He'd not deny the confrontation had given him some satisfaction. For a few moments, he'd not felt like a pawn, a cat's-paw in a conspiracy of kings. Now, though, he wondered if he'd been too rash. Was it ever wise to challenge John outright? Starting back toward High Street, he felt as if he'd blundered into a labyrinth, murky and serpentine, for that was how he envisioned the workings of John's brain. What was Durand's mission? Could it be more sinister than mere spying? And what would John do now that his man had been found out? But was Durand likely to tell John that he'd been outwitted?
The peddler was no longer selling his wares. Instead, he was embroiled in a shouting match with an angry youth, surrounded by an interested audience. Aldith was standing on the edge of the crowd and moved quickly to intercept Justin as he drew near. "What happened? Where in the world did you go?"
"I thought I saw someone I knew." To head off further questions, Justin pointed toward the men. "What is that all about… a disgruntled customer?"
"No, a rival. The lad is from the apothecary shop across the way and wants the peddler to move on ere they lose all their customers."
Justin had no interest in a territorial dispute between merchants. "May I escort you home, Mistress Aldith?" he offered. "It is the least I can do after dashing off with nary a word to you."
She smiled and let him take her arm. He suspected that she'd be flirting with the priest on her deathbed; in that, she reminded him of the dark-eyed Claudine. They were threading their way through the crowd when people began to move aside in haste. Pointing toward the approaching horsemen, the apothecary's apprentice cried out triumphantly, "We sent to the castle to fetch the under-sheriff. You'll be on your way soon enough now, old man, with your tail tucked between your legs!"
The peddler spat an obscenity, then elbowed the youth aside so he could be the first to tell his side to the sheriff's deputy. Luke was mounted on a sorrel stallion. Reining in, he signaled a halt to his flanking serjeants, his eyes taking in the scene, lingering longest upon Justin and Aldith, standing together in the street.
Dismounting, Luke was assailed by competing voices, all eager to enlighten him about the cause of this public disturbance. The noise did not abate until he shouted for silence. It did not take him long to resolve the dispute, finding in the apothecary's favor. The peddler was resentful, but shrewd enough to realize this was a fight he could not win, and he agreed to move on. Luke wasted no further time on them, striding over to Aldith and Justin.
He greeted Aldith by pressing a quick kiss into her palm. It was a simple act, but done in public, it took on symbolic significance, and Aldith glowed. When he suggested that she buy him some candied quince before the peddler packed up, she tactfully pretended to believe he had a sudden craving for sweets. Luke then jerked his head away from the peddler's customers and Justin followed.
"Well?" the deputy demanded. "What happened at the goldsmithy? Did they buzz about when you jabbed your stick into their hive?"
"They took it badly, which was to be expected. Were they all as innocent as God's own angels, they'd still be dismayed by the news I brought. By the time I was done speaking, they'd gone from bereaved to suspect. Even Miles saw that quick enough. But Guy seemed well and truly stricken. When I said we'd be digging into Gervase's past, he turned the color of curdled milk and fled to the closest alehouse."
"Did he now? Men who try to drink away their troubles can drown in them, too. And when they start flailing about, they give up the truth more often than not. I think I'll pay a visit to Master Guy this noon."
Justin nodded approvingly. "How goes the hunt for Gilbert the Fleming? Have you had any luck yet?"
"I might have a lead later this afternoon. But I can deal with only one crime at a time. Murder or poaching - which shall it be, de Quincy?"
Justin was not surprised; he'd seen flashes of the deputy's jealousy before. "You need not worry about poaching, Luke. I'm not one for hunting in another man's woods."
Luke's smile was almost too fleeting to catch. "I'm reassured to hear that you're so law abiding." Adding, "Stop by the cottage tonight after Compline and I'll let you know what I found out."
~~
The snow had never materialized and stars were beginning to glimmer in the sky as Justin emerged from the abbey guest hall that evening. He'd taken only a few steps when he was accosted by a hooded, mantled figure. He knew this wasn't Durand – not tall enough - and assumed it was one of the monks. But when he raised his lantern, the candle's wavering light illuminated the angry face of Gervase Fitz Randolph's son.
"What sort of crazed quest are you on? Why are you meddling like this in my father's death?"
"You do not want your father's killers to be found?"
"Damn you, do not twist my words!" Thomas was almost incoherent with rage, his mouth contorted, eyes bulging and bloodshot. "My father was slain in a robbery. All this talk of hired killers is utter nonsense. But it is the sort of gossip that people will be eager to spread about, and some fools might even believe it. Let it be, you hear me! Let it be!"
"I can do nothing for you, Thomas. If you have a complaint, I suggest that you take it up with Luke de Marston."
Thomas would have argued further, but Justin was already brushing past him. "I am warning you, de Quincy!" he shouted. "If you jeopardize my chances of being admitted to the Benedictine order, you'll regret it until your dying day!"
"I'll keep that in mind," Justin promised and walked on. He'd not have been surprised if Thomas had followed him. But the goldsmith's son stayed where he was, watching as Justin crossed the garth. When he reached the gatehouse, Thomas suddenly shouted again. By that time, though, Justin was too far away to hear.
