Cruel As the Grave

4

LONDON

April 1193

Nell ushered Justin and Luke into the alehouse's kitchen. "Here," she said, sliding a stale loaf of bread across the table. "Cut yourselves trenchers whilst I finish cooking the sausage."

Breakfast was the day's dubious meal, not quite respectable, for people were supposed to be able to satisfy themselves with a hearty dinner and a lighter supper. Hunger was a more powerful motivation than convention, though, and only a few stalwart souls did not break their night's fast with meat or cheese or roasted chestnuts. The aroma of frying sausage was a lure neither Luke nor Justin could resist. Justin did wonder what price he'd be paying for this tasty fare. Nell's ominous comment about murder was not one to be easily forgotten.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Nell?"

"Actually, it is Agnes who needs to speak with you. I told her to meet us over here after Prime."

"Who is Agnes?" Luke asked, spearing a sausage. "Another one of your mystery bedmates?"

Justin ignored the deputy's heavy-handed humor. "Agnes is Odo the barber's wife." He liked Agnes, a kindly neighbor who'd helped tend to his wounds after he'd been attacked by Gilbert the Fleming. But he could not imagine what she'd want to discuss with him so early in the morn. "What was that you were muttering about murder, Nell?"

"Whilst you were in Winchester, a young girl was found dead in St Mary Magdalene's churchyard." Nell set two tankards of ale on the table, then sat down across from them. "You may have seen the peddler who sometimes sold his wares here on Gracechurch Street. She was his daughter."

Justin had no memory of the man or the girl. "I am sorry," he said. "How does Agnes come into this? Was she kin to the lass?"

"No … her nephews are suspects in the killing."

Justin sat up in surprise. Putting down his knife, he said, "Why?"

Nell shrugged. "I do not know all the particulars. Agnes was too distraught to make much sense. She says neighborhood talk had them sharing her bed, so she thinks that is why suspicion has fallen upon Geoffrey and Daniel."

Luke was amused. "The both of them, eh? Was she a harlot, then?"

Nell shrugged again. "She was probably no better than she ought to be. But I doubt that she was whoring for money. She was free-spirited and a bit wild, was Melangell, and most likely smitten with Geoffrey. That lad breaks hearts every time he smiles, bless him."

"Melangell," Justin echoed. "She was Welsh?"

Nell nodded. "Half Welsh, I think. She grew up in the Marches, told me that her mother died last year and her father took the family to London in January to make a fresh start." Her brisk tones wavered and she said sadly, "Poor little bird …"

Justin had come to London, too, in January, fleeing his past like Melangell and her grieving family. "I am sorry," he said again, and meant it, although he still did not understand. "Why does Agnes want to talk to me about this, Nell?"

Nell hesitated, then said with a trace of defiance, "I told her you'd clear her nephews of suspicion."

"You did what?" Justin stared at her in dismay. "Nell, how could you do that? I have no authority to meddle in a murder!"

"You are the queen's man, are you not? What greater authority could you ask for than that?"

"This killing is for the London sheriffs to solve, not me. Even if I knew how I could help Agnes's nephews, I'd not have the time to spare. We've learned that Lord John is plotting with the French king to seize the throne by force."

Nell was not impressed by his revelation. The highborn were always up to no good, but what of it? No matter who sat on the throne at Westminster, she'd still be fretting about that leak in the roof and her daughter's need for new shoes. "Agnes found the time to nurse you after the Fleming ambushed you," she said pointedly. "Besides, how much time can it take? As likely as not, a talk with Jonas will clear it all up. Agnes is sure they played no part in the poor girl's death."

Justin gave her a reproachful look that was quite wasted, and then glared at Luke, who was chuckling at his predicament. "I'll talk to Agnes," he said grudgingly. "I can do no more than that."

Nell had never doubted that she'd get her way. Any man who'd go to the trouble of rescuing a stray dog from an icy river was a man with a heart too soft for his own good. "Fair enough," she agreed, sure that Agnes's tears would do the rest.

