Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

‘You’re drunk, Ned.’

‘So are you, Owen. But thank the Lord I’m a cheerful drunk. You just brood more than ever.’

Lief and Gaspare joined them.

‘What’s our friend brooding about now?’ Lief asked.

‘He has nothing to celebrate,’ Ned crowed. ‘He has forgotten the honour offered by John Thoresby — the Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England has offered to be godfather to Owen and Lucie’s first child, and to their first son as well if a daughter comes first.’

‘Sweet Mary and all the saints,’ Lief muttered. ‘A child with such a godparent shall surely prosper.’

Owen belched.

Gaspare slapped him on the back. ‘So what’s the gloom?’

How quickly they forgot Joanna Calverley. Owen looked up at his friends’ shadowy faces, then beyond to the stars. ‘She might have been up there. She might have died in grace. But suicides are the folk we know for certain burn in Hell for all eternity. Their very deaths are terrible sins.’

Lief sat down with a grunt. ‘Ah. ’Tis the nun who haunts you. How do you know that she did not regret her act and pray for forgiveness as she fell? How do you know that?’

Owen frowned, too drunk to come up with an answer. It was possible. . ‘I should like to think that.’

‘What I want to know is whether you and Lucie have come to your senses and accepted Sir Robert’s generous gift,’ Lief said. ‘Alice and I would ne’er say nay to such a house.’

Owen shrugged. ‘Sir Robert bought the house, and he says it will sit there empty until we come round, for he’s had enough of the city for a long time to come. He looks forward to my return, when he can go back to Freythorpe Hadden and walk his fields. He says he cannot breathe enough air in the city.’

Gaspare grabbed the brandywine and took a long drink, then handed it to Owen. ‘Drink to your new home, Owen.’

‘And to your child’s fortune in such a godfather,’ Lief said.

Owen dropped his head. ‘I have had enough.’

Gaspare and Ned both snorted. ‘Is it possible to have enough brandywine?’ Ned asked.

‘To live a long life,’ Lief paused to belch — ‘a man must know his limits.’

Gaspare and Ned exchanged grins.

‘Wives and children,’ Gaspare said. ‘How they tame a man.’

They all tilted their faces towards the stars and let the night air cool them.

Down below, in Lancaster’s private parlour, Thoresby and the Duke shared brandywine before retiring.

‘Your man Archer is worth his weight in gold, Chancellor. I regret having lost him to you.’

‘Sometimes I think he regrets choosing me, my lord Duke.’

‘A man like him chafes at any authority, I should think.’

Thoresby felt the Duke studying him. ‘What is it?’

‘You do not seem pleased with the outcome of this investigation.’

‘Dissatisfied. Not displeased.’

‘Because there is no one to punish?’

‘God makes us such slaves to our passions. It seems a cruel twist to our natures.’

Lancaster shrugged. ‘Well, I am most pleased and satisfied. You have been generous with your assistance, Chancellor. I must repay you in equal measure.’

Thoresby sat back, studied Lancaster over the rim of his cup. A golden lion of a man, like his father Edward in his prime. And almost as powerful as his father at this age. He might not be King of England and Wales, but he was Duke of Lancaster, an inheritance possibly worth more coin than that of the King. So young to be so powerful. He might do a lot for Thoresby. ‘You know my desire, my lord Duke. Alice Perrers out of your father’s bedchamber. Any spur you might give to that exile will be most appreciated.’ He would not be greedy, not with so much at stake.

Lancaster swirled the brandywine in his cup and stared down into the whirlpool. ‘Mistress Alice. I had heard of your mutual dislike. But since then I have heard she admires you.’

That disturbed Thoresby. What was the bitch up to? ‘A new ploy, my lord Duke, nothing more, you can be certain.’

‘I confess I find her vulgar and unlovely, but she has a quick wit and a knack for cheering the Queen — that, I should think, would endear her to you.’

‘She cheers the Queen while she plots to usurp her.’

Lancaster pressed his middle and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. ‘Death shall do that for her soon enough.’

Thoresby regretted having brought up the subject. ‘Perhaps we should speak of Mistress Alice another time.’

Lancaster waved away the suggestion. ‘Do not mind me. Too much food and drink often puts me in a grim temper. Mistress Alice also has a clear head when it comes to business matters. I believe she has counselled the King wisely in financial matters pertaining to the household.’

‘She hopes to keep the coffers full so that she might expect more gifts, no doubt.’

The blue eyes bored into Thoresby. ‘What is your stake in this, Chancellor? Why do you take such a personal interest in Alice Perrers?’

How could Thoresby possibly explain when he did not fully understand the intensity of his dislike himself? ‘I am devoted to your Mother the Queen. She has been a friend to me since I came to court years ago. Mistress Alice offends your Mother with every breath she takes. That is the passion that drives me in this, my lord Duke.’

Lancaster relaxed. ‘My Mother speaks very highly of you.’

Now that Thoresby had neatly side-stepped that unpleasant topic, he must move the conversation away from the despicable Alice. ‘I understand the King favours William of Wykeham for the seat of Winchester.’

The comment brought Lancaster’s head up with a jerk. Now the blue eyes were cold. ‘Wykeham. There’s one I should like to separate from court.’

Interesting. Thoresby wished to hear more. ‘He seems an intelligent man, and talented,’ he suggested, ‘though low-born.’

Lancaster dropped his head back, closed his eyes. ‘I care nothing of Wykeham’s birth but that it was one of the more unfortunate dates in my history.’ He raised his head, fixed his eyes on Thoresby. ‘It is nothing I can point to and say, “Thus he means to destroy me”, but mark me, Chancellor, the man will do it. There is a look in his eye when he gazes on me.’

Thoresby could not think how anyone but the King could destroy the Duke of Lancaster. He fingered the chain of office round his neck. ‘You believe as I do that Wykeham is next in line for this?’

‘I should not let it out of sight if I were you.’ Lancaster leaned over, poured himself more brandywine, sipped, suddenly laughed out loud, ‘Now I remember. It was at Easter. Mistress Alice sat at the high table with the most extraordinary jewellery. You know how low her bodices tend to be. On the swelling of her left breast she had pearls pasted in a pattern meant to mimic tooth marks. As if someone had bitten her there and left their pearly teeth embedded. And to my amazement, she claimed that you, my lord Chancellor, had been her inspiration. With coy smile she did swear she could say no more. What was that about, eh? It had that bastard Wykeham quite red in the face — much as you are now. What is it? Some water? Would that help?’

Still choking, Thoresby poured water, drank deeply. Sweet Heaven, she had almost killed him with that one. What a clever solution to that troublesome wound he had inflicted on her. How damnably clever. He hated her. ‘I cannot imagine what Mistress Alice meant by calling me her inspiration. But she would know that to suggest I approved of her brazen style would embarrass me and my friends.’

Lancaster nodded. ‘She wore it for quite a while, so I am told, then tired of it. But the paste had been an unfortunate idea. The pearls left scars. Pale, but unmistakable. So like tooth marks. But too perfect, actually. Who has such perfect teeth?’