The Queen Man

6

WINCHESTER

January 1193

Winchester Castle was easy to find; it claimed more than four acres in the southwest corner of the city. Justin was admitted without difficulty, for he had the password — the name of Luke de Marston. The sky above his head looked frozen and foreboding, and there was a threat of snow in the air. It may have been the weather, but Justin felt a distinct chill as he crossed the bailey. He knew the castle was often used as a royal residence, but he found it inhospitable and unwelcoming. Was it because he knew Eleanor had occasionally been confined here during those long years as a captive queen?

Or because he still had a few lingering doubts about Luke's good faith?

It was too late to worry about that, though, for Luke had come into view, swerving at sight of Justin. Falling into step beside the deputy, Justin gave him a sideways, curious glance. "So… how did the interrogation go? Did the suspect confess?"

"What do you think?"

"You missed your calling, Luke. With your knack for getting men to see the error of their ways, you ought to have been a priest."

Luke fought back a smile. "What brings you here, de Quincy? Any more secrets you forgot to tell me about? Let me guess… in your spare time, you spy for the Pope? You're a royal prince incognito? You know the whereabouts of King Richard?"

Justin burst out laughing. If Luke only knew! "Alas, nothing so dramatic. As far as I know, I've not a drop of royal blood. But I may have a way to flush out our killer."

Luke stopped abruptly. "How so?"

"I thought," Justin said, "to put the cat amongst the pigeons."

Luke listened intently, not interrupting until Justin was done. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "it is worth trying. Of course it might make you a target." He paused then, very deliberately. "But I suppose I could live with that."

Justin grinned. "I'll take that," he said, "as your odd way of wishing me good luck!"

~~

From the castle, Justin headed for Gervase Fitz Randolph's goldsmith shop. It was open for business, the unicorn sign swaying precariously in the wind, the shutters thrown back, a sound of hammering coming from within. Miles was working at the anvil, pounding gold into gold leaf. He looked up with a startled smile when Justin said his name.

"You're back, are you? Come on in." Setting the hammer down, he unlatched the little gate in the corner so Justin could enter. Thinking it had been more fun to vault over the counter, Justin stepped inside and came over to watch as Miles smoothed the parchment protecting the gold foil.

"Are you on your own today, Miles?"

"No… Guy is in the rear, heating up the forge. Tom was supposed to be in, too, but he has not shown up yet. I guess men of God need not keep regular hours like the rest of us."

Justin found it interesting that Miles seemed far less indulgent of Thomas's erratic work habits than he had at their last meeting. "Thomas is still set, then, upon taking holy vows?"

"More than ever. He is making life so wretched for the household that his mother and uncle will have no choice but to give in." Miles was taking a decidedly protective attitude toward Jonet's family, sounding more like a prospective son-in-law and less like an employee. Before Justin could pursue this further, the door to the rear room swung open.

Guy looked healthier; his color was better. His surprise at seeing Justin was evident. After a conspicuous pause, he mustered up a remote smile. "What brings you back to Winchester, Master de Quincy?"

"Your brother's murder."

"I do not understand," Guy said slowly. "What is there left to do for Gervase but mourn him?"

"How about catching his killers?"

"Naturally I hope the sheriff captures the outlaws. I also hope for an early spring, a good harvest, and that my dolt of a nephew comes to his senses. But I would not wager money on any of those hopes. Outlaws rarely answer for their crimes, at least in this life."

"That may well be, but I was not talking about the outlaws. I meant the ones who paid them."

Guy gasped loudly. "What sort of daft talk is that? My brother was slain by bandits!"

"I know. I was there. But it was no chance robbery. We have reason to believe that the outlaws were hired to ambush your brother."

"I think you've lost your wits! Where would you get such an absurd suspicion?"

"I overheard something in those woods. But it was only later — after I talked to the under-sheriff — that we realized what it meant."

"Luke de Marston believes this lunacy, too?

"He does, Master Fitz Randolph."

Miles had been listening, openmouthed. "This makes no sense. Who would want Master Gervase dead?"

"That is what we mean to find out… and why I am here. I wanted to assure you that we will not stop until we learn the truth, even if we have to poke into every corner of Gervase's life and unearth all his secrets."

