Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

Owen took her hand, kissed the palm. ‘Perhaps I have told you enough, Lucie.’

‘It is that horrible?’ Oh Lord, she sounded like a weak, silly fool. ‘I have seen horrible things, Owen. Tell me.’

He gently smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘But in your condition. .’

‘I must know everything if I am to speak with Joanna.’

Owen pressed her hand. ‘True enough. You are right that Longford was a strong man, and a large one; but he weighed far less than Jaro. To ensure that he stayed in the grave, they had crushed his only leg — and he had injuries to his back that might have made it impossible to move. And just to be safe, in case all that did not keep him buried, they had removed his tongue so he could name no one.’

Lucie dropped her head in her hands, horrified at the brutality. ‘What sort of men did this?’ It was plain that Joanna could not have done all this.

Owen shook his head. ‘It was as cold-blooded a murder as I have seen. Do you know, I hope we learn that it had something to do with his support of du Guesclin, that it was political, not personal. I do not want to know that someone hated Longford enough to do that.’

Lucie considered the effort that had gone into such a deed. ‘I do not think you will get your wish. If you had been ordered to get rid of someone like Longford, would you have taken such time, exercised such cruelty?’

‘There are men who delight in cruelty. Like the man who murdered Maddy.’

Maddy. She had forgotten to ask about her. ‘You know who did it?’

‘A worm of a man, Lucie. According to Edmund, the man killed Maddy just to make it easier to search the house.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, watch over Maddy’s soul,’ Lucie whispered. ‘And who is Edmund?’

‘One of the men who helped Joanna escape Beverley.’

‘. . With Stefan?’

‘Aye. Stefan’s partner. One of Sebastian’s men. As is Jack, Maddy’s murderer.’

‘Will this Jack be punished, even though Maddy was just a servant?’

‘If Sir Richard and Sir Nicholas have their way, yes. But to show you what a fool I’ve been while away, I stopped Edmund in the act of attacking Jack.’

‘What?’

‘I heartily regret it, believe me. He now shadows Edmund.’

‘You must catch him, Owen. He must pay.’

‘I am hoping he does something foolish. Alfred is trailing after Edmund, watching.’

‘Is Jack alone?’

‘I do not know. But I doubt it.’

‘This is all such a nightmare.’

Owen hugged Lucie. ‘God grant me the wits to resolve this quickly. Joanna has much to tell us. We must find out how she knew about Longford’s burial.’

Best to do it soon. ‘Shall we go to her in the morning?’

‘I should like to. And then I want Edmund to see her.’

‘I am curious to meet him.’

‘Then you will — tomorrow.’

‘Why did Stefan not come?’

‘He has vanished. That is why Edmund was willing to come with me.’ Owen put his arm around Lucie. She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Are you strong enough yet to go on with Joanna?’

With all her whining, of course he would ask. ‘I am quite strong enough.’

‘Good. I want you to use all your wiles to reach her. Find out what she is hiding, where Stefan is, who murdered Longford and Jaro.’

Lucie tried to push the horror aside and think clearly. ‘Longford and Jaro were murdered by strong men.’

‘Soldiers, I would guess. Perhaps some of Sebastian’s men. But why?’

Lucie bit her lip, thinking. ‘Might Edmund and Stefan be the murderers?’

Owen shook his head. ‘I think I know Edmund, travelling with him all this time. He would kill quickly, wishing to be done with it. And then he would run to a confessor.’

‘But does that not depend on what Longford had done? Might it be revenge for a similar act?’

‘I cannot say for certain that I know his heart, Lucie. But I think such a deed would haunt Edmund, and he would have been driven to confess it to me.’

Lucie sighed, squeezed Owen. ‘Now let’s talk of pleasant things so I might go back to sleep.’

The hospitaller shook his head at the sprig of mistletoe on the floor just inside Joanna’s door. ‘Dame Prudentia is sadly superstitious.’ Mistletoe placed so ensured quiet, pleasant dreams. When Lucie was a little girl, her Aunt Phillippa had used mistletoe to ward off nightmares. But Lucie did not comment. Nor did she mention the angelica that she and Wulfstan had sprinkled in the four corners of the room to exorcise the demons that troubled Joanna.

The curtains had been removed from Joanna’s bed to give her more air in the warm July weather and to make it easier to watch her. Dame Agnes, the sub-prioress, sat the watch this morning. She turned her cheery face towards Lucie and Owen.

‘Joanna slept calmly through the night. She woke at dawn, drank some watered wine, and fell back into a peaceful sleep.’

Lucie was pleased. ‘May we be alone with her for a while? You might wish to walk out in the fresh morning air.’

Agnes needed no coaxing. She blessed them and hurried away.

Dame Joanna lay with her hands crossed over her chest. The white bandage round her neck looked like a gorget, nothing more, it was so clean. Her face was pale from loss of blood and a month in bed, but the haggard look was gone.

‘’Tis a shame to wake her,’ Owen whispered.

Joanna opened her eyes. ‘I am thirsty.’ Her voice was raspy, not unusual in one who has just awakened.

Owen sat on the stool beside her bed, reached over and poured her some wine and water. ‘Shall we lift you to drink?’

‘Yes.’

Owen handed the cup to Lucie, who went to the other side of the bed. As Owen lifted Joanna, Lucie put the cup to her lips. She sipped the wine, frowning a little with each swallow.

‘Your throat — is it still very sore?’ Lucie asked.

‘Better,’ Joanna whispered.

Lucie met Owen’s eye, explaining, ‘She pressed down so hard with the dull knife she bruised her throat. That is taking longer to heal than the cuts.’

Joanna pushed the cup away. ‘Enough.’

Owen gently lowered Joanna’s head.

Joanna closed her eyes.

Owen leaned towards her. ‘I am returned from my pilgrimage of disgrace, Dame Joanna.’

She opened her eyes, so startlingly green. ‘A pilgrimage?’ Her face was expressionless, her voice too hoarse for Owen or Lucie to read the nuances.

‘You called it that, do you remember? A pilgrimage of disgrace?’

‘I say foolish things.’

‘I have been to Scarborough. Where you travelled with Stefan and Edmund.’

Joanna closed her eyes. ‘I have been ill.’

‘You tried to take your life. I know.’

The eyelids shot open. ‘I am bedevilled. The Devil is strong. Even wrapped in the Virgin’s mantle he reaches me.’ Joanna’s eyes flashed with anger, her cheeks flushed.

Owen thought it odd she felt anger rather than fear. He glanced up at Lucie, who raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together as if to say, ‘Who knows?’

‘A pilgrimage of disgrace. Whose disgrace, Joanna?’

Still angry. ‘You do not listen.’

‘I do. I listen well, and I remember. Perhaps it is you who forgets. Let me remind you of something. Hugh was murdered. In his house near Scarborough.’

‘My knight. My champion.’ Joanna’s eyes filled with tears.

It was a quiet response, sad, not shocked. ‘Who is your champion, Joanna? Hugh?’

She closed her eyes, looked away. Tears wet her lashes, dampened her cheeks.

‘Who are you thinking of as your knight and champion?’

Joanna took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Hugh is dead. There is nothing more.’

‘You and Stefan left Scarborough at the same time that Hugh was killed. Why?’