The Queen Man

12

LONDON

February 1193

Eleanor beckoned Justin toward the closest light, a tall, spiked candelabra. "Come here so I can get a better look at you. Ought you to be up and about so soon? What did the doctor say?"

"I thank you for your concern, madame, but I am truly on the mend. It has been nigh on a week, after all. As for the doctor, we had a falling-out. He wanted to bleed me and I thought I'd been bled more than enough already. In truth, my lady, I've never understood the logic behind bloodletting. How does losing blood make a man stronger? It seems to go against common sense, does it not?"

"It has been my experience, Justin, that when the doctor comes in the door, common sense goes out the window. I always thought it fortunate that doctors are barred from the birthing chamber, else mankind might have died out centuries ago. But if you say you are well enough to be on your feet, I shall take your word for it. Where are you staying now? Are you still at that farrier's cottage?"

"Yes, madame, I am. I told Gunter — the smith — that I'd not feel comfortable staying at his house unless I could pay him, and he reluctantly agreed. I had no other choice, for I did not want to go back to the alehouse, not until we've caught the Fleming."

"That cutpurse you were supposed to meet… do you think he betrayed you to the Fleming?"

Justin had been pondering that very question all week long. "I do not know, my lady. He may have. Or it may be that he was clumsy, too heavy-handed in his search for the Fleming. And if Gilbert did hear he was sniffing about and confronted him, we can be sure that he'd blurt out all he knew — and much he did not!"

"And has the sheriff been helping you to track this man down, as I instructed?"

"He was heedful of your wishes, madame, and dispatched his best man to assist in my hunt."

A frown shadowed Eleanor's brow. "Just one?"

"This particular one is more than enough, madame. He is a very — "

There had been several interruptions in the course of their conversation, but they'd been circumspect; a squeak of the door hinges, a light step in the rushes, and a retreat. This time the door banged jarringly, and without waiting to be announced, Will Longsword burst into the chamber. Will looked far more disheveled and agitated than the last time Justin had seen him, in the gardens at Westminster. His bright hair was wind whipped and dusted with melting snow, his face so reddened and chapped by the cold that his freckles seemed to have disappeared. Moving hastily toward Eleanor, he dropped to his knees before her.

"Madame, I was too late. By the time I reached Southampton, John had already sailed."

Eleanor half rose from her seat, then sank back again. "I know you did your best, Will."

Justin glanced at Will, then at the queen. "My lady… where did Lord John go?"

"To France," Eleanor said, and although her voice was dispassionate, a muscle twitched faintly in her cheek. "To the court of the French king."

~~

Justin followed Will from the queen's great chamber out into the hall. Heading for the hearth, Will began to warm his hands over the flames. "Mayhap gloves are not such a foppish, newfangled fashion, after all," he conceded. "Jesu, how I hated to bring her more bad news!"

"What happened?"

"You know about John's disappearance on Candlemas Night? Well, when we got word that he'd been spotted on the Winchester Road, I took out after him. I suppose he could have been bound for the West Country or a sojourn in Wales. But Winchester is just twelve miles from the coast, so I rode for Southampton like my horse's tail was on fire — to no avail. He was already halfway across the Channel by the time I got there."

"What did you have in mind?" Justin asked curiously, and Will gave him a rueful smile.

"Damned if I know! Try to talk some sense into him, I guess. Not that I've ever gotten him to listen in the past. I had to try, though, even if I got nothing out of it but saddle sores and frostbite."

Justin knew — along with most of Christendom — that John and Richard had a brotherly bond in the tradition of Cain and Abel. He found himself seeing John in a new light now, for if he could inspire such loyalty in a man like Will, he could not be utterly beyond redemption. "I agree with the queen," he said. "You did your best and what more can a man do than that?"

Will shrugged. "The trouble is, lad," he said, "that the French king is doing his best, too, and if he has his way, King Richard will never see England again."

~~

Bidding Will farewell, Justin crossed the hall and entered the stairwell. It was quite dark, for a wall rush light had gone out, and he started down slowly. His mind upon the hunt for the Fleming, he did not hear the footsteps below, light and hurried. He was not aware of the woman hastening up the stairs, not until she turned the corner and they collided. When she stumbled, he reached out to steady her and breathed in a familiar perfume.

"Oh!" Her voice was low, startled. "I am so sorry!"

"I'm not."

