Season of the Raven (A Servant of the Crown Mystery Book 1) (28 page)

Then she began to speak passionately about sheep and wool, about how her father's business continued to grow with no end in sight. When Faucon asked why her husband or Lord Rannulf hadn't already put more sheep on pasture, she admitted that neither of them had much interest, being content with matters as they were.

As Faucon stewed over that information, Mimi asked her mother about the nuns, and their conversation shifted. Where Marian fondly recalled the years she spent at her convent, Faucon told tales about his time with the monks, until Marian chided him for scaring her daughter. He then diverted them both with memories of his squiring, tales of their king, and his travels to the Holy Land.

They reached Nuneaton late in the day. By then, Mimi was seated in front of her mother, dozing.

Upon entering the town, they left behind the tofts and crofts of farmers, and now rode along a lane crowded on each side with homes, each standing cheek-by-jowl to its neighbors, right up against the edge of the lane. The smells and sounds of a town at rest filled the air. Beneath the ever-present smell of wood smoke he caught the scent of cabbage, onions and apples being boiled from one place. A sheep bleated from someone else's back garden. Raucous laughter, the amusement of a least a dozen folk, rolled out of another home, then one man began to sing, his voice deep and a little off key.

Although these townhouses had been constructed in the same manner of the more rural cottages, with flimsy walls and thatched roofs, they rose to two- and three-storeys tall. Each one seemed to have a placard hanging above its door, proclaiming some sort of trade, as well as a lower storey dedicated as a shop.

"Which came first, the holy house or the town?" Faucon asked.

"A village," Marian replied with a smile. "My father told me that, until the nuns came some thirty years past and our old king gave them the right to hold their market, this was only a village, not much larger than Blacklea. Look what's happened in so short a time!" She pointed out a goldsmith's establishment, then shot that smile of hers at Faucon. "As coins change hands, miracles happen, or so my father always says."

She laughed. "It can only be true. Coins changed hands, and I married a knight."

"Miracles, indeed," he replied in agreement. Coins had changed hands, and he became a Keeper of the Pleas, the crowner for this shire, and a man of sudden substance.

Marian led the way onto another lane. At its end stood a tall red stone wall. He could see the roof and tower of the church rising above the wall. Unlike St. Radegund's leafy fence line, this wall had a proper arched gateway built into it, complete with a pair of iron-bound wooden doors, one door thrown wide. A nun—the portress—stood in the opening speaking with a monk, a fellow Benedictine who wore a broad-brimmed hat and had a leather pack upon his back.

"Brother Colin?" Faucon called, as he and Marian drew their tired mounts to a halt before the gateway.

The elderly monk turned in surprise, then grinned in pleasure. "Sir Crowner! Do the living or the dead bring you to Nuneaton?" he asked as the portress hurried off to fetch the help she needed to accommodate her new visitors.

"The almost-living, Brother." Faucon pointed to the child stirring in Marian's saddle. Yawning, Mimi slid to the ground and leaned sleepily against the palfrey's side. "Lady Marianne of Blacklea comes to be educated by the nuns, just as was her mother, Lady Marian, wife of the steward of Blacklea."

Dismounting, Faucon went to help Marian from her saddle. With his hands at her waist, he steadied her as she worked to free her feet from the bulky gown and stirrups. When she was ready, he lifted her down. She was lighter than he expected. As she found her feet, she discovered the joys of a long day in the saddle. Groaning a little, another man's wife leaned against him for an instant.

He smiled at her, his hands still at her waist. "Pins and needles?"

"Oh Lord, save me," she complained with a laugh, then stepped back from him. There was nothing but gratitude in her gaze.

Faucon let her go, then indicated Colin. "Lady Marian, wife to Sir John of Blacklea, this is Brother Colin of Stanrudde, the monk I told you about last night, the one who can tell how a man has died by looking in his mouth."

Marian offered the elderly monk an unsteady bend of her knees. "Quite the feat that seems, the way Sir Faucon tells the tale," she said. "What brings you to Nuneaton, Brother?"

"Herbs, my lady," Colin replied. "I am away from my house in Stanrudde all the growing season, harvesting what is needed for treating ills. There is much to be found in this area, and the infirmaress here enjoys tramping through brambles and bracken with me. Only it seems she's away from the house at the moment, and not expected back until the day after the morrow."