Guy had gone very white. "I have never heard anything so preposterous. My brother had no enemies. Why do you suspect a plot? What in Christ's Name did you hear in the woods?"

"I am sorry," Justin said, politely but firmly. "I cannot tell you that."

Guy's pallor was suddenly blotched with hot, hectic color. "You cannot possibly suspect one of us!"

"Did I say that?" Justin asked blandly. "We have no suspects… yet. I came here merely to tell you how the investigation is progressing, and to promise you that we will not rest until Gervase Fitz Randolph gets justice."

"I think we ought to talk to the sheriff about this, Master Guy." Miles was frowning, running a hand nervously through his sleek blond hair, for once indifferent to his appearance. "I am not sure that we can trust Luke de Marston. Or this man de

Quincy either, if it comes to that. What do we know about him, after all?"

Guy looked at the journeyman blankly, saying nothing. Justin decided it was time to go. He'd planted the seeds; now they needed a chance to sprout. They watched in silence as he left the shop. But he could feel their eyes boring into his back all the while. Acting on instinct, he turned into the first doorway he came to. He had not long to wait. Within moments, Guy emerged from the shop. Still wearing his leathersmith's apron, he crossed the street without even a glance toward oncoming traffic and stumbled through a narrow doorway.

Justin crossed the street, too. A wilting branch drooped from a crooked ale-pole, and the door's paint was peeled and cracked. Inside, the alehouse was no less dingy, dank, and foul smelling. Slumped at a corner table, Guy was clutching unsteadily at a large tankard. As Justin watched from the doorway, Gervase's brother drank deeply of the ale, spilling almost as much as he swallowed.

~~

After leaving Guy awash in ale, Justin paid a surreptitious visit to the Fitz Randolph stable, where he briefed Edwin. He did not want to jeopardize the groom's job in any way, and Edwin needed to be warned that his name would echo like an obscenity in Fitz Randolph ears from now on. He'd wondered if he'd have trouble convincing Edwin. Not only did Edwin believe him, he had to talk the groom out of volunteering to spy on his behalf, so appalled was he that a member of the goldsmith's own family might have had a hand in his death. Justin made Edwin promise not to do anything foolhardy and left him pondering suspects.

As he wandered along the Cheapside, Justin noticed a crowd gathering up ahead. Quickening his pace, he saw that the attraction was a peddler's cart. The peddler was unkempt and greying, but he had a glib tongue and a practiced spiel, and for good measure, a small monkey on a chain. Banging on cymbals and turning cartwheels, the monkey soon had the spectators laughing at its antics, and the peddler then launched his hard sell, extolling the virtues of his wares.

The cart was well stocked with wooden combs, razors, needles, vinegar, salt, and the oil of olives, poppies, and almonds. Joking with his customers, the peddler seemed to have a product for every need. Wormwood for fleas. Sage for headache or fever. Green leeches for bloodletting. Agrimony boiled in milk as a restorative for lust. Senna as a purgative. Candied quince for anyone with a sweet tooth. Bantering with the men, flirting with

the women, the peddler was soon doing a brisk business.

Justin paused to watch, amused by the haggling. He'd been there a few moments when he caught a whiff of perfume. He'd encountered it only once before, but he recognized it immediately, for Aldith Talbot had burned her way into his memory like a brand. As she came up beside him, he greeted her with a defensive coolness. He had not forgotten how she had used him to make Luke jealous, but his pulse still speeded up at sight of her.

"What a pity," she said, "that the peddler has no apologies for sale, neatly wrapped and ready to go. I owe you at least a dozen, mayhap more."

"In truth," Justin said, "I'd rather have an explanation than an apology."

Aldith's smile was rueful. "I was afraid you'd say that." Linking her arm in his, she drew him away from the crowd surrounding the peddler's cart. "If I tell you, it will be just between us? When he nodded, she was quiet for a moment, considering her response. "I wanted to make sure that Luke did not get skittish about our wedding."

"Why would you worry about that?"

