Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1) (24 page)

Helplessness and the frustration it engendered filled Sir John's face. He sighed in defeat and spoke the words that he would not allow his wife to say. "It was planned last year that during this week of Mimi's saint day, my lady wife and my daughter would travel to Nuneaton. Because the Benedictine sisters at the abbey there—"

"Priory," Marian corrected quietly. "All say 'abbey' when there is naught but a prioress to rule it."

"Priory," John said, then continued as if she hadn't interrupted. "The nuns remember my wife fondly from when she resided there." He raised his voice a little. "Because of that, they have foolishly agreed to attempt to educate our daughter. I fear they have little chance of success. Where my lady wife is sweet-natured and pliable, my daughter is stubborn and thick-headed."

"Papa!" Mimi cried down in complaint.

"I knew you were listening," he called back. Then he added, "And an eavesdropper."

Mimi huffed in irritation.

Sir John lowered his voice as he continued. "When we arranged to do this, I was yet whole. Now I am but half a man, and cannot see to the safety of my wife and daughter as they travel less than five leagues, on tracks that are regarded as safe by most."

"I would be honored to see your family safely to the convent," Faucon replied swiftly. "Might the trip wait until after the morrow? I am expected in Priors Holston and may have to linger there for all the day, until I complete my duties."

That was, unless some other man died unexpectedly. Faucon found himself wondering what happened if he were summoned to a death but wasn't free to immediately attend the body.

Marian aimed that blinding smile of hers at him. "The day after tomorrow will work very well indeed. Nor is the ride any hardship. As my husband says, the convent is hardly more than a dozen miles distant. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times."

Sir John frowned at his wife. "You got what you wanted, now leave us."

His harsh chide didn't prevent Marian from placing a kiss on his forehead. She offered Faucon a quick curtsy, then squeezed behind her husband to climb the ladder to the loft. The children shrieked in pleasure. A moment later they settled, as Marian promised a tale.

"Thank you kindly, sir," Sir John said quietly, his voice thick as he stared at his hands on the table.

He made his fingers like spiders on the wood, then slowly lowered them until his palms were flat on the tabletop, his fingers spread wide. Still staring at his hands, he spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"I was a fool. I wed too late and married too well. Now I will leave her too soon, when I cannot bear to be parted from her. God be praised that she yet has her family in Coventry, for I am leaving her with almost nothing when I am gone."

The shame in the knight's words made Faucon think of Agnes and her confession of panic at finding herself alone.

When the older knight looked up, his gaze was filled with scorn aimed at himself. "Now, tell me why you aren't sending us from Blacklea, when I can be but a drain on your income."

Seeking to set the man at ease, Faucon laughed. "Because your lord is a worse cutpurse than any I've ever had the misfortune to meet. Yesterday, he set my head whirling with words, and before I knew what was what, I'd agreed to let you stay on at Blacklea for one full year, albeit unpaid, unless you and I agree differently."

Sir John looked at little startled at that. "I thought you were family."

"I am," Faucon replied, still laughing. "Imagine what the gift of Blacklea might have cost me if I'd not been!"

"Are you certain this is appropriate, Brother Edmund?"

Brother Heymon was short and slight, his fingertips stained with ink. So was the corner of his mouth. Faucon wondered if the brother had a habit of sucking on the tip of his quill. If that was so, then the stain was a reminder of yesterday's work, since the monk hadn't been at his desk yet this morning. Instead, he'd come to meet his crowner with his hoe still in his hand. According to Brother Edmund, the monks would be working their fields for the whole of this day.

The three of them stood in the circle of gravel at the center of the cloister garden, where the traditional four paths met. Faucon now understood why the new cloister had arches so deep and narrow. They kept the weather at bay. What might have been a covered walkway at other holy houses was the scriptorium at St. Radegund's. Twelve desks, each with its own stand on which to place the piece a monk might be copying, filled the space. Here, with the sun to light their work, the monks did their scribing and transcribing.

Only today there was no sun. The day had dawned overcast and threatening rain. But of course. Did he not wear his chain mail once again, with all muck, mud and rust sanded away?

"I am most certain," Faucon's clerk replied, "as are you, Brother. Prior Lambertus gave you his leave to speak with Sir Faucon this morning when we approached him regarding the matter."

The smaller monk made a face in chagrin. "So he did. It's just that this is all so unusual, you asking me about it, the prior agreeing that I might speak about it. That the miller even came. And then what he had me write!"

The monk looked at Faucon. "Aye, the miller did come two weeks ago and he did ask me to write for him, but it wasn't a will." Brother Heymon looked at Edmund. "That's why I told you 'nay' yestereven when you asked about it, Brother Edmund. I had not written a will for him. It wasn't until we were singing our Matins prayers that I realized you only thought he might have written a will. You didn't know that wasn't what he had wanted scribbled at all."

"What did he want you to write for him?" Faucon asked, trying to prod the monk in the right direction. As he spoke, a cool breeze swirled around him, lifting the hem of his surcoat.

He pushed it down. Without his sword at his side, there was nothing to hold the slit-sided garment in place atop his armor. As custom and the law required, he'd left his sword and scabbard hanging on Legate, along with his helmet and his shield, all of which he hoped he'd have no use for this day.

