Cruel as the Grave

  tightened and his voice sharpened. "Answer me! Have you?"

  "No!" Justin jerked free, so violently that they both stumbled.

  Aubrey remembered, too late, that they were in a public place. Lowering his voice, he said tautly, "You are sure?"

  Justin's eyes glittered. "I've confided in only one person... the queen."

  Aubrey's vaunted control shattered and for a moment, his emotions showed nakedly on his face: horror warring with hope that this was a cruel joke. Rallying, he said scornfully, "You expect me to believe that you've become the Queen of England's confidant?"

  "Ask her," Justin said, "if you dare." When he saw Aubrey's color drain away, leaving him white and shaken, he knew that his father realized he was speaking the truth, however unlikely. But rarely had a victory left such a bitter taste.

  14

  LONDON

  May 1193

  Nell was staring down at the candle wax drippings that spattered the surface of the alehouse table. Her shoulders had slumped, her chin tucked into her chest so that her face was only partially visible to Justin. "This is so sad," she said, in a muffled, melancholy voice that sounded as if she were swallowing tears. "I am beginning to think I've done you a wrong, Justin. If not for my prodding, you'd never have become involved in Melangell's killing. I ought to have known better. For nothing in this life is ever easy or pain free, nothing."

  "You're right about that," Justin agreed wearily. "This is bound to end badly, Nell. The only question is how badly."

  "That poor little baby," she said softly, "with no one to pray for its soul... Do you mean to tell Godwin and Cati?"

  "No... why give them another loss to grieve?"

  "Will Jonas now look upon Godwin as a suspect? There are men who'd have blamed the girl for shaming their family. If Godwin found out about her pregnancy and confronted Melangell in a rage...?"

  "I do not believe it happened that way, Nell. The Welsh do not judge the child to be guilty of the sins of the parents. To be bastard-born in Wales is not the burden it is throughout the rest of Christendom. Whilst Godwin has no Welsh blood, he wed a Welshwoman, lived for years in the Marches. Clearly he shares some of the views of his wife's people."

  Nell would normally have wanted to know more about these heretical beliefs of the Welsh, but she hadn't the heart for it now. "So what will you do?" she asked, and Justin pushed away from the table, got reluctantly to his feet.

  "There is but one solid piece of evidence linking Daniel to Melangell's killing... her pilgrim cross. St Davydd did not protect Melangell in her time of need. We can only hope that he does better for Daniel."

  ~~

  Thames Street was crowded with Danish sailors eager to sample London's more sinful pleasures. Godwin's hoarse boasts about the fine quality of his goods earned him blank looks or jests in a language he did not understand. Jostled and ignored by the rowdy seamen flowing like a foreign river around his cart, he succeeded only in attracting the hostile attention of a tailor, who strode from his shop to demand that he sell his "rags" elsewhere. Godwin did not argue. He'd rigged up a rope harness between the shafts and by throwing his weight against it, he succeeded in getting the cart moving again.

  Watching from across the street, Justin let the peddler pass by and then caught the eye of the leggy little girl trailing after the cart. Cati's long black hair was tangled, in need of her dead sister's brush, and her skirt was clumsily mended, with uneven stitches and the wrong color thread. It occurred to Justin that Godwin urgently needed a wife for himself, a mother for his daughter. But how could he hope to feed three on the meagre income he was now eking out?

  Falling into step beside Cati, Justin said, "I need your help, lass."

  "You want to buy something?" she asked, with a disingenuousness that might have been amusing under other circumstances.

  "Daniel did not kill your sister, Cati. If I am to save him from the gallows, I need to know how that St Davydd's cross got into his coffer. I think you can tell me."

  She gave him a sideways glance, a half shrug. She'd slowed her pace, so that the cart was now some yards ahead of them. "I do not want my papa to know," she said at last. "You promise?"

  When Justin nodded, she shook her head. "Swear it," she insisted, "and then spit!" Only after he'd complied with her ritual did some of the tension ease in those narrow little shoulders.

  "Melangell and I were taking our bath in Clara's kitchen," she said, speaking so softly that Justin had to strain to catch her words. "I noticed that she no longer had the cross around her neck. I thought she'd lost it and berated her for being so careless, for I knew Papa would be sorely distraught. She was

  vexed at first. But she finally told me the truth, after making me promise that I'd not tell Papa."

  "She gave it to her lover," Justin said, and Cati nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "She gave it to Geoffrey."

  ~~

  Justin spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to find Jonas. The gaol by the River Fleet, Newgate Gaol, the Guildhall, the Jewry, and finally the Tower. Each time he was too late; Jonas had been there and gone.

  The upper storey of the Tower keep was overflowing with the highborn. The Bishop of Salisbury, Hubert Walter, was the center of attention, and to judge by the deference being shown him, his election to the archbishopric of Canterbury was seen as a foregone conclusion. For Justin, there was greater danger in this conclave of bishops than in the meanest Southwark streets, but he had no choice. Hoping that he'd not run straightaway into his father, he edged into the crowded hall.