~~
A stew simmered upon the hearth, and Aldith was busy stirring and tasting, assuring the men that it would soon be on the table. She'd insisted that Justin stay for supper, delighted by this opportunity to play the role of Luke's wife, not merely his bedmate.
The two men retired to the settle with cups of malmsey and Aldith's gigantic Jezebel. Watching with amusement as Luke was overwhelmed by a display of slobbering mastiff affection, Justin told the deputy about his abbey encounter with Thomas Fitz Randolph.
Luke finally managed to shove the adoring mastiff off the settle. "I'll not need a bath for a week," he said, grimacing. "The more I learn about our little monk, the better he looks as a suspect in the goldsmith's killing."
"What about the brother? If ever I've met an unquiet soul, it is his. No one could be that fretful and uneasy and not be guilty of something!"
Luke grinned. "As it happens, you're right. After we spoke in Cheapside, I went looking for Guy. I found him still at that alehouse, sodden and wallowing in self-pity. It was almost too easy to bluff him into believing I knew all. He cracked like an egg, no sport whatsoever. He was indeed guilty as you suspected, but of embezzlement, not murder."
"So that was it!"
Luke nodded. "He took care of their accounts and kept the records, whilst Gervase sought to attract wealthy customers like the Archbishop of Rouen. A few months ago, Guy began to divert some of their funds to his own use and altered the accounts to hide his pilfering. His defense was that Gervase was a hopeless spendthrift and he was just putting aside money so they'd not fall deeply in debt. But somehow or other, the money got spent and all he's got left is a tattered conscience. The poor sot had convinced himself that he was going to Hell and gaol, not necessarily in that order."
"What did you do, Luke? Did you arrest him?"
"Worse - I turned him over to his sister-in-law! I took him home to Dame Ella and made him confess to her, too. She reacted as I expected, with dismay and disbelief and then righteous indignation, watered with a few tears. But when I asked if she wanted him hauled off to gaol, she ruffled up her feathers like a hen defending her chicks. Indeed not, this was a family matter, no concern of the law, and she'd thank me not to meddle further."
"You knew she'd not want him arrested."
&nb
sp; "Of course I did. And not just because of the scandal it would cause. With her husband dead and her son set upon taking holy vows, she needs Guy more than ever. She'll make peace with him, for she has no choice. But Guy's guilt will give her the upper hand, and for a widow, that's not a bad thing to have."
Justin took a swallow of the malmsey, found it too sweet for his taste. "What of the Fleming? You said you had a lead?"
"I might. My men spent the day rousting Gilbert's kin and lowlife friends, warning that none of them will have any peace until we get the Fleming. I think one of his cousins may be willing to give him up, for there is no love lost between them. When I saw Kenrick this morn, he claimed to know nothing about Gilbert's whereabouts. But he said he might be able to find out and would send me word if he did. He will expect to be paid, though. Since the queen's coffers are far deeper than the sheriff's, this will be your debt, de Quincy."
"Fair enough," Justin agreed. "What of Gilbert's partner? He might be easier to track down. From what you've told me about the Fleming, that one is more slippery than those snakes of his."
"I've put the word out that I'll pay for the man's name. And felons and brigands would sell their own mothers for the price of an ale. It may take time, but someone will offer up Gilbert's accomplice."
Justin hoped he was right. Only the outlaws could give him the answers he needed, and Gilbert did not sound like a man who'd be cooperative even if he was caught. They might have better luck with the partner. "Spread some money around," he said. "I'll pay for the bait."
They deferred further discussion of the Fleming until the meal was done; talk of bloody killings was no fit seasoning for Aldith's stew. She had just served wafers drizzled with honey when her mastiff began to growl.
The knock was soft, tentative. When Luke unbarred the door, the lantern light revealed a thin youngster of twelve or thirteen, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Aldith took one look at his patched mantle and ushered him into the cottage, toward the hearth. His teeth were chattering, and when he stretched his hands toward the fire, they were swollen with chilblains. "My papa sent me," he whispered, looking everywhere but at Luke's
face. "He said he'll meet you at the mill tonight after Compline."
Luke grabbed for his mantle. "This is Kenrick's eldest," he told Justin. "Come on, lad, we'll get you home first."
The boy shrank back. "Nay… my papa said I'm not to be seen with you. He said it was not safe." When Aldith offered him a wafer, he crammed it into his mouth, seeming to inhale it rather than eat it, so fast did it disappear. He remembered to thank her, though, before disappearing into the night again.
~~
They traveled on foot, in the shadow of the city's north wall. In the distance, church bells had begun to chime. Justin tilted his head, hearing their echoes on the wind. "Compline is being rung. We'll be late."
"He'll wait for us. But if I'd hitched my stallion outside the mill, he'd have bolted for certes. No one can know about this, not if Kenrick hopes to make old bones. It is not only the Fleming he must worry about. If it becomes known that he's given Gilbert up, the rest of his family will make his life utter misery. Their Eleventh Commandment is 'Thou shalt never talk to the law.'"
