The Queen's Man

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Justin unfastened his wineskin, took a pull, and then offered it Job. He accepted it with alacrity, and drank deeply before saying, "Next, I remember a Black Monk on a lop-eared mule. From him, I got God's blessings. Then you and your chestnut. At first you seemed like to pass me by, but you changed your mind just in time. I suppose that was why I recognized you again, that and the fact that you were riding a right handsome beast. He

  must be… sixteen hands at least, no?"

  "Yes, he is. You know your horses, for certes!"

  The corner of Job's mouth curved, ever so slightly. "I ought to," he said, with echoes of an almost forgotten pride, "for I was I was a farrier, with my own smithy."

  Justin did not know what to say. In his mind's eye, he could imagine the farrier in his prime, muscles bulging as he swung his hammer and heated his forge, those once-powerful hands now so maimed that he could barely grip the wineskin.

  It was quiet for a moment, and then Job said abruptly, "The last men to ride by that morn were the goldsmith and his groom. May God assoil him, for he had a good heart, did Master Gervase. In all the time I knew him, he never failed to give alms and a cordial 'good morrow,' too. I do not know why you are seeking to track down his killers, but I hope you get them."

  "I hope so, too." Job was holding out the wineskin and Justin swiftly shook his head. "Keep it if you like. On a cold day like this, a man needs a little wine to warm his bones."

  "Indeed," Job agreed, sounding pleased. But as their eyes met, Justin saw in the leper's level gaze a cynical understanding: that Justin would never - in this life or the next - have drunk again from that wineskin.

  ~~

  Hyde Abbey lay beyond the city walls, but still within walking distance, and when Justin decided to return to town that evening, he chose to go on foot rather than resaddle Copper.

  Admitted through the North Gate, he started down Scowrtene Street.

  An early winter dusk had long since settled over Winchester, but the morning's cloud cover had been dispersed by a brisk wind and the night sky was salted with stars. Raising his lantern, Justin veered around a rut in the road. He was heading for Edwin's favorite alehouse on High Street, hoping to find the groom had slipped away for a quick ale. Buying Edwin a drink would be an easy way to learn of any new developments in the Fitz Randolph household. He hoped, too, to spur the other man's memory. Mayhap Edwin had seen more than he'd realized at the ambush.

  Justin had stopped at the lazar house again on his way back to Winchester, and Father Gregory had confirmed Job's story. He'd even been able to give Justin the name of the grey stallion's ill-tempered owner: Fulk de Chesney. Justin was not sure what use that might be, for the man could have no knowledge of the ambush. Still, he was grateful for any scrap of information he could muster. He'd seen women sew a quilt out of scraps of material. Who was to say that he could not take these random fragments of fact and make of them a discernable pattern? Not a quilt, but a map, one that might lead to a killer.

  There were few people out and about, for activity dwindled drastically once the sun set. But one man had been trailing after Justin ever since he'd left the abbey, matching his pace to Justin's, staying a constant twenty feet behind. When Justin began to walk faster, so did he. When Justin stopped to scrape mud from his boot, the man halted abruptly. It did not take long for Justin to become aware of him. Could this be the same man who'd followed him from the alehouse to the Fitz Randolph manor? But that was like being stalked by a shadow. This one was far more clumsy. Justin was tempted to swing around and confront him, but he wanted to be sure. Better to put his suspicions to the test.

  High Street was still a block away, but when he reached the first intersecting street, Justin made a sudden left turn. Soon after, so did his pursuer. Justin deliberately kept his steps unhurried, although his heart had begun to race. There was a tavern up ahead, an alley to his right. He chose the alley. It was narrow and black as pitch. Blowing out his lantern's flame, he flattened himself against a closed door and slid his dagger from its sheath.

  He had not long to wait. Footsteps approached the alley, slowed. By now Justin's eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he tensed as a figure filled the entrance. After a moment's hesitation, the shadow entered the alley. As soon as he passed, Justin lunged. The man gave a grunt of alarm, but did not struggle for Justin's knife was at his throat.