"Now let me tell you something of the family ere she arrives. Agnes's younger sister, Beatrice, married above herself, snaring a husband who has become quite prosperous. Humphrey Aston is a member of the Mercer's Guild, and to judge by Beatrice's bragging, he has done right well for himself. I've met him only once, for he's not keen on breaking bread with the likes of Odo and Agnes. I thought he was full of himself, as prickly as a hedgehog, a man who'd bite off his own tongue ere he'd admit he was in the wrong. Beatrice may have more comfort in her life, but Agnes got the better husband in Odo, for he loves her wholeheartedly and I doubt that Humphrey loves anyone except himself… well, possibly Geoffrey. Agnes says he does dote on the lad."

"Geoffrey is the firstborn?"

"Yes. He is twenty, and by all accounts, a son any man would be proud of. The younger lad, Daniel, is the black sheep, the one who makes a botch of all that he does. But Agnes swears he is no killer" Nell paused, head cocked to the side. "Did you hear anything?" Shadow took his attention away from the sausages long enough to give a distracted bark, and Nell pushed back from the table, went to let Agnes in.

Agnes was a plump, maternal woman in her early fifties, as basic and comforting as freshly baked bread. Her gratitude was tearful and heartfelt and embarrassing to Justin. "They are good lads," she said, stifling a sob. "I never was able to bear children of my own; the Lord God willed otherwise. Geoffrey and Daniel were the sons I could not have, and I've loved them as if they were mine. Neither one would ever hurt that child. I know that, Master de Quincy. I know it in the very depths of my soul."

Justin did not doubt her sincerity. He was not so sure, though, of her judgment. "Can you tell me about their involvement with the dead girl?" he asked gently. "What was she to them?"

Agnes wiped her eyes with a napkin. "Geoffrey has had girlschasing after him since he was fourteen or thereabouts, and I'm sure he sometimes let them catch him. Melangell was a shameless flirt and very pretty in a foreign, Welsh sort of way. But Geoffrey would not have taken their dalliance seriously. His father was about to announce his plight troth to the niece of the master of the Mercer's Guild, a great match for Geoffrey. Melangell may have been a passing fancy, but no more than that."

"And what of the younger son?"

"I think it was different with Daniel," she said slowly. "I believe he was a little in love with her. Not that he'd admit it. He is not one for confiding in others. That has always been his curse, that stubborn silence of his. Take that woeful business about his apprenticeship …"

"What about it?" Justin asked, not because he thought it was material to the girl's death, but because he could not be sure if it was not. His recent experience in tracking down Gilbert the Fleming had taught him that clues often seemed insignificant at first glance; it was only later that the threads came together in a woven, discernible pattern.

"Geoffrey completed his apprenticeship this past year, with Master Serlo. And now that he is to wed Adela, his future seems assured, for she'll bring a goodly marriage portion. But Daniel … nothing ever comes easily to him. Humphrey apprenticed him to a mercer in Cheapside, a man utterly unlike Master Serlo, and it went wrong from the first."

"Why did Humphrey not apprentice his sons in his own shop?"

"That is only done when the boy cannot be placed elsewhere. Better that he learns trade secrets from another master. And an apprenticeship opens doors in the future, as it did for Geoffrey. Adela is Master Serlo's niece. But Daniel's apprenticeship ended in disgrace, when he ran off and refused to return. Humphrey was enraged, for he forfeited the bond of surety he'd put up for Daniel. They dissolved the contract and he took Daniel into his own shop, but he has not forgiven him. Daniel did not help matters by refusing to explain why he'd run away. Later, he told me. The man was brutal to his apprentices, beat them without reason or mercy. The other boys endured the abuse; Daniel would not. It took a long time ere I could get the truth out of him, and by then, it was too late. His father was not of a mind to listen…"

"How do the brothers get along?"

"Better than you'd expect. Daniel has never seemed to blame Geoffrey for being the chosen one." Her mild blue eyes filled with fresh tears. "I've always feared that Daniel believed himself to be undeserving of love. I did what I could, but it is hard to overcome a father's indifference, Master de Quincy."

That Justin well knew. He could not help sympathizing with this youth he'd not yet met, caught between a golden brother and an unforgiving father. But his sympathy did not blind him to the fact that Daniel seemed to have a motive for murder. If he was smitten with Melangell, he might well have rebelled when she became another one of his brother's conquests, may have tried to claim her for himself, with tragic consequences.

