The Silence of Stones

by Jeri Westerson

‘Don’t you know when to make yourself scarce?’ said the man. ‘She disna want to go with you.’

  ‘Perhaps we should let the lady decide.’

  ‘Perhaps this,’ said Fergus, drawing back his fist and swinging toward Crispin. Crispin ducked, and Fergus’s fist hit home to the unlucky man standing beside him. Down he went, but he popped back up just as quickly.

  ‘By the Mass!’ He swung at Fergus and this time John ducked. Fergus’s reflexes weren’t as good, and he hadn’t gotten out of the way at all. The fist hit his jaw but only knocked his head back. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed the man by his cotehardie and tossed him backward. The man cascaded into a group just raising their cups to each other. The cups flew, spraying several others with ale, and those men jumped back, glaring at those who had lost their cups and were scrambling over each other on the floor.

  One man tipped his cup deliberately over the head of a man below him, who didn’t take kindly to the gesture, and yanked the standing man’s leg so that his feet flew out from under him.

  The place collapsed into a melee.

  Crispin tightened his hold on John and stumbled away with him toward the entrance.

  Men fought one another. Stools sailed overhead. Beakers smashed on the floor. A dog barked and skipped from group to fighting group, nipping at fingers and bums.

  John’s wild eyes found Crispin’s. They ducked flying debris and men being pushed over tables, feet high in the air. They side-stepped a particularly nasty engagement where two men had pulled their daggers but fortunately were too drunk to do any serious damage to one another.

  Just as they reached the entrance, John was yanked away from Crispin’s grasp. Fergus had returned and dragged John into the midst of the tavern. Rykener looked back at Crispin with widened eyes.

  ‘Dammit,’ Crispin muttered. He shoved his way through, grabbed Fergus by the shoulder, and spun him. ‘The lady isn’t interested.’

  Nose bruised and dripping with blood, Fergus didn’t bother answering. He drew back his fist, but Crispin leaned in, balled his own fist, and punched the man’s belly hard.

  Fergus doubled over with an expelled, ‘Oof!’ and John wrenched away from his grip, scrambling behind Crispin and glaring at Fergus over his shoulder.

  Crispin turned, but Fergus wasn’t done. He dove forward, shoving his shoulder and head into Crispin, and he and John tumbled backward into a servant with a tray. The tray’s contents scattered and splashed everyone near it.

  Crispin shook his head and looked up, finding that same toothless woman blinking down at him. ‘Now you’ve gotten on Fergus’s bad side,’ she said, shaking her head. She glanced up in time to see Fergus barreling down on them and yelped while skittering out of the way, skirts flying and pimpled bum exposed as she went.

  Crispin rolled out of the way. Still on his back, he jabbed his feet and shoved them into Fergus’s chest, whose head was down like an ox’s, pushing stubbornly forward. Crispin pushed harder, but Fergus kept coming. Until John broke a jug over his head. Ale spilled around the man’s eyes and cheeks, blending with the blood from a cut on his bald pate.

  John wrestled Crispin to his feet and pulled on him. ‘Come on! Let’s away!’ Crispin staggered after him and they made it through the door at last. They stumbled into the lane and looked back, even as more men hurled through the door, still fighting into the street.

  Crispin and John exchanged glances. They didn’t have to speak as they both suddenly cut up the road and back to Westminster, away from the fracas.

  They finally stopped and leaned against a stone wall, catching their breaths.

  Crispin thought John might be hurt, might be crying at first, but the man was laughing instead. ‘That was the stupidest affray I’ve ever had the misfortune to be part of.’

  Crispin wiped his face with his hand and looked at his palm. No blood. Just ale. He nodded and stood up straight. ‘I have to agree with you.’

  ‘Ah, Crispin. It’s never a dull moment with you, is it?’

  ‘You thought it would be boring.’

  ‘I must confess.’ He smiled. ‘I shall never underestimate a simple task that involves you ever again.’

  ‘Hmpf,’ Crispin grunted, straightening his coat.

  ‘Where to now?’

  ‘How about you return to London and let me continue with this investigation.’