Just then the portress returned with stable hands and a maidservant. The lads took all three horses, after being assured Legate was safe without his rider. The portress called for Mimi and Marian to follow her. Mimi waved her farewell and Marian called back a promise that she'd be ready for an early departure in the morning.

"This way to the guest house, sir." The waiting maid servant pointed to a fine, two-storey structure that clung to the outside of the convent wall only a few dozen yards distant. It had a second-storey entry door, reached by an external staircase. "I'm to help you disarm, then I'll see you get a warm meal."

As she started toward the guest house, Faucon looked at the older monk. "If you are at loose ends this night and have no prayers to say, I would enjoy your company."

"I do have prayers to say, but I would be pleased to join you for a time, until I retreat for the night to the chaplains' house," Colin replied with a smile and a nod.

It wasn't until they were climbing the stairs to the guest house door, the monk trailing Faucon, that Colin asked, "So, have you come any closer to resolving who murdered the miller?"

"I have indeed, and it's a strange tale for certain. I even know why Halbert Miller was killed."

"Why?" Colin asked.

"Because the Priory of St. Radegund is short of money, while in the middle of building," Faucon said as he stopped on the porch at the top of the steps and looked down at the monk.

"I beg your pardon?" Colin gasped, his eyes wide in shock. He stopped where he stood, midway up the stairs.

"Come up. It is a complicated tale, and I'll need to be out of my armor and filling my belly if I'm to tell it properly."

The chamber set aside for the convent's male visitors to use was a rich one, complete with a curtained bed. As it should be. The place had been founded by an earl who had come often to visit his sister.

Not only did the room have a line of narrow windows in its outer wall, but its hearth had an odd arrangement, with bricks built into the wall above the stone that formed a channel of sorts to lead the smoke up through the roof where it vented to the out-of-doors. When Faucon asked about it, the maid said as long as the shutters were open on the windows for air flow, the smoke wouldn't leave the channel.

She was right. Faucon and Colin brought their small backless chairs up to the hearthstone and savored the heat without the sting of smoke in their eyes.

The meal the nuns offered was richer than he expected, with a thick and tasty fish stew, bread and a wedge of fine cheese, and fresh cider to drink. Dressed in nothing but his braies and seated on one of the two backless stools in the room, Faucon savored the warmth and the company as he warmed his bare toes on the edge of the hearthstone.

"Prior Lambertus has always been a man eaten alive by his ambition," Colin admitted with a shake of his head after Faucon finished explaining the priory's connection to Halbert's death. "I see God's hand in sending Alf to Priors Holston, and am glad to hear he will become the village miller. I think each day that Prior Lambertus has to look upon him is one less day he will spend in purgatory, cleansing himself of sins."

Colin leaned forward on his chair to set his cup of cider on the edge of the hearthstone. "So tell me how you can be so certain it is the sheriff who murdered Halbert with Stephen's aid."

"Would that I were completely certain," Faucon replied, then sighed. "If I were, I would leap wholeheartedly into the accusation, more than ready to face Sir Alain in judicial combat."

The monk's brows rose high on his forehead, his dark eyes alive with surprise. "Do you truly think he would challenge you?"

"Of course he would," Faucon replied with a quiet laugh, "doing so not because I believe he killed Halbert, for he knows I will never prove that. I cannot. Nay, he'd do so because I am now the 'sheriff's bane.' That is how Lord Graistan named this new position of mine. To be the Keeper of the Pleas is to be the man who is tasked to see to it the sheriff gets nothing more from his position save his due, which is a pittance. I'm an even worse threat to Sir Alain, because I'm unknown to him. From this moment forward, he must watch his every move. How much easier his life would be if he were to challenge me to judicial combat over the miller's murder and either end my life or leave me so injured that I could no longer serve the royal court. If that happened, he'd see to it some neighbor or friend was elected in my place and his life would continue as it had."

"You don't think you'll ever prove our sheriff murdered the miller?" Colin asked, elbows braced on his thighs, his cup cradled in his hands.