"I suppose I was being foolish. But I feared that Luke might have second thoughts about the wisdom of marrying me. It is not the most prudent of matches, after all. I am older than he is, my liaison with Gervase was known throughout Winchester, and I may not be the most fertile of wives. I have gotten with child only twice, and both times I miscarried of the babe. How could I blame Luke if he had qualms about the marriage?"

"Wisdom has naught to do with it. The man is besotted with you. He told me so last night."

"Did he… truly?" This time her smile was blinding. "He can be sparing with the words… except in bed, of course," she added, with a low laugh. "But what you men say in bed is not always gospel, is it?"

Justin laughed, too. "You do not really expect me to answer that?"

She shook her head, still laughing, and Justin found himself hoping that Luke did indeed mean to marry her. He'd sounded sincere, but Justin knew there were men who hunted for the thrill of the chase, losing interest once their quarry was brought to bay. For Aldith's sake, he hoped that Luke was not one of them.

Aldith's moods were as changeable as those blue-green eyes of hers. No longer playful, she was regarding Justin pensively. "Do you truly think that one of Gervase's own family plotted his death?"

Justin was not surprised that Luke had confided in Aldith. From what he'd seen of the deputy in action, Luke followed his instincts, caring little if rules were broken in the process. "I think someone did, but I cannot say if it was a family member, not yet. You probably know them better than I do, Mistress Aldith. If you had to choose, who would seem most likely to you?"

"I cannot say that I know them well. Mainly, I saw them through Gervase's eyes. If I had to pick, though, I'd say Thomas."

"Interesting. Edwin is convinced that Jonet and Miles are the culprits."

"What say you, Justin? Who do you suspect?"

"Guy." Justin smiled, without humor. "I might as well flip a coin. It is all conjecture and suspicion, cobwebs and smoke. Unless I can prove — "

He stopped so abruptly that Aldith looked at him in surprise. He was staring over her shoulder, so intently that she turned to look, too. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she started to ask, "Is something wrong?" But by then Justin was gone.

Justin shoved his way through the crowd, heedless of the complaints and curses trailing in his wake. His quarry had darted around the peddler's cart. Hearing the footsteps behind him, he ducked into an alley and turned his back, like a man seeking a place to relieve himself. Justin followed, grabbed his shoulder, and swung him around.

Durand showed an aplomb that was glazed in ice; he didn't even blink. "What do you want?" His lip curled. "If you're begging, I have nothing to spare. A man able bodied ought to work for his bread or do without. And if you've robbery in mind, you'd best be ready to die unshriven."

"My mistake," Justin said, stepping aside. With the most disagreeable smile he had ever seen, Durand brushed past him. Justin waited until he'd reached the alley entrance. "My mistake," he repeated, with a disdainful smile of his own. "I confused you with a blustering knave called Durand."

The other man's sangfroid was capable of being shaken, after all, at least briefly, for the look he gave Justin was murderous. After he'd gone, Justin slowly unclenched his fist from the hilt of his sword. He'd acted on impulse and was beginning to regret it. Durand had been spying on him, but why? He could think of only one person who'd have put the knight on his trail. It was that troubling realization which had fueled his anger; he'd turned on Durand the fury he could not let loose upon the queen's son.

He'd not deny the confrontation had given him some satisfaction. For a few moments, he'd not felt like a pawn, a cat's-paw in a conspiracy of kings. Now, though, he wondered if he'd been too rash. Was it ever wise to challenge John outright? Starting back toward High Street, he felt as if he'd blundered into a labyrinth, murky and serpentine, for that was how he envisioned the workings of John's brain. What was Durand's mission? Could it be more sinister than mere spying? And what would John do now that his man had been found out? But was Durand likely to tell John that he'd been outwitted?

The peddler was no longer selling his wares. Instead, he was embroiled in a shouting match with an angry youth, surrounded by an interested audience. Aldith was standing on the edge of the crowd and moved quickly to intercept Justin as he drew near. "What happened? Where in the world did you go?"

"I thought I saw someone I knew." To head off further questions, Justin pointed toward the men. "What is that all about… a disgruntled customer?"

"No, a rival. The lad is from the apothecary shop across the way and wants the peddler to move on ere they lose all their customers."