  ‘Oh no, Crispin! I’m having a marvelous time. And without Jack, well. Perhaps you need someone seeing after you.’

  ‘John …’

  ‘Please, Crispin. You look like you could use a friend.’

  He ran a hand over the back of his neck. ‘But with you … looking like that …’

  ‘What’s wrong with the way I look?’ He felt his coif, which had gone askew, and restored it to the center of his head. After all, he didn’t have long hair like a woman to tuck up into it, and that would surely give the game away. ‘Is my gown all right?’

  ‘It’s … it’s fine. But I’d rather you were in tunic and stockings.’

  ‘But this is better. I’m in disguise.’

  ‘It’s not better!’

  ‘Hush, Crispin.’ John looked around, but the passersby ignored them. ‘You’ll spoil everything.’

  ‘God’s blood, John! This is not a game. My … Jack Tucker is in danger.’

  ‘I know.’ He grew solemn and blessedly silent, merely watching Crispin, waiting for him to decide what next to do.

  ‘I must go back to the beginning,’ Crispin muttered at last. What had he been about to investigate when he left Westminster Abbey? ‘Explosive powder.’

  ‘Explosive powder? What is that?’

  ‘It was used to destroy the fabricated Stone. I was about to investigate where such powder could be obtained.’

  ‘Explosive powder is generally used for what?’

  ‘Cannon. Gonnes.’

  ‘For … gonnes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Crispin moved toward a shop wall and leaned against it. He felt as if he were running in circles, getting nowhere. He scrubbed his face with callused palms and rested his head back against the plaster. Gray and overcast, the sun made no shadows along the street edges.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Rykener, resting beside him. ‘I know of a man who is a gonner. He and I … well.’

  Crispin kept his eyes fixed on the sky.

  ‘He will help me if I ask him. Shall we go … but no. I should go alone. I do not think he would like my bringing someone along.’

  Crispin pushed away from the wall. A break at last! ‘I need to know where one might easily obtain the powder. Can it be bought? And where?’

  He nodded. ‘How shall I find you? Your lodgings on the Shambles?’

  ‘Yes. I pray to God I shall be safely delivered there soon.’

  ‘Be careful, Crispin. For Jack’s sake.’

  ‘I will try.’

  Rykener made his way down the rutted road toward London, his skirts disappearing amongst the crowd. He glanced worriedly over his shoulder toward Crispin.

  Thoughts of his lodgings sounded good to him, until Crispin thought of how empty they would be without Jack. That boy had truly gotten under his skin. He supposed he was more than an apprentice when it got down to it. He considered Jack something like family. And why not? He was not a lord to bequeath his worldly goods to heirs. He had no heirs and no goods. Save for his sword now, and his family ring. And a certain thorn from a religious relic. Perhaps even more valuable than sword and ring combined, but knowing Jack, he would never part with any of it. No, he could give the boy little else for his years of service … except his life. Yes, now was the time to use all his wiles and find that wretched Stone. ‘I wish I’d never heard of the Stone of Destiny,’ he muttered, stepping out into the street.

  He had to clutch at hope. He had to believe that the Stone was still within reach. Still in Westminster or London. And if it was, he would find it. And rub the finding of it in King Richard’s face.

  EIGHT

  Jack opened his d
oor, still surprised that it remained unlocked. He’d spent the better part of the day simply staring out the window into the walled garden and listening to the sounds of the Thames as it rushed by, with its many boats and fishermen shouting to one another across the churning water, casting up the earthy smells of moss and fish.

  But after some hours at a leisure he was ill used to, he jumped up from his post and squinted into the next room. He had to be put to something useful. This idleness seemed only to add to his frustration.

  ‘Oi!’ he called out softly. ‘Is anyone there?’ Perhaps a servant was about. He could ask them and perhaps be put to work, sweeping or setting the fires. For there were rooms yet to explore in the warren of apartments that connected Lady Katherine’s with Lancaster’s.

  Jack turned his head around the door and spied a young servant looking back at him with horror. Jack looked down at himself to check for … well, he wasn’t sure. Something horrible, but could identify nothing that would make the boy look at him like that. The lad wore a coat with the arms of someone on his breast. Jack surmised it might be the Swynford arms.

