The Nun's Tale (10 page)

Wulfstan took Lucie’s hands. ‘You have been most generous with your time, Lucie. I am grateful. You have had better luck than most who have spoken with her. She babbled to me about stars winking out and much other gibberish I could not understand.’

Lucie squeezed his hands affectionately. ‘I am happy to have been of help to you, my friend. But now I must get back.’

Wulfstan nodded. ‘God bless you for coming. When does Owen return?’

‘Perhaps tonight, for a short while, and then he will be gone again. Unfortunately, Sir Robert D’Arby comes later this week to stay while Owen is in Pontefract.’

Wulfstan searched Lucie’s face. ‘Your father?’

Lucie nodded wearily. ‘Aunt Phillippa told him I am with child.’

‘You –’ Brother Wulfstan’s face lit up. ‘May our Heavenly Mother protect you.’ He made the sign of the cross over her. ‘How wonderful. It is a kind gesture on your father’s part, to keep you company.’

Lucie rubbed her eyes, suddenly tired. ‘It is foolish and useless. What does he know of my life? What does he know of me?’

Wulfstan put a hand on Lucie’s shoulder, waited until she met his eyes. Hers shimmered with stubborn, angry tears. ‘He made a long pilgrimage to the Holy Land to ask God’s forgiveness for what happened to your mother. I am certain that God forgave him. Why can you not try?’

Lucie looked into Wulfstan’s sad eyes. She wanted to beg his forgiveness for distressing him, but she could not help how she felt. ‘It is not so easy.’

Brother Wulfstan gave her a little hug. ‘You are a sensible woman, Lucie. You will do what is right.’

She took a deep breath, calming her warring emotions. ‘I shall go about my business as usual.’

‘You must take care of yourself.’

Lucie relaxed, seeing Wulfstan did not mean to argue. ‘Magda Digby and Bess Merchet are watching me closely. You need not worry.’

Wulfstan pretended to be shocked. ‘Magda Digby, the Riverwoman? Could you not find a Christian midwife?’

‘Magda brought me and so many other citizens of this city into this world, Brother Wulfstan. God guides her, no matter what she calls Him.’

Wulfstan tucked his hands in his sleeves, gave her a little bow. ‘Well, she will have Bess to answer to if aught goes wrong. And myself. And Owen.’

They moved outside into the bright June sunshine, Joanna forgotten for the moment.

O
rchards surrounded St Clement’s, leafy and alive with bird song. But Alfred grumbled.

‘Where are the apples, that’s what I’d like to know.’

Archbishop Thoresby, frustrated that Alfred and Colin had watched St Clement’s for two days without sighting the watcher, had ordered them to the nunnery at first light this morning, so early that they had not had time to break their fast.

Colin laughed. ‘Too early for fruit. When have you eaten a fresh apple before midsummer?’

‘Can’t say I notice when I eat what.’

‘Didn’t you have fruit trees as a lad? Don’t you look around you?’

‘I’m not partial to trees and such. Just what comes off them.’

‘And I suppose you’re proud of that.’

‘What’s a soldier want with such things?’

‘It’s civilised to notice such things.’

‘I notice people is what I notice. And I’ve noticed that character pass the priory gate twice this morning.’ A stocky man in a russet cloak stained by travel. As the day warmed, he had removed the cloak and wide-brimmed hat. His clothes were those of a modest merchant. His balding head was tanned and weathered.

‘So have I.
And
I notice when I eat what, too.’

‘So does that make you a scholar?’

Colin jabbed Alfred in the stomach. ‘Course not.’

‘He’s eyeing the damage on the north wall, seeing whether he can scale it quickly, I’ll wager. Look!’ The man was indeed examining the height of the crumbling wall. ‘He’s our man or I’m King of France.’

‘Lord help ’em over there, he’d best be our man.’ Colin hooted.

Alfred rolled his eyes. ‘Calm yourself,’ he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘We must approach this cutthroat with caution.’

‘I doubt he’s a cutthroat. Look at him. Clothes dusty from travel, but decent clothes, all the same. Clean shaven.’