Faucon sighed at that. "Not if I cannot find the woman who was his leman and convince her to speak against her love. Neither one is possible, not now that Sir Alain is aware of what I believe I know. I have no doubt she is once more in his protection. Sir Alain will keep her safely hidden. Nay, I will never again see Agnes of Stanrudde."

Colin shifted his gaze from the crackling, leaping flames on the stone to look at his host. He frowned a little. "A small woman, and plain?"

"Aye, didn't you see her at the mill?" Faucon replied. "She was dressed in red and her eye was blackened."

Colin only shook his head. "I saw no woman at all, only you and the other men of the inquest. Would you know if this Agnes is a woodcarver's daughter?"

"You know her?" Faucon blurted out, straightening in his seat. "Aye, Agnes of Stanrudde."

"Of course I know Aggie," Colin replied, as if surprised by Faucon's surprise. "Did I not tell you I'd been the apothecary in Stanrudde for almost all my life? I was at her father's side when he died. Her sister never forgave Aggie when she took up with Sir Alain, even though his coins were what kept food on their table before their mother remarried. She said that Aggie brought nothing but shame down upon their family. I think that's why Margery left Stanrudde for Banbury, marrying as far as she could from those who knew her sister had become a rich man's poppet."

That made Faucon laugh. "Information come too late to do me any good," he said. "That leaves me only one final mystery to solve."

"Glad to be of service, however belated, Sir Crowner," Colin said with a scornful breath. "So what is this final mystery? Mayhap I have a solution for it hiding somewhere in the recesses of this old head of mine."

"It's Halbert's fine tunic, the one Agnes gave him as a wedding gift," Faucon said. "I cannot believe that Sir Alain stayed long enough at Priors Holston after killing Halbert to put that tunic on him for vengeance's sake."

"What do you mean? Explain it to me," Colin urged. "Better yet, tell me everything you know—or believe—of how this murder happened."

"Aye, then. I'll start where I think this all began," Faucon said. "I think that just before Sir Alain left for the Michaelmas court in Rochester, he received word from Agnes that the prior would not help her escape her marriage to Halbert. She had gone to Lambertus, hoping he would dissolve the marriage when she claimed Halbert wasn't doing his marital duty. I'm not certain she knew that prior was aware of her former relationship with Alain."

He shot Colin a smiling sidelong look. "She was when she left the priory. No matter how she argued, Lambertus rebutted her every request, even claiming the possibility that Halbert might miraculously put life in a womb where none had ever before stirred.

"Now this I can never prove, but I believe Lambertus has also taken advantage of the sheriff's quest for profit and borrowed from him. That momentary lapse on his part now pinches him most dearly. But that has nothing to do with this story."

Faucon once more stretched his toes out to the hearthstone as he continued his tale. "Left with no other avenue to save the one he loved, the sheriff sent word to Halbert that he would come to Aldersby upon his return to the shire from the royal court. I can only guess what threats might have been made, but I suspect it had to do with the loan Sir Alain had made to the miller. Perhaps he was demanding full payment of what was owed to him or to collect whatever Halbert had promised for collateral.

"Any such threat would have panicked Halbert. Again, this is nothing I know for certain, but I wager Halbert was spending coins he should have been paying Alain. Priors Holston is nothing but a large village, not even as big a town as this one, yet Stephen's attire and their home rivals those of the grandest of London merchants.

"Thus, rightly believing himself doomed, Halbert went to the priory where he had the truth scribed on that parchment, which he left for Stephen to find and decipher, injuring two birds with his one stone. Stephen was pressing him about Agnes' dower, generally making life miserable for Halbert. And, if Alain was going to kill him, Halbert was going to make certain the sheriff never received another penny from his loan.

"Then Alain arrives at Aldersby, and before he knows it, there is Stephen, coming to offer just the resolution he craves to the problem of Agnes. I'm wagering Stephen offered to continue paying on that loan if Sir Alain would do the deed that Stephen couldn't bring himself to do. It's my guess that Stephen suggested drowning. Put his father in the race while he was in a drunken stupor, and let the wheel take him. But Alain craved Halbert's blood for his betrayal."

He smiled at Colin. "To simply drown Halbert would have been very unsatisfying," he said, and was rewarded with the monk's laugh.