by Jason Vail
He left the protection of the wall and moved among the tables. Here and there, revelers held out their cups for him to fill them as he made his way in the direction opposite of the high table. He had seen the Earl of Arundel at the king’s table, but no sign of Ida in that direction. Although she came from a gentle family, it was a modest one, and Gilbert guessed he would probably find her near the far wall.
He came to her about two-thirds of the way down. Her back was to him, but she noticed him when she turned her head to speak to the woman beside her, one of her maids. Ida’s eyes widened, and she looked down, hastily composing her face.
Gilbert paused at Ida’s shoulder. “Ah, my lady, more wine?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ida said.
She started to raise her cup, but Gilbert motioned for her to put it down by her trencher.
Gilbert bent over Ida to pour and as he did so, dropped the little stone with its message in Ida’s lap. She covered it quickly with her skirt.
“I’ll have more, too,” the maid beside Ida said, waving toward her own cup.
“Of course,” Gilbert said. Fortunately, he still had a bit left, though not enough to fill the cup. “I am all out, I’m afraid, my lady. I shall be right back!”
He fled the hall quickly but with as dignified a step as he could manage.
Stephen kept watch over the dark courtyard from the shelter of the chapel doorway.
After some time, a woman emerged from the hall. She paused and looked around. The woman crossed to a bench along one of the graveled paths and sat down.
Stephen stepped out of the doorway, guessing that had to be Ida. But then the door to the hall opened again and another woman came out. She spotted the woman on the bench and went to her.
“My lady,” the second woman said. “Are you all right?”
“Something I ate hasn’t agreed with me,” the first woman said.
Stephen’s heart thudded. It was Ida.
“I am feeling rather ill,” Ida said.
“Should I summon a physician?”
“No. I just feel nauseous, is all. I think I’ll be all right soon. But I didn’t want to embarrass myself inside, if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”
“I see no reason. Go. Enjoy the spectacle. You’re not likely to see anything like it again.”
“Surely not,” the second woman agreed. She patted Ida’s shoulder and went back into the hall.
Stephen counted to three and walked up to Ida. She rose as she spotted him.
“What is it?” Ida asked.
“We have to go now. It’s our only chance.”
“Go?” Ida asked as the crossed the outer bailey to the sally port stairwell. “Go where?”
“Away from here.”
“But where?”
“London, for now. I know a place where you will be safe for a while, at least.”
“London,” she murmured. “I hear that it’s grand. I never thought I’d see it.”
“It’s grand, all right, and dangerous enough in its own right. But it’s all I can think to do for you at the moment.”
Ida grasped his hand as they reached the stairwell. “So, you are kidnapping me. Stealing me away.”
“Yes. I am.”
She squeezed Stephen’s hand. “I rather like that.”
It was odd to hear the pleasure in her voice at the prospect of kidnapping. She had been kidnapped last summer by men whose purpose was far more sinister than Stephen’s was now, and she had suffered greatly for it.
“Let’s hope you don’t come to change your mind about it,” Stephen said.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Stephen opened the first door and they went in. He thought he heard whispers that fell silent as the door scraped open. Was someone else here? He waited and heard nothing further. He had come too far already, though, to stop now. Feeling his way along one wall with one hand, he drew Ida after him with the other.
Some way in, Stephen tripped and fell on an object in his path. The object proved to be a man and a woman. She shrieked and the man bellowed.
Stephen scrambled to his feet. “Sorry, sorry. No harm meant. We’ve the same idea as you. Can we pass?”
He heard the pair edge out of the way.
“God’s toenails, man,” the woman complained. “I think you’ve broken my ribs.”
Stephen recovered Ida’s hand and they stepped around the couple. “Sorry about the ribs. I wouldn’t want your husband to find out what you’ve been up to.”
“I’ll be after you if they are broken,” the woman growled.
After they had retreated some distance, Ida whispered, “Do you think they’ll say anything?”
“I doubt it. They don’t want to be found out any more than we do.”
At last, they reached the far stairs and climbed upward.
Stephen felt for the door latch, and opened the door to a rush of cold air.
“Come on,” he said to Ida, taking her hand again.
They came up on the far side of the castle ditch in a stand of hazel.
Gilbert, mounted on his mule with Stephen’s mare in tow, was some distance away, but he saw them and eased the mule forward.
Gilbert slid off the mule. “We should not tarry.”
Stephen mounted the mare and held out a hand for Ida, who would have to ride behind him. Gilbert helped her up, and mounted the mule. Ida put her arms around Stephen’s waist and lay her head against his back.
“Are you warm enough?” Stephen asked. “I’ve extra blankets if you need one.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
A three-quarter waning moon had just begun to rise, providing some illumination through scattered clouds for the ride through the chill night. They went north first, toward a farm path that led to the Thames and along it later to the Stanes bridge five or six miles away to the southeast.
Chapter 6
The streets of London were always crowded with people bustling about their business. Sundays were no exception, and when the traveling party arrived in London through Ludgate, the pace of their progress slowed to a crawl.
