"Money."
Humphrey's mouth twisted in an expression of rage, relief, and contempt. "I should have known," he said. "Money is always the answer, even for self-righteous whoresons like you." Crossing to a coffer chest, he removed a key from his belt, and after a moment of fumbling, flung the lid open. "Do not think that you can dip into my well anytime you get thirsty. This one time, you can drink, but no more. Now... how much?"
"Enough," Justin said, "to buy a mule."
When the money had been counted out, Humphrey carefully relocked the coffer, then watched as Justin transferred the coins to his pouch. "I'll not expect to see you here again," he warned. "And you can leave the rock."
"I think not," Justin said, glancing down at the dried blood stains and wishing they were the mercer's, not Melangell's. "And we're not done yet. There is one more thing you must do. You're to go to Master Serlo, persuade him to take Daniel on as one of his apprentices."
"What? What sort of daft demand is that?"
"One you're going to meet, if you expect me to keep silent."
"How am I supposed to convince him? Why would he want Daniel in his shop? God knows I do not!"
"Appeal to his better nature. He seems a decent sort, doubtless feels guilty that he was so quick to suspect the worst of Daniel. Offer a very generous bond of surety and a favorable contract. How you do it is up to you. But get it done or we have no deal."
When Humphrey continued to protest, Justin cut him off curtly. "There is nothing more to be said. I'll be back at week's end, so you'd best seek out Master Serlo as soon as you sober up."
Humphrey spat out another oath. "This is extortion, plain and simple!"
Justin halted in the doorway. "No ... it is retribution." It was a relief to escape the stifling, murky atmosphere of the mercer's shop, and he paused out on the street to savor the sunlight, the clean air. Mayhap Jonas was right and he was taking too many of John's habits to heart. It was easy to abuse power, all too easy. For certes, he'd taken shameless advantage of his position as the queen's man. But after more than five months in the royal service, he felt sure that his queen would have approved of what he'd done. As he walked briskly up Friday Street, he seemed to hear Eleanor's voice echoing on the light summer wind, reminding him again that There are any number of reasons, Justin, why people are tempted to dance with the Devil.
The mule was young and sturdy, a pale grey, his mane braided with one of Cati's red hair ribbons. Godwin could not resist running his hands along the animal's sleek hide each time he passed by, but eventually the cart was loaded and the good-byes were said. Godwin clambered up onto the seat and Justin gave Cati a hand up, too. Clara and her husband smiled and waved, and Nell produced a small sack of wafers for their noontime meal on the road. With cries of "Godspeed" and "Safe journey," Godwin and his daughter bade London farewell and began the long journey back to Wales. They'd gone only a short distance, though, before Godwin reined in the mule.
"Justin!" Cati cried, leaning precariously out of the cart. When he saw what she wanted to show him, he nodded and grinned, and the cart lumbered on, accompanied by Shadow until Justin whistled to him.
Nell joined Justin in the street. "What did the little lass want you to see?"
"That she was wearing Melangell's St Davydd's cross."
"Well, St Davydd seems to be smiling upon them these days. How else explain Godwin's new mule?" Nell queried blandly, blue eyes agleam. Justin merely smiled and shrugged, as he always did when the subject of Godwin's mule was raised. Nell called out a final farewell as the cart turned onto the Cheapside, and then glanced over at Justin.
"I hope you have nothing in mind for the afternoon. The Templars' mill offers the best flour and the best price, but I've need of a strong arm to fetch it home."
"I cannot think of anything I'd rather do than lug flour sacks back from Southwark," Justin said, and Nell grinned, linking her arm in his.
The rest of the day was a pleasant one. After picking up Nell's flour at the Templars' mill, they bought pork pies from a street vendor and ate by the river, watching as ships lowered their masts to navigate under the bridge. On their way home, they stopped in the Eastcheap market so Nell could buy some honey. While she haggled with the peddler over the price, Justin wandered over to look at the caged larks and magpies.
"Promise me you're not thinking of buying one," Nell entreated when she rejoined him. "Not a pie - they never stop shrieking."
"If I tell you, you'll laugh," Justin said, but he told her, anyway. "Cati said that Melangell hated to see birds caged up, and for a mad moment or two, I was actually thinking of buying one and setting it free... for Melangell." He smiled sheepishly. "I realized then that I'd merely be buying dinner for that ginger torn," he said, pointing toward a large cat who was prowling under the cages, hungry green eyes aglow.
"I think," Nell said, "that you've already done what you could for Melangell," and he let her draw him away from those wicker cages with their brightly colored captives, glad that she hadn't caught him browsing at the booth selling baby rattles and cradles.
With Shadow leading the way, they reached Gracechurch Street in late afternoon. Pretending to stagger under the weight of Nell's packages, Justin was about to enter the alehouse when he heard his name being called. Gunter was standing in the doorway of the smithy, beckoning to him.
"A messenger has been looking for you, Justin," he said. "The queen wants you."
~
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
John's conniving is a matter of historical record, as is the siege of Windsor. Justin's participation was, of course, a case of dramatic license. Unlike my historical "sagas," my medieval mysteries have a mixed cast, those who actually lived and those who live only in my imagination. There is no need to document Eleanor of Aquitaine's subsequent history, or that of her sons, but readers might be interested in the fate of one of the secondary characters: Master Serlo of the Mercer's Guild eventually became Mayor of London.
As I explained in my first mystery, The Queen's Man, there was no Bishop of Chester. Chester lay in the diocese of Coventry and Lichfield, and although the title Bishop of Chester was used during the Middle Ages, it was an unofficial usage. And as I invariably mention in my historical novels, I use the medieval Welsh spelling for St Davydd, as this is more phonetic. Modern Welsh would spell it Dafydd.
In researching The Queen's Man, I discovered that medieval detectives labored under certain handicaps, among them, no DNA testing, no fingerprints, no forensics. But in Cruel as the Grave, Justin and Jonas did not have to worry about warrants or the admissibility of evidence, so perhaps it all evens out. As long as I get to write about Eleanor of Aquitaine and her fascinatingly dysfunctional family, I have no complaints.
S.K.P.
February 1998
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'd like to thank the following people in particular for their support and encouragement: My parents, the most loving critics any writer could ask for. Valerie Ptak LaMont, who did so much to keep Justin and me on course. Kyle LaMont, who provided insight on Justin's estrangement with his father. Earle Kotila and Jill and John Davies, who help me to keep the faith. The editor who has been my mainstay from my first book tohopefully my last, Marian Wood. My longtime English editor and friend, Susan Watt. And my agents extraordinaire, Molly Friedrich and Mic Cheetham. Lastly, I'd like to thank the readers who welcomed my first venture into the mystery realm, and were generous enough to write and tell me so. Feedback from readers is truly worth its weight in gold.
Sharon Kay Penman, Cruel as the Grave
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