The Queen Man

14

LONDON

February 1193

Rain had begun to fall at dawn, mixing with sleet by midday. Hastening into the alehouse, Luke shoved a table as close to the hearth as he could get without being singed and shed his sodden mantle. From a hemp sack, he withdrew his purchases: several parchment sheets, an inkhorn, and a goose-feather quill pen. Coaxing a tallow candle from Nell, he was soon laboring over his task, gnawing his lower lip in concentration, occasionally swearing when the ink ran and he had to scrape the skin clean with the edge of his knife. He lacked a goat's tooth to smooth the surface afterward, but he was still satisfied with the final result, a letter that was both concise and reasonably legible. Only then did he look up and discover he'd attracted a curious audience, for writing was a mysterious and arcane skill to the residents of Gracechurch Street, most of whom knew no more about books than they did about the black arts.

A few of the bolder ones began asking questions about writing. Almost before he knew what had happened, Luke found himself surrounded, spelling out their names for them on one of his costly parchment skins. At first he'd enjoyed being the center of such awed attention, but the novelty soon wore off, and he was relieved when Justin's entrance put an end to the impromptu lesson.

Trailed by Shadow, Justin pulled up a stool and rid himself of his wet mantle. "I see you're keeping busy," he said, glancing at the parchment. "But I think Thomas is spelled with an h."

"Why? Next you'll be telling me I need to stick an h in Justin, too!"

Justin grinned. "I do not believe it. You do know my name, after all!"

Luke shook his head. "You're odiously cheerful for a cold, wretchedly wet day in Lent. Usually when a man is this good humored, he's just come from some woman's bed."

Justin laughed outright, for when he'd gone to the Tower to inform Eleanor about the latest developments, he'd had a brief but ardent encounter with Claudine in the stairwell and she'd promised to meet him as soon as she had a free afternoon. Luke was still regarding him curiously. "Was I right about the woman? Or is that another one of your secrets?"

Justin shrugged. "I've good reason for cheer. The queen is pleased with our progress and this Irish whore may be the lure we need to draw the Fleming out of hiding. That is more luck than I've had in a long time, Luke."

"If you were truly lucky, you'd have found some poor fool willing to take in that mangy beast. Or have you decided to keep him? I notice you have stopped trying to foist him off onto innocent passersby."

Justin was embarrassed to admit he'd become so fond of Shadow. "No," he insisted, "I'm still looking to find him a home. I thought, though, that I'd have a better chance if I taught him some manners first."

Luke's smile was skeptical. "So… you have the fun of teaching him not to piss in the house or chew on table legs or eat a candle and then spit it up on the bed like he did yesterday, and once the dog is tolerable, you give him away? Makes perfect sense to me. But I'm not one for meddling betwixt a man and his dog. Here… I want you to do me a favor. The next time one of the queen's couriers is passing through Winchester, will you see that he takes my letter? It'd be too costly to hire a messenger on my own."

"My luck must be starting to rub off onto you, for there's a man riding west on the morrow. Hand it over and I'll see that it goes with him. Whom is it for — Aldith?"

"Eventually. First it goes to the sheriff, explaining that I've been detained in London. I imply that it's at the queen's request, so I trust I can rely upon you for corroboration if need be. I asked him to send the letter on to Aldith once he's read it. I've penned a message for her, too, down below."

When Luke pointed, Justin saw that there were indeed a few lines scrawled at the bottom of the page. After scanning them, he glanced up at Luke in amused disbelief. "You tell her you expect to be back in a fortnight or so and that you hope she is well and that is it? You're a romantic devil, in truth!"

"I told her what was important, when I'd be back," Luke protested. "What else am I supposed to say?"

"It would not have hurt to say you missed her. You might even have told her that she holds your heart. What do I have to do, write your love letters for you?"

"Jesu forfend! I might say that in bed, but not in the light of day, and for certes, I'm not about to put it down in writing. I'd feel like the world's greatest fool. Not to mention how the priest would feel when Aldith brought him the letter to read!"

Justin couldn't help laughing. "I suggest, then, that you teach Aldith to read. Now… what of Gilbert's whore? Were you able to find out anything more about her?"

"Jonas is seeing to that. He said he'd meet us here this afternoon with whatever he'd learned. But I'll be astonished if that road leads anywhere."

"Are all sheriffs so miserly about doling out hope?" Justin gibed, although hope had always been a scarce commodity in his own life, too — until now.

"Hope and whores rarely go together," Luke countered, and with that, Justin could not argue. Instead, he borrowed a pair of dice from another alehouse customer and ordered a flagon from Nell. If they had to wait for Jonas, they might as well enjoy themselves.

~~

They had not long to wait, for Jonas arrived within the hour. He was accompanied by a tall, gangling youth, towheaded and freckle faced, who looked as if he belonged behind a plough in the Kent countryside, not braving the urban perils of London. Signaling to Nell for drinks, Jonas pulled up a bench.

