The queen's man : a medieval mystery (25 page)

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"I want to hear what they're saying. If you're there, they'll talk English." Gunter was starting to shake his head, for he did not want to get involved in one of Nell's schemes. He liked her well enough, but he did not fully approve of her; he was somewhat alarmed by her headstrong ways and quick temper. But then she entreated softly, "For me, Gunter? Please?" And he found himself crossing the chamber, as if propelled by the sheer force of her will. As she'd predicted, he was welcomed warmly by Justin and Luke, succinctly by Jonas, and was soon pulling up a stool to join them, feeling uncomfortably like a spy in their midst.

They were quite willing to share their disappointment with him, for his pitchfork attack upon Gilbert the Fleming had earned him the right to participate in their hunt, if only vicariously. They'd had no luck whatsoever, they informed him glumly. For six days now, they'd kept Nora under watch. They'd rented a room across the street from the house Nora shared with three other prostitutes, and took turns keeping her lodgings under surveillance. They'd put the Bull under close watch, too, and whenever she ventured out, she was trailed at a discreet distance. All to no avail.

Justin was not as downcast as his companions, for he'd managed to find some free time to spend with Claudine. He'd escorted her to the leper hospital of St Giles, where she'd distributed alms at the queen's behest, and later in the week he'd taken her skating at Moorfields; both times, they'd ended up in bed back at Gunter's cottage.

But neither Luke nor Jonas had a Claudine to make the waiting bearable, even pleasurable. As the days dragged by without results, Luke was becoming as edgy and ill tempered as a wet

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cat. Nor was Jonas in the best of moods, either. He listened morosely as Luke complained about the futility of their efforts and did not argue with the deputy's pessimistic conclusion: that Nora was poor bait to catch a killer.

'The truth is," Luke said grimly, "the Fleming is not a man to lose his head over any woman. However much he enjoys rutting with this whore, he is not about to put himself at risk for her."

Jonas grunted a sour assent, and Justin shrugged. "What will you do now?" Gunter asked, trying to ignore Nell, who was industriously sweeping the floor rushes near their table.

"That is what we've been arguing about," Justin admitted. "I think we ought to give it more time. But Luke says we've squandered nigh on a week as it is, a week he can ill afford to lose. He thinks we have to take more drastic measures."

Luke nodded vigorously. "I'm getting bone-weary of sleeping on the floor of your cottage, Gunter. And it's becoming obvious to me that we can watch this woman from now till the spring thaw with no results. So Jonas is going to arrest her, see if we cannot get her to reveal the Fleming's whereabouts—"

"No! You cannot do that!"

The men were staring at Nell as if she'd lost her senses, but she didn't let that daunt her. "You must not do this," she insisted. "Once you arrest her, you lose any chance of catching Gilbert off guard. And if you cannot get her to talk, what then? You cannot even be sure she has anything to tell you!"

Luke was frowning. "I do not mean to be rude, Nell, but this is none of your concern."

"Be thankful that I'm here to keep you from making a great mistake. What do you know about this woman? Whores are not supposed to take lovers, can be fined and even put in gaol for a few weeks. So why is she sharing her bed with Gilbert? Is she too scared to tell him nay? From what I've heard about the man, that is not far fetched. Or she might like having such a dangerous lover. Some women do. Or she might want the protection of being known as the Fleming's woman. Or she could be his accomplice as well as his bedmate, for whores often hear useful information. Who's to say she's not passing it on to him? She

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could even fancy herself in love with Kim. As unlikely as thai

sounds, the world is full oi fools. Could she be one of them? You do not know, do you? You cannot answer any of those questions. And until you can, arresting her would be lunacy!"

"What you say makes some sense," Luke conceded. "I'll not deny that. But how are we supposed to find out those answers? Hide under her bed? None of us can approach her, for we're all known on sight to Gilbert. So who could we send . . . Aldred? A lamb to the slaughter, for certes!"

Glancing toward Justin, Nell saw that he'd guessed where she was going with this conversation, and she said hastily, before he could object, "I doubt that any man alive would have much luck w r ith Nora. She'll take men into her bed, not into her confidence. Most w r hores do not trust men, as plain and simple as that. To get the answers you need, it'll take a woman."