"Why did he pick this mill for the meeting?"
"It lies beyond the city walls and no one will be around at this late hour. And in case he is seen, he has an excuse for being there; he works for the Durngate miller. Likely as not, you'll find him as skittish as an unbroken colt. But I do not blame him for being scared, de Quincy."
Neither did Justin. It would take a brave man to betray Gilbert the Fleming. Or a desperate one, he thought, remembering the boy's ragged mantle. Well, he'd see that Kenrick was generously rewarded. The queen would not begrudge a few shillings. She'd willingly pay that a hundredfold to resolve her suspicions about the French king.
They exited the city through the Durn Gate, tucked away in the northeast corner of the wall, and headed for the mill. They soon saw the gleam of water ahead. It was a clear, cloudless night and the River Itchen looked silvered and serene in the moonlight, but very cold. Not far from the bridge, it had been channeled into a millrace, and as the men drew nearer, they could see the waterwheel. It was motionless, for the sluice gate was down. It seemed strange to Justin not to hear the familiar creaking and splashing. The silence was eerie; all he could hear was the faint gurgling of the millrace. It was dark, too; not a flicker of light shone through the mill's shuttered windows.
"So Kenrick waited, did he?" he gibed softly.
"He'd not have gone off," Luke insisted, "no matter how late I was. He must be inside." Scowling over his shoulder at Justin, he strode toward the door. His knocking went unanswered. When he pushed the latch, though, the door swung inward.
They exchanged glances and, by common consent, loosened their swords in their scabbards before stepping inside. Justin was getting a bad feeling about this, and he could see that Luke was edgy, too. But their lantern light revealed nothing out of order. The floor was dirty: flour and chaff were everywhere and the hulls of spilled grain crunched underfoot as they moved cautiously into the room. The inner wheel took up most of the space, attached to a spindle that disappeared up into a hole in the ceiling. The overhead chamber put Justin in mind of a barn hayloft; a ladder in the corner provided access, and during working hours, Kenrick could peer over the edge to make sure the wheel was functioning properly. But now it was like gazing up into a vast, black cave. Even when Luke raised the lantern high, it could not penetrate the shadows above them.
Luke swore under his breath. "Where did he go? This makes no sense."
Justin shrugged. "Mayhap he is late, too?" He at once saw the problem with that explanation, though. Then why was the door unlatched? One of the ladder rungs seemed muddied. When he got closer, he saw that it was dry, days old. He was turning toward Luke when he felt something wet drip onto his hand. His breath caught. Backing away from the ladder, he looked up as another dribble of blood splattered onto the floor at his feet.
Luke had not yet noticed the blood, but he was alerted by Justin's body language. When he crossed the room, Justin held out his hand so that the lantern's gleam fell upon that glistening red droplet. Luke's eyes flew upward. For unmeasured moments, neither man moved, straining to hear. But no sound came from the loft. No creaking of the floorboards, no giveaway gasps of pent-up breath, nothing. Justin's thoughts were racing as fast as his pulse. Should one of them go get a torch? But that might be leaving the other one alone with a killer.
Luke had reached the same conclusion. Using hand signals, he communicated to Justin that he was going partway up the ladder so he could get a look into the interior of the loft. That did not strike Justin as the best idea he'd ever heard, but he had no better one to offer. Nodding tensely, he brushed back his mantle so he could draw his sword swiftly if need be. Luke simply unfastened his mantle, letting it drop to the floor. Justin was impressed by his coolness, until he noticed Luke's white-knuckled grip on the lantern. Luke paused and then, one slow rung at a time, began to climb toward the loft.
Luke paused again at the halfway point and held the lantern up as high as he could reach. Glancing down at Justin, he mouthed the word "Nothing." It was then that a man erupted from the darkness above, lunged forward to grab the ladder, and shoved. Luke yelled as the ladder started to tip and Justin managed to catch hold of a lower rung. For several desperate seconds, he struggled to keep the ladder upright. But it was swaying like a tree in a high wind, and before Luke could jump free, it went over backward. Justin dived out of the way in the nick of time. There was a thud, a gasp from Luke, and then darkness as the lantern light died.
The silence was broken almost at once by Luke. He did not sound as if his injuries were serious, not by the way he was cursing. Groping about blindly, Justin was trying to untangle the deputy from the ladder when new noises came from the loft. "Christ," Luke cried hoarsely, "he's going out the window! Go after him!" But Justin had also
recognized the sound – shutters being flung open - and he was already lurching to his feet. Memory serving him better than eyesight, he plunged toward the door.
It was a relief to get outside, where he had stars for candles. He halted long enough to draw his sword, for he knew his enemy. It was Gilbert the Fleming whom they'd cornered in the loft; when he'd pushed the ladder, he'd been exposed to the lantern's flaring light. It was a brief glimpse, but for Justin, enough. The face of evil had never looked so familiar.
Running around the side of the mill, Justin was half expecting to find the Fleming crumpled on the ground under the window, for the snow was days old and hard packed. But when he rounded the corner, there was no broken body, no blood, only churned-up snow and footprints leading toward a copse of trees.