Cruel As the Grave

15

LONDON

June 1193

The sunlight was white-gold, shimmering with summer heat. Butterflies floated like feathers on the still air, the Tower gardens in fragrant, vibrant bloom. But the tranquility was deceptive, a false Eden. In the grassy mead, a stable cat stalked unseen prey and a hawk circled overhead. Claudine watched as the songbirds scattered, alarmed by that lazily drifting shadow, death on the wing. She'd had a bad morning, forced to fast by the queasiness that still unsettled her days. The rose Justin had picked for her now lay shredded in her lap, stripped of all its petals by her restless fingers.

"Well," she said morosely, "if there was any doubt, it has bled away. I missed my third flux."

Justin glanced at her swiftly. "Did you have doubts that you were with child?"

"I tried to," she said, with a rueful smile. Justin wasn't sure what to say, so he plucked another rose and handed it to her. She flashed a more convincing smile, but petals were soon drifting down into the grass at her feet. "I asked the queen if the pregnancy would get easier in time. She said usually so, but that some are vexing to the very end. She said of all her pregnancies, she was the most uncomfortable whilst carrying John. So he was causing trouble even ere he was born!"

The best Justin could manage was a laconic "Not surprising." He doubted that there'd ever come a time when he'd feel comfortable jesting with Claudine about John.

"The queen says she has two nunneries in mind," Claudine confided, "either Godstow outside Oxford or Wherwell, which is near Winchester. You'll take me once we decide, Justin?"

He assured her that he would, but then he rose from the bench. Claudine frowned. "You are leaving already?"

"I must. This afternoon Geoffrey Aston is abjuring the realm."

"So soon? His forty days have not gone by, surely?"

"He chose not to wait. Daniel was hoping for a miracle to clear him, so of course he'd have clung to sanctuary until the last possible moment. Geoffrey has admitted his guilt, so he has nothing to gain by delay."

"Justin… take me with you." Claudine put a hand on his arm, looking up at him with a flirtatious smile. "I've never seen a man abjure the realm."

"Jesu forfend you miss an experience like that," Justin said dryly.

Claudine wrinkled her nose playfully at the sarcasm. "Wait here," she directed, "whilst I go tell the queen!" Justin sat down again on the bench, watching as she hastened back into the keep, moving with so light and lively a step that none would have suspected she was with child.

~~

By the time Justin and Claudine rode into St Paul's precincts, Geoffrey Aston had already emerged from the cathedral, blinking uncertainly in the harsh noonday light after several weeks of shadowed seclusion. He wore only a single, simple garment of coarse sackcloth, head and feet bare, clutching his wooden cross in an awkward, white-knuckled grip. Flanked by an impassive Jonas and a preening Tobias, he was kneeling before one of the sheriffs of London, Roger Fitz Alan, and the mutterings of the spectators made it clear that he had just confessed to killing Melangell in the churchyard of St Mary Magdalene' s.

Claudine pressed forward to see better, and Justin followed, leading their horses. A large crowd had turned out for the spectacle, and most gave way grudgingly. Searching for familiar faces, Justin soon spotted Agnes, her eyes swollen with weeping, leaning heavily upon her husband's supporting arm. Master Serlo was standing by St Paul's Cross, somberly dressed in black, although there was no sign of Adela. Justin wondered if she'd chosen to stay away, wanting to spare herself this last glimpse of the youth who was to have been her husband, or if she'd been bidden to do so by her uncle. Nell and Gunter were present, as were several of their Gracechurch Street neighbors. But he could not find Humphrey Aston or his wife, nor did he see Daniel, or Godwin and Cati.

The sheriff was proclaiming the rules of the abjuration, warning Geoffrey that he must remain on the King's road, that he must proceed straightaway for the chosen port of Dover, that he could not tarry for more than one night anywhere along the route, that he must take the first ship sailing for France and swear by the Holy Cross that he would not return again to England. Geoffrey's head was bowed, his voice almost inaudible as he promised to obey these strictures. The sheriff then reminded the spectators that Geoffrey was now under the protection of the Church.