They skipped some of the congestion by taking a path crossing before the ruins of old Montfichet Castle, which was a ruin that had been much plundered of its stone so that the remains of walls looked as though they had been gnawed on by giant rats; squatters living in the rubble watched them pass with suspicious eyes.
When they met Carters Street on the other side of the castle, Stephen kept south by a monastery until the road ended at the Watergate, where he picked up Thames Street. This street was more crowded than any of the others they had traversed, for this infamous street was the home of many taverns, brothels, gambling dens and inns, where lives and fortunes were frittered away.
At the Queenhuthe, one of the city’s many wharves, Stephen turned up a lane and stopped in front of a large house which had a yellow ribbon tacked to the door frame.
Ida slid off the mare and waited with her hands on her hips for Stephen to dismount.
“This is it?” she asked. “This is our destination? You’ve brought us to a whorehouse?” She sounded amused rather than shocked.
“I, well ...”
“So, you think so little of me that you’d have me consort with low women?”
“I, uh, maybe, I’m afraid. Only for a short time.”
“You surprise me so, Stephen. I’d not thought you frequented such places.”
“I had a dissolute youth. Ask Gilbert. He knows all about it. And what he doesn’t know, he’s willing to imagine.”
“He hasn’t recovered yet from it,” Gilbert said, rubbing his backside then stretching. “What are we doing here, anyway? You weren’t thinking of taking rooms here. That inn we stayed in last time was so nice.”
“Not exactly.” Stephen added, “You may not be aware of this, but all the inns are required to report the names of guests to their ward aldermen. The same requirement does not ap
ply to brothels.”
“I see,” Ida said. “How clever of you.”
“It will have to do, I hope,” he said.
Stephen mounted low steps and entered the front room with Ida and Gilbert at his heels.
Two girls at a table in the hall saw him. One said, “Ellie! Your turn!”
“Is Maggie here?” Stephen asked.
“Maggie?” Ellie asked, rising from the table. She blinked in surprise at Ida, and asked, “What do you want with her?”
“A word.”
“Ah, come on. A stout brawny fellow like you’ll want more than a word, and she’s not the one to give it to you.” She rubbed a breast against Stephen’s arm, with a wink at Ida. “Nice and soft, can’t you see? They can be yours for a whole hour. We could even make it a threesome with your friend here.”
“I’ll settle for the word with Maggie.”
“You’re no fun.” Ellie pouted. The expression seemed forced, as her offers of pleasure had been.
“I am afraid so. Now go fetch her, if you please.”
With some relief, Ellie climbed the stairs, bawling for Maggie.
Maggie descended the stairs a short while later. “I remember you. you’re the Attebrook boy. What in the great toad are you doing here?”
“I need a favor.”
“It is … it is — unseemly!” Maggie said when Stephen finished talking. “A lady like this? Hiding in my house?”
“Well,” Stephen said, surprised that a woman of Maggie’s profession would be struck by a sudden need to keep appearances, “it won’t be for long.”
He glanced at Ida to gauge her reaction. Her expression was guarded, her arms crossed. Her eyes were on the hall, where a girl with her bodice open was having a nipple sucked by a customer. Her mouth curled in what might be taken as wry amusement or distaste. Stephen found he didn’t know her well enough to tell which it was, and he was sorry he hadn’t prepared her on the way for this. If she objected, which she well could and no one would blame her, he’d have to think of something else. Put her up at an inn? He was running out of money and doubted he could afford it for more than a few days. And she needed to stay hidden longer than that.
“She will not fit in!” Maggie protested. “She will stand out like a wart on the queen’s arse. The ward will be all over me when the bailiffs find out she is here!”
So that was really it — not the impropriety of sheltering a gentlewoman but the trouble it might cause with the ward authorities, who were responsible for maintaining the moral tone of the area.
“Well, maybe not that much,” Stephen said. “Have her keep to her chamber.”
“Stephen, you are so kind to me,” Ida said dryly. “How long were you thinking I should be on house arrest?”
“No more than a week or two. Only as long as it takes to clear up some business for Prince Edward.”
“I wonder if I did the right thing, allowing you to carry me off,” Ida said.
“He carried you off?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, kidnapped me,” Ida said.
“Then there is no doubt,” Maggie said. “You cannot stay. I will not be a party to such a thing.”
“I jest,” Ida said. “I’m on the run from a horrible man who wants to force me to marry him. Stephen is my uncle. He’s protecting me from that terrible fate.”
“I see,” Maggie said. “Who is this monster who wants to wed you?”
“A greedy fellow from the March,” Ida said. “But of course, you know it’s my fortune he really wants, not my body.”
“A fortune and a body to go with it. He would be a lucky man if he gets hold of you,” Maggie said.
“So, you can see, the brute will never think to seek me here,” Ida said. “And it will be only for a few days, until Stephen comes up with a better plan, right, Stephen?”
“That was the thought,” Stephen said. He was embarrassed and certain that he’d made a terrible decision. Yet Maggie was, oddly, the only person he knew in London that he might be able to depend on. All the others had friends who had friends who knew FitzAllan, and if they knew the truth about Ida’s situation — gossip had a habit of flying long distances — they were likely to seek FitzAllan’s favor by turning her over to him. Maggie would do it for the money, but it would take her more time to figure things out. By then, Ida should be gone.