‘What’s he doing lurking round a convent, then?’ Alfred demanded.

‘You should need no help guessing what a man might want in a convent.’

‘Look at the dagger he wears at his waist.’

‘He’d be a fool to travel without one.’

‘You’re becoming a regular Captain Archer.’

‘Wouldn’t I like that? Pretty wife, nice house, an adventure now and then with enough danger to keep life interesting. I wouldn’t say no to the captain’s lot in life.’

‘Don’t go poking your eye out to wear a patch.’ Colin groaned. ‘Shall we approach the man?’

‘Lead on, Captain.’

‘God speed, stranger,’ Colin called out.

The man backed away from the crumbling wall. ‘God be with you two gentlemen.’

‘You seem uncommonly interested in that wall, stranger,’ Colin said.

‘I thought I might find work fixing it.’

‘You’re a stonemason, then? You don’t wear the guild badge.’

The man looked uneasy. ‘I have done nothing wrong. Nor shall I.’

Colin glanced over at Alfred. Alfred nodded. ‘Glad we are that you mean no harm, stranger. And His Grace the Archbishop will be glad of it when you tell him so.’

Colin gave a little bow. ‘If you will allow us to escort you.’

The stranger frowned. ‘What is the need? I have told you I mean harm to no one.’

Alfred grinned. ‘Then you have nothing to fear.’

The stranger looked from one to the other. ‘I have no choice in this?’

Colin and Alfred exchanged glances.
Shall we seize him?

The stranger sighed. ‘I shall come peacefully.’

They led him away from St Clement’s, past the comfortable houses and orchards facing the city walls, and re-entered the city through the gate by the Old Baile. As they headed down Skeldergate toward Ouse Bridge, the stranger asked, ‘Is there no other route?’

‘’Tis the straightest route to the minster close,’ Colin said. ‘What do you fear?’

The stranger said nothing, but just beyond Kirk Lane he began glancing behind him every few steps.

Alfred and Colin began to check their backs, too. But the trouble appeared before them, four men blocking their way, shadowy figures standing with legs apart, arms folded. Their message was clear. The stranger gave a cry and took off down an alley, in the direction of the river.

Alfred and Colin hesitated. Neither was familiar with this part of the city.

Colin put his hand to the knife hidden beneath his jerkin and said quietly, ‘Could be a blind alley, and he’s going to turn and fight. But he did not seem pleased to see these gentlemen.’

‘He might be a good actor, leading us into an ambush,’ Alfred said.

‘And while we’re arguing, it might not be a blind alley and he’s got away.’

Alfred groaned. ‘What about turning back?’

Colin glanced round. There were now several men at their backs. ‘No choice, I’m afraid.’

With a nod, they took off after the runaway. The others pounded after them.

The alley was narrow and dark. The second storey of the house on their left jutted out to touch the one-storey roof of the building across from it. Odd to find a city street so deserted in late morning, so quiet but for the rats rustling through debris in the shadows. A baby cried somewhere ahead. The two men groped their way along, coming once more into sickly day-light, a house to one side, a high fence to the other. Alfred and Colin kept alert to all sounds and shadows, but their prey eluded them.

‘I don’t see light ahead,’ Alfred whispered.

‘So we’re coming up on a bend. Is there a straight alley in all York?’ Colin was as nervous as his mate, but they must go on, they would be fools to turn back into the arms of their pursuers. It was so dark he had to listen for Alfred’s whereabouts. They passed under more jutting second and third storeys. A sound of water lapping. The river was close.

But instead of the riverbank they encountered a stone wall.

‘Devil take you, I was right!’ Alfred hissed.

Colin had no time to answer. From behind came the sound of knives and swords being drawn, a hissed command. Alfred and Colin drew their daggers and turned to face the attackers side by side. Colin squinted, trying to make out the wavering shadows. He felt Alfred stiffen, then thrust, heard steel against steel. Alfred shouted, then fell away from Colin. They lost contact.

