The queen's man : a medieval mystery (33 page)

"Justin?" Eleanor was regarding him quizzically. "You seemed about to speak. Have you more to tell me?"

He swallowed, no longer meeting her eyes. "No, madame," he said, "nothing more ..."

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"Public hangings are always thus—like a besotted wake where none of the mourners grieve over the dead. Are you sure you want to be here, Aldith?"

"Yes," she insisted, not very convincingly. "This was a great triumph for Luke, catching a merciless cutthroat like the Fleming." Adding as a polite afterthought, "For you, too, Justin."

While Justin admired her loyalty, he still thought that the gallows was no place for her. He kept his opinion to himself, however. Nell insisted that women were much tougher than he realized, and he'd begun to suspect that she was right. Nell and Nora were capable of looking after themselves, for certes. But was Claudine? What would she have done had the queen been told of her duplicity? Would she have gone home to her family in Aquitaine, shamed and dishonored? Or would she have turned to John?

His mouth twisted, for he'd begun to feel as if his thoughts were no longer his own. Claudine seemed able to lay claim to them at will, despite his best efforts to banish her into limbo. Priests could exorcise evil spirits. A pity there was no exorcism for casting out a faithless lover. But self-mockery was no more effective than anger at vanquishing his ghosts, and it was a moment or so before he realized that Edwin was speaking to him. "Sorry, my thoughts were wandering. You asked . . . what?"

"I was curious," the groom confessed, "about the Fleming's whore. If she'd been caught, could she have been hanged, too?"

"Not likely, since the killing Nora was helping to set up never happened. But an accomplice to murder can indeed be hanged, and she might well have been involved in some of his other crimes. If so, she could have gotten a death sentence. According to Luke, a court is usually harsh in its judgment upon a woman charged with murder."

Aldith nodded in quick confirmation. "Luke says we expect men to lose their tempers and become violent. But women are supposed to be docile and biddable, and when a woman is not, she is punished for it. This is a double-edged sword, though, for he says indictment and conviction are both more likely when the victim is a woman."

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That made sense to Edwin. "That is as it ought to be," he declared, "for it is craven to harm a woman. They cannot fight back, after all." But soon he was muttering, with far less gallantry, "Quick, bow down, for here comes Queen Jonet and her court jester."

As they watched, Jonet and Miles swept through the crowd, intent upon staking out a vantage point as close to the gallows as they could get. Justin was not surprised to see them there, but he was startled at sight of the cowled figure hurrying to catch up with them. "What is Thomas doing here? I doubt that the abbot would give him permission to attend a hanging. Want to wager, Edwin, that our novice monk took off on his own without even asking?"

"Jesu, I hope not," Edwin said, with feeling. "If he gets thrown out of the abbey, heTl come back to Mistress Ella's house, and God help us all then!"

Justin thought it very unlikely that Thomas would ever be allowed to take his final vows. But he saw no reason to burden Edwin with his doubts, for the groom's pessimism was well founded.

Edwin had begun to fidget under the hostile looks aimed in their direction. "Mistress Ella told me I could come to the hanging, and Jonet was right there, heard every word. Yet now she's glowering at me like I sneaked away when Mistress Ella's back was turned."

"It is the company you're keeping, Edwin," Aldith said wryly. "Here you are, after all, consorting openly with me, Winchester's very own Whore of Babylon."

"I'm not in their good graces, either," Justin pointed out. "During the trial, they made it quite clear that they'd sooner break bread with a leper than with me."

"You've got that right," Edwin grumbled. "Even after they learned that you'd solved Master Gervase's slaying, they still blamed you for unfairly casting suspicions upon them, saintly souls that they all are."

"Now why," Justin joked, "does that not surprise me? Natu-

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rally their wounded pride would matter more than their father's murder."

A sudden stir in the crowd put a halt to their conversation. Riders had come into view. The spectators surged forward at sight of the lumbering cart. Gilbert the Fleming was standing upright, defiant even in chains. But Aldith had eyes only for Luke. "There he is!"

