Dragon's Lair

Chapter 9

August 1193

Chester, England

The wind had carried embers onto the roof of A dockside alehouse, and people hastily formed a bucket brigade, taking water directly from the river. The warehouse had been set apart from the other buildings, deliberately buffered by open space. Piers's neighbors had thought it a shameful waste of good land and speculated that he wanted privacy for his illegal dealings. They benefited now from the isolation of the warehouse, and although people across the street were dragging what belongings they could from their houses, it was soon apparent that Chester would be spared a conflagration.

The city sheriff, Will Gamberell, arrived on the scene and took charge, sending his men into the throng of spectators to find witnesses. By now the crowd was a large one, and it was obvious from their murmurings that many of them had known Bennet. Several women began to weep, and Justin assumed they were his friend's bedmates. He had never felt like this — utterly numb, aware of no pain or grief, only an overwhelming sense of unreality. He watched the sheriff, the wailing women, Bennet's blazing tomb, and it was as if he were unable to accept the evidence of his own eyes and ears. He kept waiting to wake up.

Molly was sitting on an overturned wheelbarrow, her eyes never moving from the hellfire the warehouse had become. She did not speak, and when Justin sought to coax her into leaving, she did not seem to hear him. Her flame-lit face was expressionless, empty of emotion. Although he had his hand on her shoulder, it seemed Justin that she had gone away, gone where none could follow.

After a while, the sheriff walked over. His eyes flicked to Justin, speculative and suspicious before shifting to Molly. "This is likely a waste of breath, but if you know anything about this, now is the time to tell me. Who hated your brother enough to want him dead?" She did not react, and he said impatiently, "Do you understand what I just said? This fire did not happen by mischance, a candle knocked over. It was deliberately set."

Justin drew a breath sharp as a blade. "You are sure of that?"

"The first men to discover the fire said it was burning at both doors, front and rear, and it looked like kindling had been used to get it going. There was a trail of straw across the yard, that wheelbarrow had been left behind, and the air reeked of tallow. Now mayhap this was meant as a warning for Piers Fitz Turold. But it may well be that your brother was the quarry in this hunt. It was no secret that he slept there at night."

Molly gazed at him impassively, saying nothing, and the sheriff turned away with a muttered oath, sounding more vexed than surprised by her lack of cooperation. A stir at the end of the street heralded the arrival of the Earl of Chester and Lord Fitz Alan and their men. Chester nodded in acknowledgment to Justin as their eyes met, and he then beckoned to the sheriff. After a brief inter rogation, he withdrew, apparently satisfied that the city was not in danger. Thomas de Caldecott was one of his escorts. He, too, noticed Justin, stopped abruptly, and then mustered a polite wave before hastening after his lord. Fitz Alan lingered at the scene, letting loose a barrage of brusque questions that soon had the Chester sheriff bristling. To the east, the dawning sun struggled to break through the clouds of grey smoke. Once the alehouse fire was safely doused, a number of its rescuers pushed their way inside to celebrate their success. The crowd was dwindling rapidly.

Justin slid his arm around Molly's waist and got her onto her feet. "Come on, Molly-cat," he said gently. "Let's go home."

She looked at him blankly. "No one has called me that for so long…" Tears welled in her eyes, began to spill down her cheeks, and Justin drew her close. The shoulder of his tunic was soon wet and he could feel her body trembling, but she made no sound, and he'd never seen anything as heartrending as this mute, dazed grieving, silent and wholly without hope.

~*~

People soon started turning up at Molly's cottage: neighbors carrying kettles of soup, fresh-baked bread, and clay pitchers of ale, Bennet's friends and alehouse customers, a few tearful young women with heavily powdered faces and swollen eyes. The parish priest stopped by, too. He was very young and clearly had little experience yet in consoling the bereaved, his fumbling for words of comfort painful to watch.

To them all, Molly offered courtesy, but little else. She spoke rarely, nodded occasionally, but all the while her eyes were turning inward, her dark, dilated pupils reflecting no light at all, hers the unfocused, vacant stare of the newly blinded. Justin stayed by her side, ignoring the curious glances of the mourners, holding Molly's hand tightly, as if the clasp of flesh and blood and bone could somehow serve as a lifeline for them both.

People did not tarry, soon found excuses to slip away, and at last they had all gone but Berta, the alehouse serving maid. As Berta puttered about the cottage, wiping away tears with her sleeve, Molly looked up at Justin, and for the first time in hours, he felt that she actually saw him. "When they find his body," she whispered, "will you…"

"I'll take care of it, all of it," he said huskily and refused to let himself think about what he'd just promised to do,

"I want…"

"What, Molly? Tell me."