The small monk looked at him again, shaking his head as if befuddled. "As I said, it was the strangest thing. It was only a few lines and he took the skin with him when he left. I remember it all. I doubt I could forget it."

Just as Edmund had done when recalling the pronouncement about the Keepers, Brother Heymon tucked his hands into his sleeves, shut his eyes and leaned back on his heels. "'I, Halbert Miller, now of Priors Holston, do admit that I had no right to marry Cecilia, daughter of Oton, even as I traded vows with her. At the time of our marriage, and to this day, I remain married to another. I regretfully pronounce Stephen, her son by me, bastard-born.'"

The monk breathed out in satisfaction, then opened his eyes again. "That was it. Only those few lines."

Edmund stared at him, round-eyed in surprise, then looked at Faucon. "By all that is holy, why would a man write such a thing?"

Faucon smiled at him. "Because he had committed bigamy and knew it. Thank you, Brother. This has been very helpful," he said to Brother Heymon.

The monk blinked at him, then tapped his ink-darkened fingertip to the stained corner of his mouth. "Now that he is dead, I don't see how it could be of assistance to anyone save our Lord, sir, but I am glad you find it so."

Then, shouldering his hoe, he made his way down one of the paths. Only after he'd left the cloister to circle around the church on his way back to the fields did Edmund speak.

"But why reveal such a thing now? This is especially so since it seems the miller had kept his secret for all his years in Priors Holston," asked the man with the 'honest' tongue.

"It was the final act of a vicious man, who knew he was doomed and wanted to punish the ones he blamed for destroying his life," Faucon replied. "It's the sort of thing a sot does, striking out at others over what is his own responsibility."

"But if Stephen is a bastard—" Edmund started.

Faucon finished the sentence for him. "Then he can inherit nothing, not that there is anything for him to inherit. Halbert had no right to claim ownership of anything that belonged to Cissy before their marriage, because he was never married to her. Susanna has herself a new cottage, I think."

"This does not bode well for what we'd thought to collect on the king's behalf," Edmund said with a shake of his head. There was neither disappointment nor frustration in his voice, or in the movement of his head. "Ah well, there will be other deaths, and other estates to value and confiscate."

Faucon eyed his clerk in astonishment as the monk picked up a knee-high tubular basket by the leather strapping knotted into its weave at top and bottom. Edmund patted its lid. "This is a far better way to transport my supplies. I found a piece of an old lectern to use as my desk for the time being. If you are finished here, sir, I am ready to be on our way to collect whatever confession might come forth this day."

"I am ready," Faucon replied, still battling his astonishment. Who was this stranger?

As they started from the cloister, Edmund added, "I hope you don't mind, but I had enough of your horse's rump last night. I'll be riding my own donkey today."

This time, Faucon let his laugh fly. Whoever Edmund was becoming, Faucon thought he liked him well enough. "I do not mind at all, Brother. Let's be off."

Following Susanna's directions, and carrying her greetings to her niece-by-marriage, Faucon and Edmund found the hamlet and the farmhouse with ease. To call 'Wina's family home a simple farm was to do it an injustice. Then again, 'Wina and Stephen wouldn't have wed unless they each brought equal value into the marriage. Halbert would never have accepted anything less.

Surrounded by barns and sheds, paddocks and fields enclosed by tall hedges, the main house was three times the length of any cottage Faucon had ever seen. With walls of piled stone and a thatched roof that reached almost to the ground, it was an ancient construction. It also appeared to be too short to allow a man to stand upright within doors.

They rode through the opening in the withe-walls that separated the front of the place from the track, to be greeted by a great crowd of children. Oxen, more than necessary for a single team, and a flock of sheep wandered to the closest edges of their paddocks to study the newcomers. Chickens scattered, ducks eyed them in suspicion, while the geese came dashing toward them, ready to defend their home with beak and wing, if not their lives.

Once the children had chased off the geese, Faucon and Edmund dismounted and were invited to enter the main dwelling.

They stepped down to enter; the floor of the structure was well below ground level. The air inside was warm and smelled of smoke. The massive beams which held the roof aloft were themselves held aloft by what seemed whole trees, buried deep into the earthen floor and set like columns down the middle of the structure. The spaces between the tree trunks were set off by more woven walls so they could be used as individual chambers.

It was obvious that the back half of the house was used as a barn for the animals; the heat of their bodies went far to warm the interior in deepest winter. The more forward of these walled bays were used for either food storage or sleeping. The kitchen end included a massive hearthstone, the walls behind it filled with shelves on which stood pots, jars, utensils and more. Bulky and misshapen with what they held, hempen bags were piled in one corner surrounded by barrels and large ceramic pots. Smoked meats, strings of garlic and onions, and drying herbs hung from the rafters above the hearth.

A large table with benches and stools of all sizes filled the central portion of the house. Four women sat at the table, all of them willowy, fine-boned beauties with honey-colored hair. None of them looked capable of pouring boiling water on an abuser. Only one looked distressed.

It was she who rose to her feet as Faucon entered. As tall as he, her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and her otherwise flawless skin was blotched with grief.

"You are this new crowner folk are talking about?" she asked before he could introduce himself.