Justin was startled to hear murmurings of sympathy rustling through the crowd; pity was usually in short supply when felons were forced to do public penance for their crimes. When he said as much to Claudine, she shrugged, saying that the handsome always fare better in this world. It was a cynical observation,

but Justin could not find fault with it; how else explain why people were calling Geoffrey a "poor lad," as if the true tragedy was the ruination of his life, not the loss of Melangell's? Justin stared coolly at Geoffrey's gleaming blond head. He was not sorry that Geoffrey would not hang, but he'd forfeited any right to forgiveness the moment he'd reached for that rock.

As Geoffrey rose to his feet, struggling to pick up his cross, some of the spectators began to drift away, for the high drama of the event was now over. Turning to soothe his restive stallion, Justin happened to catch sight of the figure hovering on the edge of the crowd. Muffled in a hood that was conspicuously out of place on a summer's day, Humphrey Aston looked like a man bleeding from an internal wound, his face grey and drawn, his skin blotched, his grieving so raw that Justin felt an unwelcome twinge of pity. He waited, but Humphrey did not move toward Geoffrey, and when he glanced again toward the mercer, he was gone.

Geoffrey started his halting walk across the churchyard, his feet already stinging from the gravel, for his were not the callused soles of youths accustomed to going barefoot. He'd taken only a few steps, though, before Daniel pushed through the crowd to his side. They stared at each other for a pain-fragmented moment, and then Daniel stepped forward, enfolding his tearful brother in a wordless, healing embrace. Again, the bystanders nodded and murmured approvingly, and Justin wondered if they'd have been as magnanimous if Daniel had been the one going off into foreign exile.

Echoing his thoughts with eerie accuracy, Jonas appeared at his elbow, muttering in a mordant undertone, "Half the fools here think that outer packaging is proof positive of the state of one's soul. I suppose we ought to be thankful that Gilbert the Fleming did not have flaxen hair and a winning smile like the Aston lad, else they'd have been weeping over him, too."

They were soon joined by Nell and Gunter, and Justin's worlds collided as Claudine acknowledged his Gracechurch Street friends. It could have been an awkward moment, but Claudine had polished her social skills in the demanding arena of the royal court, and she was up to the challenge, unperturbed by Nell's obvious hostility, Gunter's discomfort, and Jonas's sardonic, silent amusement. Within moments, she'd adroitly drawn them into a lively discussion of Geoffrey's punishment, even coaxing the taciturn Gunter into confiding that he'd not have wanted to see Agnes's nephew go to the gallows.

"You can thank St Justin for that," Jonas gibed, and Claudine turned her long-lashed gaze upon the serjeant, full power.

"What will happen to Geoffrey now?" she asked, in appealingly accented English, for unlike many at the royal court, she'd taken the trouble to learn the native language of this island realm. "What usually befalls men who abjure the realm? Do they seek to do penance for their sins in monasteries? Or, she added slyly, "do they use those sins as stepping stones to greater crimes?"

Jonas grinned. "More of the latter than the former, my lady. I've heard that the French thank us not for exporting our outlaws to their shores. They have no like custom over there, they cannot even return the favor by sending us their felons. As for young Aston, I suspect he'll do better than most. I doubt that Frenchwomen are any wiser than ours when it comes to a good-looking lad with an easy way about him. And I'd wager that he has money hidden away under that sackcloth, in addition to what the Church provided for his expenses on the road."

Nell nodded emphatically at that. "I know that Agnes and Odo scraped together what they could, and Agnes told me that Humphrey was — for once in his life — being open-handed, giving her a goodly sum to take to Geoffrey last night. Rumor has it that even Master Serlo contributed some."

"A pity they couldn't have been as generous with Melangell's family," Justin said caustically, and Nell scowled at him.

"You cannot blame them, Justin, for grieving over Geoffrey's plight. He is paying a heavy price for a moment of madness."

Justin couldn't resist making the obvious riposte. "Not as heavy a price as Melangell paid."

