Cruel As the Grave

3

WINCHESTER

April 1193

Justin awakened with a start. As the furnishings of Aldith's cottage came into familiar focus, so did his memories of the night's events. He and Luke had taken Giles de Vitry to the castle gaol and then returned to the cottage for a few hours of sleep. He'd bedded down on the settle and as soon as he stirred, he winced, for his body was stiff and sore from two days in the saddle. His movement had attracted Jezebel's attention and he hastily flung up his arm to keep the mastiff from joining him. It was not the dog who had awakened him, though. As he sat up, he heard the angry murmur of voices coming from the bed hangings.

"Justin is a man quite capable of looking after himself. Why should he need your help with his prisoner?"

"Because it will be easier to get him safely back to London if there are two of us. Common sense would tell you that, Aldith."

"Why does it have to be you? Why not send your serjeant?"

"This is too important a matter to entrust to Wat. He does well enough with cutpurses and chicken thieves, but we're going up against the Devil's own."

"I still do not see why you must be the one to accompany Justin to London. Let him deal with John. After all, he is the queen's man, not you."

"Why are you being so unreasonable about this? I spend half my time on the roads of the shire, so why are you balking now? For the love of God, woman, I'm off to London, not Sodom or Gomorrah!"

"Do what you want, Luke. You always do."

"Is that what this is all about? Because I said we could take our time in making wedding plans? I did not say I was unwilling to wed you, Aldith!"

Justin had heard more than enough. Feeling too much like an eavesdropper for his own comfort, he deliberately dropped his boots into the floor rushes, then began to croon to Jezebel, trying to sound like a man who'd just awakened and hadn't heard a word of that painful, intimate argument. As he'd hoped, his stirring put a stop to the quarrel, although there was a distinct coolness between Luke and Aldith when they finally emerged from the curtained cocoon of their bed, a coolness that had not thawed by the time Luke and Justin were ready to depart.

While Justin thought Luke was crazed to risk losing Aldith, it never occurred to him to express that opinion to the deputy. Men did not offer advice of the heart; that was the province of women. He contented himself with a neutral comment once they were on the road, a casual remark that Aldith had seemed to be in an ill temper, thus opening the door a crack in case Luke wanted to talk. When Luke responded with a grunt, Justin let the subject drop, his duty done. How could he throw Luke a lifeline when he was bogged down himself, trapped and sinking fast in Claudine's quagmire.

They left Winchester in midafternoon, riding fast and hard. Three days later, the city walls of London came into view. Halting upon Old Bourn Hill, they kept a wary eye upon their prisoner while sharing a wineskin. "Shall we take him to the Tower straightaway?" Luke suggested, and gave Justin a surprised look when the younger man shook his head vehemently.

"No, not the Tower. We need a safer place to stow him, where there will be no chance that John can discover his whereabouts."

"Safer than the Tower?" Luke asked skeptically. "Unless … you think that John has spies in the queen's household?"

"Yes," Justin said, tersely enough to discourage Luke from probing further, at least for the moment. "We need a special kind of shepherd to watch over this particular sheep, one willing to fend off royal wolves if need be."

Luke smiled. "Jonas?"

Justin nodded. "Who else?"

~~

The main entry into London from the west was through the massive stone gatehouse known as Newgate, which was also used as a city gaol. Luke's credentials as an under-sheriff of Hampshire gained them easy entry and no one questioned their claim that they were delivering a prisoner to Jonas. They needed to be no more explicit than that, for to the gaolers, the name Jonas could refer to only one man — the laconic, one-eyed serjeant who was the sheriff of London's mainstay and the bane of the lawless from Cripplegate to Southwark.

They were giving instructions in Jonas's name when the serjeant himself put in an appearance. If he was startled to see Luke and Justin paired up again, he hid it well; Justin suspected that he'd long ago lost his capacity for surprise. Not as tall as either Justin or Luke, he was still able to command attention by his physical presence alone. His face, weathered by the sun and wind, scarred by a killer's blade; his hair silvered and lank; he moved with the daunting confidence of a man who trusted both his instincts and his reflexes. Despite the rakish eye patch, there was no swagger in his walk, no bravado in his manner. He was matter-of-fact and deliberate in the performance of all his duties, whether it was scattering street urchins or tracking the ungodly through the city's sordid underbelly. Now, his lone black eye gleaming with a sardonic cast, he intercepted them as they returned to the guards' chamber after depositing Giles de Vitry in the underground dungeon known as the pit.

