The Nun's Tale Read Free

Perhaps she will learn something more.’
    ‘Of Leeds, you said?’ Louth asked.
    Ravenser nodded.
    ‘It is curious,’ Louth frowned. ‘Why did she flee to Beverley, not Leeds?’
    ‘Why indeed.’ Thoresby sipped his wine. There was more to this than a runaway nun. He felt it in his bones. While the others went on to more amiable topics through the two meat courses, he brooded.
    As the servants cleared and brought out the brandywine, Thoresby returned to the subject. ‘Why is the Prince interested in Longford, Sir Nicholas?’
    Louth tapped his fingers on his cup and looked around at the company, weighing how much to say. ‘Now that du Guesclin is a captain in the service of King Charles of France, Prince Edward would like to know all he can about a man he will inevitably face in battle.’
    ‘And was Longford helpful?’ Ravenser asked.
    Louth laughed. ‘Helpful? You would not ask had you ever met him. A slippery man, Will Longford. Much to hide. Oh, he told us a few things, but nothing to compromise du Guesclin.’
    Owen leaned forward, his good eye turned to study Louth. ‘So it was not just information you wanted.’
    Louth squirmed under the hawk-like regard. ‘No. I have the house watched.’
    Wykeham was interested. ‘What do you think he does for du Guesclin?’
    Louth shrugged. ‘I have proof of nothing. But men who might fight for our King have been taking ship to the continent to join the Free Companies.’
    ‘Thus weakening us.’ Thoresby nodded. ‘So you watch Longford’s house, and yet no one reported the arrival of a solitary nun.’
    Louth sighed. ‘I know. What else have my men missed, you wonder. So do I.’
    Wykeham noticed Thoresby’s brooding expression. ‘You think there is more to this nun’s death than an unhappy runaway struck down with fever?’
    Thoresby met the eyes of the man who was positioning himself to take over as Lord Chancellor. Perhaps they were intelligent eyes. He shrugged.
    ‘A nun runs away to a lover. ’Tis always the story,’ Louth said, pouring more brandywine, though his face was flushed by what he had already imbibed. ‘Think no more of it.’
    Thoresby closed his eyes, weary of idle speculation. He would like to know more about the dead nun, yet what would be the gain? She was dead, buried. He tapped his fingers impatiently in time with the steady plop of a new leak behind him, near the window. Perhaps the ominous ache in his bones was just the rain and his too many years of living.

One
Lamentations of the Dead
Late May 1366
     
    N icholas de Louth dropped his work and hurried out to the hall to greet Maddy, Will Longford’s servant. Surely she would not have come to Louth’s house unless she had received word of her master.
    Longford had disappeared in March, slipped away in the night. When a few days had passed with no signs of activity in and round the house, Louth had had his men break in. They had found not a soul, not even the servant, Maddy. She had been discovered at her parents’ house, complaining of her abandonment. She had said that one evening Longford had told her to leave, that he and his man Jaro were going away. ‘With no more notice than that. He might have told me sooner. I might have arranged for work. I’ve no wages now.’ Longford had said he would come for her when he returned. ‘He left that night. I’ve heard nothing since.’
    A search had revealed that someone had gone through Longford’s house before Louth’s men, scattering things everywhere. They had found more than a dozen daggers, several swords of French make, one of Italian, and – the prize – a letter with Bertrand du Guesclin’s seal acknowledging monies owed Longford. It was not proof of treason, not even signed, but it was a link with du Guesclin, however ambiguous. Louth would be less gentle in questioning Longford next time. They had also found some puzzling items, including a bottle of Italian glass that held a white powder. Maddy had recognised it.