Season of Blood

by Jeri Westerson

  John aimed a finger at Lenny. ‘He’s wrong because he is a liar.’

  ‘I’m not lying! I seen it.’

  ‘But you say, Master Munch, that she came away with a sack. Master Rykener, have you seen anything of a sack in her possession?’

  ‘Of course not! She is as poor as a cat in a dog kennel.’

  ‘Ah, but this is something we can easily see for ourselves. Let us return to the Unicorn and to the lady’s room to see if there is anything there that should not be.’

  ‘But I tell you I have lived side by side with her for the last sennight and if there was anything else there, I’d know it.’

  ‘Then let us prove that point, Master Rykener, and eliminate it as a possibility.’

  ‘All because you cannot dismiss this fool,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Very well. Very well. We will waste our time.’ He swept by Nigellus with a swirl of skirts, deliberately knocking into Lenny as he passed.

  Stomping back toward the Unicorn, a litany of curses paraded through his head. What nonsense! Nigellus was just naive, listening to the likes of Lenny. And maybe it hurt a little that he would take Lenny’s word over John’s. After all, he liked the young lawyer, liked the look of him. Crispin trusted John. He might have paid Lenny, but he doubted Crispin would take Lenny’s word over John’s.

  They entered the inn together but the innkeeper waylaid them when they made for the stairs.

  ‘Here, who’s this?’ He folded his arms over his wide chest and gestured with his head toward Lenny. John swelled with satisfaction, knowing it wasn’t a very Christian attitude but feeling a measure of vindication nonetheless.

  ‘He is our associate, good master,’ said Nigellus in his most officious tone. ‘We have business to discuss upstairs.’

  ‘Not in my inn, you don’t.’

  ‘Tut. Truly, sir.’ Nigellus reached into his money pouch and withdrew a silver penny, flourishing it. ‘For your trouble.’

  ‘See that he don’t leave fleas,’ the innkeeper called after them as they climbed the stairwell.

  ‘Got his nerve,’ Lenny muttered, scratching.

  John opened the door with his key and pushed through first. Fists at his hips, he stood in the middle of the room. ‘This is all mad. She might be running for her life out there in London, and we are listening to this pintle.’

  Lenny swiveled his head from side to side, surveying the room with widened eyes. John wondered when the last time was that the man had seen the inside of a room he wasn’t burgling.

  ‘And so,’ Nigellus began. ‘Where shall we begin? Under the beds, perhaps? Floorboards?’

  Lenny dove under the larger bed with only his twitching feet visible in their rag-wrapped boots. John did a cursory investigation among the small bits of luggage. ‘The same things are here. A change of clothing, a few items: a carved wooden spoon, a tin salt cellar. Naught else.’

  ‘Aha!’ cried the muffled voice of Lenny under the bed. ‘See here! Who’s a liar now!’

  He wriggled himself free, dragging a small sack with him. Thrusting it toward Nigellus, he sneered at John.

  Nigellus took it and peered inside the sack. ‘Dear me.’ He dumped the sack’s contents onto the bed: a silver cup, a gold ring, a candlestick, florins and shillings in silver.

  ‘But …’ John stared at the bounty with mouth agape. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Your mistress’ thievery, Rykener,’ said Lenny with a deep scowl. ‘I told you I seen what I seen.’

  John knelt on the floor before the bed, picking up each item and examining them. ‘These … these could have been collecting on debts. Why … how … could she steal them?’

  ‘She gone up on the rooftops, I tell you.’

  ‘That I cannot believe.’

  ‘Believe your own eyes, then.’

  He rose and stood over the items. ‘She said she had no funds.’

  A gentle hand rested on his arm. Nigellus’ touch was warm. ‘Clearly she lied to you. Perhaps there was more to Master Crispin asking you to protect her. Were you also to spy on her?’

  ‘He had not said …’ He frowned at Lenny. ‘I still don’t believe you, but you say Crispin hired you to watch her.’

  ‘And never bid me stop. And so I didn’t.’

  ‘Nothing will be settled until we talk to Master Guest,’ said Nigellus. ‘Let us see if he has returned, and we can stop all this speculating.’

  John was certain Lenny palmed some of the coins on the bed, but he said nothing. What more was there to say until Crispin cleared it up? They marched down the stairs, past the scowling innkeeper and out to the street. Nigellus stopped Lenny from continuing. ‘Since Master Guest is hiring you to watch her, I suggest you remain.’