  "What… what do you want?"

  "Answers, but I'll settle for blood if need be. Why were you following me?"

  "You're daft! I was not following anybody!"

  "Wrong answer. Too bad."

  The man yelped. "Christ, you cut me!"

  "No, I nicked you. But the next lie will draw blood and a lot of it. So let's start again. What do you want from me?"

  "Nothing, I swear it! I was just passing by!"

  Justin swore under his breath. But his bluff had been called. He eased his hold and then shoved. The man lurched forward, stumbled, and went down. Swearing and sputtering, he scrambled awkwardly to regain his feet. But Justin had already drawn his sword. Continuing to curse, the man began to back away then whirled and fled down the alley.

  Justin watched the man disappear into the darkness, then turned and hastened back to the street. Up ahead a sudden flare of light spilled out into the night as the tavern door was flung open. Within moments, he was inside. Ordering wine, he found himself a corner table with a view of the door.

  He'd been more unnerved by that alley confrontation than he cared to admit. It was the uncertainty that he found most troubling. Had he thwarted a robbery? Or foiled an assassination? A month ago it would never even have occurred to him that he might be a target for murder. Now he found it all too easy to believe.

  ~~

  The candle on Justin's table had burned down to a stub. His wine was almost gone, but he thought it best not to order another one. He'd need his wits about him on that long, lonely walk back to the abbey. How was he going to hunt for a killer if he had to keep looking over his shoulder?

  Getting reluctantly to his feet, he was dropping a coin onto the table to pay for his drink when a commotion erupted across the chamber. A tipsy customer had paused in the doorway to bid a friend farewell, blocking someone seeking to enter. There was an angry exchange between the two, and then the dawdler was shoved aside and Luke de Marston stalked into the tavern. Striding toward Justin, he snapped, "You are under arrest!"

  Justin stiffened. "What for?"

  "I daresay I can think of any number of charges. But we'll start with your attack upon my serjeant!"

  "Your serjeant!" Only then did Justin notice the man from the alley, glaring at him from behind Luke's shoulder. "Why was he following me?"

  "To find out what you're up to - why do you think? Your conduct could not have been more suspicious!"

  "Me?" Justin was incredulous. "What did I do that was suspicious?"

  "What did you do that was not suspicious? You return to Winchester after witnessing a murder and you seek out the slain man's family. But not the sheriff - no, you vanish ere I can question you. Then you're back all of a sudden, prowling around, asking about the killing, even lurking out at the lazar house! It surprises you that I know about you and the lepers? This is my town, and you are indeed a fool if you thought your meddling would not get back to me!"

  "Since when is it a crime to visit a lazar house? As for your serjeant, he followed me all the way from the abbey into town, even into a dark alley. I thought he meant to rob me. What reasonable man would not?"

  Luke did not appear impressed with Justin's explanation. "We can discuss what is reasonable and what is not," he said ominously, "back at the castle."

  Dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword, the deputy gestured for Justin to surrender his own weapons. He was not about do so, however. Who was to say what might befall him once he disappeared behind the castle walls with Luke de Marston? The tavern was utterly still, all eyes riveted upon the deputy, his serjeant, and the man they meant to arrest.
Justin knew he could expect no help from any of the bystanders. He'd have to take on Luke and the serjeant both, not odds he fancied. The serjeant had a grievance to settle and Luke had the look of a born swordsman.

  "Ere you do something you'll regret," he said tautly, "you'd best take a look at this."

  "What?" Luke watched suspiciously as Justin drew a letter from his tunic and ordered his serjeant to be on the alert before he reached for it. Justin had a sudden, disturbing thought: what if the deputy could not read? He soon saw that this fear was unfounded. Luke gave him a hard, hostile stare, then picked up a candle from a nearby table and began to scan the parchment.