It was Jonas who played the unlikely role of peacemaker. "If we are going to fight about this, I suggest we do it over wine. Let's find a tavern. We'll let you pay, de Quincy; from the way your money pouch is bulging, you can well afford it."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Jonas, but this is not worth anything, not even blood money," Justin said, opening the pouch to show them the rock.

Nell grimaced. "Why are you carrying that… that thing around with you?" Justin shrugged. "I had it in mind to get rid of it after the abjuration, mayhap put it back in the churchyard where she died. Out of curiosity, how did Geoffrey explain away the rock whilst he was making his tearful confession?"

"He did not," Jonas said, and Justin turned to stare at the serjeant. "What are you saying? Doesn't a man have to confess fully ere he can abjure the realm?"

"Supposedly so, but he made no mention of it in his confession. He admitted quarreling with Melangell after she threatened to go to Adela and he admitted panicking and trying to make it look as if she'd been raped. But he claimed that she died when she fell back against the cross. Nary a word about picking up a rock and dashing her brains out with it. I guess the lad is getting forgetful under the strain."

"Why did the sheriff not challenge him on it?" Justin demanded, and Jonas gave a weary shake of his head.

"Ask him, de Quincy, not me. Mayhap Tobias neglected to tell him about that particular detail, or mayhap he decided it did not matter."

Justin was outraged. "It does matter," he insisted. "He owes Melangell the truth!" Tossing the reins of their mounts to Gunter, he swung around and began to shove his way through the crowd. He had no difficulty in overtaking Geoffrey, who was already leaving bloody footprints in the dust. Lugging the cross, he was staring straight ahead, resolutely ignoring the occasional jeer or catcall as he plodded along the Cheapside, trailed by several of Jonas's men to make sure he got safely out of London. When Justin caught up with him, he flinched at the sound of pursuing footsteps, his shoulders slumping with relief as he recognized Justin.

"I was half expecting her father to be here to confront me," he confessed, "and no blame to him if he did. How could he not hate me for what I did?"

"And what did you do, Geoffrey? I understand your memory needs prodding, for you omitted the most important part of your confession."

Geoffrey came to a halt in the roadway. "What do you mean? I held nothing back. Why would I?"

His feigned bewilderment only stoked Justin's anger all the higher. "You told only half the truth, the half that works in your favor. The other half you ignored, hoping it would be forgotten… like Melangell herself."

Geoffrey shook his head slowly. "I do not know what you are talking about. Melangell will never be forgotten, not by me."

"Well said, Geoffrey; you'd have made a fine actor. I would almost believe you… if not for this!" Pulling the rock from his pouch, Justin slammed it into the palm of Geoffrey's hand.

Geoffrey looked down at the rock, then back up at Justin, uncomprehending. "What is this?" he asked. "I do not understand."

Justin stared at him in disbelief. "You truly do not… do you?"

Jonas's men were growing impatient at the delay and one of them ordered Geoffrey to move along. Reluctantly, he did, first politely handing Justin back the rock. As the men hustled him away, he looked over his shoulder, making one final plaintive protest. "I would not have let Daniel take the blame, Justin, I swear I would not!"

Justin would later wish that he had responded, given Geoffrey the assurance he sought. Now, though, he was too stunned, unable to do anything but stare down at the rock in his hand. "Jesus God," he said softly, as much to himself as the Almighty, "how can this be?"

"How can what be?" Jonas had muscled his way onto the Cheapside. His gaze flicked from the rock to Justin's face, that lone eye narrowing at what he found. "What ails you? What happened?"

Justin swallowed. "I showed him the rock, Jonas, and it meant nothing to him… nothing at all."

"Jesu! Are you sure about this?"

Justin nodded and they turned as one to stare after Geoffrey's slow progress along Cheapside, not moving until long after he had vanished from sight.

~~

"Justin, this serves for naught." Nell set a fresh flagon down on the table, then took a seat across from him. "You're not even drinking," she scolded, glancing toward his brimming cup, "just brooding. For the love of the Lord, let it go!"