  ‘Eh? I still have to stay here?’

  ‘If she returns for her bounty, it’s best we know where she is going, no?’

  ‘Awww. It’s always the same. Old Lenny is treated like a beast of burden.’

  ‘It’s better than you deserve,’ hissed John.

  ‘Sodomite!’ Lenny hissed back.

  Nigellus grabbed Rykener again before he smacked the beggar once more. The lawyer pulled John away up the lane, wagging an admonishing finger at him.

  They walked until making the turn at Friday Street. A left at West Cheap soon got them to the Shambles, and John was relieved to see a light coming from the nearly closed shutters of Crispin’s new lodgings.

  ‘Thank Christ he’s back,’ he said and trotted ahead of Nigellus to knock on the door.

  He heard much shuffling inside and a long pause before Crispin himself answered the door, opening it just a sliver. ‘For God’s sake, Crispin. It’s been too long. May we come in?’

  Crispin’s gray eye – the only one he would show – darted from here to there, taking in his visitors. Reluctantly, it seemed, he opened the door fully to allow them both in. ‘What a merry band is here,’ he said, mouth set in a grim line.

  FOURTEEN

  John Rykener and the lawyer Nigellus Cobmartin walked across his threshold. Crispin closed the door after them, recognizing that such a communion was not to bear good news. And when he turned to face them it was certainly evident on their features.

  John sighed dramatically. ‘Where to begin?’

  ‘What are you doing here, Master Cobmartin?’

  John interjected. ‘Well, that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?’

  Nigellus cleared his throat and leaned forward with a raised finger, as he might have done while holding forth at a court of law. ‘Your Mistress Woodleigh, Crispin, seems to be … well …’

  ‘Missing!’ piped John.

  ‘Missing? Did I not hire you to protect her, John?’

  ‘And I did. Right well … up until several hours ago. She was abducted.’

  ‘Or not,’ said Nigellus.

  Crispin found the goblet Jack had poured for him and drank it halfway down. ‘Someone explain.’

  Nigellus nudged John aside and, with a gentle expression, began. ‘Firstly, it is good to see you again, Crispin. We should not wait for quarter days. Our acquaintance is not merely tenant and landlord but much more, I hope. Well, Master Rykener here came to me most distressed, saying that the woman you hired him to, er, protect, had been abducted.’

  ‘Stuffed my head into a bag, tied me up,’ he said, rubbing his wrists. ‘And then I couldn’t find her.’ He still seemed distressed to Crispin.

  ‘So Master Rykener says. This is how it appeared to him.’

  ‘Appeared?’

  ‘Master Rykener, I beg of you to let me continue. Only by the cold recitation of facts may we ever be able to discern the truth. Veritas numquam perit.’

  Rykener slammed his arms over his chest and blew a stray strand of hair off his forehead. He was in his woman’s clothes. The hem was muddy, as was his cloak, as if he had been tramping all over London. Perhaps he had been.

  ‘Now then,’ Nigellus went on, ‘when I arrived at the inn the room was in disarray. A struggle had taken place, th
e lady gone. When we investigated downstairs in the inn’s hall, the innkeeper claimed he had seen nothing; the patrons, those that might have noticed the violent struggle of a woman for her life and honor, also claimed to have seen nothing. And when we encountered Master Munch along the road, he had a very different story indeed.’

  The man paused, glancing at the goblet in Crispin’s grasp. Crispin shook his head. ‘Forgive me, Master Cobmartin, Master Rykener. May I offer you wine?’

  ‘I’d be grateful, Crispin, truth to tell,’ said Rykener. He sank, exhausted, into a chair.

  Nigellus licked his lips. ‘Oh, that should be a great relief, Master Crispin.’

  Crispin took up the discarded goblet from the floor and brought it to the table. He retrieved the wine jug and another cup – a horn beaker – from the larder and poured into each.

  ‘God save us,’ muttered Rykener as he drank his.

  ‘Much thanks,’ said Nigellus, taking a delicate sip. ‘Now then,’ he continued. ‘When we encountered Master Munch, he informed us that you had hired him to watch the lady as well. I must say, the whole of it intrigues me. Master Rykener intimated that the lady – a client of yours – is in search of a former sheriff that did her an injustice and absconded with her young niece—’

  A sound upstairs made them all glance upward toward the rafters. ‘Is that young Jack?’ asked Nigellus.