Almost as if she sensed his doubts, Agnes leaned across the table, timidly touching his hand with her own. "Daniel is no murderer, Master de Quincy. Neither he nor Geoffrey caused that girl's death. I beg you to do what I cannot — to prove that to the sheriff."

Justin did not see how he could prove it, either. Nell had a lot to answer for. "Agnes … I can make no promises. But I will talk to the sheriff, see what I can find out about the crime."

Agnes smiled tremulously, with far greater confidence than his assurance warranted. "I knew you would help us, Master de Quincy, I knew it!" She departed soon thereafter, with a lighter step, eager to tell her husband that the queen's man would be making things right for her nephews.

Justin finished the rest of his ale, then got to his feet. "I'll see if I can find Jonas," he said tersely.

Nell was unfazed by his obvious anger; he'd get over it. When Luke did not rise, too, she frowned at the deputy. "Well? Are you not going with Justin?"

"Why should I? I do not owe Agnes anything."

"No … but you do owe me. You know full well that you'd not have caught the Fleming without my help."

Luke scowled back at her, but her logic was unassailable. "I should have known this was not going to be a free breakfast," he said, reaching for one final mouthful of sausage. "Come on, de Quincy, let's go track Jonas down."

Justin snapped his fingers for his dog, but made no move to go. "Tell me this, Nell. Have you given any thought to how this could turn out? What happens if I discover that one of Agnes's nephews did indeed murder Melangell?"

Nell was silent for a moment. "Well," she said, "if that is true, at least the poor girl will have justice."

~~

It took several hours to run Jonas to earth. They finally found him in an Eastcheap tavern, having a belated dinner of baked lampreys, a pottage of cabbage and onions, and a loaf of hard rye bread. When he looked up and saw Justin and Luke coming toward him, he held up a hand to ward them off.

"Ere you say a word, I'd best warn you about the day I've had so far. I was rousted out of bed before dawn to chase some young fools who filled a wine cask with stones and then set it rolling down to the bridge, waking up scores of scared citizens, sure that the clamor meant the world was coming to an end. Then I had to race over to Southwark to help catch a 'demon from Hell,' which turned out to be a peddler's runaway monkey. I got back into London in time to fish a body from the river, so bloated only the Almighty will ever know who it was. This is the first chance I've had to eat a mouthful since last night, so unless you've come to tell me that Westminster Palace is afire or Lord John's army is laying siege to the Tower, I do not want to hear it. This is one meal I mean to savor in peace."

"Savor?" Luke picked up one of the chunks of rye. "By God's Bones, Jonas, you could use these torts for paving stones. And why ever are you eating lampreys when it is not a fish day?"

Justin pulled up a stool, signaling to the serving maid for wine. "Pay him no heed, Jonas. We are bringing you no new troubles, I swear it. No royal plots, no fresh murders, not even rumors of plots or murders. We have a few questions to ask, nothing more sinister in mind. So you eat and we'll talk … fair enough? Luke might even be willing to pay for your dinner."

"Pace yourself with that wine, de Quincy; you're beginning to babble." Luke straddled a bench, decided the serving maid was not worth flirting with, and fed Shadow a piece of rye tort. "Is there nothing this beast will not eat? You have to hear us out, Jonas. The lad is on a mission of mercy."

Justin did not think that was funny. "What was I supposed to do?" he protested. "That woman would put any poacher to shame, so deftly does she set and spring her traps. I was caught ere I even realized my danger."

Jonas continued to dig into his lamprey pie. "Now that you're here," he said ungraciously, "you might as well unburden yourselves. Remember, though, that I'm in no mood for high treason or conspiracies involving the fate of all Christendom."

"How about a mundane murder in a churchyard? Go on, de Quincy, ask him about the peddler's daughter." Luke smiled, for that was the punch line to any number of jokes, most of them bawdy. Justin was younger and less inured to violent death. Giving the deputy a reproving glance, he said quickly: "What can you tell us, Jonas, about the young girl found slain in St Mary Magdalene' s churchyard?"