Tears were brimming in her eyes again. "I want," she said in a small voice, "to get drunk, so drunk that I never have to sober up…"

So did Justin. He craved oblivion at that moment as he'd never craved anything in his life. He knew Molly had never fancied the taste of ale, but it was all they had and he was pouring out a cupful for her as Berta finally ceased her aimless meandering and went over to answer another knock at the door. A moment later, she let out such a bloodcurdling scream that Justin spilled hail of the ale into the floor rushes,

"Christ Jesus!" He spun around to see Berta backing away from the door, her eyes wide, blessing herself with a shaking hand. And then there was another cry, this time from Molly, and he could only stare in disbelief at the man filling the doorway.

Bennet had never looked worse, his skin so sickly white he seemed bloodless, his eyes reddened and puffy, his hair as tangled as uncombed wool. "Molly," he said and held out his arms as she flew across the cottage into his embrace. They hugged each other so tightly that neither seemed to be breathing, as Berta continued to retreat and Justin stood, frozen, not yet able to credit this incredible mercy by their God. Opening his eyes, Bennet saw Justin for the first time and gave a sigh of relief before smiling down tenderly into his sister's tear-streaked face.

"It is really me," he said. "I am not a ghost, Molly — " His head jerked sideways then, as Molly slapped him across the mouth,

"Where were you? Damn you for doing this to me, Bennet, damn you!" She did not wait for him to react, buried her face in his shoulder again, and they stood motionless for a time, clinging together like shipwreck victims who'd at last reached shore. And as his own eyes blurred with tears, it occurred to Justin that Molly and Bennet had a bond that went deeper than blood. They were survivors, having weathered childhood storms together that would have destroyed either one of them alone.

~*~

Berta had gone to spread the word that Bennet had not died in the fire. Molly, Justin, and Bennet shared what was left of the ale and gathered around the trestle table as Bennet explained that he'd never gone back to the warehouse, deciding instead to spend the night with a friend. "I was already flying high, and we drained a few more flagons dry after I got there. The next thing I remember, it was daylight and I felt so vile I did not get out of bed till noon. I was heading for the warehouse when I ran into Alys, the barber's wife, and she well nigh swooned away at the sight of me. After she stopped stuttering and made some sense, I… well, I did not believe her, not until I saw the smoking ruins for myself."

He fell silent, and Justin understood why. It must have been like gazing down into his open grave. "Thank the Lord that you took it into your head to go looking for a lass!"

"Yes," Molly said, but with none of Justin's enthusiasm. "This friend of yours… by any chance could it have been Monday?"

Bennet looked sheepish. "Well, yes…" he admitted, adding for Justin's benefit, "Moll does not like Monday very much — "

"I like her not at all," Molly said and scowled at her brother. "I thought you said it was done between the two of you. God's Truth, Justin, this woman has feathers where her brains ought to be'. She is greedy, sly, flighty — "

"So she must be blazing-hot in bed," Justin blurted out, for he was still so euphoric over Bennet's miraculous resurrection that he had a drunkard's control of his tongue. Molly glared at him, but Bennet burst out laughing and Justin soon joined in, theirs the shaken, giddy laughter of men reprieved on the steps of the gallows. Molly glowered at them both, and then she began to laugh, too, for they'd all seen enough of life to understand how rare it was to cuckold death.

Bennet ran his hands through his tousled hair, for a moment resting his palms against his eyes, like a man with a pounding headache, or one trying to blot a harrowing vision from his brain. "When I saw the warehouse this afternoon — what was left of it — I truly feared that you might have died for me, Justin. I know I have enemies, but who hates me enough to want to see me fried?" He could not repress a shudder. "God, what a way to die…"

He smiled at them then, as if fearing he'd revealed too much. "One suspect comes to mind — that lump of lard from the French cog. He seemed the sort to nurse a grudge."

"Can we dismiss any jealous husbands out of hand?" Molly gibed, and Bennet made her grin by crossing his eyes as if they were still bairns.

"Of course," Bennet said, sounding more cheerful, "it may well be that I got a message meant for Piers. Wait till he hears about this… Jesu! It could have been worse, though. The fire could have happened last week when he had far more to lose."

Justin had no interest in what Piers may have been smuggling, for he had much more on his mind than the law-breaking of a Chester vintner. "There is another possibility," he said slowly. "The fire might have been set for me."

That got their immediate attention. They both turned to stare at him, Molly looking dubious and Bennet downright skeptical. "I doubt that, Justy," he said, with a smile that was somewhat patronizing. "Who's more likely to have enemies with murder on their mind? Piers and me? Or someone who passes his days in the company of lords and ladies and bishops?"