  ‘Er … no. Probably that damned cat.’

  ‘Ah! The feline. Clever, they are. But deadly. Qui ludet cum felibus in Expectat scalpi!’

  Crispin tapped his fingers on his dagger hilt. ‘You were saying, Nigellus?’

  ‘Oh, yes! The lady. As I said, Master Rykener went in pursuit of her abductors but far later than was helpful. Not your fault, of course,’ he said to John’s sour face. ‘Being tied up, you could do little. But once we encountered your Master Munch, he told us an interesting tale. For he had indeed seen the lady but she was not in the company of her abductors in fear of her life. No. She was alone. Not in fear but irritated, as he explained it. In a rush. Another witness corroborated this portion of the tale – a shopkeeper. Leonard Munch then followed her to Master Simon Wynchecombe’s house, a former sheriff of London of your acquaintance, I do believe. He said she watched the house for signs of him for the better part of the day. And from a most unusual place. Can you even guess?’

  ‘I’m on tenterhooks, Nigellus.’

  ‘On the roof! Can you imagine it? Further, this spy of yours, this Leonard Munch, insisted that she crept along the rooftops until she found entrance in a top-floor window, where later she emerged through a door carrying a sack. All most unusual. Now, I am not one to entirely believe this … this spy of yours, but with truth in the balance, I insisted we return to the inn to look for such a sack. And what do you suppose we found?’

  ‘A sack?’ said Crispin dryly.

  ‘Indeed, Master Guest! The very same. Under the bed, under the floorboards. And such bounty within it!’

  ‘Truly?’

  The lawyer raised his hand. ‘Meum est vinculum. Gold, silver goods and coins.’

  ‘And she said she was poor!’ cried Rykener, finishing his wine and pouring more.

  ‘Hold, Nigellus,’ said Crispin. ‘Are you implying that she was … burgling a house in order to come away with these goods?’

  ‘That, of course, is speculation. As Master Rykener pointed out but none too convincingly, she could have obtained these goods for some sort of restitution or payment. But it seems unlikely by the nature of her, erm, entrance into the house. If Master Munch can be believed on that point, that is.’

  ‘And where is Master Munch now?’ A corner of Crispin’s mouth crept upward. He scarcely ever thought of Lenny as ‘master’ anything.

  ‘I enjoined him to maintain his guard of the inn. After all, with such bounty, it is unlikely the lady would leave them behind. But I fear she will quit the Unicorn now that we are on to her.’

  ‘I fear you are right. Well done, then.’ He sat, well aware that upstairs Wynchecombe was likely hearing all of this and making of it what he will. Yet the facts were curious. Why would Lenny make up such a fantastical tale? He had never done so before when working for Crispin. At least that he knew of. Stealing into houses? Katherine Woodleigh? It seemed unlikely but what did he really know of her? The feeling in his gut persisted and he knew that feeling well. It was his very body telling him what a fool he’d been. These Woodleighs and Whitechurches might all very well be thieves and murderers. One trying to coerce Simon, possibly even to extortion, while the other was a common burglar. What was he to make of that? Yet she was well-spoken with estates and a past at court. How could this be?

  ‘I’m having a difficult time reconciling these facts, Master Nigellus, even as thorough as you laid them out—’ He gave a nod of recognition to Nigellus, who bowed back in return.

  ‘It’s impossible, I tell you,’ whined Rykener. ‘Quite out of character.’

  ‘And you were with her the whole of the week?’

  ‘I was. I never shirked my duty, Crispin. You know I wouldn’t have. And I got to like her, too. She’s a wit and just a bit naughty. But I cannot imagine that she would go about mincing across rooftops.’

  Crispin leaned forward on the table, fingers wrapped about his goblet. ‘About her abduction. What can you tell me? Did you see anyone, hear anyone? Any voices?’

  ‘None. I was asleep and just as I awoke a sack was thrust down upon me—’

  ‘A sack!’ Nigellus cried.

  Rykener gave him a withering look. ‘And I was tied to my chair,’ he said, enunciating each word. ‘I heard scuffling and Kat crying out, and then they were out of the door.’

