanna. Did Hugh rape you?’

  Joanna’s eyes widened. She lifted her head from the pillow. ‘Rape?’ She gave a surprised little laugh. ‘Did your captain need to rape you? I think not. I think you rejoiced when you saw the hunger in his eye.’ She lay back down with a conspiratorial smile. ‘And why not love my brother? Why should I be denied perfection because I was his sister? You think your captain is handsome.’ She waved away anticipated protests. ‘Hugh was more handsome still. Strong, brave, everything a man should be. I adored him.’ Joanna shrugged her eyebrows. ‘That, too, is sinful.’

  Lucie wondered about this new mood. ‘Then you did plan to run away together?’

  Joanna’s eyes were teasing one moment, filled with tears the next, though she tried to keep the smile frozen on her face. ‘We were off to France.’ A sob escaped. Joanna dabbed at her eyes. The smile vanished. ‘But he was not perfection. What he did to Will Longford –’ She shook her head, closed her eyes. Her paleness worried Lucie. Even Joanna’s lips were chalky. Lucie offered her the cup of wine. Joanna drank with one eye on Lucie. ‘I could not confess this sin to Brother Wulfstan.’

  Odd that Brother Wulfstan inspired a timidity in Joanna. No one else seemed to. ‘You are attempting to commit an even more serious sin – to end your life.’

  ‘It is Our Lady’s wish.’

  Lucie knew the futility of arguing Joanna out of her delusion. ‘What did Hugh want with the seal of St Sebastian?’

  Joanna looked surprised. ‘I have just told you my brother and I were lovers. Have I not shocked you?’

  ‘I want the truth. At the moment, that is all my concern.’

  Joanna shrugged. ‘The seal would introduce Hugh as du Guesclin’s man and get us a safe conduct to France.’

  ‘From Scarborough?’

  ‘No. Farther south.’

  ‘Why France?’

  ‘No one would know we were brother and sister. We could be wed.’

  Lucie marvelled at the naïvety. Joanna and Hugh had reckoned without the long reach of the Church. But perhaps the Church turned a blind eye to du Guesclin. So they had planned to marry. ‘What of Stefan?’

  Joanna turned away. ‘He never offered marriage.’

  ‘I am surprised your brother did. Mercenaries rarely attach themselves to a family. But then, Hugh must have loved you very much to be so angry with Longford.’

  Joanna’s breath caught. She crossed herself. ‘I cannot forgive what he did to Longford. I thought it had been quick. But what he must have suffered! Dear God, when I felt the earth raining on me, I could not remember how to draw breath. I could not scream. The earth was crushing me, pressing into me.’

  ‘I did not think they had truly buried you.’

  Joanna shook her head. ‘But the feeling.’

  ‘You told this to Hugh?’

  ‘He already hated Longford. What I told him was just the excuse. Longford had made Hugh look a fool to the Percies. I know Hugh. That is why he left without a word. He knew I would not want him to do it.’

  ‘He was a cruel man?’

  ‘He once burned the hand of a servant for a silly mistake. Hugh laughed while the boy howled. I could not bear it. I grabbed the boy’s hand and pressed it into the snow.’ Joanna’s voice suddenly flattened. ‘My Mother hated Hugh.’

  ‘Yet you loved him.’

  ‘It takes strength to be cruel.’

  Lucie thought the opposite. ‘Why did your mother hate her son?’

  Joanna struggled to sit up, refusing Lucie’s help. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms about her legs as if anchoring herself. ‘The way she died, walking into the water … Did she take her life? Because of him? Or because of us?’

  Lucie said nothing.

  ‘Mother came upon us. Naked, in my bed. Hugh and I. She did not punish us. She simply said that a child born of us would be cursed. She gave me a plant to chew, so that I should not beget monsters.’

  ‘Did you go to St Clement’s in repentance? Is that why you took your vows?’

  Joanna pressed her forehead to her knees. ‘If I could not have Hugh, I thought I wanted no man. But I was wrong. I found Stefan.’

  So she had loved Stefan. At least cared for him. ‘Where is Stefan, Joanna?’

  Joanna raised her eyes to Lucie’s. The green eyes swam with tears. ‘He is no more.’ The voice a quivering whisper.

  ‘What happened?’

  Joanna closed her eyes, rocked from side to side, letting the tears fall. ‘He had a wife. Did you know?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucie whispered.

  ‘Jesu, I am accursed. My love is always sin.’

  ‘Stefan followed you to Hugh’s house?’

  ‘Hugh told me what he had done. But not the whole truth, not like your captain said. Hugh only said he had returned to Beverley to bury Longford in my grave – alive. He promised to protect me. Care for me.’ Her voice broke. Lucie handed her the wine. Joanna drank. ‘He had the seal. He had written letters for our safe passage, sealed
with Sebastian’s emblem. We would go to France. But we must go quickly. Right then. He was gathering his things. He said the house was no longer safe. His men had deserted him.’

  ‘Stefan heard this?’

  ‘I do not know what he heard. I think he heard much of it.’

  ‘Please, Joanna. Why did Stefan kill Hugh?’

  Joanna’s face was flushed with wine and emotion. ‘I told Hugh I did not believe that he meant to take me with him. He would desert me again. Stefan was better for me. He had saved me.’ She shook her head. ‘Hugh told me Stefan had not meant to save me, he had simply not liked the idea of burying me alive, which is what Longford meant to do. Stefan thought it was too untidy. He preferred poison. A subtler, painless way to get rid of me and still hurt Hugh.’

  This did not sound like the man Edmund described. ‘Is that true, Joanna?’

  Joanna shook her head, still clutching her knees to her chest. ‘Hugh lied. He was jealous. I had told him that I was trying to have Stefan’s baby, so he wanted me to hate Stefan. And I saw that.’ Her eyes softened with tears. ‘I saw the yearning in Hugh’s eyes. I could not hurt him. Not Hugh. He pulled me to him and kissed me. That was all it ever took. In a few kisses we were naked and rolling on the floor. Suddenly someone grabbed me and pushed me aside. Stefan. His face was so dark. So angry. I had not seen that side of him. Hugh was naked and unarmed, weak from sex. I reached for Hugh’s things – to cover him – but Stefan struck me on the head. I was stunned.’ Joanna sobbed. ‘Dear God, I wish I had been unconscious. I could not stop Stefan, I could not help Hugh, I could only watch. Stefan drew his dagger and fell upon my beautiful brother.’ She moaned. ‘He stabbed him again and again. His chest, his stomach, his throat, even his face.’ She covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Blood danced in the room. It sprayed Stefan and me. When I stepped onto the floor I slipped in it. Hugh’s blood was in my mouth, on my eyes. My brother’s blood. Stefan slapped me and shouted for me to stop screaming. I did not know I was screaming. He slapped me so hard I fell and hit my head. I could not stand up. I was so afraid – for myself – I knew with all that blood Hugh must be dead. Stefan wrapped me in something and carried me away.’ Joanna drank down the wine.