  ‘Er … boy. Can you—?’

  The servant yelped and darted away through one of the antechamber doors.

  Jack leaned back against the archway. ‘God’s blood,’ he murmured, using Master Crispin’s favorite oath without thinking. ‘He’s a skittish one, isn’t he?’ Listening, he couldn’t detect anyone else about, and so he made his own way to the hearth and urged the flames with a poker sitting beside it.

  Looking around, he could find little in the way of dust or untidiness. He supposed Lady Katherine’s servants were competent enough. In a corner of his heart, he wished that perhaps they weren’t so tidy. There was little for him to do.

  A door opened and he jumped back. Was he supposed to leave his little ‘squire’s room’? He wasn’t sure.

  Lady Katherine swept in, looking much the same as when she’d left him hours before. The coif on her head fell around her face in gentle folds, and though a mature woman, she was still quite lovely in his estimation, with a small mouth, wide, thoughtful eyes, and gently arching brows. Her brown hair, slightly wavy, was pinned up under her coif but still showed at the nape of her exposed neck, in the French fashion.

  ‘Master Tucker.’ She gave a little bow and, belatedly, he scrambled to bow back. ‘I’m afraid you startled one of my servants. He wasn’t made aware that you would be our guest.’ Her eyes held amusement.

  ‘Begging your pardon, my lady, I didn’t know no one was about. And I also didn’t know … if I was allowed to leave the room. The d-door … it wasn’t barred.’

  ‘I have no intention of locking you in, Master Tucker. I promised to keep you here but not to shackle you.’

  ‘And for that I thank you again, my lady.’ Rolling on his heels, he pressed his hands behind his back. ‘Might there be something I can do, my lady? I was not brought up to be idle.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Boredom brings you forth.’

  ‘Aye. My master taught me never to be idle. Our characters are a result of our conduct. So says Aristotle.’

  She laughed, pressing her fingers to her lips. ‘I had forgotten how Crispin was so enamored of the philosophers. I see he has passed on this liking to you.’

  ‘Oh, Aristotle is wise, my lady! Did you know he has a saying for all of man’s foibles?’ Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t wonder why my master holds such store in him. And Aristotle being dead all them centuries, too.’

  ‘It is a wonder,’ she agreed.

  ‘But er …’ Jack looked around the sunny room. ‘There doesn’t appear to be anything for me to put myself to, my lady. I would happily clean, but your rooms are well kept. I commend you on your servants’ competence.’ He didn’t mean to sneer, but he felt his face configure that way.

  Her lips twitched into a smile, and she seemed to try to hide it behind her veil. ‘I’m sure they will be happy to hear that. I don’t suppose you play chess, Master Tucker.’

  He brightened. ‘Oh, but I do! My master has taught me.’

  ‘What an efficient master. Crispin is training you up as a proper squire, I see.’ She moved to a sideboard and opened one of the cabinet’s doors, removing an ornate box and setting it on a table between two chairs.

  ‘I can’t be no squire as my master is no knight.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Ah, look at me. Parroting his words back. He is always saying that. But Master Crispin will always be a knight in my eyes, even though I never knew him as such.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lady Katherine agreed softly. Opening the box, she began taking out the finely carved chess pieces and rolled out the checkered leather board onto the small round table.

  Jack sat opposite her and waited for her to finish setting up the board. She took white and he waited again for her to make the first move. They played silently, with Katherine making soft compliments on his moves from time to time. It never occurred to him to try to lose.

  In the end, he managed to win, and when he lifted his beaming face he found a smile on her face as well. ‘You are very good, Master Tucker. I commend you and your master on his tutelage. I never could quite get Henry to play fair or to enjoy the game.’

  Henry? He realized she must have meant Henry of Bolingbroke, Lancaster’s son.

  ‘Master Crispin is very patient. He is always correcting me in my play, my swordsmanship, the way I speak.’ When he looked up again, her eyes seemed saddened.

  ‘These past twelve years,’ she said softly, ‘they must have been very hard.’