  Claudine intercepted him almost at once. She was becomingly flushed, in a high temper, and launched into an indignant account of a quarrel she'd just had with another of the queen's ladle's. Justin listened with half an ear, his eyes sweeping the hall for that one bishop among so many. It was like looking for a single carp in a pool teeming with the fish, difficult to distinguish one from another.

  "I am glad you're here, Justin, for I have need of you." She lowered her voice. "I've heard that there is a midwife in Aldgate who offers herbs that ease this accursed morning queasiness. I cannot very well send anyone else on such an errand, can well imagine the rumors that would stir up. Afterward, let's stop by the Eastcheap market. Spending money invariably raises my spirits!"

  Justin missed that indirect admission of despondency, heard only the jest about shopping. "I cannot take you to the market today," he said brusquely, "for I've an urgent matter to attend to."

  Claudine's eyes sparked. "Jesu forfend that I trouble you with my trifling concerns," she snapped, turning to flounce away, but not so quickly that he could not catch her. Her surprise was considerable, therefore, when he did not even try. Expecting at any moment to feel his restraining hand upon her arm, she was taken aback to find he'd stalked out.

  Justin's anger carried him as far as the bailey. There his step slowed. Instead of heading for the stables to retrieve Copper, he turned and reentered the Tower keep. He found Claudine sitting in one of the window alcoves, looking so dispirited that he felt a conscience pang. Moving toward her, he saw her head come up defiantly and gave her no chance to rekindle their quarrel, saying swiftly, "I got some bad news today. Yet that is no excuse for taking out my foul mood on you, Claudine."

  "No, it is not," she said coolly, before curiosity won out over pique. "What bad news?"

  "I learned," he said, "that someone I like is a murderer."

  She stared at him and then gave an abrupt laugh. "I'll say this for you, Justin, that your troubles are never ordinary! But do not dare stop now. Tell me more about this murderer."

  He did, using no names. She listened attentively, reminding him again how different she was from John's sultry, shallow Windsor bedmate, and when he was done, she went right to the heart of the matter. "So you think the lover killed the girl to keep her from thwarting his chances with the heiress. Sad, but not so surprising. But did he then deliberately divert suspicion onto his own brother?"

  "I do not kno
w," Justin admitted. "For his brother's sake, I would hope not. But I am not finding it easy to give him the benefit of any doubt."

  She nodded somberly. "The killing was most likely an act of panic, not calculated. But if he could cold-bloodedly connive to blame his brother, that would be unforgivable. I wish you luck, Justin, for I fear you will need it."

  Justin did, too. "I'll take you wherever you want to go once this is settled," he promised, and she smiled. Her next question caught him off balance. "Justin ... do you know the Bishop of Chester?"

  He stiffened. "Why?"

  She didn't miss the evasiveness of his answer. "Well, he has been asking questions about you, discreetly done but too persistent for casual curiosity. And at the moment, he is staring at you with an odd intensity, the way a cat might watch a mousehole."

  Justin couldn't help himself. He spun around, saw his father standing by the open hearth. They looked at each other in what was the loudest silence of Justin's life, and the longest. And then he heard Claudine's indrawn breath. Even before their eyes met, Justin knew she'd guessed the truth. She'd always been too clever by half, would need no other clues than their shared surname and her knowledge of his past.

  "Justin ... is he your father?" she asked softly, not at all discouraged when he didn't reply. "I'm right, aren't I? That explains so much!"

  Justin saw no point in making denials she'd not believe. "I would be grateful if you kept this to yourself, Claudine," he said, and when she promised that she'd say nary a word to another living soul, he wondered if he could believe her.

  ~~

  Jonas blew on the dice and then flung them onto the table. Two of the dice turned up a seven, but the third one showed a four. Jonas swore and the other man chortled, then reached for the dice, threw, and gave a triumphant shout when he rolled three sixes. "I warned you I was unbeatable at raffle," he boasted as Jonas dropped a few coins into his outstretched palm. "What say you we try hasard now?"

  "Let me get another drink first," Jonas said, looking around for the serving maid. He swore again, profanely, at the sight of a too-familiar face, and warned Justin off with a growl. "I'm not on duty now, de Quincy, so tend to your own troubles till the morrow. All I want to do tonight is enjoy a good ale and play a few games of hasard."

  "I'll buy the ale," Justin said. "But your dicing will have to wait. Right now we need to plan a hunt."

  Jonas glowered at him, but allowed himself to be steered toward a corner table, despite the protests of his dicing partner. "What sort of a hunt?" he demanded. "What quarry?"

  "The kind you care most about catching," Justin said grimly. "A killer."

  ~~

  The morning had begun with a promise of premature summer warmth, but by noon the sun was getting skittish, darting behind every passing cloud, and by day's end, the sky was a leaden shade of grey. Justin and Jonas had spent several hours keeping the mercer's shop under surveillance and by now they were both chilled and tired. So far their vigil had been uneventful. Humphrey Aston had quarreled loudly with a customer, cuffed the ears of one of his hapless apprentices, and fawned over Adela when she paid a brief visit in midafternoon. Geoffrey left the shop only once, trailed inconspicuously by Jonas to the riverside cookshop and back. Eventually the last customer departed and the journeymen pulled down and locked the shutters. As Justin and Jonas watched, Humphrey, his son, and the apprentices disappeared through the gateway leading to the Astons' great hall.