Claudine smiled in the shadows, recognizing the voice. "Justin de Quincy, you are the most unpredictable man I've ever met. Why are you lurking out here in the stairwell?"

"Hoping to run into you, demoiselle."

"Well," she said softly, "here I am."

Justin might not have been involved with a woman like Claudine before, but he was still experienced enough to know an invitation when he heard one. Shifting so there was no longer space between them, he slid his fingers under her chin, then tilted her face so he could claim her mouth with his own. Her response was all he could have hoped for; her lips parted, her arms going up around his neck.

Eventually the sound of an opening door above them intruded, breaking the erotic spell, and they moved apart. "Come on," Claudine whispered. "That might be the queen's chaplain!"

They fled hand in hand down the stairs and out into the bailey. It had been snowing intermittently all morning, and lacy flakes were drifting down lazily around them, so soft and gentle to the touch that it was like a shower of delicate winter flowers. When Claudine caught one on the tip of her tongue, Justin began to laugh. "Do that again and I'll not answer for the consequences!"

"I've never given a fig for consequences," she said airily, pretending to lick another snowflake from her lower lip. "I've been meaning to ask you, Justin, if you found my mantle brooch, a silver crescent? I may have lost it at your cottage, for I missed it after I visited you that night."

"I'll take a look for it," "Justin said, and brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing her palm and then the inside of her wrist. "We'd probably have a better chance of finding it, though, if we looked for it together."

"What are we waiting for?" When she slipped her arm through his, he decided that if Eve had a smile half as bewitching as Claudine's, no wonder Adam had been so willing to taste that forbidden fruit.

~~

The cottage was cold, for they'd not taken the time to build a fire in the hearth, lighting one in bed, instead. Afterward, they burrowed under the covers for warmth and shared a meal Justin scrounged up from his bare larders. He apologized for the plain fare, but Claudine merely laughed, assuring him that he was an ideal host in the ways that mattered. He'd never known a woman who was so playful and provocative, too, and, watching as she ate heartily of his brown bread and goat cheese, he felt a prickling of unease. It would be so easy to fall in love with her, so dangerously easy.

She had hair as soft as silk and as dark as a summer midnight. When he wrapped a long strand around his throat, she smiled and nipped his earlobe with teeth like small, perfect pearls. Pillowing her head against his shoulder, she asked, "What are you thinking about? Me, I hope…"

He could not very well tell her what he was really thinking — that she was far too beguiling for his own good. Instead, he said lightly, "I was thinking there ought to be a law against any woman being so beautiful. Not only is it unfair to other women, but you must be a hazard to city traffic. Men riding by are likely to watch you instead of the road, dropping their reins and losing their stirrups and getting themselves thrown into the street at your feet."

She laughed softly. "How very true. The mayor even asked me not to venture out into the city during the daytime, for they cannot cope with the chaos I cause. Will you mind if I confine my visits to those hours after dark?"

He propped himself up on his elbow. "I'll have to give that some thought. Ought I to worry that you might be a succubus? They only come out after dark, too."

She blinked. "A what?"

"A succubus — a sultry female spirit who comes in the night to steal a man's seed whilst he sleeps."

"You caught me out," she confessed. "I am indeed a succu… whatever, and a very successful one, too. I've stolen your seed twice already this afternoon and you did not offer even token resistance!"

Justin grinned. "The laws of war stipulate unconditional surrender to succubi. How could you not know that, Claudine?"

"Alas," she said, "my education has been lacking. Yours, however, seems to have been very thorough. Are you sure you are not one of King Henry's out-of-wedlock sons, after all? Who are you, Justin — truly?"

"I'm a man bedazzled by your dark eyes," he parried, "a man getting thirsty again for your wine-sweet kisses." She'd been as generous with her history as she'd been with her body, talking freely of her late husband and her brothers back in Aquitaine, telling him about a sun-drenched childhood that seemed worlds away from the solitary years of his own youth. What could he tell her in return? About the taunts of "Bastard" and "Devil's

whelp" and Aubrey's stubborn denial of paternity?

She twisted around so she could see his face. "You want to remain a man of mystery, then? As you wish. But I ought to warn you that I'm very good, indeed, at solving puzzles. First things first, though…" Leaning over, she gave him a "wine-sweet" kiss. Drawing back then, she studied him pensively. "I know little of Latin," she said, "no more than the responses to the Mass and a few odd phrases… like 'Carpe diem.' Do you know the meaning, Justin?"

"Yes," he said slowly, "I do. 'Seize the day.'"