Almost at once, Nell materialized by the table. Ostensibly, she was there with two more cups and a brimming flagon. She made no move to withdraw after serving them, though, hovering nearby with unabashed curiosity. But the men were so focused upon Jonas and his news that they did not even notice her eavesdropping.

"This is Aldred. We have to speak English, for he knows no French. Aldred is the one I sent to the Bull. All my men wanted to go," Jonas said with a sly smile. "It was the first time I can remember them actually volunteering for a duty. But Aldred did right well. Being in a bawdyhouse seems to've sharpened his wits, for he was able to follow Nora home afterward without getting caught. I've a man watching now in case the Fleming comes calling on her."

Justin was surprised. "She does not live at the bawdyhouse? I thought that was the usual practice?"

Jonas shook his head. "The Southwark stews are different from whorehouses in other cities, for the old king set forth laws to govern them, laws meant to confine sinning to one specific area and keep public disorder to a minimum."

"They have all kinds of rules," Aldred chimed in eagerly. He had a rustic's way of speaking, lacking the distinctive East Saxon accent of the native Londoner. But the blue eyes meeting Justin's gaze were bright and clear. He might be green; he was not dull. "Women married or with child cannot work in the stews " he continued. "Nor can nuns."

Luke interjected a wry "I would hope to God not!"

But Aldred was intent upon sharing his newfound knowledge and plunged in. "Nora — that be her name — told me all about the laws. They're right interesting and I think fair, too. No woman can be held there against her will. The whores are to live elsewhere and pay rent for their rooms to the stew-master. He is not supposed to lend them money, not over sixpence, lest they get so deeply in debt that they end up working for nothing. They must be seen by a doctor every three months, so men can be sure they are free of the pox. They are not allowed to have lovers, are punished if they do. They're not to whore during holy days, and the last man with a whore must stay with her all night long."

"Why?" The other regulations seemed self-explanatory to Justin, but that one puzzled him; he very much doubted that the Crown was concerned with making sure a man got his money's worth.

"That is easy," Luke explained. "It is to thwart river crossings. Once curfew is rung, the city gates are closed. But if men could hire a ferryman on the Southwark side of the river, they could then roam the streets as they pleased, up to no good."

Aldred started to speak, stopped abruptly as Nell approached with another flagon. As soon as she withdrew, he seized control of the conversation again. "I suppose that is why they are forbidden to sell ale or wine in the stews — to keep drunken brawls from breaking out. But some of the bawdyhouses still offer it on the sly," he confided. "Nora had wine sent up to her room. She said they are not supposed to sell food either, and I see no reason for that rule. Do you, my lords?"

Luke was about to venture a guess that it was to keep the customers from tarrying once they'd gotten what they paid for above-stairs. But Jonas forestalled him. "I daresay we could pass the rest of the day talking about whores. We ought to be talking, though, about one whore in particular. Tell us about the Fleming's Irish wench, Aldred."

"Well… she is young and pretty. Her hair is a pale yellow color, like new-churned butter. She has a little waist and…" Aldred hesitated, for Nell was still nearby, and he did not know how to describe Nora's physical charms in polite terms. "She'd make a good wet nurse," he finally blurted out, gesturing with his hands to indicate the ampleness of Nora's breasts, and flushing then when Luke and Justin laughed.

Jonas did not. "I already know she's good in bed, lad," he said impatiently, "for you came back grinning from ear to ear. That's not what we need to know. Is she clever? Featherbrained? A bitch? A talker? You must have formed some opinion of the woman, Aldred!"

Aldred squirmed on the bench; up until now, Jonas had called upon him to provide brawn, not brains. "She… she talks easy enough, but she says little, in truth. She's not one for chattering, like most women. She was sweet as honey at first." His flush deepened; he could hear again that soft Irish lilt, calling him "darlin' lad" and "lover." "But she was different afterward, once she had the money. Then she became right practical. I think she is a woman with secrets, not easy to read." This last phrase was said self-consciously, for Aldred had never so much as opened a book. "Looking into her eyes was like looking into the eyes of our barn cat back home. Does that make any sense?" To his relief, they were nodding, so it must.

"Very good, lad," Luke said, and Aldred grinned widely. Picking up his ale cup, he drank, eyeing Nell all the while. She was cleaning spilt ale from a nearby table, but Aldred had enough experience in eavesdropping to recognize another practitioner of that useful skill. When Nell glanced his way, he winked, and was delighted when she gave him an impish half-smile before turning aside. She did not go far, though, staying within earshot. Aldred did not give her away, and as the men talked, planning their strategy, she listened intently, and she, too, made plans.