"I cannot," he admitted, "God help me, I cannot. How could I have been so wrong, Nell? I was so sure this rock was the murder weapon, so sure!"

Nell regarded the troublesome rock with distaste. "Must you have it out on the table like this? It does have blood on it, after all, even if it is not Melangell's."

"Whose is it, then, if not hers? It makes no sense, Nell. What of the black hairs on it? I keep going around in a circle, always ending up back where I started."

"You're in a rut, not a circle, and getting nowhere fast. Put the rock away, Justin. Not all of God's mysteries are meant to be solved. Curfew will be ringing soon and I do not want to send you out sober into the night… so drink up, and let's talk of other matters besides that wretched rock. How is Luke faring these days? Have you heard from him since he returned to Winchester?"

"One letter, saying he'd gotten home safely and complaining at length about that 'four-legged fiend,' Aldith's dog, who ate his best boots whilst he was away… or so Aldith claims." Justin mustered up a smile at the domestic discord of his friends, but almost at once lapsed back into a distracted silence.

Nell gave an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. "Like a dog with a bone, you are." Seeing that Justin was not going to drink his ale, she reached over and helped herself to it, taking a deep swallow and then another. "This batch tastes a bit off; I'll be having a word with the brewer. You know what surprised me, Justin? That Melangell's father was not there today to see Geoffrey's public penance. I thought the Welsh put a great store by vengeance."

"Vengeance is a luxury, one Godwin cannot afford, not since his mule died."

"Misfortune does seem to be dogging that poor man's footsteps. I saw him and the little lass the other day in the Cheapside, and my heart went out to them, Justin. Worn down to skin and bones and blisters, he is, and Cati like a wild creature, as bedraggled and unkempt as any beggar's child. What will befall her if her father drops dead in the mule's traces one day? Has she no other kin at all?"

"Her mother has family back in Wales." Justin reached for the drink Nell had appropriated. Thinking about Cati's bleak future was as troubling as thoughts of that blasted, bloodied rock. "She is tougher than she looks," he said, seeking to convince himself as much as Nell. "Her grieving for Melangell is an open wound, one that will be a long time healing. But she is not one for sharing her grief. Only once do I remember her being on the brink of tears, when she was telling me about her sister's funeral and the red dress she'd set her heart upon …"

The image of Cati's stifled sorrow was too vivid for comfort, needed to be washed away with ale, and he brought the cup up with such haste that it slopped over the rim. It never reached his mouth. Setting the cup down with a thud, he gave Nell such a blind, unfocused look that she felt a superstitious chill and plucked uneasily at his sleeve.

"Justin, what is it? You look like you've seen one of God's own ghosts!"

He blinked, like a man coming out of a spell. "Not exactly. But it may be that Melangell just whispered a word in my ear, for I remembered something…" Before Nell could question him further, he was on his feet. "I have to go, Nell. There is someone I must see."

"Tonight?" Curfew is night! She protested in vain, though; he was already halfway toward the door.

~~

The usually affable landlord was less accommodating after being roused from bed and it took a combination of coins and blandishments to win his cooperation. Grumbling under his breath, he lit a candle and led Justin up the stairs to the room rented by Melangell's father. Godwin awoke at once, sitting up in alarm and fumbling for his clothes. Justin claimed the candle, raising it so that its wan flame would identify them. Godwin squinted up at the shivering light, then gestured for silence, pointing toward the pallet where Cati slept. The men retreated, Justin to wait in the stairwell, the landlord to go back to bed. After a few moments, Godwin emerged, half-dressed, to sit beside Justin on the stairs.

"Why are you here? What now?" His voice sounded muffled, sleep-sodden, and the candle's light showed hollows and grooves, his features blurred and flattened by exhaustion and despair.

"I am sorry I awakened you, Godwin, but I needed to speak with you straightaway."

"And it could not wait till the morrow? But men like you are not ones for waiting, are they? Ask what you will, then and try not to wake up my girl."

