Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

Owen spied Sir William at a guard station on the next tower. He made his way towards Percy, forcing himself to saunter and look about, as if enjoying himself, and not clutch the wall beside him. Fortunately, Percy had chosen a spot sheltered slightly from the wind. ‘Sir William.’

The stocky man spun round, fixed his beady eyes on Owen. ‘How did you fare with Edmund?’

An abrupt beginning. ‘He cannot help us with Captain Sebastian.’

Percy nodded, looking perversely pleased. ‘No matter. Perhaps I can help you there. The men of the Free Companies are a greedy lot. My men will pass rumours through the town that the King has a tempting proposition for Captain Sebastian; I wager the captain will send word. You watch — with a sizeable bribe, you will succeed where Hugh failed.’

Owen looked out at the North Sea, grey-blue in the summer sun. ‘Surely that is not why we are up here, Sir William?’

Percy leaned against the wall to Owen’s left, trying to see his companion’s expression. ‘What does your prisoner say about Hugh Calverley’s death?’

Owen only sensed Percy on his blind side; he could not see him, nor would he satisfy the man’s curiosity by turning towards him. He did not want Percy at ease. ‘Edmund claims no knowledge.’

‘We were not responsible.’ The voice was defensive.

Now Owen turned towards Percy, feigning surprise. ‘You? But of course not.’

Percy snarled. ‘Do not play the innocent with me, Captain Archer. You made it plain yesterday that you thought the Percies had been negligent in seeking out Hugh’s murderer and notifying his family.’

‘It puzzled me is all.’ Owen smiled, turned back towards the sea. ‘So who are you so hesitant to implicate?’

‘I do not know who killed him.’

‘But you suspect, Sir William. You sit up here, steward of Scarborough Castle, and you watch the goings-on below. You have eyes all about. You admit as much by offering to lure Captain Sebastian to a meeting. Who do you think killed Hugh?’

Percy came round to Owen’s good side, though it placed him in more wind. ‘You must understand Scarborough. ’Tis home to smugglers, pirates and spies. Scots, Flemings, Zealanders, Normans. .’ He blinked against the wind, but stood his ground.

Owen looked south towards the harbour, north towards Whitby. A coastline rippling with coves and, bluffs pocked with caves. ‘I can see it would suit them.’

‘To keep the King’s peace among such folk requires compromise.’

‘No doubt.’

Percy moved back into the shelter of the tower wall and settled with a grunt on a stone bench. ‘Two of the three powerful families who supply most of our bailiffs — the Accloms and the Carters — are bold thieves.’

Owen leaned against the wall facing Percy, arms folded. ‘Your point?’

‘Hugh was warned to turn a blind eye — but he did not always do so.’

‘You think he crossed either the Accloms or the Carters once too often?’

Percy looked down into the castle yard, where a group of boys screamed in mock battle. ‘Should I put all who live in this castle in jeopardy for the death of a man whom few mourn?’

‘But you do not know for certain these families were involved?’

Percy shook his head.

‘What do you intend to tell the Calverleys?’

‘Hugh died for King and country.’

‘Tell me, Sir William. If you disliked him so, why was he here in Scarborough?’

Percy looked surprised. ‘He was good is why. Rounded up spies, traitors, trouble-makers — and Sebastian’s recruits. Many of them are now in my service. A good soldier is often the last man to whom you would marry your daughter. You should know that.’

Owen and Ned took advantage of the long evening to see Hugh Calverley’s house. Deaf Harry showed them how he had managed to run messages between the castle and Hugh’s dwelling all those years without being caught by Sebastian’s men. He led them on such a fiendishly circuitous route that neither would have sworn they still looked out on the North Sea. The house was a squat, thatched cottage that would be taken for a peasant’s house by all except the wary, who would note the absence of children, animals, crops. Two rooms with packed mud floors; in one a fire circle and a sleeping loft, in the other a stable. The place had been stripped of all signs of Hugh Calverley.

‘His men slept here, too?’ Owen asked.

Harry, who tended to bend very close while reading lips, jerked back and nodded. ‘Aye. They slept on t’other side, with horses.’

‘And you slept below, Hugh above?’ Owen asked.

Harry straightened again and shook his head. ‘I slept above. The master had a curtained feather bed below.’

‘Fancy for such a hovel,’ Ned remarked.

Harry had not been watching Ned. ‘What?’ he shouted, turning to Ned.

Ned repeated his comment.

Harry nodded. ‘My master and his women liked their comfort, Sir.’

‘And you, Harry, did you find it comfortable?’ Ned asked.

Harry beamed. ‘Master Hugh promised the Percies would see to me if aught happened to him, and they have. That’s a good master.’

Owen saw the doubt on his friend’s face and wondered what he was up to.

‘They say your master beat you about the head.’ Ned mouthed the words dramatically, ‘And that is why you’re so deaf.’

Harry tugged an earlobe, shrugged. ‘Master Hugh had a temper, true enough. But he was patient wi’ me most times. I had threads and bread, sir, and a goodly fire. And now in my decline I work at the castle.’ His blackened teeth formed a grim smile. ‘I never looked for such riches.’

Owen stared into the fire in the hall until his vision blurred. A cup of wine in his hand attracted flies that he absently swatted away. He could not get deaf Harry out of his mind, the gratitude expressed in those watery eyes for the bare necessities and beatings that had bloodied his ears too often. Owen had grown so accustomed to his comfortable life that he had forgotten folk like Harry. Owen’s family were freemen, but poor. They would see his home in York as luxurious. And Sir Robert D’Arby was offering to expand it twice over. Why was he so fortunate? Should he return to Wales, see how his family fared? Lucie had once accused him of being cruel, not returning to show his family he had survived his years as an archer for Henry, Duke of Lancaster. But what might Owen do for his family? Would he shame them by offering help? Were any of them yet alive?

Sir William Percy entered the hall and made for Owen. ‘You have it.’

Owen lifted his eye to his host, slowly focusing on the man. ‘Have it?’ He shook his head, not understanding.

‘Captain Sebastian will meet with you and Ned tomorrow, midday, the church of St Mary the Virgin, right below the castle.’

Owen sat forward, now alert. ‘In truth?’

Percy grinned from ear to ear. ‘I’ve done well by Lancaster, eh?’

‘You have done well indeed, Sir William.’ Owen rose. ‘I shall tell Ned and Sir Nicholas.’

Percy stayed him with a large, beringed hand. ‘You heard what I said, eh? You and Ned. Sir Nicholas later, if the captain is satisfied.’

Owen turned his good eye dead centre on Percy’s face. ‘Why?’

‘You are soldiers. He is comfortable with soldiers. Sir Nicholas is an ecclesiastic. The captain says they talk in circles.’

Owen and Percy shared a good laugh over that observation.

Owen paused to admire the new carvings flanking the door of St Mary the Virgin, heads of King Edward and Queen Phillippa. The royal couple had taken their marriage vows in York Minster, and all Yorkshire had embraced them. Owen wondered if the gargoyle on the waterspout directly above Phillippa might be modelled after Alice Perrers. He had never seen the King’s mistress, but he knew that stonecutters often entertained themselves with such subtle jokes, and Thoresby had described her as very much the gargoyle.