Justin had no interest in a territorial dispute between merchants. "May I escort you home, Mistress Aldith?" he offered. "It is the least I can do after dashing off with nary a word to you."

She smiled and let him take her arm. He suspected that she'd be flirting with the priest on her deathbed; in that, she reminded him of the dark-eyed Claudine. They were threading their way through the crowd when people began to move aside in haste. Pointing toward the approaching horsemen, the apothecary's apprentice cried out triumphantly, "We sent to the castle to fetch the under-sheriff. You'll be on your way soon enough now, old man, with your tail tucked between your legs!"

The peddler spat an obscenity, then elbowed the youth aside so he could be the first to tell his side to the sheriff's deputy. Luke was mounted on a sorrel stallion. Reining in, he signaled a halt to his flanking serjeants, his eyes taking in the scene, lingering longest upon Justin and Aldith, standing together in the street.

Dismounting, Luke was assailed by competing voices, all eager to enlighten him about the cause of this public disturbance. The noise did not abate until he shouted for silence. It did not take him long to resolve the dispute, finding in the apothecary's favor. The peddler was resentful, but shrewd enough to realize this was a fight he could not win, and he agreed to move on. Luke wasted no further time on them, striding over to Aldith and Justin.

He greeted Aldith by pressing a quick kiss into her palm. It was a simple act, but done in public, it took on symbolic significance, and Aldith glowed. When he suggested that she buy him some candied quince before the peddler packed up, she tactfully pretended to believe he had a sudden craving for sweets. Luke then jerked his head away from the peddler's customers and Justin followed.

"Well?" the deputy demanded. "What happened at the goldsmithy? Did they buzz about when you jabbed your stick into their hive?"

"They took it badly, which was to be expected. Were they all as innocent as God's own angels, they'd still be dismayed by the news I brought. By the time I was done speaking, they'd gone from bereaved to suspect. Even Miles saw that quick enough. But Guy seemed well and truly stricken. When I said we'd be digging into Gervase's past, he turned the color of curdled milk and fled to the closest alehouse."

"Did he now? Men who try to drink away their troubles can drown in them, too. And when they start flailing about, they give up the truth more often than not. I think I'll pay a visit to Master Guy this noon."

Justin nodded approvingly. "How goes the hunt for Gilbert the Fleming? Have you had any luck yet?"

"I might have a lead later this afternoon. But I can deal with only one crime at a time. Murder or poaching — which shall it be, de Quincy?"

Justin was not surprised; he'd seen flashes of the deputy's jealousy before. "You need not worry about poaching, Luke. I'm not one for hunting in another man's woods."

Luke's smile was almost too fleeting to catch. "I'm reassured to hear that you're so law abiding." Adding, "Stop by the cottage tonight after Compline and I'll let you know what I found out."

~~

The snow had never materialized and stars were beginning to glimmer in the sky as Justin emerged from the abbey guest hall that evening. He'd taken only a few steps when he was accosted by a hooded, mantled figure. He knew this wasn't Durand — not tall enough — and assumed it was one of the monks. But when he raised his lantern, the candle's wavering light illuminated the angry face of Gervase Fitz Randolph's son.

"What sort of crazed quest are you on? Why are you meddling like this in my father's death?"

"You do not want your father's killers to be found?"

"Damn you, do not twist my words!" Thomas was almost incoherent with rage, his mouth contorted, eyes bulging and bloodshot. "My father was slain in a robbery. All this talk of hired killers is utter nonsense. But it is the sort of gossip that people will be eager to spread about, and some fools might even believe it. Let it be, you hear me! Let it be!"

"I can do nothing for you, Thomas. If you have a complaint, I suggest that you take it up with Luke de Marston."

Thomas would have argued further, but Justin was already brushing past him. "I am warning you, de Quincy!" he shouted. "If you jeopardize my chances of being admitted to the Benedictine order, you'll regret it until your dying day!"

"I'll keep that in mind," Justin promised and walked on. He'd not have been surprised if Thomas had followed him. But the goldsmith's son stayed where he was, watching as Justin crossed the garth. When he reached the gatehouse, Thomas suddenly shouted again. By that time, though, Justin was too far away to hear.