It took Justin a moment to realize what Godwin meant by "men like you." Men with power. He almost laughed, for he too often felt like an orphan buffeted by storms beyond his control. He had to remind himself that the bishop's bastard foundling was also the queen's man, and to the peddler, the gap between them must have seemed vast, indeed. "You were not there to watch as Geoffrey Aston abjured the realm."

"What good would it do? I'm glad he was found out, glad that he's paying for what he did to my Melangell. But he could bleed his life away a drop at a time and it would not bring her back, now would it?

"No," Justing agreed, "It would not. Yet there is more to this than you know, Godwin. Bear with me, for I've reason for asking. I need to know about Melangell's red dress, the one you bought her ere she died."

Godwin looked baffled, but he was accustomed to obeying orders. "What of it?"

"Cati told me that she'd never had a red dress before. Is that true?"

Godwin was beginning to eye Justin as if he was not quite in his right wits. "Aye… she was wearing it that Friday, the day she died."

It was the answer Justin was expecting. But he'd needed to hear it from Godwin. Rising, he reached for his money pouch. "I have something for you. We promised you'd get it back once the sheriff was sure it would not be needed at trial. He handed it to Jonas this afternoon." The candle flame illuminated the tarnished, worn sheen of Melangell's pilgrim pledge. Godwin snatched it up, his gnarled fingers clenching into a fist around the cross. Justin dropped his hand to the older man's shoulder, and left him sitting there in the darkened stairwell, clutching his murdered child's talisman.

~~

Justin slept poorly that night and was up and dressed by the time the sky had begun to lighten. A hazy dawn was breaking over London, the streets slowly filling as the city stirred. There was no sign of life at Humphrey Aston's shop, the shutters still down, the door barred. Justin was turning toward the side gate that led to the mercer's great hall when he saw one of the Aston journeymen on the other side of the street. Crossing over, he hailed the man. "Are you about to open the shop?"

The man shook his head, grinning broadly. "We got the day off! I can still scarce believe it, but the old man said he had work to do on his own and did not want the lot of us underfoot."

"Where is he now?"

"In the shop. If you want my guess, he tried to drink himself into a stupor last night and is dog-sick this morn. I never thought to hear myself saying this, but I can almost feel sorry for him … almost. There was room for but one person in that shriveled walnut of a heart of his, and that was Geoffrey."

After the journeyman went off to enjoy his day of liberty, Justin returned to the mercer's shop and began to pound loudly for admittance. The response was a curse-laden warning to go away. Justin continued to hammer on the door until it was wrenched open.

"I am closed, you witless, misbegotten lout!" Humphrey bellowed, but Justin shoved the door back, forcing his way into the shop. It was like falling into a damp, dark hole, for the room was lit only by a sputtering candle and the air reeked of tallow grease, sweat, and wine. Getting his first good look at this intruder, Humphrey growled low in his throat. "You!" Snatching up an empty clay flagon, he swung it clumsily at Justin's head.

His aim was off, though, and Justin had no trouble evading the blow. Before Humphrey could try again, Justin clamped his hand on the other man's wrist, forcing him to drop the flagon. It shattered and the impact seemed to bring Humphrey back to his senses. Rubbing his wrist, he glared defiantly at Justin. "Who could blame me if I'd split your head open? Because of your meddling, I lost my son!"

He did not seem drunk, although not for want of trying; the floor was littered with discarded flagons and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his tunic so wrinkled and disheveled that he must have slept in it. Justin looked upon this evidence of a man's disintegration and felt not a flicker of pity. "Where is your wife? Is she above-stairs?"

"No, at her sister's. What is it to you?"

"Nothing to me, but this is a conversation you'll not be wanting her to overhear."

"This conversation is over. Get out!"

"Why not try to throw me out? I think I'd enjoy that."

Humphrey tensed to launch himself at the younger man, then thought better of it. "What are you doing here? Have you not done enough harm to my family?"

