"You've a sharp eye," Luke said approvingly. "But is there anything you might have forgotten?" All business now, he leaned across the table. Justin had seen such single-minded intensity before, usually on the hunting field. "Sometimes a witness will overlook a small detail," Luke explained, "thinking it insignificant. Most often it is, but every now and then… I once solved a murder because the killer dropped a key near the body. Is there anything else that you've not told me?"
That was an awkward question, for there was a great deal Justin was concealing: that blood-stained letter, a royal captive in Austria, the shadow cast by the French king. "Well," he said finally, "there was something. It sounds foolish and most likely means nothing, but I thought I saw a snake."
Luke's hand froze on the flagon. "A snake?"
Justin nodded. "I know what you're thinking. Snakes den up during the winter months. So why would one be slithering about on the Alresford Road? But it sure as hellfire looked like a snake!"
"It was. I can tell you that for certes. I can also tell you who killed Gervase Fitz Randolph - a misbegotten whoreson known as Gilbert the Fleming."
Luke smiled grimly at the expression of amazement on Justin's face. "This is not the first time he has made use of that snake trick, so I can even tell you how he did it. He found a snake's burrow, dug it out, put it in a sack, and then flung it out into the road as the goldsmith and groom rode by. Nothing spooks horses as much as snakes do - it's an almost foolproof way to get a man thrown."
"That would explain why their horses bolted without warning. What do you know about this man?"
"That hanging is too good for him," Luke said harshly. "Gilbert is a local lad, although he long since moved on to London; better pickings there, I suppose. But he comes back to visit his kinfolk, and last summer he was implicated in a brutal double murder here. He ambushed a merchant and his wife on the Southampton Road, he and another devil's whelp. The man, they killed outright. After raping the woman, Gilbert took his blade to her, and left her to bleed to death by the side of the road. Our Gib does not believe in leaving witnesses behind; so much tidier that way. But the merchant's wife did not die, not right away. She lived long enough to tell about the snake and the ambush and to put a rope about Gilbert's wretched neck."
"Christ have pity," Justin said softly.
"I spent every waking hour hunting them down. We caught his partner, tried him, and then hanged him out on Andover Road. But Gilbert had the devil's own luck and somehow got away. I heard that he'd gone back to London and I warned the sheriffs there to keep an eye out for him, but London is a big enough log to hide any number of maggots. I suppose Gilbert decided enough time had gone by for him to risk returning. God rot him, but he has never lacked for nerve."
"Why is he called Gilbert the Fleming? You said he is Winchester born and bred; did his family come over from Flanders?"
"They call him that," Luke said, "because he is so handy with a knife. Have you not heard men say that there is nothing sharper than a Fleming's blade?"
Justin nodded somberly, chilled to think what would have happened to Edwin had he not gone back in answer to that cry for help. "Do you think you can find him?"
"If I do not, it'll not be for want of trying. At first light, I'll get the word out on the street, and we'll keep his family so closely watched that they'll not be able to burp without one of my men hearing." With that, Luke pushed the bench out and stood up. "I have to get back to the castle. I was in the midst of an interrogation when Wat came bursting in. I'll let you know what I find out about Gilbert. Meanwhile, de Quincy, stay out of alleys." He grinned, then signaled to the tavern owner. "Rayner, put his drinks on my account."
Collecting Wat, the deputy swaggered out, the focal point of all eyes. Justin caught the tavern owner's glowering in his direction and transformed the man's frown to a grateful smile by deliberately dropping some coins onto the table. He knew very well that Luke never paid for the bills he ran up in taverns and alehouses; he'd see free drinks as one of the many perquisites of his office.
After Luke's departure, the tavern patrons settled back to their drinks and their draughts games and their gossip. Justin slouched down in his seat, trying to ignore the curious looks being aimed his way. He needed solitude to assess what the deputy had told him. Could he truly trust Luke de Marston? If so, he'd gained an invaluable ally. If not, he might not live to regret it.
6
WINCHESTER
January 1193
Winchester Castle was easy to find; it claimed more than four acres in the southwest corner of the city. Justin was admitted without difficulty, for he had the password - the name of Luke de Marston. The sky above his head looked frozen and foreboding, and there was a threat of snow in the air. It may have been the weather, but Justin felt a distinct chill as he crossed the bailey. He knew the castle was often used as a royal residence, but he found it inhospitable and unwelcoming. Was it because he knew Eleanor had occasionally been confined here during those long years as a captive queen?
Or because he still had a few lingering doubts about Luke's good faith?
It was too late to worry about that, though, for Luke had come into view, swerving at sight of Justin. Falling into step beside the deputy, Justin gave him a sideways, curious glance. "So… how did the interrogation go? Did the suspect confess?"
"What do you think?"
"You missed your calling, Luke. With your knack for getting men to see the error of their ways, you ought to have been a priest."
Luke fought back a smile. "What brings you here, de Quincy? Any more secrets you forgot to tell me about? Let me guess… in your spare time, you spy for the Pope? You're a royal prince incognito? You know the whereabouts of King Richard?"