Luke leaned back in his seat, the hint of a smile hovering in the corners of his mouth. "Do you have any particular woman in mind, Nell?"

"Well ... I thought Justin could ask the queen if she had a free afternoon. Who do you think I meant? Me, of course!"

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Justin. But you need not fret on my behalf. I'll not be matching

wits with the Fleming, or even crossing paths with him. It is his whore 1 seek to cozen, and I fully expect all of you to he close at hand."

"You can rely upon that, lass/' Luke said, so heartily that Justin realized he'd embraced Nell's idea as his own. As for Jonas, Justin never doubted that he'd be one for staking out a lamb to catch a wolf. Finding himself outnumbered and outvoted, Justin could only say grimly, "I like it not," while vowing silently not to let Nell out of his sight, come what may.

Gunter was no less dismayed than Justin, troubled enough to forsake his usual reticence. "I have no say in this. But I must voice my misgivings, nonetheless. Nell, I urge you to think again. This Fleming is an evil, godless man, who kills for the sport of it. Why ever would you take such a risk?"'

"For the money, of course." Nell smiled patiently at Gunter. "They pay informants, after all. They even offer rewards for the capture of some felons. Is that not so?" she demanded of Jonas and Luke, her eyes narrowing until they both nodded. "So you see, Gunter, it will be a profitable partnership for us all. They get what they want—to see Gilbert the Fleming hanged—and I get the money I need for my Lucy. Can there be a more worthy aim than that?"

Gunter shook his head somberly. "Any good mother wants what is best for her child. But what if this plan goes awry? What if you find yourself facing down the Fleming? What would happen to Lucy then?"

Despite her iron-edged resolve, Nell was chilled by his words. What if evil did befall her? An orphan's lot was not an easy one. Could her cousin be relied upon to do right by Lucy? For a moment or so, Nell wavered, and then turned a deliberately deaf ear to these insidious eleventh-hour qualms.

"I'll not deny there is some risk. But risk is as much a part of life as the air we breathe. I could step on a rusty nail this very night, have it fester, and be dead ere the week was out. I trust these men to see to my safety. Is that trust misplaced?" she challenged, and got the response she expected, immediate assur-

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ances from Justin and Luke and even Jonas that her faith in them was utterly justified.

Luke then went on to promise recklessly that she'd be in no danger whatsoever. But neither Justin nor Jonas echoed his avowal, for the former could not shake off a sense of foreboding and the latter knew that even the most heartfelt of promises could be reduced to tatters by the slashings of a sharp knife.

During those hours when Masses were not being said, St Paul's Cathedral was used for more secular activities. Known as Paul's Walk, the nave was a favorite gathering place for citizens in search of bargains, gossip, and respite from the bitter winter weather. Although it was frowned upon by Church officials, who made sporadic attempts to discourage people from displaying their wares for sale and trade, on this bleak Tuesday morn in late February, the cathedral was crowded with peddlers and their customers. By the "serving man's pillar," bored youths were loitering in hopes of finding employment. Nearby, lawyers conferred with prospective clients, while boisterous youngsters played tag in the aisles, trailed by the vexed curses of their irritated elders.

Justin's gaze kept straying toward the west end of the nave, where scribes sat at small wooden tables, hiring out their quill pens as soldiers did their swords. Had he not blundered into that killing on the Alresford Road, he could have been at one of those tables, too, laboring to earn his bread by writing letters and wills.

"I feel I've got blinders on," Luke complained, but he kept his hood prudently in place, shadowing his face. Glancing at Justin's equally shrouded profile, he gibed, "I hate to say this, de Quincy, but you look like you escaped from a lazar house."

Justin agreed with him, for the only hooded cloak he could find on such short notice was a drab, over-sized garment of rough burrell, coarse and scratchy. "You're one to talk," he retorted, "for you look like you ought to be prowling about cemeteries after midnight." Scanning the nave again, he shook his head in frustration. "Where the devil is Jonas? What if he does not get here in time?"

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"It need be, we'll set it up tor another day. But I do not think it'll go wrong. We were lucky that Aldred overheard N6ra say she'd be at St Paul's this morn. I think we'll be lucky again. You ought to—"

Luke broke off in midsentence. "I see Jonas," he announced. "Over there . . . coming in the Si Quis door." But then he swore softly. "Damnation, he's alone!"

