The queen's man : a medieval mystery (23 page)

Sharon Kay Penman

contents. If they protect you half as well from Gilbert the Fleming as they did from me, you've nothing to worry about!"

Justin was looking around the cottage in vain for food or drink to offer Luke; they'd have to go over to the alehouse and coax Nell into cooking a meal. But that would have to wait, for he'd been doing some rapid mental math. "Today is the fourteenth, only ten days since I sent that letter. You must have ridden for London as soon as you got it. Why?"

Luke's smile was triumphant, and a trifle smug. "Whilst you were playing cat-and-mouse with the Fleming, I was having better luck. Remember Gilbert's unknown partner? Well, he is unknown no longer. We're looking for a lout named Sampson, one of Winchester's least-loved sons. I daresay the entire town heaved a great sigh of relief when he fled with Gilbert. Unfortunately, we never lack for felons, but at least Sampson is London's worry now—and ours."

"Good work, Luke. But are you sure this is the man? I doubt that I could identify him."

"From what you told me about him, he is young and strong and stupid, no? Well, Sampson has an ox's strength and an ox's brains, powerful enough to hold onto a terrified stallion and dumb enough to call out Gilbert's name. Moreover, he is known to have worked with Gilbert in the past, and he disappeared from Winchester at the same time as Gilbert did. I have no doubts that he is our man. Do you think he could also have been in on your London ambush? The hellcat told me—very grudgingly—about that attack on you in the smithy last week. I assume one was our friend the Fleming. Was Sampson the other?"

"No, I think not. The man in the smithy was nowhere near as tall and strapping as this Sampson. Also, he had a London accent, and you say Sampson is a Winchester lad. But you are right about Gilbert. He did indeed come calling, knife in hand."

"That is the third time you've encountered the Fleming in one of his killing moods and lived to tell about it. Your guardian angel must be putting in very long hours these days." Scorning the sole rickety chair, Luke seated himself cross-legged on the

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foot of the bed. "Do you think that means Gilbert ^nd Sampson have parted company?"

"Well . . . you say Sampson is none too clever. But we know Gilbert is, for certes. He might well have decided Sampson was too risky a partner and cut him loose. Gilbert knows London, would have no need for Sampson here. He swims in these waters with ease, one more shark amongst the rest. I'd wager they went their separate ways once they reached the city."

"That makes sense," Luke agreed. "Of course Sampson could be dead, then. People around Gilbert do seem to die at an alarming rate."

"Possibly. But you say Sampson is big and mean spirited and knows Gilbert's ready way with a knife. He'd not be that easy to kill. It might have been simpler for Gilbert just to let him go off on his own."

Luke nodded thoughtfully. "What sort of help are you getting from the sheriff?"

"He agreed to let one of his Serjeants assist me, a man named Jonas. Are you familiar with him?"

"I'm not sure. I met several of the sheriffs men on past visits to London. He might be one of them, I suppose."

"Believe me, Jonas is not a man to be forgotten. If you'd met, you'd remember. In his own way, he is as formidable as the Fleming. So you and he will probably take to each other like long-lost brothers," Justin added wryly. But almost at once, his smile faded. "Luke, there is another death to be charged to Gilbert's account. A wretched little thief and cutpurse named Pepper Clem. No one grieves that he is gone. But his murder ought not to be forgotten. Even the least of us deserves justice."

After experiencing Jonas's indifference, Justin half expected Luke either to shrug or scoff. But the deputy merely nodded again. "I seem to remember Scriptures saying something about birds: that not even a sparrow falls to earth without the Almighty's knowing. If that holds true for sparrows, it must hold true, too, for 'a wretched little thief and cutpurse.' "

Justin studied the other man for signs of mockery, did not

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find them. "You could have sent me a letter about Sampson. You did not need to come on your own. Why did you, Luke?"

"I could say I fancied a trip to London. Or that I knew you'd get yourself into trouble on your own. Or that IVe always been one for being there at the end of a hunt. Why do my reasons matter?"

"They do not," Justin said, but it was a lie. Luke's reasons mattered very much, indeed, to him. There could be a less innocent explanation for the deputy's sudden appearance here. John had passed through Winchester on his way to the port of Southampton. Had he sent Luke back to London to be his eyes? As little as Justin wanted to believe that, he could not dismiss the suspicion out of hand. He dared not. He'd made some mistakes so far, but the greatest mistake of all would be to underrate John.