"I hear I have another prisoner," he said by way of greeting. "Careless of me to have forgotten about him. Would I be prying if I asked his name?"

"Giles de Vitry. He is to be kept under close watch until I come back for him." Justin stepped closer, pitching his voice for the Serjeant's ear only. "He is Lord John's man."

Jonas nodded impassively. "I did not imagine you'd be bringing me some hapless cutpurse or poacher. With you, I can forget robbery or petty thievery and plunge right into the fun of assassination, conspiracy, and treason."

Justin grinned. "What can I say? I keep bad company. Come by the alehouse later and I'll buy you a drink, give you what answers I can."

"I'll settle for being warned if this is likely to get me hanged."

~~

Eleanor showed but one moment of weakness, a brief hesitation before reaching for the parchment. When she raised her eyes from the incriminating letter, she had taken refuge in the role she'd been playing for decades. "I want you to return tonight after Vespers," she said coolly. "The Archbishop of Rouen must be made aware of this threat to the peace of the realm, as must the other justiciars. They may well have questions for you. Bring your friend de Marston, too."

"I will, Madame," Justin promised. He yearned to tell her how sorry he was to have given her such dire news. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and she'd lost color, looking so fragile and delicate that he was reminded forcefully of her advanced years. Now in the deep winter of her life, she deserved better than this, than to be caught between the conflicting claims of her own sons. But he dared not intrude into the private pain of this very public woman. It was not for him to comfort a queen.

"I will have ready a writ for de Vitry's arrest," she continued. "I daresay I can find a dungeon deep enough to hide him away from the world, where he can repent the sin of rebellion… or rot."

Justin, the bishop's son, murmured dutifully, "'He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it.'" He found himself wondering what Scriptures said of a mother who must pass judgment upon her own son. It was easy enough to cast de Vitry into a sunless prison. But how would she deal with John?

~~

As he emerged from the queen's chamber, Justin was waylaid by the Lady Claudine. It was as neatly done an ambush as he'd ever encountered. Just when the path seemed clear, she materialized at his side, slipping her arm through his. "When I was a girl," she said, "I had a pet cat. My father insisted cats were good only for catching mice, but I would not heed him and doted upon my kitten, naming him Midnight and feeding him cream and whatever delicacies I could coax from the cooks. But when he got older, he began to roam. I cried each time he disappeared, and one of my brothers fashioned a leather collar with a small bell for him. It did not keep him from wandering, but at least I could hear him coming back. I am beginning to wonder, Justin, if I need such a collar for you."

He forced a smile. "I did not have time to let you know I'd be going away. It was sudden …" What excuse could he give? "My father was taken ill."

Claudine's eyes widened. "Justin, you've never spoken of your father before! I assumed he was dead. I am sorry to hear he is ailing. He will recover, will he not?"

Justin was as astonished as Claudine by his own words. What had possessed him to mention his father? He'd been doing his very best to keep those memories fettered, out of reach. How had they broken free with no warning? "He is on the mend," he said hastily. "He … he took a bad fall."

"I am glad it was not serious. Why did you never tell me about him, Justin? I've told you all about my family back in Aquitaine."

"We have long been estranged." At least that was no falsehood. Passing strange, that he found it so hard to lie to her. Lies seemed to rest as lightly as feathers on her own conscience. She was expressing her sympathy and as always, she sounded sincere. Mayhap she even meant it. The queen had said she was no whore, would not bed a man she did not fancy. He wanted to believe that. He needed to believe that.

Claudine smiled up at him, letting her fingers entwine in his. "I have nothing to do for the queen this afternoon."

"I do," he said, and she sighed.

"What a pity. Do you realize it has been over three weeks since we've had any time alone together?"

