Season of Blood

by Jeri Westerson

  ‘Why have you not talked to me before this?’

  ‘It wasn’t my place. I am the newest monk here.’

  God preserve me. He sighed. ‘Well, you are talking to me now. What have you to say?’

  ‘Only that she cannot be trusted. Beware. Beware that a knife does not find you.’

  ‘I can escape a knife or two … and have. Many a time.’

  ‘But her weapon is a face that a man believes he can trust. Alas.’ He lowered his eyes again.

  Crispin stepped closer and this time the man did not shy back. ‘Brother … are you … making a confession of sorts to me?’

  ‘She … is beguiling.’

  ‘I see. From the information I have, she ran off with one of your patrons, Simon Wynchecombe. Do these tidings surprise you?’

  Slowly, he shook his head.

  ‘Do you know Simon Wynchecombe?’

  ‘I have served him. As I must serve all our guests.’

  ‘And was he particularly … beguiled?’

  ‘Indeed he was.’

  ‘Would you have any idea where they have gone?’

  ‘I would have assumed London.’

  ‘One would. Tell me, brother, why do you think Brother Ralph disappeared with the relic?’

  ‘I couldn’t begin to say.’

  ‘Could you speculate? For your insight on the matter is more informed than mine.’

  The monk shook his head. ‘He, too, was beguiled. Stole the relic for her, mayhap.’

  ‘If that were true, why did he bring it to me?’

  The monk remained silent and stuffed his hands beneath his scapular.

  ‘Do you recall any other brother missing for a length of time?’

  The monk said nothing. His eyes merely gazed back at Crispin.

  After it appeared that the man had nothing more to say, Crispin bowed to him. ‘Well … thank you, brother. Unless you have anything to add.’

  ‘Only one thing more: beware, Master Guest. Two have died. Two beguiled … or possibly bewitched. For I do believe the Devil was in this.’

  ‘You may be right.’

  The monk jumped at Jack’s step behind him. He didn’t wait. Hurrying past Crispin back into the cloister, he disappeared into the shadows.

  Jack watched him go. ‘What was that about, sir?’

  ‘I’ll tell you once we’ve ridden out of here.’

  TEN

  John Rykener struggled and finally loosened his bonds enough to free himself. The chair fell back when he jerked to his feet.

  ‘God’s teeth!’ He shook himself, disgusted that he had been surprised like that and that his charge had been taken. ‘And Crispin paid me to watch her. What will I do?’

  He grabbed his knife and shoved it in his belt. Yanking his hood and cloak from the pegs, he slammed open the door and tore down the stairs. ‘You there! Innkeeper!’

  The man turned, annoyed at first … until he recognized John. His expression softened. ‘Aye, lass. What service can I do you?’

  Ignoring his salacious tone, John grabbed his arm and dragged him to a lonely corner. But the innkeeper mistook his intent and slipped a hand around John’s waist. ‘There’s no need to be so rough, lass. We have time. The wife has gone out.’

  ‘Oh, for Jesus’ sake! Later, man. For now, I am looking for my mistress. Did you see her and her abductors?’

  ‘Abductors? What are you on about? It’s been a busy morn. I would not have noticed had the king himself come down them stairs.’

  ‘Damn!’ He let the innkeeper go, but the innkeeper had other ideas. His arm tightened about John’s waist.

  ‘I don’t know if “later” will do. Me cod says otherwise.’

  John sighed impatiently and shoved the man back. The innkeeper seemed surprised at his strength. ‘I said later! Your cod will have to wait.’ John left the now sour-faced innkeeper and made his way quickly out to the courtyard. A brisk wind swirled around him and he raised his hood, clutching it closed at the neck. Searching, he saw no one. But, of course, it was too late. He had struggled with his bonds for far too long. She had been spirited away before anyone had had a chance to see her.

  ‘By the blessed saints! What am I to do? What am I to do?’ Go to the sheriffs? No, that was a monumentally bad idea, especially in his current situation. He’d been arrested before for dressing as a woman. The sheriffs and the Church were not fond of such. Who could he consult? Who would help?

