Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1) (27 page)

After hiding meekly behind a thick layer of clouds all the day, the sun finally slipped out of concealment as it neared the horizon. Faucon and Edmund tied their mounts to the fence at Susanna's alehouse. It seemed this was where all the jurors had flown after being dismissed. Men filled every table. More made themselves comfortable on the ground. Faucon wondered how many had come to commiserate with her over the loss of her nephew, and how many to taunt her over her sister's misfortune in meeting Halbert. Or maybe they'd all just come to drink up Susanna's fine ale.

She'd recruited help to serve them. A grandmother and two girls young enough to be her granddaughters were moving around the yard with pitchers, the women laughing and chatting with those they knew. Susanna waved Faucon and Edmund into her foreyard when she saw them.

"Up!" she shouted to the group of men sitting at the table Faucon had used the previous day. "Sir Crowner and his clerk need a place to sit, and I need to sit with them. Godiva," she motioned to the grandmother, "see to it these surly curs get their cups filled once again at no charge."

That stopped the complaints of the evicted, who went to sit on the ground near the cottage door. Faucon and Edmund shared the bench on one side of the table, offering their cups to be filled as they did. After emptying her pitcher into them, Susanna sat upon the opposite bench.

"I cannot believe my ears," she said, her eyes round and her expression astonished. "I mean, I knew Halbert was a stinkard, but to pretend to marry Cissy, and make Stephen a bastard, and all of us none the wiser? That's madness. And then Stephen! I was sure he'd killed his father. There was something different, something in his eyes these past weeks."

"Indeed," Faucon replied. "Where is Agnes?"

"Gone. She left this morning," Susanna said with a sigh. I begged her to stay, but a carter stopped by last night and offered to take her to Stanrudde."

Faucon sighed as well. He would never find her again. Sir Alain would make certain of that.

Then Susanna returned to matters closer to her heart. "Poor 'Wina. She's lost both husband and home, and Little Cissy is tainted by no fault of her own. Well, at least there'll be no heriot for them to pay. The king can't have his death tax from one who the law says cannot inherit." She grinned at that, but it swiftly faded.

"But what happens to the mill now? Is it mine, as you suggested when last we spoke?"

Faucon shook his head. "The cottage at the mill and all that it holds within its walls is yours, as it was Cissy's through Jervis. That means you'll be the one paying that heriot."

That made her bray in laughter. She slapped her hand on the table top to emphasize her amusement. "I'll sell some of Halbert's pretty things to do that, won't I just?"

"As for the mill," Faucon continued, "it cannot be yours as it never belonged to Cissy or Halbert. According to Prior Lambertus, all Halbert purchased with that great sum was the right to use the rented mill for his sole profit. The prior also told me that their agreement with Halbert stipulated that only his legitimate heirs could continue renting the mill after his death. If Halbert had no legitimate heir, then the right to operate the mill would return to the priory's control."

"Well then, it seems the monks once again are millers," Brother Edmund said, as he swallowed another mouthful of ale. Then he winced. Edmund's nose was crusted with dried blood, and there was a darkening bruise where his cheek had hit a stone in the courtyard when he had been overrun.

"If that's so, then Prior Lambertus best take a lesson from his predecessor and swallow his objections to a woman running his mill, if he has any," Susanna declared. "The only one left in Priors Holston who knows how to work those stones is 'Wina."

"You'll have to help her the way you told Stephen you'd help Agnes," Faucon replied, laughing. "You'll likely have to give up brewing to do it."

"The devil will die first," Susanna snapped back, smiling. "Aggie needed help. 'Wina will do fine on her own, that girl, hiring as need requires. You look miserable, Brother," she said to Edmund. "Do you want a cloth to clean that? I have a salve for your cheek."

"That would be a kindness, goodwife," the monk replied respectfully, but with his nose stuffed and swollen, the words broke into bits and pieces as he spoke them.

That made her bray again. "That's me, a kind of good wife. Enjoy your drink and I'll be back in a moment."

As she left them to enter her cottage, Faucon leaned forward, this being his first opportunity to speak privately with his clerk. "You broke your oath to me," he said, smiling at the monk. "You spoke when you swore not to."

Edmund's eyes widened in surprise. His mouth opened, no doubt to spew some harsh word.

Faucon laughed. "Nay, say nothing. That was but a poor jape on my part. I cannot thank you enough for accusing Stephen on my behalf. I went tongue-tied, with no idea of what needed to be said."

Lifting his cup, Edmund watched his employer over its rim for a long moment. He sipped, then set the wooden vessel back on the table. There was a new intensity in his gaze.

"I could see you were struggling," he said, when he couldn't have seen Faucon at all, not when he was running up from behind. "I knew how important the words would be, what with the sheriff standing right beside you. You are still new to the law. I thought it best that I make the accusation this time." He paused, then whispered. "No one challenges a monk to judicial combat."

It was Faucon's turn for surprise. Edmund had understood his warning for what it was. Then he'd curbed his 'honest' tongue, put aside his rigid rules, and broken an oath he'd made upon his love for the Lord God to protect the man he thought of as his 'penance.'

Disrespectful, aye. Arrogant and inconsiderate, for certain. But courageous enough to put himself between two warriors with no thought for his own safety. There was much to be said for a man with that much heart.

"I think we will do well together, you and I," Faucon told him, lifting his cup in salute to the monk.