"There are things you do not know, Bennet, that I have not told you. I am not in Chester to do Fitz Alan's bidding. I am hunting for a large sum of money, money that has already cost the lives of three men, mayhap more." Justin glanced from one to the other. "If this is my fault, Bennet, I'll never forgive myself. I truly did not think I was putting you in jeopardy — "

"You do not know that you have," Molly said briskly. "We know you, Justin. Give you some time to brood and you'll be blaming yourself for King Richard's capture and the flooding in Shrewsbury last spring. Ere you start with the mea culpas, tell us why you think someone wanted you dead, and badly enough to risk setting the entire town ablaze."

"You know about the ransom being demanded for the king's safe return," Justin said, and they nodded in unison.

"Who does not, with the Crown bleeding the realm white for the ransom," Bennet did not sound as if he considered the ransom money well spent. "What does that have to do with you, Justin?"

"A goodly portion of the ransom went missing in Wales. I am one of the men trying to find it. I was in North Wales ere I came Chester, at the court of the Welsh prince Dayvdd. He is blaming his nephew in the hopes that the Crown will send knights and men-at-arms to put down a rising against him. But it is a lie. The ransom was stolen by three Flemish sailors and the outlaw who hired them. And I am the only one who knows what truly happened. Now ask me again, Bennet, if you think I have a secret worth killing for."

"You've convinced me," Bennet said dryly. "Money is always worth killing for. But why does Fitz Alan not know this, too? Why are you keeping it from him?"

"Because I am no longer in Fitz Alan's service. Whilst I am trying to recover the missing ransom, I answer to the Earl of Chester."

There was a long silence. "God's Blood," Bennet said softly, "what have you gotten yourself into, Justin?"

Justin shrugged, looking over at Molly. She'd so far been silent, her face not easy to read. As their eyes met, she shrugged, too. "I did say you were a man with secrets, did I not?" she murmured. "So you tracked these Flemish sailors to Chester. Did you find them here?"

Justin shook his head. "They never came back to their ship. There is a man who may have some of the answers I seek, but he has balked at talking with me. He is suspicious and who can blame him? Even worse for me, he speaks only Flemish."

"Is that your problem? I can solve that for you just like this," Molly said, snapping her fingers. "A friend of mine speaks Flemish and she is also very good, indeed, at getting men to do her bidding."

"Barbele?" Bennet asked, and when she nodded, he grinned at Justin. "Moll is right. Barbele could lure the Devil out of Hell and yes, I speak from very pleasant experience."

"How good is her Flemish?" Justin asked, and Molly grinned, too.

"It is her mother tongue," she said triumphantly. "Her grandfather was one of the Flemings that the first King Henry settled in South Wales. Barbele still has kin down in Pembrokeshire, but she grew up here in Chester. So… shall we ask her to bedazzle this stubborn sailor of yours?"

"I'd be much beholden to you, Molly," he said, and she winked as Bennet pushed away from the table and got to his feet.

"I'd best find a man to ride to Wich Malbank and spoil Piers's week. I am also going to put the word about that Piers will pay to find out who burned his warehouse, and pay well. With luck, we might learn who was the true target last night. No offense, Justin, but I hope it is you and not me!"

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Justin said and they both laughed.

Molly was not amused. "If you two do not mind, I'd rather not jest about which one of you was supposed to be turned into kindling last night!"

"You are not usually so squeamish, Moll," Bennet teased, leaning over to give her a hug. "I'd say we were both lucky beyond belief, Justin. Where were you, anyway? Why did you not go back to the warehouse?"

Justin hesitated, not wanting to lie to Bennet but not wanting to tell him the truth, either. Bennet had always been quick; he glanced from Justin to Molly and then to the rumpled, unmade bed. "Well," he drawled, "you did not waste any time, did you, old friend?"

Justin could not blame Bennet, for he was sure that if he'd had a sister, he would be protective of her, too. That did make it difficult, though, to offer a defense. Fortunately for him, Molly was more than up to the task.

"What, you think he seduced me? Do not be stupid, Bennet. I may not have many choices in this life, but I damned well pick my own bedmates!"

~*~

Just had once been told by a Norwegian trader that when they'd still worshipped the old gods, men believed that one who was slain in battle would be welcomed into Valhala or Paradise by beautiful, flaxen-haired maidens, the daughters of Odin. It was a pagan superstition of course, but he could see how it might appeal to men facing death, and it had lingered in his memory. When he first saw Molly's friend, Barbele, he remembered, for she was almost as tall as he was, big-boned with a plenitude of womanly curves, a mass of hair the color of honey, a lusty laugh, and a surprisingly carefree disposition for a woman who made her living in one of the most precarious of professions.