~~

Six nights later, Justin, Luke, and Jonas were back, seated at the same table. Nell was giving them such good service that the other customers noticed and marveled. But her efforts were in vain. They were not talking much, and when they did, it was in French. Nell was growing increasingly frustrated. Her spirits lifted, though, when the door banged and Gunter strolled in. A man who valued order and took comfort in routine, he was expecting only his usual evening ale. But he'd taken just a few steps before he was accosted by Nell, pulled aside for an urgent conference.

"Am I glad to see you! Go over and talk to Justin straightaway!"

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"I want to hear what they're saying. If you're there, they'll talk English." Gunter was starting to shake his head, for he did not want to get involved in one of Nell's schemes. He liked her well enough, but he did not fully approve of her; he was somewhat alarmed by her headstrong ways and quick temper. But then she entreated softly, "For me, Gunter? Please?" And he found himself crossing the chamber, as if propelled by the sheer force of her will. As she'd predicted, he was welcomed warmly by Justin and Luke, succinctly by Jonas, and was soon pulling up a stool to join them, feeling uncomfortably like a spy in their midst.

They were quite willing to share their disappointment with him, for his pitchfork attack upon Gilbert the Fleming had earned him the right to participate in their hunt, if only vicariously. They'd had no luck whatsoever, they informed him glumly. For six days now, they'd kept Nora under watch. They'd rented a room across the street from the house Nora shared with three other prostitutes, and took turns keeping her lodgings under surveillance. They'd put the Bull under close watch, too, and whenever she ventured out, she was trailed at a discreet distance. All to no avail.

Justin was not as downcast as his companions, for he'd managed to find some free time to spend with Claudine. He'd escorted her to the leper hospital of St Giles, where she'd distributed alms at the queen's behest, and later in the week he'd taken her skating at Moorfields; both times, they'd ended up in bed back at Gunter's cottage.

But neither Luke nor Jonas had a Claudine to make the waiting bearable, even pleasurable. As the days dragged by without results, Luke was becoming as edgy and ill tempered as a wet cat. Nor was Jonas in the best of moods, either. He listened morosely as Luke complained about the futility of their efforts and did not argue with the deputy's pessimistic conclusion: that Nora was poor bait to catch a killer.

"The truth is," Luke said grimly, "the Fleming is not a man to lose his head over any woman. However much he enjoys rutting with this whore, he is not about to put himself at risk for her."

Jonas grunted a sour assent, and Justin shrugged. "What will you do now?" Gunter asked, trying to ignore Nell, who was industriously sweeping the floor rushes near their table.

"That is what we've been arguing about," Justin admitted. "I think we ought to give it more time. But Luke says we've squandered nigh on a week as it is, a week he can ill afford to lose. He thinks we have to take more drastic measures."

Luke nodded vigorously. "I'm getting bone-weary of sleeping on the floor of your cottage, Gunter. And it's becoming obvious to me that we can watch this woman from now till the spring thaw with no results. So Jonas is going to arrest her, see if we cannot get her to reveal the Fleming's whereabouts — "

"No! You cannot do that!"

The men were staring at Nell as if she'd lost her senses, but she didn't let that daunt her. "You must not do this," she insisted. "Once you arrest her, you lose any chance of catching Gilbert off guard. And if you cannot get her to talk, what then? You cannot even be sure she has anything to tell you!"

Luke was frowning. "I do not mean to be rude, Nell, but this is none of your concern."

"Be thankful that I'm here to keep you from making a great mistake. What do you know about this woman? Whores are not supposed to take lovers, can be fined and even put in gaol for a few weeks. So why is she sharing her bed with Gilbert? Is she too scared to tell him nay? From what I've heard about the man, that is not far fetched. Or she might like having such a dangerous lover. Some women do. Or she might want the protection of being known as the Fleming's woman. Or she could be his accomplice as well as his bedmate, for whores often hear useful information. Who's to say she's not passing it on to him? She could even fancy herself in love with him. As unlikely as that sounds, the world is full of fools. Could she be one of them? You do not know, do you? You cannot answer any of those questions. And until you can, arresting her would be lunacy!"

"What You say makes some," Luke conceded. "I'll not deny that. But how are we supposed to find out those answers? Hide under her bed? None of us can approach her, for we're all known on sight to Gilbert. So who could we send… Aldred? A lamb to the slaughter, for certes!"

Glancing toward Justing, Nell saw that he'd guessed where she was going with this conversation, and she said hastily, before he could object, "I doubt that any man alive would have much luck with Nora. She'll take men into her bed, not into her confidence. Most whores do not trust men, as plain and simple as that. To get the answers you need, it'll take a woman."

Luke leaned back in his seat, the hint of a smile hovering in the corners of his mouth. "Do you have any particular woman in mind, Nell?"

"Well… I thought Justin could ask the queen if she has a free afternoon. Who do you think I meant? Me, of course!"