  Jonas stood and stretched. "What now?"

  "Soon," Justin predicted. "Since he plans to take supper with Adela this eve, he'll go to St Paul's ere Vespers begins."

  "And if he does not?"

  "He will," Justin said, with a certainty that was justified by Geoffrey Aston's reappearance shortly thereafter. Geoffrey had changed into a dark green tunic - green, the color for lovers, Justin thought bitterly - and brushed his blond hair. Under his arm, he carried the sack from the cookshop and he'd raided his mother's garden for a small bouquet of columbine and primroses, presumably for Adela. But his dapper appearance was belied by his demeanor; there was no spring in his step and he kept his head down as he trudged toward the Cheapside, making it easy for them to follow him, unobserved.

  "I cannot believe I let myself be talked into this," Jonas grumbled. "We could have confronted him at first light and be done with it."

  "How... by beating a confession out of him? It has to be done in his brother's presence, Jonas, for it to work."

  "I do not share your faith that an appeal to his conscience will succeed. It has been my experience that killers rarely have consciences."

  "Well, I think this one does," Justin insisted and hoped he was right. Ahead of them, Geoffrey was entering St Paul's churchyard and they quickened their pace. Vespers had not yet begun and there were only a few parishioners chatting on the steps of the church. One of Jonas's men was loitering beside the cross, flirting with two girls passing by, although he straightened up and tried to look alert and vigilant as soon as he spotted his serjeant. "Come with me," Jonas said curtly, and he hurried to catch up with them as they entered the church.

  They found Daniel and Geoffrey in the nave. The younger boy was rooting in the cookshop sack. "Geoffrey brought me some marrow tarts. You can share one, if you like." Then he saw Jonas standing behind Justin, and his smile faded. "Why is he here? He cannot take me yet!"

  "I'm not here for you, lad." Jonas advanced up the nave, keeping his eye all the while upon Geoffrey. "Remember that Flemish mercer? Well, we found him in Stamford. He is on his way back to London with one of my men even as we speak, ready to reveal who bought that fragment of silk, Melangell's last gift."

  Even in the subdued lighting of the nave, Justin could see that Geoffrey had lost color. But Daniel was smiling again, tentatively, like one afraid to let himself hope. "Then ... then Melangell's true killer may soon be exposed?"

  "What do you say, Geoffrey?" Jonas's teeth flashed in what was technically a smile. "Think you that the true killer is about to be unmasked?"

  Geoffrey went even paler. "I... I hope so," he mumbled. "Daniel, I have to go."

  "Nonsense," Jonas said heartily. "Adela will wait for you." He cocked his head to the side, with another one of those terrible smiles. "Or will she? Who knows with women, eh, lad? Unpredictable creatures, the lot of them. Take Melangell now, with her tears and threats. She ought to have known better. A man is not likely to look fondly upon a woman who is set upon his ruination, is he? It could even be argued that she brought it upon herself-"

  "What are you on about?" Daniel glanced uneasily from the Serjeant to his brother. "What threats?"

  Geoffrey sucked in his breath. "I do not know. All this talk of threats and ruination... it makes no sense. Melangell knew about Adela from the first."

  Daniel opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Justin had taken advantage of Geoffrey's preoccupation with Jonas to move closer, much closer. "So you told me," he said, "that first day, out in the street. I was favorably impressed by your candor, as you hoped I'd be. Most people are not good liars. They are either too emphatic or too sly. Not you, though. Credit where due, Geoffrey, you lie well."

  "I am not lying! Melangell did know about Adela!"

  "No, she did not... not until Daniel told her, the day she died."

  "Daniel told her," Geoffrey echoed numbly. Daniel said nothing, but he didn't need to; his stricken look spoke volumes. Geoffrey's eyes darted from one to the other; Justin could see sweat now glistening at his temples. "Daniel... Daniel was wrong. Melangell did know about Adela. Mayhap not about the plight troth, but..." He let the words fall away. "I do not understand why this matters. There were no threats, no tears. I do not know what nonsense Daniel may have told Melangell, for I did not see her on that day."

  "Of course you did, lad," Jonas said calmly, almost gently. "You gave her the silk you bought that morning from the Flemish mercer."

  "No..." Geoffrey's voice had thickened. "No, I did not!"

  "Then
why," Jonas asked, "did the mercer say you did? What reason would he have to lie?" His own lie, delivered with convincing aplomb and a shrewd sense of timing, dealt a severe blow to Geoffrey's embattled defenses. He bit his lip and took a faltering backward step as Jonas continued, reasonably and remorselessly, "No, lad, you might as well face it; he'll be believed. We already have the motive and his testimony will prove you had the opportunity, too. Men have been hanged on less evidence than that."

  Geoffrey tried to laugh in disbelief, but what emerged was a strangled sound of despair. "This is madness, all of it. Why would I kill Melangell? Even if she had threatened to go to Adela, what of it? Master Serlo would not care that I'd been tumbling a peddler's wench. So common a sin would not jeopardize the marriage ... and what other reason would I have for killing her?"