“As to standing out,” Ida said, “I won’t so much if I have another gown. Something more simple and suitable to this place.”
“We can manage that,” Maggie said.
“How much?” Stephen asked.
“For two weeks and a fresh gown?” Maggie replied. “A shilling should do it.”
Stephen motioned for Gilbert, who poured out a shilling from the money bag.
Gilbert dumped twelve pence into Maggie’s apron. She reached out a free hand to Ida.
“Will you come with me, Ida?” Maggie said. “I am sorry to be so familiar, but it seems wrong to call you ‘my lady’ if you’re living here.”
“Oh, that is quite all right,” Ida said.
Maggie pointed to Ida’s left hand. There was a gold ring set with a red stone on her first finger. “Be that a ruby?”
“It is,” Ida said. “A present from my mother.”
“You might also want to keep it out of sight. Don’t want to tempt thieves. They’re thicker around here than lice on a man’s head. Or questions, for that matter.”
“Of course.” Ida removed the ring and dropped it in her purse.
“Let me show you to your room. You should find it quite comfortable, although it can get noisy at times. You understand.”
They set off toward the back of the house.
Stephen heard Maggie ask, “Would it be an offense to ask if you are willing to help out around the house?”
“That depends on what you need,” Ida said.
“Well, there are chamber pots that need emptying and laundry. There’s no end to the laundry.” Maggie smiled slyly.
“You know I will draw the line at that. However, I can read and write and cipher. Perhaps I can help keep your accounts.”
Maggie looked astonished. “You can?”
“Of course. I had a tutor. He was very good. And my parents taught me how to examine accounts.”
“I would be happy if you looked them over. I think the old fart who’s doing the work now is cheating me.”
Chapter 7
Since they had to be in London, it made sense to seek out this Father Bernard at Saint Paul’s Cathedral, and find out what he knew about Father’ Giles’ last days. It would be one dead end eliminated. And it was through the elimination of dead ends that murders were solved. Besides, it was Stephen’s excuse for coming here.
Cathedrals were enormous places, and not just in terms of the central building itself. They were the seats of bishops who presided over a diocese, which could be as extensive and broad a land as that under the control of an earl, and the bishop of London, a man named Henry of Sandwich, needed a large staff consisting of archdeacons, subdeacons, deans, priests, bailiffs, stewards, and a horde of clerks to run his domain. Father Bernard was somewhere among this mob, if Winnefrith could be trusted, but finding him might not be that easy.
The cathedral close was rather like a fortress, with a high stone wall all around the complex. The main gate was at the end of Ludgate Street, and a short walk from the Brittany Inn, where Stephen and Gilbert had taken a chamber Sunday evening after Ida’s accommodations had been arranged.
The following morning, Stephen and Gilbert followed a wagon filled with large stone blocks through the main gate.
The wagon rumbled away toward the spot where scaffolds could be seen against the cathedral’s walls, its cargo meant either for repairs or a building project.
Stephen turned from watching the progress of the wagon and the activity upon the scaffolds to the porter manning the gate.
The porter noticed he was being looked at. He rubbed a pockmarked nose, and asked, “Can I he
lp you, sir?”
“I’m looking for Father Bernard.”
“And which Father Bernard would that be? Father Bernards are as common as goats around here.”
“I’m not sure,” Stephen said.
“Then you are in a pickle,” the porter chuckled. “It will take you all day to chase them down. They’re all over the place.”
“The one I’m looking for should be rather young,” Stephen said. “No more than twenty-five or so. And very well off.”
“Ah, that would be Father Bernard le Erl. Not his real name, though. He’s called that on account of the fact that his cousin’s an earl. De Quincy’s the family name.”
De Quincy? Stephen ran that name around his tongue. He’d heard it before. Then it came to him: Robert de Quincy was earl of Winchester. This made Father Bernard a well-connected fellow.
“Where can I find him?” Stephen asked.
The porter gestured southward. “Over there at the Deanery. He’s a subdeacon. An important man, hereabouts, and he’s never shy about letting you know it. He’s going places, that one. He’ll be a bishop himself before you can shake a stick at him.”
The Deanery was a large stone building on the south side of the cathedral close that sat within a courtyard surrounded by timber structures that appeared to be apartments.
It was such an important place that it had its own doorkeeper, who would not admit them far beyond the threshold. Apparently ordinary people were not allowed to wander in and out of the Deanery and disturb its important work. It was, after all, one of the main administrative centers of the diocese.
The doorkeeper sent a boy upstairs to announce Stephen and Gilbert’s presence and settled on his stool to watch the shadows pass along the floor.
Presently, the boy returned. “Father Bernard will see you.”
He took Stephen and Gilbert up the stairs to a chamber on a southern corner of the building where the windows stood open despite the weather to admit the sunlight. There were tables near these windows where clerks were scribbling away.
A young tonsured man sat on a highbacked chair with an embroidered blanket over his legs for warmth and what looked like a book of accounts on his lap. Stephen and Gilbert followed the boy to this young man; he introduced them and withdrew.
