Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

‘He will walk me round Longford’s haunts in Beverley,’ Owen said, ‘mayhap loose the nun’s tongue. We must satisfy my lord Thoresby.’

Ralph spat into the fire. ‘He will kill you in your sleep.’

‘I think not. And Alfred will watch him with murder in his heart — he still holds Edmund responsible for the death of his partner.’

Louth and Ned were to take a more direct route to the King with Sebastian’s demands.

‘Joanna, stop! Joanna, look what you have done!’ Lucie grabbed at the nun’s arm, but Joanna shrugged her off, kept on digging. Lucie, great with child, lost her balance and fell to her knees. Struggling to rise, she stumbled again as Hugh’s terrified scream rose from deep in the earth. ‘Listen, Joanna. He is not dead! Why are you burying your brother alive?’ Joanna had dragged Hugh to the edge of the impossibly deep grave, so deep that mists in its depths concealed the bottom, and had rolled him into it with a casual motion of her booted foot, all the while looking distracted, as if she were hurrying through a repetitive chore while thinking of something else. And now in the same manner she shovelled the dirt on top of her living, writhing brother. Lucie wanted to close her ears to the malevolent scraping of the shovel through the piled earth, the whispered descent, the faint thump of the clumps of earth and gravel landing on Hugh. Over and over again. And still he screamed. ‘Joanna, for pity’s sake!’ But Joanna kept up the rhythm as she looked off in the distance. How could Hugh scream so? Joanna had ripped open his neck with her teeth. Lucie crawled to Joanna, tugged at her skirt. ‘For the love of God, Joanna, if you will not stop, at least be quick about it.’ As Lucie grabbed Joanna’s ankle, the shovel came down on her head. She was falling, falling towards the screams. ‘My baby! My baby!’

Lucie clutched her stomach and breathed deeply. A cramp from thrashing in her nightmare, nothing more, please, God. She breathed deeply, slowly, breathing round the pain. It eased. She rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. Fine. She stood up. No pain. Thanks be to God.

Lucie walked sleepily to the window and gazed out on the first glimmer of dawn on the rooftops of the city. Whence came such a dream? Why would she dream of Joanna injuring her brother and burying him alive? Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners. .

On the evening of Corpus Christi, Owen sat in a tavern staring into a tankard of thick country ale. He did not want to be up on the moors, headed towards Beverley. He wanted to be in York watching the pageants with Lucie. Ever since he had known he was to be a father, he had imagined events that were to come. One of those was the Corpus Christi celebration this midsummer; he and Lucie would watch the pageants and smile at the thought of sharing this with their child in the future. They would hope for fine weather next year so the infant could sit outside with them. He or she would be nine months old by then. Not old enough to be aware of the wondrous event they were watching, but who could say what a baby remembered?

Owen also worried about Jasper. Corpus Christi last year had been when all Jasper’s troubles had begun. His mother had collapsed while watching the pageants, his master had been murdered the following evening. The boy would find this time painful. Owen hoped Lucie had thought to bring Jasper home from the abbey today to feel part of a family at this sad time. How much better if Owen could have been there, too.

And Lucie. The child was due in three months. She needed Owen to be there. He wanted to be there, his arm round her, steadying her. Keeping her warm at night. Helping her up the steep, shallow steps to their bedchamber. Not here, in a greasy, smoky tavern in the midst of the moors, drinking ale made from barley so poorly ground he must chew the chaff that remained after he swallowed. A second drink did not wash it down, but left more chaff — and more and more as he drank his way down to the bottom.

Edmund slumped sullenly over his tankard, too, looking up only to check round the room for Jack. With each day of the journey Edmund grew more obsessed with the feeling that Jack rode along behind, just out of sight and hearing. Neither Owen nor Alfred had seen any evidence of pursuit, although once or twice Owen had thought he heard an echo of their hoofbeats.

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.’