She nodded. "It is a fine thought, is it not?" When he nodded, too, she smiled and kissed him again.

Justin understood more than the Latin translation. He comprehended what she was trying to tell him, as tactfully as possible — that they could have no future together. That he already knew. She was a child of privilege, with dower estates in Aquitaine and a distant kinship to the queen. Whereas he was a child of sin, with no land of his own, not even enough soil to be buried in, all that he possessed able to fit into his saddle bags. They could share a bed, but no tomorrows, make love but not plans. He was glad of her gentle warning. For both their sakes, he must not ask for more than she could give.

"Seize the day," he echoed, and drew her down into his arms. But within moments, they were startled by hammering at the door. Wrapping himself in a blanket, Justin unsheathed his sword before sliding the bolt back and opening the door a crack.

The man outside was a stranger. "Master de Quincy? My serjeant sent me."

Justin opened the door a little wider. "Jonas?"

"Aye. He said I was to fetch you."

"Why?"

"Master Jonas is not one for explaining. He says 'Do it,' and we do, or Christ pity us. He wants you to meet him out at Moorfields straightaway."

Justin was still learning London's byways and contours and boundaries. "Where is Moorfields?"

The man looked at him with the utter amazement of a native Londoner. "Why, everybody knows Moorfields, the meadows north of the city walls. You want me to wait?" When Justin shook his head, he started off on his own, then glanced back over his shoulder. "I think," he said, "that he wants to see you about a body."

~~

Moorfields was a playing ground for London's young and adventuresome. As soon as the waters froze each winter, crowds flocked to the marshlands, sliding and swooping across the ice, the more daring propelling themselves along with the shinbones of horses strapped to their feet, using iron-tipped staffs to gain speed and leverage. It was usually a lively and cheerful site, echoing with shouts and laughter. Now it was somber and hushed, youths clustered in small knots along the shore, watching solemnly as Jonas and his men circled cautiously around a large, gaping hole in the ice, probing the frigid, murky water

with long, wooden poles.

Although he seemed to be directing all of his attention to the search, Jonas was still aware of peripheral sounds and sights. When Justin reined Copper in at the water's edge, the serjeant ordered his men to continue the hunt, and then strode over, as surefooted on the ice as he was on solid ground. "How did you come, by way of Dover?"

Justin was not about to explain that he'd had to see Claudine safely back to the Tower first. Quickly dismounting, he ignored Jonas's irritation. "What is going on?"

"Some young fools were sporting out on the ice when it cracked under their weight. Their friends managed to save one, but the other lad drowned. We've been trying to recover the

body."

"May God assoil him." Justin sketched a quick cross on the icy afternoon air, all the while wondering why Jonas would want him to see this poor drowned youth. "Do you ever get used to this? It cannot be easy, having to deal with death day after day."

"Nothing about this work is easy," Jonas said, then spat into the snow. "Come over here where we cannot be overheard, for I've news for you."

Hitching his stallion to a nearby bush, Justin followed Jonas across the snow. The serjeant shouted further instructions to the men on the ice, and then turned back to face Justin. "We snagged the body almost at once. But as we started to maneuver it within

grabbing range, it slipped off the hook and went under again."

Justin still did not understand why this sad death warranted such an urgent summons. "Bad luck."

Jonas nodded. "It was that. It was also the wrong body."

"What do you mean?"

"It was not the lad. I think it was Pepper Clem."

Justin drew a sharp breath. "Can you be sure?"

"Not until we fish him out. But I got a look at the face ere the body sank and it looked like him to me."

Justin was still dubious. "I saw a body pulled from the River Severn once. He'd only been in the water two days, but not even God could have recognized him, Jonas."

The serjeant pointed impatiently toward the lake. "I'd hate to think all that ice escaped your notice." He remembered then, though, that Justin could not be expected to have his specialized knowledge of dead bodies. "Cold water keeps a corpse from decaying," he explained brusquely, and was about to go into grisly detail when his men began to shout. "They've got one," he said. "Let's go see who it is."

Following Jonas out onto the ice, Justin saw that the men had been using poles with crooks on the end, like shepherds' staffs. One of these hooks had snared the victim's mantle, enabling them to drag him to the surface. By the time he and Jonas reached them, the men had pulled the body up onto the ice. When they turned him over, Justin felt a sickened pity, for he was very young, sixteen at most.