Colin lashed out at the attackers in front of him. A dagger came close to his face, he parried and heard a grunt. Something fell by his feet. He stepped on it. Another shadow loomed, thrust. Colin felt a searing pain in his left arm. He struck out with his right, found nothing. His invisible assailant got him in the waist. He doubled over, but fought the pain to force himself back upright, only to have his right leg kicked out from under him. He went crashing down backwards on something warm and bony. Alfred, he guessed. Colin twisted himself round so his back would be to the attackers. He did not want someone going for his eyes or his throat. A blow to his head, then his back, left him blind and breathless. He panicked, unable to coordinate the muscles in his throat and chest to gulp in air.
Jesu, forgive me my sins,
he silently prayed as he passed out.

Lucie tapped her foot as she listened to old John Kendall describe the pains in his joints in minute detail. She had measured out his salves and powders and put them in his hands several limbs ago. But she could not bring herself to be unkind. He had lost his wife and a daughter to the floods last winter and Lucie pitied him.

The shop door’s bell cheered her with the hope of release . . . Until she saw who it was: Dame Isobel and a novice who stood meekly in her shadow. It had been one thing to see the prioress at St Mary’s, but Lucie resented yet another interruption in her day and the intrusion into her own house and shop . . . Dame Isobel conjured up unhappy memories.

Lucie’s time at St Clement’s had been a purgatory. Her mother had just died, crumbling Lucie’s world round her, and the nuns, reckoning her mother a sinner, had watched Lucie for signs of the Devil’s influence. Isobel de Percy had been one of the most diligent in reporting on Lucie’s missteps.

‘Benedicte,
Reverend Mother.’ Lucie did not bother to warm her voice.

Old John Kendall turned and bobbed his head at the prioress and the novice in tow. ‘I will leave you to your business, Mistress Wilton,’ he said to Lucie. ‘May the Lord smile on you for your kindness to a windy old man.’

Lucie blushed as she watched John shuffle out; he must have heard her foot tapping.

Dame Isobel’s pale eyes watched Lucie with an unexpected uncertainty.

‘Dame Joanna should improve with Brother Wulfstan’s ministrations, Reverend Mother.’

‘She already seems calmer, praise God.’ Isobel took a deep breath, glanced back at her companion. ‘Is there a more private place to talk?’

Lucie pressed her hands to her lower back. ‘I must watch the shop. I have sent my serving girl out on errands and I am alone this afternoon.’

Isobel stepped closer, holding out her white, uncalloused hands in entreaty. ‘Forgive me. My troubles consumed your morning, and now I intrude on your work. But I could think of no one else who might be of help. I must convince Dame Joanna to confide in me and she seems determined to tell me nothing. You have a rapport with her. I thought you might advise me. And perhaps if I told you more of her past, you might see something I did not.’

Lucie considered her backache, her plans to tidy up for Owen’s homecoming, Isobel’s past betrayals: all good reasons to bow out of any further involvement. And yet she was curious about Joanna Calverley . . . She stepped out from behind the counter. ‘Come. Let us go into the kitchen.’ Lucie nodded to the novice. ‘Make yourself comfortable on the bench. I can hear the shop bell in there. You’ve no need to come get me.’

Lucie and the prioress sat down at a small table by the kitchen window, the shutters open to let in the summery breeze.

‘I understand the archbishop is impatient for answers,’ Lucie prompted.

Isobel folded her hands on the table before her, fixed her eyes on her hands. An oddly meek posture for the prioress. ‘I also wish to know for myself,’ Isobel said. ‘I do care about Joanna. But, yes, Archbishop Thoresby is disappointed with me.’ She glanced up at Lucie, back down at her hands. ‘I bear the guilt of whatever happened to change Joanna so.’

‘She is changed, then?’

Isobel pressed her fingers to her forehead. ‘Oh, yes. The spirit has been leached from her.’

‘What do you think happened to her, Reverend Mother?’

Isobel shook her head.

Lucie stared out at the garden, thinking. ‘They say she stole a relic to pay for the funeral and her escape.’