"Is that all you need done?" she asked blithely, waving her hand as if it were already accomplished. Justin described Rutger to her and told her where she could find him at the alehouse where Baltazar had said he'd been passing all his days in port. She was so confident of her powers to charm that she waved aside Justin's offer of partial payment, saying she was content to wait until she'd gotten him the information he needed, adding playfully that she was not usually so trusting of men, but if Molly trusted him enough to take him into her bed, that was good enough for her.

They left her standing in the doorway of the bawdy house and continued down Cuppinges Lane. This was one of the more sinful streets of the city, and it amused Justin that it was in such close proximity to St Mary's nunnery. If the good sisters thought Molly was an unseemly neighbor, he wondered how they dealt with the bawdy house whores. "So how did she know we'd lain together he asked. "You introduced me only as a childhood friend."

"Women always know." Slipping her arm through his, she turned to wave a final farewell to Barbele. "Let's stop at the cook shop, Justin, ere we go home. I do not think either one of us has eaten since yesterday eve, and I am for certes not in the mood to cook. Ah, wait, I forgot — we have the food that the neighbors brought. Unless we have to give it back now that Bennet is not dead!" She giggled at that, sounding like the Molly of memory, and he felt a vast, sweeping relief that she'd been spared more grief.

"I am still not sure I ought to go back to the cottage with you," he began, and she reached up to lay her fingers against his lips.

"Hush, now, we've already settled that. I truly would feel safer with you than if I slept alone tonight. And Bennet said he was going to put men to guarding all of Piers's properties till he gets back from Wich Malbank, and that includes the cottage. I doubt that there is a need for all that, but Bennet does love to spend Piers's money. For that matter, so do I!"

Justin knew he was making a mistake, but he could not help himself. "Have you given any thought, Molly, to what you'd do if you did not have Piers to keep you in such comfort? There must be other means to earn a livelihood — "

"Name three," she challenged. "Unless you want me to earn my bread on my back the way Barbele does, I'd say I'm doing right well for myself these days."

Justin was not ready to concede defeat. "But surely Bennet makes enough for the both of you with all he does for Piers?"

"I make more," she said matter-of-factly. "Ah, Justin, you are talking of plans and prospects as if such things were ever within my grasp. If I've learned nothing else in this life, it is that to plan for the morrow is folly, especially for the likes of Bennet and me. Now you… it may be different for you. It does sound as if you've risen in the world since we last met, lover. For example, you said that you 'answer to the Earl of Chester,' but I got the sense that this was temporary. Who do you answer to the rest of the time?"

"You would not believe me, lass, if I told you."

She gave him a pensive, speculative look that promised further interrogation. But before she could persevere, Justin heard his name called out behind him. "De Quincy!" He swung around, pulling Molly with him, to see Thomas de Caldecott striding to ward them.

Thomas was smiling. "This is better luck than I expected for I've been searching the town for you. The earl wants to know when we'll be returning to Wales." His eyes had already moved from Justin to Molly, subjecting her to an appraisal that was so openly admiring it evaded giving offense. "Are you not going to introduce me to your lovely lady, Justin? I understand now why we've seen so little of you at the castle!"

"Mistress Molly, may I present Sir Thomas de Caldecott?" Justin said, hoping he did not sound as trapped as he felt, and Thomas at once shifted into his courtier mode, kissing Molly's hand with a gallant flourish. Justin took some solace from Molly's composure. Unlike so many of the women he'd seen exposed to Thomas's practiced charm, she did not appear to be in immediate danger of succumbing to the knight's seductive smile and beguiling blue eyes.

Thomas turned his attention back to Justin then, saying candidly, "Look, about our earlier dispute, I want to offer my apologies. I ought not to have flared up like that. But you made me look foolish in the earl's eyes, and I have my fair share of vanity. I hope you are not one for holding grudges?"

"No, Thomas, I am not."

"Glad I am to hear it. Well, I'll not intrude further upon your time with the fair Molly. What should I tell the earl about your plans?"

"Tell him," Justin said, "that I expect to be done in Chester by week's end," and Thomas bent over Molly's hand again. But as he started to turn away, Justin suddenly remembered something that the knight had shared during their ride into Wales.

"Thomas!" The other man glanced over his shoulder, a quizzical smile upon his face that disappeared with Justin's next words. "I was curious about something. I envy you your gift for languages. I was wondering if you'd ever learned any Flemish?"