Jonas showed no emotion, gazing down at the drowned youth so impassively that Justin felt a chill; did the man never grieve for the dead? With a few terse commands, Jonas set two of his men to dragging the corpse across the ice toward the shore, where his stunned companions still waited. "Ask those cubs if they know where the lad lived. Someone will have to break the news to his kin, and like as not, it'll be me. And keep looking. We've got another body to bring up."

Justin moved aside, watching as the men continued the search. When Jonas rejoined him, he said quietly, "I get the feeling it did not surprise you to find Clem floating under that ice."

"He was not floating, not when the water's that cold. But you're right. I was expecting Clem to turn up dead. The fool tried to — " As they talked, Jonas had continued to scan the activities of his men, and reacted even before the first outcry. "They've hooked him. This better be Clem. We find a third body out here and I'm heading for the nearest alehouse.

The men soon had the corpse out of the water. He was sprawled on his stomach, his face hidden from view, but Justin thought the limp ginger hair did resemble the thief's. At first glance, his hands seemed to have been dipped in whitewash, and were queerly wrinkled; one of his feet had lost its shoe and it, too, showed that same chalky puckering. Justin braced himself as they shoved the body over onto his back. The face was so bloodless it seemed more like wax than flesh; the eyes were wide and staring, sand trickling from his open mouth, his skin scraped and abraded. But Jonas had been right; Pepper Clem's features were still easily recognizable.

The other men had gathered around and they stared down in silence at the body. There was no need to ask if he'd drowned. The cause of death was painfully obvious, and Justin was not the only one to avert his eyes from that gashed, mutilated throat. Jonas showed no such aversion and knelt by the body, studying Clem's wrists and then his ankles.

"Best to do this quick," he said, "for he'll start to bloat up now that he's out of the water, and in no time at all the stink will put a polecat to shame. I'm looking for rope burns, but it does not seem that he was weighted down. I suppose Gilbert did not think it was worth the trouble." No one else spoke, and he continued his examination of the corpse. "He's been in the water awhile; see all this sand in the seams of his tunic? My guess is he died last Saturday eve and took his final swim that same night, for the lake had not frozen over completely yet."

Justin swallowed with difficulty. "Was he… was he hit on the head first?"

"Possibly. Oh… you mean this?" Jonas asked, pointing toward the raw-looking wound that spread from Clem's right eyebrow up into his hairline. "That is not the Fleming's doing. You do not think the fish and crabs would pass up a meal like this, do you?" Glancing over his shoulder at Justin, he bit back a smile. "You're looking a little greensick, lad. I hope you're not going to feed the fish, too?"

Justin shook his head mutely. Those sightless eyes seemed to be staring up accusingly at him. First Kenrick and now Clem. How many more? The other men had retreated, for Jonas had been right in this, too; a foul, fishy odor was becoming discernable. Justin swallowed again. "I got him killed, didn't I?"

Jonas washed his hands in the snow, drying them on his mantle. "You have that backward. He almost got you killed."

"What are you saying?"

"I told you that I'd put the word out on the streets. What I learned was that I'd misjudged the little cheat. As craven as he was, Clem was even more greedy. You probably offered him too much, for he concluded that if you'd pay to find Gilbert the Fleming, mayhap he'd pay more to know you were on his trail. I found two witnesses who saw him meet Gilbert at a tavern in Cripplegate on Saturday eve a week ago. They talked briefly and

then left together. That is the last time Clem was seen alive. And when you turned up at the alehouse the next day as agreed upon, Gilbert was waiting."

Involuntarily, Justin's fingers cradled his slashed arm. It was still sore and somewhat stiff, but how much worse it could have been. That deadly blade could have lodged in his gut or stabbed through to his heart. "Clem told him what he wanted to know, how to find me. So why, then, did Gilbert kill him?"

"I'll tell you something about killing. Until a man has done it,he shrinks from it, makes of it more than it is. The first killing comes hard for most men. After that, it gets easier, a lot easier. For some, it gets to be a habit, or worse."

Jonas broke off to give orders concerning the disposition of Clem's corpse. There was a lot to be done and it was a while before he turned his attention again to Justin.

"You asked why the Fleming murdered that worthless little thief? Because it pleasured him. And that's also why there were men willing to talk to me about it. Not because they cared a rat's arse about Pepper Clem. Even a mother'd not mourn his loss. But it scares other men when they find one who takes too much joy in killing." That lone black eye held Justin's gaze, unwavering and unblinking. "As well it should