Jonas spooned the last morsel of lamprey pie into his mouth, used his sleeve for a napkin. "Why do you want to know?" he parried. "You're not likely to convince me that the peddler's lass was a spy in the pay of the queen's son."

"No … this has naught to do with the Queen's Grace."

"He is acting on behalf of your chief suspects," Luke said with a grin. "Nell prodded him into it, for their aunt is her neighbor."

Jonas grinned, too. "I've rarely met a female with such a God-given talent for prodding," he conceded. "But I'm not the man you ought to be talking to. Tobias is the Serjeant who was called to the churchyard, not me."

That brought Justin up short. "Well, we'll certainly seek him out," he said, after a pause to consider this new development. "But we'd be grateful for anything you can tell us about the crime."

"What do you want to know?"

"How was the girl killed?"

"We think she died resisting a rape. Her body was found by a woman come to tend her husband's grave."

"How did she die … a stabbing? Strangulation?"

"A head wound. She either fell or was pushed against the churchyard cross. Tobias said it was dripping blood."

"What makes you think she was raped?"

"Her bodice was ripped open and her skirts pulled up, her chemise torn. But I did not say she was raped."

Justin was puzzed. Luke, who'd investigated a number of sexual crimes, was not. "No bruises or scratches on her breasts or thighs, then?"

Jonas shook his head, explaining for Justin's benefit, "That would indicate the man broke off the attack. Most likely he panicked when he realized she was either dead or dying. Tobias said there were imprints in the ground, as if he knelt by the body, but there was no evidence of penetration. Nor were there any stains on her clothing to show he'd spilled his seed too soon. My best guess would be that he did not mean to kill her. When she balked, he sought to force himself upon her, and the next thing he knew, he had a dead woman on his hands."

"What of her nails?" Luke asked, his earlier irreverence forgotten, caught up now in professional curiosity.

"Not broken, and with no scrapings of skin under them. So the man will have no scratches to mark him out. She was a little bit of a lass, like Nell. It would have been all too easy to overpower her. And it does not seem that she had a chance to put up much of a fight."

Justin's wine suddenly tasted sour. As little as he knew about this peddler's daughter from the Welsh Marches, he was certain she had deserved better than she'd gotten. Jonas had made the pain and fear of her final moments much too real. Shoving the flagon away, he said tautly, "Can you tell me why Geoffrey and Daniel Aston are suspected in her death?"

Jonas considered and then nodded. "Why not? We know Geoffrey Aston was bedding her. Sometimes she'd sneak him into the room her family rented, sometimes he'd bring her to an inn on Wood Street. In fact, the churchyard where she died was a favorite meeting place for them. As for the younger son, he was always sniffing about her skirts. We have witnesses willing to testify that he and Melangell had a heated argument on the day she died. And then there was the piece of silk found under her body, much too costly for a peddler's daughter, but just the sort of gift she'd have gotten from a mercer's son. Not enough evidence to start building a gallows, I'll grant you. But enough to warrant further investigation."

Justin could not argue with that. What had Nell gotten him into? He felt another surge of pity for Melangell, who'd come to London to start a new life, only to find death in a twilit churchyard. He pitied Agnes, too, for it was beginning to seem all too likely that one of her nephews was guilty of murder.

~~

After their meeting with Jonas, Justin and Luke headed for the Tower. The queen was not in the great hall, and to Justin's relief, neither was Claudine. He did not need to seek Eleanor out, though, for Will Longsword was on hand, and he admitted glumly that their scouts had not reported back. John's whereabouts were still a mystery.

By the time Justin and Luke were on their way again, a soft April dusk was settling over the city. Justin had borrowed a lantern from one of Will's men, and they started up Tower Street. Luke was complaining that they ought to have taken their stallions; like most horsemen, he rarely walked anywhere if he could help it. But Justin's sojourn in London had taught him that horses were often an inconvenience in the city. For all that it held over twenty-five thousand people, London's walls enclosed a little more than a square mile. Justin had discovered that he could walk from the Tower to Ludgate in half an hour, whereas on horseback, that trip could take much longer, depending upon the time of day and the flow of traffic.

