Serpent in the Thorns

20

“COULD IT HAVE BURNT up?” Jack pushed Crispin aside and searched for himself. He didn’t notice when his cloak caught fire.

Crispin hauled Jack from the hearth and stamped out the flames. “It won’t do anyone any good to set yourself afire.” He sat back on the floor and rested his chin on his fist. “Someone has taken it. Who knew that the Crown of Thorns was hidden here?”

“You. Me. Them wenches. The sheriff. Who else?”

“Who else? No one. Who could have guessed?”

Jack jumped to his feet. “Abbot Nicholas! He guessed.”

“Yes, but he would not have stolen it, nor sent anyone. Who else? Help me, Jack.”

“I can’t—no one else knew of it. Neither Master Gilbert nor Mistress Eleanor would guess its hiding place.”

“True. It was hidden. It would have to take a desperate man—Desperate men. God’s blood.”

Crispin rose and made for the door, then stopped. If he delayed by investigating his hunch, Gilbert and Eleanor would be in danger. “Jack, I need you to go to the King’s Head.”

“What for?”

“The Frenchmen are staying there. I need you to follow them. It may already be too late.”

“Right, Master. Did they take the Crown?”

“It is a wild hunch. But their mysterious fourth companion may very well have told them about me. They would have come here at least to talk to me and discovered the Crown for themselves. At least it is a possibility I cannot afford to leave alone. Keep a close eye on them, Jack. Don’t let them out of your sight.”

“Where will you be?”

Crispin looked around his small room. He wondered if he would ever see it again. “With any luck, I won’t be in Newgate. And I shan’t stay at the Boar’s Tusk. That’s already caused too much trouble.” He ran his thumb over his knife pommel, polishing it smooth. “Find me at the Thistle.” Jack made to leave but Crispin grabbed his shoulder. “Jack, if I am arrested, don’t stay here. Go. Leave London.”

Jack’s face was as sorrowful a mask as Crispin had ever seen. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his own emotions in check.

“Leave London? Where would I go?”

“I don’t know. You’re a smart lad. You’d get by.”

“But Master, I’d never leave you.”

“Jack, if I’m arrested there will be very little left to leave. You’d need to fend for yourself.”

“But I’d stand by you. I’d not have you die alone.” Jack’s eyes welled. Two large tears rolled down his dirty cheeks.

Crispin closed his eyes and cursed. “Don’t, Jack. We haven’t got time. Just promise me you’ll leave London. That’s a command!”

“I won’t make that promise!” He shook himself free of Crispin’s hand and threw himself down the steps at a run.

Crispin swiped at his eyes once with the back of his hand before he turned to the room with a trembling breath. He gathered the courier bag with its two boxes and hauled the strap over his shoulder. He rushed down the steps, hoping to see Jack one last time, but the boy was too swift. There was no one and nothing on the blue-gray street but the silver shimmer of moonlight on puddles.

Crispin wondered if a life of sin had led to this moment. He wasn’t much of a praying man. In fact, his prayers more often than not became blaspheming tirades to the Almighty. But as he glanced skyward, thinking about what had been in the box slung over his shoulder, he again asked, as he had asked so many times before, “Why me?”

Why had he stepped into trouble time and time again? Always, he thought he was doing right when it was always so wrong. Hadn’t he tried to help Richard this time? Was his intent not good enough, his heart not pure enough?

He stopped when he turned the corner and spied the Boar’s Tusk. The building sat quietly in the gloom, its bright windows dark except for the faint glow of candle and hearth behind the shutters. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Well, I’ve had a good run. I can’t say I won the race, but neither did I lose it.”

He adjusted the courier bag and headed straight for the door. It wasn’t barred and so he opened it. Four white faces turned to him. The only one who stood was Wynchecombe.

“Ah!” said the sheriff. He gestured to the table and Crispin brought the bag over and put it down where Wynchecombe pointed.

“My Lord Sheriff, there is something I need to tell you.”

“Oh?” Wynchecombe was distracted by the boxes, especially the gold one. He set it on the table and put his hand on the lid.

Crispin rested his hand over Wynchecombe’s. The sheriff looked up with a quizzical expression. “My Lord, this is the courier box—intact as you see it. But the Crown, alas, is gone.”

“What?” He flung the lid open and looked inside. He drew his dagger and grabbed Crispin’s shoulder cape. “What game do you play, Guest?”

“No game. It is gone. Stolen.”

“You’re hiding it.”

“No, my lord. On my honor.”

“Honor?” He threw Crispin back. “You have none! I’m a fool to have trusted you.”

“I would never sacrifice my friends. Take me, if you must, but for the love of the Holy Rood, do not hurt these innocent people.”

The sheriff glared at Crispin, turned to the white-faced Gilbert, to Eleanor who clutched Gilbert’s arm, to Ned who sucked on his fingers.

“Where’s the cutpurse?”

“He hasn’t got it. I swear by our Lady.”

“Where is he?”

“I sent him away. If I couldn’t save myself—”

“You’re the fine nobleman, aren’t you?”

“I came back, didn’t I?” Crispin thrust his chin defiantly, perhaps his last act of defiance.

Wynchecombe cocked his head and pursed his lips. He swiveled toward the others. “I knew you’d be back.”

“Then you also know I’m not lying. I am at your mercy. You know that, too. To come back meant I’d be walking to the gallows myself.”

“Crispin.” He nearly purred it. He shook his head.

Damn the man! The sheriff wanted to arrest him. Truly wanted to see him hang . . . Or did he?

The sheriff continued shaking his head until his smile turned to a frustrated sneer. “You are the damnedest man I ever met!” He paced, stood before the fire, paced again, then stopped before Crispin and aimed his finger at him. “You will find that Crown of Thorns for me. You will return it only to me. Understand?” He looked once at Gilbert and Eleanor. “I will do what I can on this other matter, but I make no guarantees.”

Crispin’s heart beat a step faster. “You will not pursue me?”

“No. But remember”—he gestured with his head toward the others—“I know where these live.”