by J G Lewis
“D’you think they were killers for hire?”
“Undoubtedly. One of the wretches admitted that he’d been offered two pounds to make sure the guards were dead.”
Ela’s eel curdled in her stomach. She could see where this was going. “Who hired them?”
“They didn’t know.” Of course they didn’t. One of le Duc’s eyebrows rose slightly higher than the other. “They said that Morhees came up to them and offered them coin to kill the men who returned with him.”
Ela blinked. “He told them he planned to return with my guards? How could he possibly know that they’d follow him?” This made no sense. “And why did they let my guard kill Morhees?”
“The hired men didn’t arrive in time. They both worked as door guards for a nearby warehouse and were in the vicinity but had just spotted Morhees returning when he was killed.”
This was all far too convenient to be believable. Still, her interest was pricked. “Which warehouse?”
“How do I know? They all look the same.” He took a big bite of eel and roasted carrots. “What matters is that we caught the killers and they’ll hang for their crimes.”
Ela felt ill. If these men were the ones who’d killed her guards—and she wasn’t even half sure that they were—they were scapegoats doing the dirty work of the man who’d ordered the murders—and who was stealing and selling innocent children.
The true killer was the one who’d paid them.
And since that was Vicus Morhees—now conveniently dead, too—that left no trail to follow.
Except that she’d already discovered where the trail led…if she could convince the sheriff to follow it.
“Vicus Morhees emerged from the house of Abbot Abelard de Rouen before my men started to follow him. Today Bill and I went to pay a call on the abbot.”
Le Duc looked alarmed. “He’s away in Rome,” he said quickly. “For an audience with His Eminence the Pope.”
“I’m aware of that. We convinced Father Dominic to give us a tour of the church, and as he led us through the house I could see it was the same building where I was held prisoner.” She hesitated a minute to let that sink in. “I recognized a small servant boy who served us wine.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“I most certainly am not. The young boy had the dark skin of an African. How many young boys fitting that description are in London right now?”
“Quite a few, I’d imagine, given the sea trade.”
“I’m absolutely certain it was the same boy. And the same black and white stone tile on the floor. And I’m increasingly certain that the masked man who threatened me, and who ordered me dumped out in the countryside, was none other than Vicus Morhees.”
“Who, God be praised, is now dead.” A smile spread across le Duc’s mouth. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“They took me prisoner so I’d be frightened away from investigating the ring of child thefts. I can now see that Morhees was part of that ring. It must be connected somehow to the opium trade that brought him into Salisbury. But he’s just one soldier in a dark army of evil men.” An idea occurred to her. “He may have been sacrificed on purpose to throw us off the scent.”
“He can’t have known he was about to die when he ordered someone to kill your men.”
“No indeed. But my guard who killed him said that Morhees assaulted his companion with a dagger, so my guard ran him through.” Ela tilted her head, trying to make sense of it. “If Morhees had been told to initiate the conflict, then perhaps the other two killers were instructed—he thought—to rush forward and help him. Perhaps they’d really been ordered to hang back until Morhees was dead and then kill the guards.”
Le Duc looked amused and perplexed at the same time.
Ela bristled. “I’m glad you find this entertaining. Two of my loyal men are dead for simply following my instructions and defending themselves under attack. It’s all too neat and tidy that their killers are just men for hire employed by a man who’s now dead. I want to know who is the mastermind behind this evil enterprise.”
“Unfortunately the hired killers don’t know any better than we do. Whoever ordered the deaths managed to stay well behind the battle lines.”
“It can’t be Abbot de Rouen, since he’s overseas.”
Le Duc burst out in laughter. “I hardly think an abbot in God’s church would involve himself in such nefarious matters.”
“Indeed not.” Ela was relieved about this. “But events related to it are taking place under his roof in his absence.”
“You suspect this Father Dominic?”
“Oddly enough, no. If he knew I’d been kept there I don’t think he’d have led me through the house. It’s too distinctive. And he certainly wouldn’t have shown me the African boy who sat in my room with me.” A thought occurred to her. “He did claim that he had no idea who Vicus Morhees was, though. I can’t believe that’s true. Morhees was obviously familiar with the house and had been there on more than one occasion. So either Father Dominic was lying about that, or Morhees was using a different name.”
“Let me guess, you’d like me to search the house.”
Ela hesitated. “I’m not sure that would produce results. The house is large and sprawling enough that someone could escape through the church or out a side door.” Flushing the inhabitants out like grouse didn’t seem sensible. Any guilty parties would just come out protesting their innocence and they’d be none the wiser. “It occurs to me that a more subtle method of investigation might be more effective.”
Le Duc accepted another cup of wine. “What did you have in mind?”
“Could we insert someone into the household—as a servant, perhaps—so they could wait and watch until the criminals reveal themselves?”
“Difficult to do.” Le Duc swigged his wine. “The staff will be mostly monastic brothers.”
“Or young children. In addition to the African boy we were served by a blond boy of about ten.”
He looked exasperated. “You expect me to send a young child in as a spy?”