  ‘How many were there?’

  ‘I don’t know, Crispin. It all happened so fast. One moment I was just awakening and the next I was stuffed into a sack. I heard the noises but I was struggling, too.’

  ‘So … you truly have no proof that anyone was there at all?’

  He cocked his head and scowled. ‘Not you, too? Are you calling me a liar?’

  ‘No, John, not at all. Just that you perceived the appearance of an abduction. But if I came upon you from behind just as you were awakening from sleep, stuffed a bag on your head and quickly tied you to a chair, I could make convincing enough noises and scuffling to make you think I was being abducted … couldn’t I?’

  ‘That’s what I told him!’ said Nigellus.

  Rykener rose, fury coloring his cheeks. ‘That damned woman! What horrible deceit! What lies!’

  Nigellus cleared his throat. ‘Ahem, Master Rykener, to be completely fair, were you not deceiving just as much, posing as her, er, lady’s maid? Perhaps she was fearful of you.’

  ‘That’s absurd. I couldn’t hurt anyone.’

  ‘But she didn’t know that.’

  He clucked his tongue. ‘Crispin, tell him how absurd that is.’

  ‘I fear there is more to it than that, Nigellus. Why go to elaborate heights to make Master Rykener think she is being abducted? She could have simply walked away. No, there is more to it. And … I think I have an inkling as to what.’

  But when Crispin said nothing more, John slammed his hand to the table. ‘Well? Don’t leave us in suspense.’

  Cocking an eye ceilingward, he quickly looked away. ‘I’m not at liberty to say at the moment.’

  ‘This is damnable. Do you mean to say that you do not fear her fate?’

  ‘I rather think not. At the moment.’

  ‘Well I never!’ He sat back, arms folded.

  Nigellus finally sat at the table. ‘You do involve yourself in such interesting ways, Master Guest. Never a dull moment.’

  ‘Oh, for a dull moment,’ Crispin muttered.

  A knock on the door caused all three heads to swivel toward the entrance.

  ‘Who the hell is that?’ rasped John.

  Should he tell them to hide themselves? No, there was already one too many in hiding in his humble lodgings. Instead, he rose an
d went to the door.

  A Cistercian monk stood on his step, hands hidden in his black scapular. Crispin’s first thoughts were God’s blood! Not another one.

  ‘Crispin Guest?’ said the man, face hidden under the shadow of his cowl.

  ‘Yes. And who might you be, brother?’

  ‘I am Brother James … from Hailes Abbey.’

  Am I dreaming? It was the only explanation. ‘Brother … I have only just come from Hailes. What is your business here?’

  ‘I know. I followed you.’ He looked to the street with jerky, nervous movements. ‘May I come in?’

  With a deep sigh, Crispin opened the door wider and allowed the monk to pass over the threshold. But when he saw Nigellus and Rykener standing by the table, the monk paused.

  ‘Oh. You have guests. I … I should come back later.’

  ‘Oh, no, brother. Do come in. I couldn’t bear to speculate if you were to leave now.’

  Eyeing both men suspiciously, he moved a few feet into the room and stood by the hearth.

  ‘Wine, brother? I have only a bowl left from which to drink out of.’

  ‘No, thank you. I have … private matters to discuss.’

  Nigellus touched Rykener’s arm. ‘Perhaps we will wait upstairs until your visitor has departed.’

  ‘No!’ He hadn’t meant to shout. Actually, he wanted to laugh. ‘Apologies, Nigellus. But perhaps I will talk with you and John later.’

  ‘Later?’ cried John without trying to mask his voice. The monk’s eyes widened. ‘Why do I have to leave?’

  ‘You both have to leave. I thank you for your information but I must see to this man here. Perhaps, J—, er, Eleanor, you will be so good as to go with Master Cobmartin for the moment.’

  Still unhappy, John glanced at Nigellus, who was smiling at him. Somewhat mollified by the lawyer’s kind expression, John seemed to soften. ‘Very well. But you owe me an explanation.’

  ‘And I shall give it when I know more. Thank you … Eleanor.’

  He rolled his shoulder at Crispin and followed Nigellus out of the door. The monk watched their progress until the door was closed again.

  ‘And now,’ said Crispin, trying to hurry this up. ‘I say again, why did you not talk to me when I was at Hailes? Why come all this way to London?’