by J G Lewis
“I couldn’t risk losing him.” He held his chin high. “Should we wait until he comes out?”
“No. We must get word to the sheriff to search this warehouse. Any day those children could be put on a ship. If they aren’t gone already.” Their slow progress in finding the children ate at her. “We should hurry back home and send a messenger on horseback.” She frowned. “Then again, perhaps the sheriff will find it too easy to ignore an ordinary messenger. Let’s walk to the Tower.”
The walk along Thames Street took forever as they wound their way through the morning traffic of peddlers, pie sellers, merchants loading their wares onto carts and beggars reaching up their gnarled hands and begging for alms.
By the time they reached the Tower, the risen sun had vanished behind a bank of menacing gray clouds. Ela, already irritated by the tiresome walk, had to shake out her expensive veil and become haughty with the sentries just to pass through the main gates.
She soon learned that Sheriff le Duc didn’t live in quarters at the Tower but in his own fine house and he’d have to be summoned. Someone rode to get him and she paced back and forth in the courtyard, enervated by the situation unraveling in front of her.
A monk—supposed to be a man of God—served this foul enterprise. What had he to do with Vicus Morhees? And with the killings? Could a monk even be tried by the jurors of the hundred or would there be a special ecclesiastical court called? Would the pope himself be called upon to adjudicate?
Or would the church try to cover up the whole sordid affair by denying it or somehow excusing the kidnappings as acts of charity toward poor children?
A persistent drizzle began, and Ela and Theo took refuge in a chamber of the guardhouse. Each flurry of activity—a changing of the guard or a fuss over a sentry who’d fallen asleep—provoked her to fresh fits of impatience.
At last the sheriff arrived on a grand black charger. Several men rushed up to him with their own fresh pieces of news. She hung back, not wanting to be interrupted by them, until she could stand it no longer.
“Sheriff le Duc, my guard and I followed a man from the abbot’s residence to a warehouse at the docks. I feel sure there are children hidden there. We must go at once.”
Le Duc had the temerity to look amused. “You’ve been there this morning?”
“Yes, we were walking to Prime when we saw him leave and followed him.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t a decoy to distract you from some other more iniquitous activities happening in the place you abandoned?” He jumped down from his horse.
He was joking—infuriatingly—but his words did give her pause. As sheriff of London he must see crimes the like of which she could barely imagine. Perhaps he examined all motives for cross-purposes.
“Will you grant a search warrant to open the warehouse?” She wouldn’t let him distract her.
“Where is it?” He pulled off his gloves and shook rain from his cloak.
“I don’t know the name of the alley where the building entrance lies, but it was hard by the river, off Thames Street. I could lead you there.”
He stared at her, observed that she wasn’t going to let him have a moment’s peace until they went, then barked orders to his men. Then he turned back to her. “I shall come myself and be your search warrant,” he said with a characteristic smile. He handed his damp gloves to a servant. “You came on foot?”
“We did.” A mistake, in retrospect. They could hardly all stroll back there like a gaggle of dairymaids.
“Fetch a palfrey for the countess!” he commanded. “And a horse for her man-at-arms. We leave at once.”
Mounted and encouraged, Ela led them back to the warehouse. The crowds of people, animals, carts and children parted to make way for the clattering hooves of the sheriff’s men so the return journey passed swiftly.
Ela’s heart swelled with hope and fear as they rode up the alley toward the river, and she pointed to the door. Maybe Brother Sebastian still lay within and would be arrested for kidnapping.
Outside the building she reined in her horse and glanced at Sheriff le Duc. The look on his face startled her. He sat on his horse outside the warehouse, frowning. Then he ordered for one of his men to knock. A man dismounted and pounded on the door, calling that the sheriff wished to enter.
Ela was appalled. “Won’t that alert them to flee?”
“How else are we supposed to gain entry?”
“Force the lock?”
“It’s barred and bolted. These warehouses are secured like fortresses. Sometimes their cargo is more valuable than a king’s ransom.”
“That is certainly true of the life on an innocent child,” muttered Ela. The knocking and calling—then waiting—made her wonder if he wanted to alert the occupants to abscond with the children. “Someone should guard the river entrance so they don’t escape that way.”
Le Duc ordered two men to ride to where the alley ended in a quay that jutted out into the murky gray river. Two men unloaded crates filled with live birds from a bobbing skiff onto a wagon amid a commotion of clucking and squawking.
Ela turned to Theo. “Did the monk unlock the door?”
“Yes. He had a key on him.”
They stood, still mounted, around the door. “How are we going to get in?” Ela felt like one of the caged chickens, clamoring to no avail. “You said we’d have a warrant.”
“Perhaps we could return with a siege engine?” mused le Duc.
Ela was not in any mood for the sheriff’s dry sense of humor. “Do you know who owns this warehouse?”
He pursed his lips in an odd way, then rubbed his beard. “I believe it belongs to an important man.”
“Who?” Her heart beat faster.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Ela’s mind furled through a list of barons and bishops, trying to imagine who it might be. “What does he import?”
Le Duc shrugged. “I really don’t know.”
His obtuseness infuriated her. “Did your men find another door? There must be one at the water. And perhaps on the other side of the building. They might be escaping right now.” Frustration burned in her chest.
Le Duc commanded his men to check the other side of the building. Where no doubt the door—if there was one—would be locked and barred.
“If I didn’t know you to be an honest and upstanding servant of the king I’d almost suspect that you were in the pay of these people,” hissed Ela. Shock at her own words slapped her in the face almost as soon as she’d said them. She hesitated to look at le Duc for his reaction.
But he let out a guffaw as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard all week. “I’d hardly be sheriff of London if I could be bribed by merchants.”