“Well, no. Of course not.” Ela needed time to think. “What do you suggest?”
Le Duc sighed heavily. “I can station some men to watch the house.”
“But what will that tell us? They’ll be wary now. And we have no proof that they were bringing the children there. I suspect the children—if they’re even still in London—are down by the docks.”
“But, as you just suggested, if Morhees went there as a decoy, he may not have been going to anywhere in particular at all. My men have kept an eye on the building you originally told us about, near Westcheap. There’s been no activity there.” He took another bite of eel. “This sauce is delicious.”
Ela’s eel now sat like lead in her stomach. “Elsie Brice is in terrible danger. She’s an orphan. Her mother was hanged after the last assizes for killing her father.”
“How are you so sure she’s in London? Or that these same people took her?”
Ela swallowed. “I’m certain she was taken by the same people who took Edyth Wheaton from Salisbury. This girl was taken before Edyth.”
“Why did you not mention her when you were here last?”
“I didn’t know about Elsie, then. She wasn’t reported missing until some days, or perhaps even weeks, after she disappeared.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“She’s an orphan who went to live with her aunt and uncle. They already have many children and no money.” She hesitated to say it. “They may not have been too downcast about one mouth being absent from the table.”
“Might they have sold her?” He said it through a mouthful of candied carrots.
“What? No! Who would do that?”
“You’d be surprised. Was it the uncle and aunt who reported her missing?”
Ela racked her brain for what Giles Haughton had told her. “I think the coroner said it was one of her siblings. I never spoke to the parents. They were away at market buying a cow w
hen I arrived.”
“If they were so poor, where did they find the money to buy a cow?” Sheriff le Duc lifted a brow.
Ela blinked. If it wasn’t for sitting at her husband’s side in his role as sheriff all these years, she’d never have believed ordinary people capable of a tenth of the shocking things they did. And the children said they’d recently bought a sack of flour. So the family had money, where before they’d had none.
Perhaps, for some people, selling a child—one of too many—was no different from someone else selling a sheep or pig they’d hand-reared from birth. An involuntary shudder rose through her. No. She couldn’t imagine that. It seemed far more likely that the girl was stolen.
“Can you have men watch the entire compound, including the church and the abbot’s residence and any other structures within the walls? Then we can at least get an idea of who’s coming and going. They can’t hide in there forever. And perhaps your men could disguise themselves—as a beggar or a knife grinder or similar—to evade notice.”
Le Duc nodded. “I can do that.”
“And you’ll send word of what you see?” Ela had no intention of leaving it entirely up to le Duc, but she didn’t want him to know that.
“Of course.”
“This band of child thieves is not only responsible for ruining the lives of innocent children, but they have the blood of several men on their hands. They clearly think nothing of slaying anyone who stands in their way. And using the house of a man of God as a cover for their crimes makes their behavior that much more heinous.”
“I couldn’t agree more, my lady. I look forward to seeing them all twisting at the end of a rope.”
That prospect didn’t interfere with Roger le Duc’s digestion in the slightest. He stayed for a plate of rich date sweetmeats and several more cups of wine. He talked much of the peace and prosperity of the city under King Henry III. Ela got the impression that le Duc counted anyone and everyone of importance in the city of London as a friend and that he probably had a finger in every pie worth tasting between St. Giles and the White Tower.
For the next few days, Ela and Bill attended nearly every Mass at St. Michael and All Angels. Father Dominic’s expression was amusing—and interesting—to watch as he witnessed their repeat appearances in his congregation at Prime, Tierce, Sext, Nones, Vespers and Compline.
Ela took the opportunity to study the monks in attendance, carrying the great candles, preparing the host and waving smoking censers up and down the nave. She watched the choir boys and observed the other patrons, who were all wealthy-looking residents—widows mostly—of this leafy and prosperous district.
On their way to and from the church, she and Bill walked slowly around the entire perimeter of the church and its close, making a mental note of the buildings. In addition to the abbot’s grand house there were two smaller houses with their own entrances within the walls. Monks came and went on errands to the market—Ela sent various of her mother’s watchful servants hurrying after them at a distance—and returned with loaves of bread and baskets of vegetables. Their eggs and any meat they ate must come from within the walls. Or perhaps they ate Lenten fare all year long.
There did not appear to be any women in the entire compound. At least none that she saw come and go. The abbot’s cook must be a man and his housekeepers, too. But that was hardly unusual in a monastic community.
The choirboys never left the walls around the compound.
Ela grew impatient with watching the routine comings and goings of the monastic occupants. The sheriff’s men reported findings that exactly matched with her own, and it became clear they were losing interest in the pursuit.
Until one very early morning on the way to Prime—in the dark hour before dawn—she saw something that made her blood seize in her veins.
Chapter 18
Ela walked along the dark street, taking her usual route, circling around the houses that ringed St. Michael and All Angels, when she saw a dark-robed monk emerge from a building across the street from the abbot’s house.