"Anyway," he pointed out when Luke continued to grumble, "you have to find a place to hitch the horse every time you dismount. Look at all the stops we had to make in our hunt for Jonas. If we'd been on horseback, we'd have had to …"

When his words ebbed away, Luke glanced curiously in his direction. "What?"

Justin was studying the street behind them. The day's crowds were thinning as the sky darkened. An occasional bobbing light was evidence of a pedestrian's lantern. A cart's wheel had broken, and the driver was cursing loudly as he inspected the damage. The church bells of All Hallows Barking were chiming for Vespers and a few tardy parishioners were straggling in for the Mass. A woman who seemed none too sober had accosted a man passing by, and they'd begun to dicker over terms. Shadow had halted to acknowledge another dog. The street scene appeared perfectly normal, nothing amiss. Still, Justin hesitated, heeding instinct rather than reason.

"What is it?" Luke was picking up now on his unease. "You see something?"

"I guess not…" Justin took a final glance over his shoulder, then shrugged. "I got a sudden prickling at the back of my neck," he confessed. "I suppose I am overly cautious, thanks to the Fleming. For a moment, I had this sense of danger, the way I did in the Durngate mill."

There was no need to elaborate; Luke had been with him when they'd cornered the Fleming over the body of his latest victim. The deputy nodded, for he, too, had learned to trust the inner voice that whispered of unseen enemies, unknown perils. "Never apologize for caution, de Quincy. Without it, no man can hope to make old bones. Now … what shall we do about supper? Stop at the cookshop or see if we can coax Nell into feeding us again?"

"The alehouse," Justin said, adding emphatically, "Nell owes me a meal. The more I learn about this killing, the less hopeful I feel. Jonas makes a persuasive case for his suspicions. So what do I tell Agnes?"

"Well, look at it this way: By implicating one nephew, you'll be clearing the other."

"Somehow I doubt that will give Agnes much comfort," Justin said dryly. "And which nephew?"

"The younger one," Luke said without hesitation. "If you own a cow, what need have you to steal milk? Why would Geoffrey Aston try to rape the girl if she was coupling with him willingly? No, if this were my case, I'd be looking long and hard at Daniel. Even Agnes admits he was besotted with her. She rebuffs him earlier in the day, when they were heard to quarrel. Nursing a grievance, he confronts her later in the churchyard. She rejects his overtures again, and this time he goes too far. Unfortunately for Agnes, this killing is likely to be right easy to solve."

"I fear so," Justin agreed. "If only — Jesu!" For a heartbeat, he wasn't sure what had happened. There was a blurred motion, a rush of air upon his face, and then a thud. He hastily raised the lantern and his breath caught in his throat at the light's flickering revelation: a dagger still quivering in a wooden door scant inches from his head. Flattening himself against the wall, he flung the lantern into the street to avoid offering a lighted target. Luke had taken cover, too, and for several moments, there was no sound but their labored breathing. By now the street was a sea of heaving shadows, deep enough to drown an army of assassins. They forced themselves to wait, motionless, until they were sure the danger was past. Retrieving the lantern, Luke watched as Justin freed the dagger.

"

It looks like you've been making enemies again, de Quincy. No man would throw away a good knife in a random attack."

When he wrenched the knife loose, Justin noticed the scrap of parchment wrapped around its blade. Holding it toward the lantern's light, he saw a single word scrawled in a bold hand. He read the message, and then gave an angry, incredulous laugh. "Would you believe this is a letter?"

Luke stared at him. "Delivered at knifepoint?"

"See for yourself." Justin held out the parchment fragment toward the deputy. "The queen has a man in John's household. This is his handiwork, warning us that John is at Windsor."

"Jesus God." Luke shook his head in disbelief. "He has an odd way of communicating his messages!"

"You do not know the half of it," Justin said, searching the darkness again for signs of the knife wielder. He knew it was useless, though. Durand was long gone. He'd delivered his warning — with a vengeance — had no reason to linger. Luke was looking again at the hole Durand's knife had gouged in the door. "You know," he said, "he did not miss you by much."

"No," Justin said grimly, "he did not."