  When he was done, Luke regarded Justin with open astonishment. "Well, well," he drawled, "you are full of surprises!"

  Turning, he told his serjeant to "Get yourself some wine," ignoring the man's dumbfounded bewilderment. Directing the wide-eyed serving maid to "Fetch us a flagon, sweetheart," he shoved a bench toward Justin's table and settled himself comfortably. Once Justin had done the same, Luke glanced around the tavern, warning the patrons that "The entertainment is over, so cease your gaping and go back to drinking yourselves sodden." Most did, or at least pretended to; Justin noticed that the looks they got after that were surreptitious.

  Sliding the queen's letter across the table toward Justin, Luke waited until the serving maid brought them a flagon and two cups and withdrew out of earshot with obvious reluctance. "I suppose there is no point in asking why the Queen of England should be taking such an interest in the murder of a Winchester goldsmith. You're not about to tell me that, are you? But why investigate on your own? Why did you not come to me straightaway?"

  Justin said nothing, trying to decide if Luke was in earnest. Now that he was no longer fuming, his appearance had altered almost as dramatically as his demeanor. He was younger than Justin had initially thought, in his mid- to late twenties, with penetrating grass green eyes, thick, tawny hair, and sharply defined features that gave him the look of a hungry, golden hawk, handsome and predatory. Those unsettling hunter's eyes were fastened intently on Justin's face, questioning at first and then comprehending. "I see," he said evenly. "You think I had a hand in the goldsmith's death?"

  "You must admit," Justin said, no less coolly, "that you have a most tempting motive for murder."

  Luke regarded Justin impassively, then grinned unexpectedly. "Aldith is that, in truth. You've seen her, so I'll not dispute it. Nor will I claim that I shed any tears for Gervase Fitz Randolph. I did not mourn the man. But I did not murder him, either."

  "I will pass your assurances on to the queen," Justin said, with lethal courtesy. He knew full well that this mention of Eleanor was a low blow, but he had the advantage for the moment and meant to make the most of it.

  An angry shadow chased across Luke's face, but he showed now that he could rein in his temper when need be. "If not for that letter," he said bluntly, "I'd tell you to stuff your suspicions up your arse. But you are the queen's man and we both know that changes everything. So I'll tell you about Aldith and me. I love the woman. I've been besotted with her since the first day we met. Did I want to share her with Fitz Randolph? Of course I did not. Was I jealous? You know damned well that I was. Did I kill him? No, I did not. Even if I'd been sorely crazed enough to consider murder - and I was not - there was no need. Aldith chose me, not the goldsmith."

  Justin did not trouble to hide his skepticism. "It is easy enough to say that now."

  Luke smiled thinly. "Because Fitz Randolph is dead and Aldith a suspect witness in your eyes? It is true, nonetheless. You see, I was willing to offer her what the goldsmith could not - marriage."

  Justin was taken aback. "You would have married her?"

  Luke's head came up sharply. "I will marry her," he said, "as soon as we can post the banns." He sounded not so much defensive as defiant, and it was that which convinced Justin he was speaking the truth - at least about wanting to wed Aldith. Luke was gentry. Without knowing anything else about him, Justin did know that much, for only the wellborn were candidates for positions of authority. Aldith was no fit wife for a man with ambitions. Marrying her would not advance Luke's prospects; on the contrary. And for the first time, Justin's distrust of the deputy was tempered by a more positive emotion: a flicker of respect. Still, though, he had to ask. "If you were to wed, why was she still with Gervase?"

  "For you to understand, you have to know about Aldith. Her life has not been easy. Her father was a potter at Michelmersh. That is a poor trade at best, and he was poorer than most, with few customers and too many mouths to feed. When Aldith was fifteen, her family married her off to a Winchester baker. The man was nigh on forty years older than she, tightfisted and sour tempered and poorly after their first year, when he was stricken by apoplexy. She was left a widow at twenty, with barely enough to bury him. It was then that she took up with Fitz Randolph."