It wasn’t directly across the street, but about thirty feet down and set back from the road behind a gate. He slipped out through the gate and closed it behind him. He didn’t see her and her sole attendant in the predawn darkness, and hurried away in the same direction they were walking.
Ela hadn’t paid must attention to the buildings on the other side of the street before. She could barely make them out in the darkness, but from her recollection they were fairly ordinary houses—newish, largish—that she’d assumed were the residences of successful merchants.
“Follow that man at a distance,” she whispered to her attendant. He looked startled but obeyed. She, naturally was going with him. Partly because it wasn’t safe for her to walk the streets alone in the dark and partly because she burned with curiosity to know this monk’s identity and destination.
His cowl covered his head and obscured his face completely. His short, squat stature, however, strongly suggested that this was brother Sebastian, who’d greeted her at the door of the abbot’s house. Thus it was even odder that he’d emerged from an apparently unconnected building on the other side of the road.
Ela pulled her hood over her head to cover her bright white fillet and veil. She wanted to disappear into the darkness and follow him like an invisible presence.
Her attendant was armed—of course—and she whispered to him to make sure his sword didn’t clank and betray them. The monk hurried onward, dark robe swishing about his ankles, a sense of urgency to his steps.
Ela glanced behind them to see if anyone had watched them depart their course and saw no one. Not even a sleeping beggar who might be one of Sheriff le Duc’s guards.
Her heart beat faster as the monk took a turn toward the river.
“Put up your hood,” she whispered to her young guard. His smooth pale skin and shock of blonde hair shone like a beacon in the thin light from the moon which still hovered above the rooftops. “We need to follow him closer.” She knew that the streets became more cramped and winding as they approached the busy neighborhood of the docks, and she didn’t want to lose their quarry down a sudden alley.
Where was Brother Sebastian hurrying to before dawn? Shouldn’t he be in the church preparing for Prime services along with the other monks?
If Sebastian was involved in the child-stealing ring he shouldn’t have let her into the house. The temptation of a large donation must have been too much to resist. But why? If it was a donation to the church it would hardly line his personal coffers.
The monk took a hard right just in front of them. Ela quickened her steps. She grew breathless, unaccustomed to this much activity so early in the morning. Her young attendant strode like a colt itching to break into a gallop but working hard to contain himself.
They turned the corner to see the monk still walking briskly, the hem of his robe lifted with one hand as he made his way over the uneven, rutted stones of these ancient roads.
Another turn led them onto Thames Street, where other Londoners stirred, unlocking their warehouses and shops and readying their horses and donkeys to make early deliveries.
“Stay with him,” Ela commanded. She didn’t want to lose Brother Sebastian, if indeed it was him. She let her long-legged guard lope ahead and follow the monk down one more alley toward the water.
I hope they don’t kill him. The horrible thought charged her as the bold young man disappeared from view. These criminals were beyond ruthless. Maybe this was a trap of the kind that had lured her guards into killing Vicus Morhees? She reached into her robes and tugged her knife free of its sheath as she took the final turn.
The sun was still buried behind the great Tower to the east, but the dark water of the Thames shimmered in the moonlight at the end of the alley. Tall, windowless warehouses rose on either side.
And she didn’t see Brother Sebastian or her young guard.
Ela stopped, her breath coming in unsteady gasps. She glanced behind h
er, to where a big cart came creaking down Thames Street at the top of the alley, its driver hurling a string of foul invective at someone in his path.
The water glittered menacingly to her right.
Once again, she was all alone in the dark, in an unfamiliar district. But she was damned if they were going to kill another of her men. Aware she might be watched, she walked forward, keeping her knife concealed in the folds of her cloak.
The church bells tolled for Prime, pealing out over all quarters of the city. How did a city with so many houses of God harbor so much wickedness? Maybe that alone explained all the churches. People trying to buy, beg and borrow salvation for their misdeeds.
Ela spotted a door in the stone wall to her left. A great double door, tall and wide enough to admit a horse and cart, but with a smaller door cut into it. She pushed it and it opened.
She lifted her skirts and stepped silently over the threshold and into the pitch-dark interior.
“My lady.” The tiny whisper almost made her jump out of her skin.
It was her guard, tucked into the wall next to the door. She whispered back, “Thank Heaven you’re safe. Where’s he gone?”
“Up the ladder.”
Ela peered into the darkness but couldn’t make out her hand in front of her face, let alone a ladder. Theo was young and had better eyesight.
But now they knew where to come with the sheriff’s men.
She strained her ears to make out any sounds—the voices of children, cries for help or similar, but she couldn’t hear anything beyond the pealing of the bells and shouts from nearby Thames Street. “Let’s leave. We’ve learned enough.”
She fumbled her way out through the door, knife handle slippery in her sweating palm. The rising sun now cast a thin yellow light over the warehouses and transformed the Thames into a sinister runnel of urine.
They hurried back up the alley toward Thames Street, and she finally drew a full breath as they blended back into the crowd there. “I don’t think anyone saw us,” she whispered. “You were brave to follow him into the building.”