~~

A stew simmered upon the hearth, and Aldith was busy stirring and tasting, assuring the men that it would soon be on the table. She'd insisted that Justin stay for supper, delighted by this opportunity to play the role of Luke's wife, not merely his bedmate.

The two men retired to the settle with cups of malmsey and Aldith's gigantic Jezebel. Watching with amusement as Luke was overwhelmed by a display of slobbering mastiff affection, Justin told the deputy about his abbey encounter with Thomas Fitz Randolph.

Luke finally managed to shove the adoring mastiff off the settle. "I'll not need a bath for a week," he said, grimacing. "The more I learn about our little monk, the better he looks as a suspect in the goldsmith's killing."

"What about the brother? If ever I've met an unquiet soul, it is his. No one could be that fretful and uneasy and not be guilty of something!"

Luke grinned. "As it happens, you're right. After we spoke in Cheapside, I went looking for Guy. I found him still at that alehouse, sodden and wallowing in self-pity. It was almost too easy to bluff him into believing I knew all. He cracked like an egg, no sport whatsoever. He was indeed guilty as you suspected, but of embezzlement, not murder."

"So that was it!"

Luke nodded. "He took care of their accounts and kept the records, whilst Gervase sought to attract wealthy customers like the Archbishop of Rouen. A few months ago, Guy began to divert some of their funds to his own use and altered the accounts to hide his pilfering. His defense was that Gervase was a hopeless spendthrift and he was just putting aside money so they'd not fall deeply in debt. But somehow or other, the money got spent and all he's got left is a tattered conscience. The poor sot had convinced himself that he was going to Hell and gaol, not necessarily in that order."

"What did you do, Luke? Did you arrest him?"

"Worse — I turned him over to his sister-in-law! I took him home to Dame Ella and made him confess to her, too. She reacted as I expected, with dismay and disbelief and then righteous indignation, watered with a few tears. But when I asked if she wanted him hauled off to gaol, she ruffled up her feathers like a hen defending her chicks. Indeed not, this was a family matter, no concern of the law, and she'd thank me not to meddle further."

"You knew she'd not want him arrested."

"Of course I did. And not just because of the scandal it would cause. With her husband dead and her son set upon taking holy vows, she needs Guy more than ever. She'll make peace with him, for she has no choice. But Guy's guilt will give her the upper hand, and for a widow, that's not a bad thing to have."

Justin took a swallow of the malmsey, found it too sweet for his taste. "What of the Fleming? You said you had a lead?"

"I might. My men spent the day rousting Gilbert's kin and lowlife friends, warning that none of them will have any peace until we get the Fleming. I think one of his cousins may be willing to give him up, for there is no love lost between them. When I saw Kenrick this morn, he claimed to know nothing about Gilbert's whereabouts. But he said he might be able to find out and would send me word if he did. He will expect to be paid, though. Since the queen's coffers are far deeper than the sheriff's, this will be your debt, de Quincy."

"Fair enough," Justin agreed. "What of Gilbert's partner? He might be easier to track down. From what you've told me about the Fleming, that one is more slippery than those snakes of his."

"I've put the word out that I'll pay for the man's name. And felons and brigands would sell their own mothers for the price of an ale. It may take time, but someone will offer up Gilbert's accomplice."

Justin hoped he was right. Only the outlaws could give him the answers he needed, and Gilbert did not sound like a man who'd be cooperative even if he was caught. They might have better luck with the partner. "Spread some money around," he said. "I'll pay for the bait."

They deferred further discussion of the Fleming until the meal was done; talk of bloody killings was no fit seasoning for Aldith's stew. She had just served wafers drizzled with honey when her mastiff began to growl.

The knock was soft, tentative. When Luke unbarred the door, the lantern light revealed a thin youngster of twelve or thirteen, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Aldith took one look at his patched mantle and ushered him into the cottage, toward the hearth. His teeth were chattering, and when he stretched his hands toward the fire, they were swollen with chilblains. "My papa sent me," he whispered, looking everywhere but at Luke's

face. "He said he'll meet you at the mill tonight after Compline."