  Luke paused to drain his wine cup. "He was good to her, de Quincy. I do not like saying it, but it happens to be true. He was generous by nature, willing to help out her family. As for Aldith herself… well, he saw that she wanted for nothing. And she was grateful. She told me once that the one memory which stays green over the years is of going to bed hungry."

  "So you are saying that after all he'd done for her, she was loath to hurt him?"

  "Yes… that is exactly what I am saying." Luke's eyes met Justin's, challengingly, as if daring him to scoff. But it seemed plausible to Justin and he merely nodded. Somewhat mollified, Luke signaled for more wine before continuing. "She got me to promise that she could tell him in her own time and her own way. Aldith has ever been one for putting off unpleasantness, so I daresay she'd have delayed as long as she could. But she'd have told him. I'd have seen to that."

  Justin didn't doubt it. If Aldith had been his woman, he'd have seen to that, too. "I've another question for you," he said, implicitly acknowledging by the change of subject that he believed Luke's account, an admission not lost upon Luke. "How did you know that I was in this tavern?"

  Luke's smile was complacent. "My serjeant is not as inept as you think. True, his attempt to follow you was not a rousing success. I gather he could not have been more conspicuous if he'd worn a sack over his head. But he does have a few grains of common sense. Also, he knew I'd skin him alive if he reported that he'd lost you. After that friendly little joust in the alley, Wat was in dire need of an ale, or two or three. It occurred to him that you might have the same urgent thirst, so he crept back up the alley and peered into the tavern to see if he was right. Lucky for you he was no cutthroat or hired assassin."

  "Yes, lucky," Justin said tersely, more annoyed with his own carelessness than with Luke's gibe. He still had a lot to learn about self-preservation.

  "Do you want to tell me why you think the ambush was not a robbery gone wrong? Or do I have to guess?"

  Justin felt a flash of irritation, but Luke's sarcasm notwithstanding, he had a right to know. "I have reason to believe that it was no random robbery. The outlaws were lying in wait for Fitz Randolph." And as concisely as possible, he told Luke why he was sure that was so.

  "You're right," Luke agreed, as soon as Justin had concluded. "It does sound like a hired killing. But done at whose behest? Was I your only suspect? Flattering as that might be, where does that leave us now?" He looked quizzically across the table at Justin, and then scowled. "By God, you did not think that Aldith…?"

  "Make yourself easy. She was never a suspect." A corner of Justin's mouth quirked. "In truth, I could not imagine any woman wanting you badly enough to commit murder."

  "Likewise." The corners of Luke's mouth were twitching, too. "So who else wanted the man dead? Any family squabbles I ought to know about? I seem to remember Aldith telling me that the son was at odds with the old man, wanting to be a priest?"

  "A monk. And yes, he is a suspect - one of several. The daughter is in love with Fitz Randolph's journeyman, but he was set upon wedding her to a wellborn widower. And Fitz Randolph'
s brother argued with him often about money and is now as nervous as a treed cat."

  "'And a man's foes shall be they of his own household.'" Luke shook his head, then smiled ruefully. "I'm not usually one for quoting from Scriptures, but there is nothing usual about any of this, is there? How often do we find the Queen of England somehow linked to a goldsmith? Let's start with the ambush itself and track from there. Do you think you could identify the outlaws?"

  "I never got a close look at the man trying to hold onto Fitz Randolph's stallion. He was uncommonly tall and big boned, but that is all I can tell you. I did see the one who did the stabbing, though. I can even give you a name; his partner called him 'Gib.'"

  "Gilbert? There are more Gilberts roaming the countryside than we could hope to count. A pity he had not been christened something less popular, like Drogo or Barnabus. What did this 'Gib' look like?"

  "Of middle height and build, with brown hair. I never got close enough to tell eye color for certes, but I'd say dark. As for age, I'd guess closer to thirty than forty. And he was Saxon, not Norman. They both were, for they were speaking English."