Justin burst out laughing. If Luke only knew! "Alas, nothing so dramatic. As far as I know, I've not a drop of royal blood. But I may have a way to flush out our killer."
Luke stopped abruptly. "How so?"
"I thought," Justin said, "to put the cat amongst the pigeons."
Luke listened intently, not interrupting until Justin was done. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "it is worth trying. Of course it might make you a target." He paused then, very deliberately. "But I suppose I could live with that."
Justin grinned. "I'll take that," he said, "as your odd way of wishing me good luck!"
~~
From the castle, Justin headed for Gervase Fitz Randolph's goldsmith shop. It was open for business, the unicorn sign swaying precariously in the wind, the shutters thrown back, a sound of hammering coming from within. Miles was working at the anvil, pounding gold into gold leaf. He looked up with a startled smile when Justin said his name.
"You're back, are you? Come on in." Setting the hammer down, he unlatched the little gate in the corner so Justin could enter. Thinking it had been more fun to vault over the counter, Justin stepped inside and came over to watch as Miles smoothed the parchment protecting the gold foil.
"Are you on your own today, Miles?"
"No… Guy is in the rear, heating up the forge. Tom was supposed to be in, too, but he has not shown up yet. I guess men of God need not keep regular hours like the rest of us."
Justin found it interesting that Miles seemed far less indulgent of Thomas's erratic work habits than he had at their last meeting. "Thomas is still set, then, upon taking holy vows?"
"More than ever. He is making life so wretched for the household that his mother and uncle will have no choice but to give in." Miles was taking a decidedly protective attitude toward Jonet's family, sounding more like a prospective son-in-law and less like an employee. Before Justin could pursue this further, the door to the rear room swung open.
Guy looked healthier; his color was better. His surprise at seeing Justin was evident. After a conspicuous pause, he mustered up a remote smile. "What brings you back to Winchester, Master de Quincy?"
"Your brother's murder."
"I do not understand," Guy said slowly. "What is there left to d
o for Gervase but mourn him?"
"How about catching his killers?"
"Naturally I hope the sheriff captures the outlaws. I also hope for an early spring, a good harvest, and that my dolt of a nephew comes to his senses. But I would not wager money on any of those hopes. Outlaws rarely answer for their crimes, at least in this life."
"That may well be, but I was not talking about the outlaws. I meant the ones who paid them."
Guy gasped loudly. "What sort of daft talk is that? My brother was slain by bandits!"
"I know. I was there. But it was no chance robbery. We have reason to believe that the outlaws were hired to ambush your brother."
"I think you've lost your wits! Where would you get such an absurd suspicion?"
"I overheard something in those woods. But it was only later - after I talked to the under-sheriff - that we realized what it meant."
"Luke de Marston believes this lunacy, too?
"He does, Master Fitz Randolph."
Miles had been listening, openmouthed. "This makes no sense. Who would want Master Gervase dead?"
"That is what we mean to find out… and why I am here. I wanted to assure you that we will not stop until we learn the truth, even if we have to poke into every corner of Gervase's life and unearth all his secrets."
Guy had gone very white. "I have never heard anything so preposterous. My brother had no enemies. Why do you suspect a plot? What in Christ's Name did you hear in the woods?"
"I am sorry," Justin said, politely but firmly. "I cannot tell you that."
Guy's pallor was suddenly blotched with hot, hectic color. "You cannot possibly suspect one of us!"
"Did I say that?" Justin asked blandly. "We have no suspects… yet. I came here merely to tell you how the investigation is progressing, and to promise you that we will not rest until Gervase Fitz Randolph gets justice."
"I think we ought to talk to the sheriff about this, Master Guy." Miles was frowning, running a hand nervously through his sleek blond hair, for once indifferent to his appearance. "I am not sure that we can trust Luke de Marston. Or this man de
Quincy either, if it comes to that. What do we know about him, after all?"
Guy looked at the journeyman blankly, saying nothing. Justin decided it was time to go. He'd planted the seeds; now they needed a chance to sprout. They watched in silence as he left the shop. But he could feel their eyes boring into his back all the while. Acting on instinct, he turned into the first doorway he came to. He had not long to wait. Within moments, Guy emerged from the shop. Still wearing his leathersmith's apron, he crossed the street without even a glance toward oncoming traffic and stumbled through a narrow doorway.
Justin crossed the street, too. A wilting branch drooped from a crooked ale-pole, and the door's paint was peeled and cracked. Inside, the alehouse was no less dingy, dank, and foul smelling. Slumped at a corner table, Guy was clutching unsteadily at a large tankard. As Justin watched from the doorway, Gervase's brother drank deeply of the ale, spilling almost as much as he swallowed.
~~
After leaving Guy awash in ale, Justin paid a surreptitious visit to the Fitz Randolph stable, where he briefed Edwin. He did not want to jeopardize the groom's job in any way, and Edwin needed to be warned that his name would echo like an obscenity in Fitz Randolph ears from now on. He'd wondered if he'd have trouble convincing Edwin. Not only did Edwin believe him, he had to talk the groom out of volunteering to spy on his behalf, so appalled was he that a member of the goldsmith's own family might have had a hand in his death. Justin made Edwin promise not to do anything foolhardy and left him pondering suspects.