Luke and his men were riding alongside the cart, keeping the onlookers back. Sometimes a condemned outlaw attained celebrity stature, but too many of the Fleming's crimes had been committed against the men and women of Winchester. He was greeted with a chorus of boos, hisses, and curses, and one man let fly with a rock, poorly aimed, that thudded into the cart. Before he could throw another one, Luke's Serjeant shoved his w 7 ay toward him. Wat remonstrated with the man, but no more than that, and when Justin remarked upon his restraint, not common w 7 hen dealing with crowd control, Edwin explained that the stone-thrower was a kinsman of the merchant's wife left to die on the Southampton Road.

"I do not believe my eyes!" Aldith sounded astonished, and then indignant. "What is the sheriff doing here? None of this was his doing. How dare he claim credit for Luke's arrest?"

One glance convinced Justin that she was right. The sheriff was indeed acting as if he'd been the one to capture the Fleming: gravely acknowledging the salutations of the crowd, giving needless orders to Luke and the other men, casting bellicose looks toward the outlaw, and generally putting Justin in mind of a barnyard cock crowing over another rooster's hen.

The more Aldith watched his preening and posturing, the angrier she became. But when Luke dismounted and joined them, he seemed philosophical about being relegated to a supporting role in the play about to begin. "You know how the Fleming was caught," he told Aldith, "and so does Queen Eleanor, thanks to de Quincy. So who else matters?"

The shackled and manacled outlaw had been dragged up onto the gallows, where the hangman was waiting impatiently. The

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sheriff had followed and gestured to indicate he wanted to be the one to put the noose around Gilbert's neck. Luke seemed to guess what was coming, for he said softly, "A bad move." And moments later, he proved prophetic, for when the sheriff approached with the rope, the Fleming spat directly into his face.

There was a mixed reaction from the crowd, gasps interspersed with some tittering. Aldith hid her face in Luke's shoulder to stifle her giggles, but Luke prudently kept his own amusement private. Forgetting his dignity, the outraged sheriff responded with a vituperative tongue-lashing, cut short by the condemned man's scornful laughter. Stepping back, the sheriff signaled abruptly and the Fleming's sneer became a contorted grimace as the hangman obeyed and hoisted him up.

The spectators fell silent. A few surreptitiously made the sign of the cross over the dying man. Aldith soon buried her face again in Luke's mantle. Edwin, too, looked away. But Luke and Justin watched grimly as the outlaw fought a losing battle for breath. It seemed to take a very long time before his struggles ceased and his body went limp.

Luke was the first to break the silence. "Well, he is finally on his way to Hell."

"I doubt," Justin said flatly, "if even the Devil would want him."

Justin approached the Fitz Randolph house with reluctance. Unlike her children, the goldsmith's widow had not attended the Fleming's trial. While he cared nothing for the younger Fitz Randolphs' goodwill, he was not as indifferent to Ella's opinion. She was the only one of the bereaved family whom he'd found sympathetic, and he wanted her to think well of him. But if she did blame him as her children did, he was about to find out.

He was admitted by Edith, the serving maid, and escorted into the hall. Ella did not keep him waiting long. "Master de Quincy, this is a surprise." Ordering Edith to fetch wine, she led Justin over to the hearth. They'd barely seated themselves when the door banged and Jonet hastened into the hall.

She'd evidently been forewarned of Justin's presence, for she

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showed no surprise, only antagonism. 'I cannot believe you have the gall to come calling upon us after the way you slandered our family! You are not welcome here."

"That is not for you to say, Jonet."

"Mother! This man saw us as suspects in Papa's murder!"

"I know that, Jonet. I also know that if not for him, your father's killers would never have been brought to justice."

"That does not excuse—"

"Yes," Ella said firmly, "it does. Nurse a grudge if you will. But I'll not have you be rude to a guest in this house—my house. Is that clear?"

Justin could not help noticing that Jonet was not as pretty when she was angry. Her fair skin splotched with hot color, her eyes slitted, she glared at her mother. But she was the one who backed down, flouncing off in a huff.

Justin found this exchange very interesting. It seemed that Ella was spreading her wings, asserting her authority as the family matriarch. A more satisfying role, for certes, than that of a wronged wife or a grieving widow.

"I apologize for my daughter's bad manners. I am glad that you've come, Master de Quincy, for I've wanted to thank you again for all you did on my husband's behalf."