The memory of their last lovemaking was one he'd take to his grave, for it was then that she'd inadvertently betrayed herself. What he still did not understand was why she did John's bidding. Was it for the money? Had John seduced her into it? Eleanor believed she had been lured by the adventure of it, convinced her young kinswoman saw spying as a game, one that did no real harm. If that were so, the game had taken a lethal turn. Did Claudine realize she was involved in treason? Would she care? He wanted to believe she would. Yet there was no way to put that belief to the test. How could he tell her of John's conspiracy when he dared not trust her?

~~

Justin and Luke gave their report that evening before an audience of luminaries: the Queen of England, the Archbishop of Rouen, and all of the justiciars save Hugh Bardolf, who was John's liege man and therefore suspect. Eleanor had already disclosed the contents of John's seditious letter, and Justin's part in the council was blessedly brief. He related how he had tracked John's courier to Winchester, after being tipped off by a source he was not at liberty to reveal, and then described how he'd discovered the letter sewn into Giles de Vitry's mantle. Luke's role was even more circumscribed: to confirm Justin's account. After answering some brusque questions, they willingly retired to the outer edges of the circle, for it was somewhat intimidating to find themselves at the very center of royal power.

Acting upon the logical assumption that John's other messenger had gotten through, they wasted no time in vain regrets, concentrating upon what must be done to thwart an invasion. Justin listened in fascination as plans were rapidly made to close the ports and call up the levies in the southern shires. It still did not seem quite real to him, that he, an unwanted foundling, should be privy to the queen's secrets.

Once they had agreed upon the defensive measures to be taken, an awkward silence settled over the chamber. Justin understood why. Staving off a French fleet was child's play compared to the challenge that now confronted them: What to do about John? How did they punish a rebel who might well be king himself one day?

Eleanor was the one to breach the wall first. "What we need to do next is to locate John," she said dispassionately. "He is no longer in London and his whereabouts are unknown. I've heard rumors that he has been garrisoning his castles at Windsor and Wallingford, so I suggest we start the search there."

There were quick murmurings of agreement. Justin marveled at her composure. He'd been given a brief glimpse of the mother earlier that day, but now only the queen was in evidence, revealing nothing of her inner disquiet as she launched this hunt for her son. Given his own conflicted feelings toward his father and Claudine, Justin found it all too easy to empathize with Eleanor's plight. Even if it was true that Richard had ever been her favorite, how could she be indifferent to the fate of her youngest-born? If John's rebellion resulted in his death, would she grieve for him as David had mourned for his defiant son, Absalom? His gaze shifting from Eleanor's court mask to Will Longsword's taut profile, Justin felt a sense of foreboding and silently cursed John for the evil he had let loose amongst them.

~~

Once the council ended, Justin and Luke stopped at the cookshop by the river and had a hearty supper of pork-filled pie and ginger wafers, washed down with cider, before returning to Justin's cottage on Gracechurch Street. Justin was too exhausted by then to crave anything but sleep. After making up a pallet for Luke, he collapsed onto his own bed and found instant oblivion.

His awakening was a rude one, his dreamworld dispersed by a loud, insistent pounding. Lack of sleep had made him as groggy as an excess of ale did, and he fumbled for his tunic while Luke stirred reluctantly and damned their unknown caller to eternal perdition. Sliding the bolt back, Justin blinked as brilliant spring sunlight flooded the cottage and then staggered as Shadow pounced joyfully upon him, barking loudly enough to provoke another burst of cursing from Luke.

"Shadow, down!" The command was affectionately ignored and he turned his attention to the dog's escort. "Nell, I meant to reclaim him this morning, truly I did. I got in too late last night to-"

Nell waved aside his apology impatiently. "That matters for naught. Justin, you must make haste to dress, for-" She broke off, then, as Luke poked a tawny head from his blankets. "Is that you, Luke? This is indeed a stroke of good fortune!"

Luke yawned. "I am gladdened to see you again, too, Nell. But if you really want to win my heart, come back later. I try never to rise ere the sun does."

"The sun is well up in the sky," she insisted. "Even if it were not, your sleeping is over. I have need of you, Justin. Get this sluggard up and join me at the alehouse. I'll make breakfast and explain all. Do not tarry, though." Pausing at the door, she said darkly, "There has been murder done."