Luke grabbed for his mantle. "This is Kenrick's eldest," he told Justin. "Come on, lad, we'll get you home first."

The boy shrank back. "Nay… my papa said I'm not to be seen with you. He said it was not safe." When Aldith offered him a wafer, he crammed it into his mouth, seeming to inhale it rather than eat it, so fast did it disappear. He remembered to thank her, though, before disappearing into the night again.

~~

They traveled on foot, in the shadow of the city's north wall. In the distance, church bells had begun to chime. Justin tilted his head, hearing their echoes on the wind. "Compline is being rung. We'll be late."

"He'll wait for us. But if I'd hitched my stallion outside the mill, he'd have bolted for certes. No one can know about this, not if Kenrick hopes to make old bones. It is not only the Fleming he must worry about. If it becomes known that he's given Gilbert up, the rest of his family will make his life utter misery. Their Eleventh Commandment is 'Thou shalt never talk to the law.'"

"Why did he pick this mill for the meeting?"

"It lies beyond the city walls and no one will be around at this late hour. And in case he is seen, he has an excuse for being there; he works for the Durngate miller. Likely as not, you'll find him as skittish as an unbroken colt. But I do not blame him for being scared, de Quincy."

Neither did Justin. It would take a brave man to betray Gilbert the Fleming. Or a desperate one, he thought, remembering the boy's ragged mantle. Well, he'd see that Kenrick was generously rewarded. The queen would not begrudge a few shillings. She'd willingly pay that a hundredfold to resolve her suspicions about the French king.

They exited the city through the Durn Gate, tucked away in the northeast corner of the wall, and headed for the mill. They soon saw the gleam of water ahead. It was a clear, cloudless night and the River Itchen looked silvered and serene in the moonlight, but very cold. Not far from the bridge, it had been channeled into a millrace, and as the men drew nearer, they could see the waterwheel. It was motionless, for the sluice gate was down. It seemed strange to Justin not to hear the familiar creaking and splashing. The silence was eerie; all he could hear was the faint gurgling of the millrace. It was dark, too; not a flicker of light shone through the mill's shuttered windows.

"So Kenrick waited, did he?" he gibed softly.

"He'd not have gone off," Luke insisted, "no matter how late I was. He must be inside." Scowling over his shoulder at Justin, he strode toward the door. His knocking went unanswered. When he pushed the latch, though, the door swung inward.

They exchanged glances and, by common consent, loosened their swords in their scabbards before stepping inside. Justin was getting a bad feeling about this, and he could see that Luke was edgy, too. But their lantern light revealed nothing out of order. The floor was dirty: flour and chaff were everywhere and the hulls of spilled grain crunched underfoot as they moved cautiously into the room. The inner wheel took up most of the space, attached to a spindle that disappeared up into a hole in the ceiling. The overhead chamber put Justin in mind of a barn hayloft; a ladder in the corner provided access, and during working hours, Kenrick could peer over the edge to make sure the wheel was functioning properly. But now it was like gazing up into a vast, black cave. Even when Luke raised the lantern high, it could not penetrate the shadows above them.

Luke swore under his breath. "Where did he go? This makes no sense."

Justin shrugged. "Mayhap he is late, too?" He at once saw the problem with that explanation, though. Then why was the door unlatched? One of the ladder rungs seemed muddied. When he got closer, he saw that it was dry, days old. He was turning toward Luke when he felt something wet drip onto his hand. His breath caught. Backing away from the ladder, he looked up as another dribble of blood splattered onto the floor at his feet.

Luke had not yet noticed the blood, but he was alerted by Justin's body language. When he crossed the room, Justin held out his hand so that the lantern's gleam fell upon that glistening red droplet. Luke's eyes flew upward. For unmeasured moments, neither man moved, straining to hear. But no sound came from the loft. No creaking of the floorboards, no giveaway gasps of pent-up breath, nothing. Justin's thoughts were racing as fast as his pulse. Should one of them go get a torch? But that might be leaving the other one alone with a killer.