"Let's talk about that, Humphrey, about family. Growing up, I never knew my father and I felt that loss keenly. Looking at you now, I see that I was the lucky one. Your sons would have fared better as orphans."

It had been many years since anyone had dared to talk to Humphrey like this and his face flooded with color. "I want you out of my shop — now!"

"You still do not see it, do you? I know the truth. I know how Melangell died and the part you played in it."

Humphrey scarcely seemed to be breathing, so still was he of a sudden. Only his eyes moved, shifting from Justin's face to the sword at his hip. "What sort of nonsense is this?" he said, sounding more wary now than indignant. "I had naught to do with that Welsh whore's death."

"That is what I once thought, too. Even this did not put me on the right track/' Justin said, taking out his money pouch and slowly extracting that broken piece of tombstone.

Humphrey's body sagged and he sank down on a workbench piled with bolts of cloth. Justin held the rock toward the candle's light. "You can see her blood better now. She bled a lot. Was she conscious when you hit her? Had she started to revive, mayhap moaning? Or were you just making sure, finishing what Geoffrey had begun?"

Humphrey said nothing. He'd yet to take his eyes from the rock, transfixed by those brownish stains. Justin leaned back against the door, one hand sliding down to loosen his sword in its scabbard. "You do not want to talk about it? I suppose it is up to me, then. Where shall I start? How about with Melangell's red dress? You were the first one to make mention of it, ranting about her 'whore's scarlet.' I remembered because your outburst was so poisonous, but it took a while to understand its true significance. You see, Humphrey, Melangell had but one red dress, worn for the first time on the day she died. So you lied when you said you'd not seen her that Friday."

Humphrey's face was suffused with heat, with hatred so intense it was almost palpable. "She was a slut," he said harshly, "chasing shamelessly after Geoffrey day and night. I'd warned him away from her, but he kept sneaking around, futtering her on the sly… young fool!"

"So you followed him to the churchyard that night, meaning to catch them in the act. Instead you overheard her telling him she was with child. You knew that could wreck Geoffrey's chances of wedding Adela and you were not about to let that happen. My guess is that you hid to hear more. We both know what happened next. Geoffrey pushed her, she fell, and he panicked, thinking he'd killed her. As soon as he fled, you emerged from the shadows. Geoffrey may have lost his head, but not you. No, you saw your chance and took it. Was she already dying when you reached for that rock? I suppose you're the only one who'll ever know that, and you're not likely to say, are you?"

"You've got that right!" Humphrey's lip curled scornfully. "You spin a good tale, de Quincy, but all you've got is a bloody rock and lots of suspicions. You cannot prove a word of this!"

"You are right," Justin admitted. "I cannot prove it. If I could, I'd have gone to the sheriff. I spent the night trying to figure out how to bring you to justice and realized I cannot. Geoffrey has confessed and the sheriff was never all that interested in the killing of a peddler's daughter, so he's not about to reopen this case without proof. And as you pointed out, I lack proof, at least the sort of proof that would convince a court. What I do have, though, is a remarkably compelling story of greed and guilt and mortal sin. I'm willing to wager that your family, your neighbors, and fellow mercers will be hanging on to my every word."

Humphrey shot to his feet, fists balled. "You cannot do that!"

"I can," Justin said coldly, "and I will. I thought I'd go first to Master Serlo. I think he'll believe me. I think anyone who knows you will believe me"

"You treacherous bastard!" Humphrey took a threatening step forward, only to halt when Justin let his hand drop to the hilt of his sword. "I'll sue you for slander," he said, and Justin laughed.

"Have you forgotten? I'm the queen's man. Which one of us do you think a court would heed?"

The mercer responded with a curse so profane that Justin was impressed in spite of himself. But he was right about Humphrey Aston; this was not a man to lose his head. There was a long silence and then Humphrey said in a flat, dispassionate voice, "I am not admitting any of this, mind you. I'll deny it with my last breath. I'd rather not have to do that, though, for lies are like mud. They tend to stick. So what will it take to keep you quiet about these ludicrous suspicions of yours?"

"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."