Smithfield was a large open area just northwest of the city walls, a popular gathering place for Londoners. Weekly horse fairs were held there, and, weather permitting, rowdy games of camp-ball, archery, wrestling matches, and mock jousts.

Luke had visited the horse fair during a previous stay in London, and it was his idea that they go out to Smithfield, question the dealers to see if one of them had been offered a pale roan stallion of high calibre in the past month. Justin was skeptical, but Luke insisted. It was a longshot, he admitted, for even if they could find a buyer who remembered Gervase Fitz Randolph's stolen palfrey, the chances were slim that it would lead them to Gilbert the Fleming. But they had to follow up every lead, he argued, and if they did not go this afternoon, they'd have to wait a full week for the next horse fair. Since Justin could not refute the logic of that, Luke prevailed.

Upon their arrival at Smithfield, however, they discovered that Luke's memory was flawed; the horse fairs were held on Fridays, not Mondays. The fields were empty except for a few reckless youths who'd shown up to joust despite the weather and a handful of hardy spectators, for it was not a day to be outdoors by choice. The temperature had risen during the night, turning Sunday's snowfall into a muddy slush, and the wind

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was unrelenting, with an edge, Luke grumbled, that not even the Fleming's blade could equal.

Luke was taking the setback with poor grace. "This was madness, de Quincy. Even it the horse fair had been held today, that blasted stallion was likely sold oft weeks ago."

Justin grabbed the other man's arm, stopped him in time from stepping into a pile of freshly deposited manure. "Need I remind you that this was your idea, Luke?"

"So? Why did you not talk me out of it? Devil take the horse and the weather and Gilbert, too. If we do not get inside soon, I'm in danger of freezing body parts I can ill afford to lose!"

Turning on his heel then, Luke started back to retrieve their horses. "I cannot believe I dragged us out here on such a fool's errand. But I w T as bone-w T eary of going from one tavern to the next all morning, hoping against hope that Sampson would be drinking himself sodden wdthin. If we have to depend upon happenchance to find the man, we may be wandering about London's seedier neighborhoods for years. Yet what other choice do we have? It's not as if that friend of yours was much help!"

"I'd not call Jonas a friend. But he did have a point. He does not know r Sampson from Adam, would not recognize him if he fell over the man. You're the one who knows him on sight, not us. And Jonas might have been more cooperative had you not been so high handed with hirn." Justin was cold and irritable, too, and the look he gave the deputy was not friendly. "You cannot ahvays demand, Luke. Sometimes it is wiser to ask."

"What is that, the gospel according to Justin de Quincy?" But after a few moments of mutually annoyed silence, Luke thawed first. "Bear with me; I am out of sorts today. I've come so close to catching Gilbert in the past. Yet each time he has somehow managed to elude me. I am not willing to let that happen again, by Corpus, I am not."

"We'll find him," Justin said, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt, for he'd begun to wonder if the Fleming's ungodly luck would ever run out.

"We'd better . . . and soon, ere I start to ask myself what I'm

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doing here, sleeping on your floor instead of snug in Aldith's bed. And speaking of beds, think you that we can borrow some extra blankets from the hellcat? That pallet was harder than a landlord's heart/'

They soon reached the hitching post where they'd tethered Copper and Luke's temperamental sorrel. "I cannot believe I got the day wrong," Luke said glumly. "Now we'll have to come back at week's end. They hold races there, too, on Fridays, and that might lure Sampson out, for he has a fondness for gambling. I hear tell he is not very good at it, but he is always keen for making a wager."

That sounded like a promising lead to Justin. "We need not wait for the Friday races then. If we can find out from Jonas where the high-stakes dicing games are played, we could keep watch for Sampson."

Luke at once swung up into the saddle. "I ought to have thought of this sooner. Most men have a weakness of some sort, be it for drink or whores or high living."

Justin mounted, too. "A pity the Fleming only lusts after dead bodies and not whores. I'd much rather track him through bawdy-houses than cemeteries."

