Blood Lance

7

“G-geoffrey!”

Chaucer smiled. His eyes danced with the old fire of their schemes and folly. “May I come in?”

The flashing moment of recognition and happiness on seeing his friend again vanished instantly. Geoffrey was to see for himself how Crispin now lived. But there was nothing for it. He gritted his teeth and stepped aside.

To his credit, Geoffrey did not flinch, said nothing. No cutting remark as he was wont to make. He knew Crispin’s situation, had met him again only last year after almost eight years of exile. Crispin reminded himself that it was good to see the man again when by all rights he was not truly allowed to associate with him for fear of bringing down the wrath of the crown upon him.

Chaucer righted the stool and sat in it, resting his hands on his thighs. He wore a long gown with a few ornaments, a necklace, some rings, his jeweled dagger, the one Crispin had gifted to him over a decade ago. His eyes caught the glint of the family ring on Crispin’s finger.

“Surprised?” he said, mustache curled in a grin.

“Geoffrey!” Crispin was breathing hard. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous for you.”

He waved Crispin’s fears away with the careless flick of his hand. “Don’t vex yourself over it, Cris. I’ll be fine. I was in the parish so I thought I’d visit.”

Crispin frowned and slowly lowered to the chair opposite his friend. “Oh? I can’t imagine that this is the first time you’ve ever been to the Shambles. And you have never graced my door before this.”

Chaucer picked at invisible lint on the fur trim of his gown. “I have never had occasion to ‘grace your door.’”

“What are you up to, Geoffrey?”

“Now why do you suggest I am ‘up to’ anything?”

“Your presence here. Don’t try to lie to me,” he said, cutting off Chaucer’s reply. “What are you truly doing here, Geoffrey? Does it have anything to do with these councilors come to censure de la Pole?”

The grin faded. “You are clever, aren’t you?”

“I am often paid to be so. Tell me.”

“Good God, Cris! No ‘how have you faired in the year since I’ve seen you, Geoffrey?’ No other words of greeting?”

“Geoffrey, you know why. Why are you playing games with me? You know I have no patience for them.”

“Indeed, not. You are the most impatient man I have ever met. Say,” he said, glancing around. “Do you have any wine?”

“No!” He slammed his hand on the table. “Tell me what you are doing here!”

“Very well. If you insist. I understand you have been talking with Sir Thomas Saunfayl.”

Crispin’s senses went on alert. He was unprepared for the convergence of such diverse incidents. “I … yes. He hired me to find … something.”

“Did he? Well never mind that for now. Where is he? Do you know?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Why do you hesitate to tell me?”

“Because it is you who wants to know.”

“Cris! I’m appalled. That I should garner such mistrust in you.”

“Your patron name is Deception. I’ve known you a long time, remember?”

Chaucer frowned. “This is most upsetting. Here I come to you in perfect friendship-”

“Spare me, Chaucer!”

“Perfect friendship. Expecting to be treated as a favored guest. And there is no wine and no hospitality whatsoever.”

“Things are different on the Shambles,” he growled.

“Indeed they are. It is like another country.”

“Are you going to tell me what you are doing here or do I toss you out on your ear?”

“That temper of yours,” muttered Chaucer. “Very well, then. If you are going to growl at me I might as well tell you. I am in search of Sir Thomas to aid him. He is in very grave peril.”

Chaucer’s words were finally making sense. Thomas had been nervous and ill-tempered about something. Crispin was finally going to get to the bottom of it. “I am sorry to hear that. I have not seen Thomas in some years but I did notice he did not seem … himself.”

“No, indeed. I am here to defend him in court.”

“What has he done to need your defense?”

“What has he done? Why, he is a coward. He has deserted his post amongst Lancaster’s army. I will do the best I can but there is little to be done if he continues to hide from me.”

“Wait, wait.” His words made no sense. Cowardice? Sir Thomas? “There must be some mistake. Sir Thomas is no coward. He is a brave and formidable fighter. He always has been.”

“Perhaps. But he has deserted, and he is being brought up on charges. There are those who will testify that he ran from the enemy.”

“No! That is not possible. Sir Thomas is incapable of such fear. I know of no knight who is braver.”

Chaucer straightened the liripipe artfully draped from his hat over his chest. “All I know is what I have been told. His grace, the duke, has asked me to intervene where I can. And my sources say that he was seen talking to you not more than a few hours ago.”

“Your sources?”

“Yes. I’m certain you have your sources.”

Crispin suddenly thought of Lenny. More often than not, the thief served as his spy. And the man was running away from the bridge last night. What mischief had he been up to? Up until this moment, he had forgotten about Lenny.

“What did he want with you, Cris?”

Crispin sneezed, and he pulled that dreadful rag from his belt again to wipe his nose. He prayed for the day this damned cold would disperse.

Chaucer watched him with a faintly disgusted expression.