"I wish I could have saved him, Mistress Fitz Randolph."

"I wish you could have, too," she said quietly. "He had his flaws, as do all men. But he was good hearted and generous and he did not deserve to die by an outlaw's hand. It pains me to say this, but his death seems to have grieved no one but me. For the others, it was almost . . . convenient."

"Surely that is not so," Justin protested politely, but without much conviction, for that same thought had occurred to him, too.

"I fear that it is. If Gervase were still alive, Thomas would not be Hyde Abbey's newest novice. For certes, Jonet and Miles would not be plight-trothed. Even that wanton woman has benefited from Gervase's death if the gossip is true. Is it? Does Luke de Marston really mean to wed her?" When he nodded, she grimaced. "Men are such fools!"

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Justin felt confident that Aldith would understand if he did not try to defend her to her former lover's widow; she was too fair minded to deny that the older woman bore her a genuine grievance. "I have something for you/' he said, taking out a sealed parchment. 'The Queen's Grace asked me to deliver this to you."

"Why would the queen be writing to me?" she asked in wonderment. When he held the letter toward her, she did not take it. "Gervase insisted that Jonet be taught to read, but my father saw no such need in my girlhood. Will you read it to me?"

"Of course." Breaking the royal seal, he unrolled the parchment and shifted toward the closest light, a cresset lamp suspended from the ceiling by a braided rope.

" 'Eleanor, Queen of England, Duchess of Normandy and Aq-uitaine, Countess of Poitou, to Ella, Mistress Fitz Randolph of Winchester, greetings. I wish to offer you my condolences upon the death of your husband. From all that I've heard of him, he was a good and brave man. I hope it may comfort you to know that he died in the service of the Crown.' "

When Justin glanced up, he saw that Ella was staring at him in bewilderment. "I ... I do not understand. What does she mean?"

"You've heard that King Richard was captured by his enemies on his way home from the Holy Land?"

As he expected, Ella nodded, for Eleanor had finally made her son's plight public knowledge, after meeting with the Great Council at Oxford. "When your husband departed for London on Epiphany, he was bearing a letter for the queen, a confidential and urgent message entrusted to him by one who'd learned of the king's abduction. It is my belief that Gervase resisted his attackers so fiercely because he feared they were after the queen's letter."

"I see ..." she breathed. "Then . . . then he truly did die in the queen's service?"

Gilbert the Fleming had not believed in leaving eyewitnesses to his crimes, and Gervase Fitz Randolph would likely have died

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whether he'd offered resistance or not. But Justin saw no need to tell that to his widow. "Yes, Mistress Fitz Randolph, he did."

Reaching over, he laid the letter in her lap. She touched the parchment gently, almost reverently, her eyes brimming with tears. He'd viewed the queen's message as a gamble, one that could have done as much harm as good. But he soon saw that Eleanor had guessed correctly, for when Ella looked up, her tear-streaked face was lit by a tremulous smile.

The last time that Justin had looked upon Gervase Fitz Randolph's grave, it was covered with snow. The ground was still bare and brown, but it would not be long until Gervase slept under a blanket of lush, green grass. On this mild, sun-splashed Monday, the day after Easter, the scent of spring and renewal was in the air.

Kneeling by the grave, Aldith closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent prayer. When she rose, brushing dirt from her skirt, she said, "I wish I could have brought him flowers or a funeral lamp. But that would only have caused his widow's wounds to bleed anew. He does have my prayers, though, and will as long as I have the breath to say them."

Justin joined her beside the grave. "Requiescat in pace, Gervase," he murmured, hoping that the slain goldsmith would indeed rest in peace, and then offered Aldith his arm as they moved away. "I need your advice, Aldith. I want to buy something for Nell, to thank her for taking care of my dog whilst I was gone."

"It will be my pleasure. But if you let me, I can do more. I'd like to help you patch up a lovers' quarrel." She felt his sudden tension, the muscles in his arm constricting under her hand, and she said hastily, "Wait, Justin, hear me out. Luke told me that your courtship of one of the queen's ladies had gone awry, and I w 7 ould—"

" 'One of the queen's ladies/ " Justin said incredulously. "How in hellfire did Luke learn that?"