As he wandered along the Cheapside, Justin noticed a crowd gathering up ahead. Quickening his pace, he saw that the attraction was a peddler's cart. The peddler was unkempt and greying, but he had a glib tongue and a practiced spiel, and for good measure, a small monkey on a chain. Banging on cymbals and turning cartwheels, the monkey soon had the spectators laughing at its antics, and the peddler then launched his hard sell, extolling the virtues of his wares.
The cart was well stocked with wooden combs, razors, needles, vinegar, salt, and the oil of olives, poppies, and almonds. Joking with his customers, the peddler seemed to have a product for every need. Wormwood for fleas. Sage for headache or fever. Green leeches for bloodletting. Agrimony boiled in milk as a restorative for lust. Senna as a purgative. Candied quince for anyone with a sweet tooth. Bantering with the men, flirting with
the women, the peddler was soon doing a brisk business.
Justin paused to watch, amused by the haggling. He'd been there a few moments when he caught a whiff of perfume. He'd encountered it only once before, but he recognized it immediately, for Aldith Talbot had burned her way into his memory like a brand. As she came up beside him, he greeted her with a defensive coolness. He had not forgotten how she had used him to make Luke jealous, but his pulse still speeded up at sight of her.
"What a pity," she said, "that the peddler has no apologies for sale, neatly wrapped and ready to go. I owe you at least a dozen, mayhap more."
"In truth," Justin said, "I'd rather have an explanation than an apology."
Aldith's smile was rueful. "I was afraid you'd say that." Linking her arm in his, she drew him away from the crowd surrounding the peddler's cart. "If I tell you, it will be just between us? When he nodded, she was quiet for a moment, considering her response. "I wanted to make sure that Luke did not get skittish about our wedding."
"Why would you worry about that?"
"I suppose I was being foolish. But I feared that Luke might have second thoughts about the wisdom of marrying me. It is not the most prudent of matches, after all. I am older than he is, my liaison with Gervase was known throughout Winchester, and I may not be the most fertile of wives. I have gotten with child only twice, and both times I miscarried of the babe. How could I blame Luke if he had qualms about the marriage?"
"Wisdom has naught to do with it. The man is besotted with you. He told me so last night."
"Did he… truly?" This time her smile was blinding. "He can be sparing with the words… except in bed, of course," she added, with a low laugh. "But what you men say in bed is not always gospel, is it?"
Justin laughed, too. "You do not really expect me to answer that?"
She shook her head, still laughing, and Justin found himself hoping that Luke did indeed mean to marry her. He'd sounded sincere, but Justin knew there were men who hunted for the thrill of the chase, losing interest once their quarry was brought to bay. For Aldith's sake, he hoped that Luke was not one of them.
Aldith's moods were as changeable as those blue-green eyes of hers. No longer playful, she was regarding Justin pensively. "Do you truly think that one of Gervase's own family plotted his death?"
Justin was not surprised that Luke had confided in Aldith. From what he'd seen of the deputy in action, Luke followed his instincts, caring little if rules were broken in the process. "I think someone did, but I cannot say if it was a family member, not yet. You probably know them better than I do, Mistress Aldith. If you had to choose, who would seem most likely to you?"
"I cannot say that I know them well. Mainly, I saw them through Gervase's eyes. If I had to pick, though, I'd say Thomas."
"Interesting. Edwin is convinced that Jonet and Miles are the culprits."
"What say you, Justin? Who do you suspect?"
"Guy." Justin smiled, without humor. "I might as well flip a coin. It is all conjecture and suspicion, cobwebs and smoke. Unless I can prove -"
He stopped so abruptly that Aldith looked at him in surprise. He was staring over her shoulder, so intently that she turned to look, too. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she started to ask, "Is something wrong?" But by then Justin was gone.
Justin shoved his way through the crowd, heedless of the complaints and curses trailing in his wake. His quarry had darted around the peddler's cart. Hearing the footsteps behind him, he ducked into an alley and turned his ba
ck, like a man seeking a place to relieve himself. Justin followed, grabbed his shoulder, and swung him around.
Durand showed an aplomb that was glazed in ice; he didn't even blink. "What do you want?" His lip curled. "If you're begging, I have nothing to spare. A man able bodied ought to work for his bread or do without. And if you've robbery in mind, you'd best be ready to die unshriven."
"My mistake," Justin said, stepping aside. With the most disagreeable smile he had ever seen, Durand brushed past him. Justin waited until he'd reached the alley entrance. "My mistake," he repeated, with a disdainful smile of his own. "I confused you with a blustering knave called Durand."
The other man's sangfroid was capable of being shaken, after all, at least briefly, for the look he gave Justin was murderous. After he'd gone, Justin slowly unclenched his fist from the hilt of his sword. He'd acted on impulse and was beginning to regret it. Durand had been spying on him, but why? He could think of only one person who'd have put the knight on his trail. It was that troubling realization which had fueled his anger; he'd turned on Durand the fury he could not let loose upon the queen's son.