  ‘Oh! That lawyer friend of Crispin’s. What was his name? Nigellus something … Nigellus … Cobmartin! That’s it.’ He cast about, as if the man would materialize upon his mentioning him. ‘Where does that lawyer keep himself? Gray’s Inn, of course.’ He grabbed his skirts and ran out of the courtyard.

  It was quickest to make his way up the Shambles to Holborn. He found Gray’s Inn as a collection of boxy structures, three tiers high. Going to the porter, the man explained that he would send a boy to fetch the young lawyer as women were not allowed in the facility.

  John paced back and forth within the damp courtyard, gnawing on a thumbnail and looking up from time to time to catch a law student calling to him out of one of the windows. Too distracted to reply, he stared at the cobblestones and the mud puddles, wishing he could have at least discerned in what direction her abductors had taken the Woodleigh woman. He didn’t know how Crispin did such things – following culprits, finding lost objects and people – how he figured out half the things he did. The man was a miracle of logical intellect.

  At length, someone passed through the arch of the portico and trotted forward, head under a hood and eyes decidedly narrowed with displeasure. His pinched mouth was shut tight until he came upon John and took him by the arm, leading him further away from the portico.

  ‘Mistress “Eleanor.”’ He exhaled sharply. ‘Dear me, dear me. Why did you come here? And in this guise? It is most unwise, mast— uh, mistress. Could you not have sent a missive? It is not proper that I should see you here in these halls, Master Rykener.’ He was certain to whisper the last, and even glanced over his shoulder toward the porter. But John was sure he was quite deaf and wasn’t even looking in their direction.

  ‘I beg your mercy, Master Cobmartin, but this could not wait. Indeed, we must make haste.’

  ‘What should we make haste about? Did Master Guest send you?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. For I was working for him on a very important mission. But I have failed miserably, Master Cobmartin. I cannot forgive myself.’

  Nigellus looked back again toward the law court. ‘Well … we cannot speak here in the streets. A tavern?’

  ‘No. Let us back to the Unicorn where I am staying.’

  ‘Very well.’ He tugged his cloak over his chest and hurried behind John’s longer strides. Woolly sheep, fat with fleeces, blocked the road a good long time and John was obliged to find a circuitous route back to Watling Street. They entered into the warm hall of the inn and John sat Nigellus down on a bench. When the lawyer asked why, John replied, ‘My dear Master Cobmartin. You cannot be seen going up to my room with me. But watch which door I pass through. And after a brief time, follow me up. Do you understand?’

  The young lawyer blinked up at him. He wore a dark wool cap over his mousy brown hair and there was a smattering of endearing freckles speckling his nose. He was barely older than Jack Tucker but John was suddenly entranced by his features – his gray eyes that gazed at him with such solemn innocence, the curve of his lip, the small, blunt nose.

  ‘Yes, I think I do,’ said Nigellus.

  ‘Good. Then I shall see you in but a moment, Master Cobmartin.’

  He looked around for the molesting innkeeper but did not see him, and before the man could make an appearance John hurried up the stairs. He glanced down the stairwell to make certain Nigellus was watching him – and watching him he was – before he unlocked the door and pushed inside.

  He noticed the state of the room he had so hastily left. The chair was on its back and the sack
and ropes were strewn about. The room didn’t appear to have been ransacked but there was so little on offer, though some of Kat Woodleigh’s personal items seemed to be missing.

  ‘Terrible, terrible,’ he muttered as he righted the chair and straightened the rest of the room, piling the sack and ropes upon the table.

  Moments later, there was a timid knock on the door. John straightened his gown, his veil, and then opened it.

  Nigellus entered with bowed head. ‘And so, Master Rykener. Can you now please explain your need of me?’

  John sank into the chair by the fire and scraped it across the floor toward the table. ‘My mistress. I was hired to be her lady’s maid and protector …’

  ‘Hold!’ He held up a hand. ‘Do you mean to tell me Master Guest hired you to be a lady’s maid to this woman? It is diabolical.’

  John raised his chin indignantly. ‘It’s nothing of the sort. I’m a perfectly good lady’s maid.’

  ‘Except that you are not a lady!’