Replacing the rag once again in his belt, Crispin cleared his throat. “He … that’s between him and me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh come now. I told you what you wanted to know.”

“Hardly the same thing, Geoffrey.”

“Then where is he so I may speak with him? He must report to the court.”

Crispin sat back. “How do I know you aren’t on the other side?”

Chaucer narrowed his eyes. “Because I am telling you.”

“Oh yes. I can surely believe that.”

Chaucer jumped to his feet. “Absurd! I thought in Canterbury we came to an understanding.”

“You lied to me over and over again. You kept secrets from me. Am I to believe you now that you appear at my door out of the blue?”

“We’re friends, Cris. I expect you to believe me.”

Crispin leaned forward. “Then believe this. I don’t know what sort of foolishness this is, but I know Thomas Saunfayl. He is no coward.”

“Is that your last word on it? You won’t help me?”

“Yes. My last word. And no. I won’t help you.”

A shadow passed over his eyes but he shrugged and turned toward the door. “I see. You don’t trust me. We’ve been friends a long time, Cris.”

“Then you should know that I would be loyal to my oath to him.”

“You forget that I am a knight as well.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Chaucer’s eyes widened but just as quickly his expression fell to a blank one. “I see. I am a member of Parliament, you know. I can make you tell me.”

Crispin raised his brows at this information but sent a cool expression toward his friend. “You could try.”

Chaucer glared for several more heartbeats and Crispin gave back as good as he got. Finally, Chaucer headed toward the door. “Well. Farewell, then, Master Guest.”

Guilt niggled at the edges of his conscience. He hadn’t seen Geoffrey since their disastrous trip to Canterbury over a year ago and now he was letting him go again. He rose, staring at the table. “Geoffrey, I-”

Chaucer held up a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself, Crispin. I shall make my way. But mark me. Don’t stand in the way of the court, or of Parliament.”

“Is that a threat, Geoffrey?”

Chaucer set his jaw. “It very well may be.” With that, he grasped the door latch and was gone.

Crispin stood a moment, listening to the silence. Quickly he made for the door and trotted down the stairs. He looked down the Shambles toward East Cheap and thought he caught a glimpse of Chaucer’s blue gown. He pulled his hood up over his head and went in pursuit. Geoffrey thought he was clever, did he? Well, it was time to see what the man was truly up to. Member of Parliament, indeed! Bah! Threaten him, would he? We’ll see about that! And then this business about Sir Thomas. He couldn’t quite believe it, but there was definitely something wrong with the man. Whatever it was, it had to do with Chaucer.

He followed, staying several yards behind him. He dodged carts and riders threading their horses down the narrow lane. The occasional shout rang throughout the alleys and streets where some of the rabble met at crossroads, but for the most part, commerce had tried to return to normal.

Crispin kept his head down when Chaucer turned to look behind him. But his eyes swept unseeing over Crispin, pressed against a wall and standing behind a shopfront awning. He waited for the poet to turn again before continuing his pursuit, and wondered where the man would lead him.

They were leaving the city, making their way along the Strand toward Westminster. It would be harder to follow him unseen. Just as Crispin was wondering if he shouldn’t drop back, Chaucer turned and entered a tavern.

Crispin waited a good long time before he cautiously approached the door and gently pushed it open.

The place was dark except for the tallow candles he could just smell flickering on the tables and for the wide hearth, flinging licking flames over the logs. Head down, he made his way to a dim corner and spied Chaucer meeting with someone at a table near the back. They were flanked by armed men. They wore no livery but it was obvious they were guards. Crispin couldn’t quite see the hooded man Chaucer was talking to, but the poet was gesturing and talking quickly, wiping the ale from his curled beard when he drank.

The hooded man nodded, intent as he listened. Though he held a horn, he never drank from it. After a while, Chaucer looked as if he were done talking. He settled in and drank his cup before setting it down again. He rose, bowed low to the man, and turned toward the exit.

Crispin hunkered down in the shadows, only lifting his head enough to see past the hood. He waited until Chaucer was out the door, then looked back at the hooded man, who stayed for some time, drinking slowly and deliberately from the horn. His guards were motionless but for their eyes constantly scanning the room.

At last he rose, and with the sweep of his cloak behind him, headed for the door. Now, Crispin murmured to himself.

Careful to keep his face shadowed by his own hood, Crispin made his way forward, strategically colliding with the man. “Oaf,” the man grunted, and shoved Crispin into a set of stools surrounding a small table.

His quarry lifted his hood, giving Crispin a momentary look. Stunned, Crispin staggered back and barely recovered before the guards shoved him with such force he clattered to the floor, knocking over a stool. On his knees, he stared after them as the three guards followed the man out.

Crispin pushed himself slowly to his feet. There was no mistaking the face under that hood. Chaucer’s clandestine meeting was with the earl of Suffolk, Michael de la Pole, chancellor to the King of England.