Swathed in a dark cloak of his own, Jonas elbowed his way toward them, responding to their anxious queries with composure. "I sent word that he was to meet me at St Paul's. He'll be here."

Justin did not share his confidence. "I ought to have locked Nell in the root cellar and have done with it," he muttered, glancing gloomily across the nave toward Nell, who was bargaining zestfully with a peddler over a bolt of linen. She was not ten feet from their target, but Justin had not caught her stealing so much as a glance at Nora. He had to admit that Nell was better at this than he'd dared hope.

His eyes kept coming back to Nora, for she was not at all what he had expected. He'd envisioned a woman whose appearance brazenly proclaimed her profession, overly lush and voluptuous and heavily rouged and powdered, like a fruit ripened past its prime. Instead, she was as Aldred had described: quite pretty, with fashionable fair coloring and dimples. Justin would never have taken her for a Southwark whore. Still less could he imagine her coupling with the brutal, ice-blooded Fleming. It would be like matching a snake and a summer songbird.

Luke was looking admiringly toward Nora, too. "I never thought that the Fleming and I could fancy the same sort of woman. I was sure he'd be one for rutting in pigsties!" Turning back to Jonas, he said dubiously, "This man of yours, Jonas . . . are you sure heTl not botch it?"

"Philip the Fox is the best cutpurse I've ever seen. Nimble fingered enough to pluck any pigeon clean without leaving so much as a telltale feather, and sharp witted enough to see that his skill was like to get him hanged sooner or later. These days he rides in the Friday races out at Smithfield and wins often

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enough to be in demand. If he strays from time to time, I've yet to catch him at it. When he gets an itch, I daresay he scratches it across the river in Southwark, where the sheriff's writ does not run.

"A pity all of London's felons could not be so accommodating/' Luke said dryly, and Jonas shrugged.

"You've heard it said that a bird does not foul its own nest? Well, Philip the Fox is wise enough not to foul mine. And speaking of Philip, here he comes, just as I said. By now you both ought to know that I never promise what I cannot deliver."

For a fleeting moment, Justin felt as if he were watching an unlikely ghost flit across the nave toward them, for Philip the Fox had the same ginger coloring and slight build as the double-crossing informant, Pepper Clem. But as Philip drew closer, he saw that any resemblance was superficial at best. Philip was much younger than Clem, possibly even younger than Justin himself. Although small in stature like Clem, he had none of the little thief's slackness, nor the drooping, flaccid posture of one accustomed to defeat. Philip was lean and fit, as alert and agile as the woodland creature whose name he bore. His tumbled thatch of reddish hair resembled a fox's plumed tail, and his eyes—a light golden brown, slanted at the corners—were oddly compelling, intent and unwavering. If the hapless, slow-witted Clem had been nature's prey, this wiry, watchful youth was unmistakably a predator.

Justin was impressed when Philip made none of the uneasy protestations of innocence that a summons from Jonas would be likely to unleash, confining himself to a wary "You wanted to see me?"

Jonas jerked his head and Philip followed them toward the greater privacy of the closest bay. "This is Luke de Marston, the under-sheriff of Hampshire." Glancing toward Justin, Jonas added, with the trace of a smile, "And Justin de Quincy, who answers only to the queen and God. I want you both to meet Philip of Aldgate, also known as Philip the Fox, London's best cutpurse."

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"Not anymore/ 1 Philip demurred calmly. "I'm a law-abiding citizen these days."

"As glad as 1 am to hear that, it would still be a pity to let \ our skills rust from lack of use. So I suggest you ply them on behalf of the Crown. You see that woman yonder, the one in the blue mantle? I want you to steal her money purse."

Justin suspected that Philip wasn't easily startled, but Jonas had managed it. Those golden eyes opened wide. "You are jesting . . . right?"

"Am I noted for my humor? When she moves, you can see the money pouch swinging from her belt. After you filch it, I want you to give it to that young woman over there."

Philip's gaze swept from face to face. Satisfying himself that they were in earnest, he was quiet for several moments. "It is very kind of you to want to include me in this interesting enterprise of yours. But I think I'd rather not join in the fun."