Luke had reached the same conclusion. Using hand signals, he communicated to Justin that he was going partway up the ladder so he could get a look into the interior of the loft. That did not strike Justin as the best idea he'd ever heard, but he had no better one to offer. Nodding tensely, he brushed back his mantle so he could draw his sword swiftly if need be. Luke simply unfastened his mantle, letting it drop to the floor. Justin was impressed by his coolness, until he noticed Luke's white-knuckled grip on the lantern. Luke paused and then, one slow rung at a time, began to climb toward the loft.

Luke paused again at the halfway point and held the lantern up as high as he could reach. Glancing down at Justin, he mouthed the word "Nothing." It was then that a man erupted from the darkness above, lunged forward to grab the ladder, and shoved. Luke yelled as the ladder started to tip and Justin managed to catch hold of a lower rung. For several desperate seconds, he struggled to keep the ladder upright. But it was swaying like a tree in a high wind, and before Luke could jump free, it went over backward. Justin dived out of the way in the nick of time. There was a thud, a gasp from Luke, and then darkness as the lantern light died.

The silence was broken almost at once by Luke. He did not sound as if his injuries were serious, not by the way he was cursing. Groping about blindly, Justin was trying to untangle the deputy from the ladder when new noises came from the loft. "Christ," Luke cried hoarsely, "he's going out the window! Go after him!" But Justin had also recognized the sound — shutters being flung open — and he was already lurching to his feet. Memory serving him better than eyesight, he plunged toward the door.

It was a relief to get outside, where he had stars for candles. He halted long enough to draw his sword, for he knew his enemy. It was Gilbert the Fleming whom they'd cornered in the loft; when he'd pushed the ladder, he'd been exposed to the lantern's flaring light. It was a brief glimpse, but for Justin, enough. The face of evil had never looked so familiar.

Running around the side of the mill, Justin was half expecting to find the Fleming crumpled on the ground under the window, for the snow was days old and hard packed. But when he rounded the corner, there was no broken body, no blood, only churned-up snow and footprints leading toward a copse of trees.

Justin slowed as he neared the trees, for never had he hunted such a dangerous quarry, capable of turning at bay the way a wild boar would. But nothing mattered more to him at that moment than catching this man. He moved into the shelter of a massive oak, his ears echoing with an odd, muffled drumbeat, the accelerated pounding of his own heart. Was the Fleming lying in wait behind one of these trees? Or fleeing in panic into the deeper snowdrifts? Did he ever feel panic — like other men?

The outlaw's footprints were still visible, scuffed in the moonlight, and Justin followed them. He thought he heard Luke's voice behind him, but he dared not answer, for he did not know how close the Fleming was. He stopped to listen again, and then he was running, caution forgotten.

But he was too late. Coming to a halt, he stood watching as a horseman broke free of the trees ahead. Justin was still standing there when Luke finally came panting into view.

"He got away?"

"He had a horse tethered amongst the trees."

Luke was quiet for a moment, then said savagely, "God rot him!"

Justin heartily concurred. They walked back in silence. Luke was limping, but he shrugged off Justin's query with a brusque "No bones broken."

They were almost upon the mill when they saw a light bobbing off to their left. A man was standing on the other side of the millrace, holding a lantern aloft. "What is going on?" he challenged, managing to sound both truculent and ill at ease.

"You live hereabouts?"

He nodded, bridling at Luke's peremptory tone, and gestured vaguely over his shoulder. When Luke demanded that he yield his lantern, he started to protest — until the deputy identified himself, tersely but profanely.

Trailing after them as they approached the mill, he kept asking questions neither one answered. Justin crossed the threshold with a leaden step. Luke blocked the doorway, instructing the anxious neighbor to wait outside. Glancing then at Justin, he said, "Let's get this over with."

After Justin righted the ladder, Luke crossed the room, still limping, and began to climb. Justin followed, and scrambled up into the loft to find Luke standing beside a man's body. Blood was spattered on both millstones, soaking into the floor. Gilbert's cousin lay upon his back, eyes open, mouth contorted. As Justin moved closer, he saw that Kenrick had been stabbed in the chest, a knife thrust up under his ribs — like Gervase Fitz Randolph. But when Luke shifted the lantern, they saw that his throat had also been cut.