"I think we shall, sir," Edmund replied, and emptied his cup. He almost smiled. "I do think we shall."

"My lord prior," Faucon said, turning in the center of the garden to face Prior Lambertus as the churchman entered the cloister from around the corner of the church.

Faucon had escorted Edmund to the priory, only to be met by Tom, Legate's great friend. Lambertus had put the man at the gateway with the message that he wished to see the shire's new crowner, should he come.

From the look of it, the prior had been working with his monks all this day. His habit was sweat-stained, and his feet in their sandals were dark with dirt. Grime streaked his face and his forearms; he'd rolled his sleeves above his elbows.

"Sir Faucon," Lambertus said, that strangled smile of his lifting his lips. He didn't offer his hand, suggesting he'd set aside his ring while he labored, but accepted Faucon's bow instead. "I hear it has been quite a day in the village. I'm told that Stephen Miller is dead by misadventure, but before he died, you were able to accuse him of his father's murder."

Faucon gave a single shake of his head. "Stephen was only accused of placing his dead father into the millrace to make murder seem an accidental death. In doing so he aided the one who killed Halbert. For that, I'm sure he will answer to our Lord."

A tiny crease marred the prior's smooth brow. "But if Stephen had not done the deed, why did he run when he was confronted with the charge?" As he spoke, he unrolled his sleeves, then crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands into the sleeves.

"Stephen ran because he couldn't bear to lose the identity and the life he had always believed belonged to him. He didn't wish to be exposed as Halbert's bastard son."

The corners of Faucon's mouth lifted into a grim smile. "But I do not tell you anything you don't already know."

Lambertus had known full well yesterday that there was no will . Where else would the illiterate son of Prior Holston's miller have taken the parchment he'd found, save to the prior who offered the villagers support and counsel?

Lambertus tilted his head to the side as his shoulders lifted slightly in a show of helplessness. "What is given in confidence cannot be breached, not even to aid in seeking out a murderer. It's a shame you weren't able to identify the man who actually killed the elder miller."

"The time for that has not yet come, but Brother Edmund tells me there is no limit to how long I may take in resolving the matter," Faucon offered, then paused for a breath. "I fear I must warn you that the right to operate the mill will not be coming back to you."

"You are mistaken," Lambertus said smoothly. "Stephen is a bastard, and by the terms of our agreement with Halbert, the mill now returns to our control."

"Come now," Faucon chided gently. "All of Priors Holston knew Halbert as a churl, a man who wouldn't give another so much as a piece of straw if there was no profit in it for him. Why else would he have allowed those damning words to be scribed onto parchment, save that he believed he had a son who could inherit all he'd built?"

The prior's arms opened. His eyes widened. He pressed a hand to his brow as if in pain. "Nay. That cannot be true."

"You read the words," Faucon persisted. "Halbert admitted that he was married to another. Did you not stop to wonder if there were children from that first union? As it turns out, Halbert's elder son, his legitimate heir, presently resides as my guest at Blacklea."

What Faucon took from Lambertus with one hand, he now returned with the other. "But take heart, my lord prior. I think this man will be a far more honest miller than Halbert ever was. He doesn't need to make the same profit. Remember, all obligation to repay the money Halbert borrowed died with him. More's the pity for his lender, if that amount was as rich as you suggest."

Here was Halbert's revenge at being forced to wed Agnes. Not one more shilling would the sheriff see in repayment of that loan, nor a single penny of whatever Stephen had promised to pay in return for Sir Alain ending his father's life. The sheriff couldn't even claim whatever collateral Halbert might have promised him. The slate had been wiped clean with the death of Halbert and his second son.

"Now, my lord Prior, the day dims and I still have miles to ride to Blacklea. I'll bid you good health in our Lord, and good night."

Lambertus said nothing as Faucon bowed, then turned and made his way back through the priory to where Legate waited.

The next day dawned overcast again, but the air was warmer and dryer. Once more wearing his armor, he rode out of Blacklea on Legate. At last he'd had time to arrange for a man to take the news of his great good fortune to Faucon's home, along with a request to send his personal belongings to Blacklea. It would be at least another two weeks before he saw them.

It turned out that in the whole village of Blacklea there were but two riding horses. Perhaps the day would come when Faucon could afford to make such a ride as this dressed more comfortably, and on a proper traveling horse. That day had yet to arrive. Until he had the coins he needed to buy and maintain his own palfrey, he'd ride Legate.

Marian rode one of the riding horses, the palfrey. It had an ambling gait that wouldn't be challenged, but didn't mind the baskets filled with Mimi's possessions tied to its saddle like saddlebags. Marian proved herself a capable and no-nonsense horsewoman. Her traveling gown, cut so she could ride modestly astride, was sturdy wool, dyed a dusty brown.

The other mount was the pony on which Mimi and Robert had learned to ride. Mimi had no riding attire. She sat astride, with her gowns hiked above her knees. When the spirit moved her, she'd drum her heels into the little creature's sides, sending it racing ahead, then racing back again, until Legate made his disapproval known. The outcome was the pony's reins tied to Marian's saddle, and a sulking Mimi perched behind her mother, her knees high as she rested her feet on those baskets.

Over the course of the hours, their conversation flowed like a river. They began by discussing Blacklea. As Susanna had suggested of women, Marian turned out to be as much Blacklea's steward as her lord husband. She knew from whence its income came, which of its folk did what was required of them and more, and which found ways to avoid labor.