  ‘Aye, my lady. I don’t think there’s a day that’s gone by when my master hasn’t felt the sting of it. I try to ease his burden, but … well. I can little understand myself the extent of what he has lost.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt that your presence in his life has comforted his troubled soul.’

  ‘I only pray that that is true, my lady.’

  She sat quietly, examining the board, or so he thought. When he measured her gaze, it was unfocused, looking past the knights, queens, and kings. ‘If only we could help him.’

  Jack realized she might be speaking more broadly, but his mind was focused on the trouble at hand. He scooted to the edge of his chair. ‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that. If the Stone is very important to the Scots, so it must be Scots what took it. And took it in a spectacular manner, the most of which was designed to embarrass the king.’

  She slowly nodded. ‘Yes. I should think that was certainly part of it.’

  ‘And so. If that is true, then this whole thing is a Scottish plot. What might have set them off at this time? My master and I get so little news from court.’

  She leaned in, talking quietly, always with an eye glancing toward the closed doors. ‘I don’t suppose it is any secret that King Richard hasn’t enjoyed the last two years under the guidance of his lords. Those led by Gloucester and Henry.’

  Jack nodded. Master Crispin had said as much. They were sent to London to set the king aright about his favorites and how the royal coffers were spent. In fact, it had kept all of London on tenterhooks, wondering if any of the five lords – the duke of Gloucester, the earls of Arundel and Warwick, Lord Derby, and the duke of Nottingham – would try to seize the throne for themselves. Richard had holed himself up in the Tower when they marched into London last year, with Henry Derby in the lead. Master Crispin had been nothing but tense the entire time. Indeed, all of London was so until it had all settled and Richard had come out of his tower, still the king but with less power than before. But even now, with the earl of Nottingham and Henry still breathing down Richard’s neck, there was still no easy rest for the king. He had said as much himself before he had snatched Jack by the point of a blade.

  It was rumored that Henry was more disposed toward his cousin the king, whether because of guilt at treating one anointed by God so, or because he feared to act this way toward his kin, but the tongues of London also claimed that Henry wasn’t warming to Richard. Jack thought rather that Henry remem
bered their childhood friendship and wanted something of that back. But whenever Jack brought it up, Master Crispin would only grunt his reply. Jack could only shrug. Master Crispin surely knew more about court politics than he did.

  Katherine spoke again. ‘And Richard has not warmed to their guidance. Any excuse to embarrass him puts Richard at a disadvantage.’

  ‘But to steal the Stone? Even that seems risky.’

  ‘Just so. Then that leaves the escapade in the hands of the Scots.’

  ‘Why would they strike at this time?’

  She placed one hand near the one that rested on the edge of the chessboard-table. ‘There has been rebellion in the north. As I understand it, the Scots did not renew a truce with us, a clear signal that they wished to wage war, or so I have been told. And there have been many battles, many skirmishes. We have lost several of them. The latest was only last month, in Otterburn, in Northumberland.’

  ‘That must have hurt the king dearly.’

  ‘It was a blow to all who stand with the king and England.’

  ‘Who are the players, my lady, so that I might understand it?’

  ‘Did not Crispin explain it?’

  ‘He, er, might have. But sometimes, when he speaks of such things, it is only the sound of the wind to me.’ Jack reddened. ‘I will try to fathom it this time, I give my oath.’

  Katherine smiled. ‘I do believe you, Master Tucker. Well, then. As I understand it, Sir Henry Percy, the earl of Northumberland’s son, had just taken over the defense of the border.’ She placed a white knight on a black square ‘But there is a reason they call him “Hotspur,”’ she said with a shake to her head. ‘He engaged with Sir James Douglas of the Douglas clan—’ She slid the black knight to another black square, facing the first knight – ‘against the advisement of others. He and his army were routed. Over fifteen hundred English lives were lost and captured to their Scottish five hundred. It was foolish and wasteful … and it embarrassed the king.’ She tipped the white knight, and he toppled several pawns.

  ‘Ah! Then perhaps this Sir James—’

  ‘No. He was killed at the battle.’