Thomas's smile came back. "No, I cannot say that I have," he said, sounding faintly puzzled by the question. "Well… a pleasure, Mistress Molly. Justin, I'll see you at the castle, and I'll tell the earl that we'll be departing soon."

They stood watching as Thomas sauntered off. As soon as he was out of earshot, Molly said, "That one fancies himself too much for my taste. Why did you ask if he spoke Flemish?"

"I know little about the outlaw leader, only that he spoke both Welsh and Flemish. Thomas is quite fluent in Welsh, and I remembered his telling me that his mother was raised in Pembrokeshire."

"Ah, I see. But by asking him straight out, did you not risk putting him on the alert?"

"I hope so," he said, and she frowned.

"What are you doing, setting a trap with you as the bait?"

"I'd not go that far. I have no proof that Thomas is involved in any of this, just random suspicions. I might well be wronging him," Justin admitted. "Only time will tell."

"And so you think to get your proof by letting him know you are putting all the pieces together. That is well and good if he is innocent. But if he is indeed guilty, you could end up with your throat cut!"

"Have you so little confidence in my skill with a sword?" he joked, but Molly found no humor in his predicament.

"Sometimes I think men do not have the sense God gave to sheep," she said, with an aggrieved toss of her head. "We'll let that be for now, though. I'd much rather talk about what he called you… de Quincy."

Justin had known it was foolish to hope she'd missed that; Molly missed very little. "What? I think you misheard."

"The Devil I did. I have to admit that I was taken aback, too. I thought that was a secret buried too deep to be dug up."

Justin stared at her in astonishment. "You knew?"

"Well, not for certes," she said, sounding rather pleased with herself. "I had my suspicions though."

Justin was incredulous. "Why?"

"Because he was good to you, Justin. Did you never wonder why?"

"I knew why. I was an orphan with none to look after me, and he took me in as an act of Christian charity."

"He was a priest, not a saint," she scoffed. "Not to let you starve to death — that is both commendable and believable. But he went beyond that, Justin. He brought you with him from Shrewsbury when he was made Chester's archdeacon. He did more than make sure you were fed and clothed. He saw to it that you were educated, that you had the schooling few foundlings ever get. For a time, I thought that you might be the bastard get of a kinsman of his. The only other explanation I could think of was that he was one of those with a liking for boys, and — "

"Jesus God, Molly!"

Justin sounded so repulsed that she suppressed a smile. "I did not believe it! Word gets around when a man has a vice like that, and I never heard even a whisper that the bishop was depraved in that manner. Moreover, I could tell that you were not being mistreated, for you'd not have been able to hide that from us. But I knew there was more to this than your 'Christian charity.' And then, when the bishop placed you in Lord Fitz Alan's household like that, I realized there was only one possible answer. You were his son."

"But you never said, you never even hinted — "

"Why would I? It was plain that you had no suspicions of your own, so what would it have served to share mine? I did not think it even mattered that much, for I was sure it would never come out. That is why I am so astounded by this. I would have wagered any sum that he'd never tell you, much less acknowledge you!"

"He did not," Justin said bleakly. "I found out on my own and when I confronted him, he finally admitted it. And he has never acknowledged me, Molly, nor will he."

"But you use his name," she protested. "Are you saying you just… took it?" When he nodded, she whistled softly. "My heavens! That was very brave of you, Justin, or very foolhardy, mayhap both."

He could hardly explain that England's queen had given him the courage to claim the de Quincy name. "Does Bennet know…?" Relieved when she shook her head, he said, "I'd rather you said nothing of this to him, Molly. I know it is unfair to ask you to keep secrets from him, but — "

She interrupted with laughter. "We keep secrets from each other all the time, Justin. How else do we get along so well? You need not worry. I'll keep quiet for your sake… and for the bishop's."

That was the last thing Justin had expected her to say. "For his sake?"

He sounded so confounded that she gave him a surprised look. "Yes, for his sake, too. He tried to do right by you, lover, as much he was able. There are far worse fathers in this world than one who cannot acknowledge you as his," she said quietly, and Justin could not argue with that.

Molly's revelation had brought them both to a halt. Now she tugged at his arm, saying, "Come, let's go home." They walked without speaking for several moments. From time to time, Molly glanced over at him, her eyes narrowed in thought. "So once Barbele gets you the information you need, you'll go back to Wales, to the court of this Welsh prince?" When he nodded, she said, "And you'll go with this Thomas de Caldecott, even knowing that he might have an excellent reason to wish you dead." It was not a question for she already knew the answer, and they continued on toward her cottage in silence.