"Christ on the Cross!" Luke reined in his stallion so hastily that the horse reared up. "How could I have forgotten about the woman?"

Justin's hopes kindled. "Which woman?"

By the time Luke had gotten his horse under control again, he had reined in his excitement, as well. "I do not want to make more of this than I ought," he said cautiously. "It is only a comment Kenrick made last summer, when we were hunting the Fleming for the murders of that merchant and his wife. He told me he was sure Gilbert had gone back to London, back to his Trish whore.' He said his cousin had been boasting about how hot she was in bed. When I wrote to the London sheriffs about Gilbert, I passed on what Kenrick had said, but he could not remember the woman's name, so they must not have thought it worth pursuing."

"Why do you think Kenrick called her that? Because he had

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contempt for any woman who'd take up with the likes of Gilbert? Or could she really be a whore?"

Luke did not answer immediately, considering. "I know of at least one whore he was bedding back in Winchester. Rumor had it that she'd send him word when she got a customer worth robbing."

"Well, that gives us a place to start—the Southwark stews. Let's go find Jonas again."

"A hunt for an unnamed whore who may or may not know the Fleming?" Luke was grinning. "Who could resist a mad quest like that?"

Jonas was not very enthusiastic about their conjecture. Justin doubted, though, if the serjeant was ever enthusiastic about much of anything. But he did agree to try to find out if there was a whore in the Southwark stews who happened to be Irish. Justin and Luke spent the rest of the day checking out alehouses and taverns that were known to be frequented by gamblers, to no avail. There was no sign of Sampson.

It was evening when they got back. As soon as they entered the alehouse, Justin was hailed from several corners of the common room, and he paused to exchange greetings with Odo the barber, young Ellis, and Roland the wainwright, who'd been the first to join in Gunter's hue and cry against the Fleming. By then, Luke had already claimed a table for them and ordered a flagon of ale. "You seem to be settling right in."

"I suppose I am," Justin agreed, realizing in surprise how comfortable he did feel here on Gracechurch Street. "They are right curious about you, of course, wanting to know if it is true that you are a sheriff of some sort. I said you were, but not to hold it against you."

Luke shoved the flagon across the table. "Help yourself, for you're paying for it. I told the hellcat to put it on your account."

Justin poured himself a drink. "When we talked earlier about the Fitz Randolphs, you said they were faring poorly, stalked by rumors and gossip. You would not have spread those rumors, by any chance?"

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"Sometimes it helps to sow some suspicion about. But in this case, the rumors were already springing up. Their neighbors are looking askance at the family, and there is a lot of talk in the alehouses, much of it unkind. Have you ever noticed how eager people are to believe the worst? But because of all the gossip and speculation, the abbot of Hyde Abbey has told Thomas Fitz Randolph that it would be for the best if he did not seek admission to their order just yet. I believe he used such soothing phrases as 'in God's good time 7 and 'once the dust has begun to settle.' But we both know—and so does Thomas—that he really meant, 'Come back once we're sure you're not a murderer.' "

"I daresay Thomas took that with his usual grace and goodwill."

Luke grimaced. "He accosted me at high noon in the Cheap-side, accusing me of ruining his life and putting his immortal soul at peril. I lost my temper, too, and threatened to shove him into a horse trough if he did not go home. If he ever does end up as a Benedictine brother, God help his brethren!"

"What of the others? No wedding plans announced yet for Jonet and Miles?"

"I think they are still seeking to win the mother over. They'd have to wait anyway, for the same reason that Aldith and I do, since no marriages can be performed during Lent. But when I stopped by the Fitz Randolph house ere I left for London, Miles was there, breaking bread with the rest of the family, so I expect that he and Jonet will have their way in the end. Assuming, of course, that they are not implicated in her father's murder. I doubt that they are guilty, though. I'd put my money on our lovable little monk if I had to choose between them."

"At least we were able to eliminate Guy as a suspect. But it sounds as if the goldsmithy will be in for some rough times. Gervase was the wind behind those sails. And if we cannot solve the murder, it might well go under." Until now, Justin had thought only of providing answers for Eleanor. But Ella needed them, too, mayhap even more than the queen did. Suspicions could blot out the sun for all the Fitz Randolphs, the guilty and innocent alike.