  ‘Dear, dear Master Cobmartin. Must we split hairs? I was hired, I was a lady’s maid, and there’s no more to it. Except that I was supposed to protect the lady in question and now she’s been abducted and I don’t know where she is!’

  ‘Have you gone to Master Guest with this tragedy?’

  ‘No. That’s why he hired me. He was leaving London.’

  ‘Bless me.’ He rested a hand to his lips. ‘Then tell me what happened. In principio incipere.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not of the clerical class. So save your Latin for someone who can appreciate it.’

  Flustered, Nigellus tapped his fingers on the table. ‘I only meant that you should … Well, begin at the beginning.’

  ‘Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?’ With a heavy sigh, John began. ‘Crispin hired me a sennight ago to protect a client, Katherine Woodleigh. Apparently, she is abroad without the escort of even a lady’s maid, and since Crispin also bound me as her protector, I reasoned that she was in some need, the nature of which he didn’t care to share with me.’ He edged closer, sliding his elbow along the table. ‘But the lady herself confided in me, and as you are as close to a confessor as I will get, I imagine I can tell you and have it go no further.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, yes, Master Rykener.’

  John’s gaze traveled over the fresh, clean-shaven face. ‘You know, you can call me John, if you will.’

  Nigellus’ brittle smile warmed John’s heart.

  ‘And so,’ John went on, ‘she told me she was in pursuit of her niece, who was stolen away by a foul gentleman. A married gentleman, who also stole from her. She sought Crispin’s help in regaining her missing niece and the stolen goods, and that was why Crispin was out of London. But I never expected that someone should boldly break into our lodgings and steal the lady herself away. And here I was, paid good coin to protect her.’

  ‘They broke in, you say?’

  ‘Yes! I was asleep in this chair and, while I was awakening, a sack was closed over me. This one, see?’ He fingered the rough sack and the ropes. ‘They bound me to the chair and made off with her.’

  ‘How many were there?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was bound, hooded and gagged before I could discern aught.’

  ‘How ever did you escape, Master John?’

  ‘The bindings were ill done and I wriggled free. But not in time to catch in what direction they took her.’

  ‘Did you ask downstairs in the hall if anyone had seen her and her abductors?’

  ‘Only the innkeeper, but he hadn’t seen anything.’

  ‘Then let us return to the hall and make our enquiries at once!’

  Encouraged by Nigellus’ ardor, John happily followed him down the stairs. Eschewing the innkeeper, who was nowhere to be found in any case, Nigellus approached some men gathered at a table, drinking and laughing.

  ‘Good sirs,’ he said with a bow and pressed a hand to his heart. ‘I am the lawyer Nigellus Cobmartin. I am investigating the abduction of a woman from this establishment not more than a few hours ago, at—’ He looked to John for confirmation.

  ‘After sext, before none.’

  ‘As the … the demoiselle said.’

  The men exchanged glances. ‘I never seen no abduction,’ said a particularly gangly man. His bright ginger beard seemed as disarrayed as his limbs.

  A gruff man of barrel shape shook his head after taking a sip from his beaker. ‘I’d remember such like if I saw it,’ he said.

  Another man, with an arm tight around a bundle pressed close to his chest, scowled. He did not appear to appreciate the interruption. ‘No one saw aught.’

  Nigellus frowned. ‘Surely someone would have noticed a man or two men manhandling a woman down yon stairs.’

  ‘From that door?’ asked the barrel man, pointing toward Kat’s chamber.

  ‘Yes,’ said John, pressing forward. ‘Did you see anyone? Did you see her?’

  ‘I seen her before. A beauteous lass. But I never saw her with any men. If they made no commotion, none would have noticed. We were at our drinking or games of dice.’

  Drooping, John conceded it. He nudged Nigellus to come back with him up the stairs. Once back in the room he sat heavily in the chair. ‘What’s to be done, Master Nigellus? How can I save her?’

  ‘Have you any idea at all as to how many men took her?’ Nigellus stood before the hearth, fingers rubbing over fingers. ‘Think, man.’

  ‘None whatsoever. I heard a scuffle, she screamed and the door opened. I have no idea how many feet … but thinking on it, I don’t believe there were many. Perhaps merely one man? For the footfalls were few.’

  ‘But no one saw. If she knew the man, maybe she would give no trouble. Do you know the identity of the man who had stolen from her? Maybe that is a place to start.’

  ‘She intimated that he was a former sheriff … of London.’

  ‘By St Ives! That’s a tricky bit. He’s an alderman, then, and I well know they keep themselves as a tight enclave. There’s no doubt Master Guest already covered that territory. And yet one of this man’s henchmen could be the culprit. Dear me, how does Master Guest do it?’

  ‘I was thinking that very thing.’

  ‘That is our Master Crispin: Ut quocumque paratus.’

  ‘But this is getting us nowhere.’ John rubbed his chin, ignoring the small spot he’d missed in his secretive shave. ‘By logic we must work this out. There were two possible directions from the inn. East toward Budge Row or west toward St Paul’s, is that not right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And there are two of us. If we each take a direction and ask the shopkeepers, might we get somewhere?’

  ‘I suppose it’s all we have. Tell me fully what the lady looks like.’

  John explained in vivid detail her upturned nose, the blue of her eyes and the exact shade of her hair, comparing it to the common squirrel – but more sable than red. He sent Nigellus toward Budge Row while he took the path toward St Paul’s.

  But it wasn’t long after John questioned a man who sold paternosters that Nigellus pounded toward him, lifting the hem of his gown, revealing knobby ankles in blue stockings. ‘Master— I mean, Mistress Eleanor!’

  ‘Nigellus. What is it, man?’

  Out of breath, the lawyer put a hand to his heart, puffing. He gestured behind him. ‘A fellow back there – a carpenter – said he’d seen the lady.’

  ‘Lead me.’ Each grabbed up their skirts out of the mud and rushed forward. John held back, even though he could easily have sprinted ahead with his longer legs, allowing Nigellus to precede him. The lawyer skidded to a stop before the shop with the carved saw above the door and entered it again with John on his heels.

  ‘You’re back,’ said the burly carpenter at his bench. His nose and cheeks burned a cheery red, and a scruff of brown hair stuck out beneath the leather cap that came down to cover his ears.

  ‘Master Williams, would you be so kind as to repeat what you just told me to my friend her
e?’

  Williams looked John up and down. He was used to the scrutiny. Some only saw the woman John was projecting, while others instinctively knew just what they were looking at. Master Williams seemed to be the latter.

  ‘Er … well. This fellow, this lawyer here,’ and he gestured to Nigellus, ‘asked me if I’d seen this woman. And I said I had. Round about none, striding down the lane in all haste.’

  John pressed closer. ‘And how many men were with her?’

  ‘That’s what this one asked me, too. And I’m telling you what I told him. There was no one with her. She was walking alone, in haste. Looking back over her shoulder, like she was being followed. That’s why I noticed her. Like she was being followed, or trying to get away from someone or something.’

  ‘Walking?’ asked John, perplexed. ‘Not running?’

  ‘No. A determined look on her face, too. The kind where … well. The wife puts on that look. And when she does, I don’t cross her, get my meaning?’

  John exchanged a glance with Nigellus. ‘There was no one with her?’

  ‘I just got done telling you, didn’t I?’

  ‘I thank you, good master.’ He curtseyed, and then signaled for Nigellus to follow him out of the shop. They stood in front of it looking down the muddy lane at the shoppers crowding the street, with a boy leading an enormous ox pulling a wagon, a girl carrying a small goat over her shoulders as it bleated at passers-by and a woman selling meat skewered on sticks.

  ‘Such a clever woman, then,’ John was saying as Nigellus considered. ‘She eluded her captors quickly. Very resourceful.’

  ‘Resourceful,’ muttered Nigellus. ‘More so than we think.’

  ‘How so? What is your meaning, Master Nigellus?’

  ‘Don’t you see, my dear Master John? She is crafty, I’ll give her that. And as clever as the day is wide.’

  John blinked his confusion.

  The lawyer got in closer and said more quietly so no one could eavesdrop, ‘She staged the whole thing just to elude you. She wasn’t abducted at all. There never were any men. I’m certain of it. And now she appears to be gone and we have no knowledge as to where or why.’