“Indeed not,” she said curtly. “But if a murder is being committed behind a locked door do you simply stand outside calling for entry, or do you break your way in?”
“I don’t think a murder is being committed.”
Ela wished she could lean from her horse and strangle him. “Five men are dead! Admittedly they were all foot soldiers of a sort and none of them is titled or monied or important to anyone except his family and friends, but is it not your duty as a servant of the crown to seek justice for their deaths?” She’d included Vicus Morhees to pad the number, which wasn’t entirely honest. But did le Duc not want to know who’d paid to kill him, too?
If they found the answer to who’d ordered Vicus Morhees’ death, they’d be one step closer to the center of this evil enterprise.
“Every violent death is a crime against God and nature,” murmured le Duc. “But we have no reason to believe those deaths are associated with this warehouse.”
“Did you not discover where Morhees was killed?”
“We don’t know, because your man dragged him to your doorstep instead of leaving him in situ.”
“But he must have left a trail of blood in his wake and possibly a pool of blood at the site where he was killed.”
Le Duc lai
d his reins on his horse’s neck and held up his hands apologetically. “My men had to search for your guards, who’d already been seized by whoever killed them. As you can see, this is a bustling district. Blood on the ground might easily be taken for spilled wine or piss or the blood of a fresh-killed chicken.”
Ela glanced at the ground in the alley, a mix of well-trampled earth and worn, uneven cobbles. Any bloodstains there would have disappeared with the first drizzle.
“Sheriff le Duc,” she assumed her most imperious voice. “I must see inside that warehouse.” Was he going to deny a countess of the realm?
“I’m afraid we’d have better luck breaking into the royal vaults.”
She glimpsed a small window, tightly covered on the inside with a stained cloth, high up in the wall. “Can we not bring a ladder and enter through that window?”
Le Duc peered upward. “We’d need a very tall ladder.”
“I can hardly imagine such a thing is hard to find in a district filled with warehouses.”
He made an odd expression with his mouth. “I will give you my word, Ela, Countess of Salisbury, that I will investigate this warehouse before the end of the day.”
She frowned. “But first, what? You must seek permission of the owner? Is he a personal friend?” Her questions were rude and pointed and the kind of thing that might cause offence enough for him to challenge her to an illegal duel—if she were a man.
Le Duc cleared his throat. “He is a friend. Well, more of an acquaintance.”
“And you don’t dare break his door down without permission?”
“It’s not a question of daring, my lady.” He lifted his hands again. “It’s a question of respecting the man’s good reputation.”
Ela’s strange horse shifted under her, clearly disturbed by the discomfort she must be transmitting to it. “But surely even a powerful and influential man must be subject to the laws of the kingdom?”
There was an uncomfortable silence that gave Ela time to reflect that Hubert de Burgh—the man who’d killed her husband in cold blood—could not be brought to justice, or even accused, because he was too powerful. Any attempt to accuse him would bring repercussions that could destroy her entire family.
She cleared her throat. “I see how it is. I shall return to my home and break my fast. I can see I made an error in seeking earthly justice instead of attending Prime as I’d intended.”
“Justice shall be served in God’s time,” said le Duc, looking relieved.
“I prefer not to wait until the Day of Judgment in such matters, but if I must, I will. My attendant and I will ride your horses home and have them returned to the tower.”
Ela had no intention of waiting for the Day of Judgment. She did, however, intend to seek the intervention of a higher authority—the king.
Chapter 19
“My God, where have you been?” Bill Talbot’s scandalized reprimand reminded her of her mother. “When you didn’t return from Mass, I sent out the guards to search for you and they returned empty handed and ignorant of your whereabouts. I sent them to alert the sheriff.”
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see them,” she said drily. “Since I left him moments ago. I’m sorry to disappear with no warning, but I was safe in Theo’s hands.”
She dismounted the strange horse, feeling stiff and uneasy after so much activity early in the morning on an empty stomach. “No thanks to Sheriff le Duc.”
Inside, and her fast broken with fresh pastries, fruit and soft cheese, she told Bill of the morning’s events and her plan to approach the king.
Bill was not pleased. “You’re going behind the sheriff’s back?”
“I feel like all I do these days is go behind the back of one sheriff or another. Would that I didn’t have to.” She sighed. “But our young king is a God-fearing man. I feel sure that he’ll want to help shut down this ring of child stealers.”
“Even if the man at the head of the organization is a powerful one?”
“No one is more powerful than the king.” Ela hoped to convince herself as much as him. “I’m sure he won’t sit idly by while such iniquity unfolds less than a mile from Westminster.”
Bill looked doubtful. “He didn’t offer to rush out in search of the children last time.”
“Last time we’d simply gone there in search of the sheriff. I wasn’t prepared. This time will be different.”
Ela and Bill rumbled toward Westminster Palace in her carriage. Like her, Bill wore his most glittering finery. He tried not to wince from the pain of his injuries as the wheels hit a rut. “Do you really think the king is going to gain you entry to the warehouse?”
“You don’t usually question my plans like this.” She wasn’t sure she liked it. She was used to him obeying her every whim without complaint. “Is your pain making you pessimistic?”
“Perhaps.” He frowned, looking ahead, as they approached the sentries. “I don’t want to see you disappointed.” The carriage rolled through the gates into a palace courtyard.
“I’m not a child who’ll cry if she’s told no.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to imply that, my lady. It’s just that—”
She didn’t know what it was, because at that moment the sentry recognized her and whispered her name to a porter and a fanfare of trumpets blasted across the courtyard.
They were ushered into the palace, where, as usual, a gaggle of courtiers and hangers-on hovered in every corner. “Countess Ela of Salisbury!”
She maintained a serious expression. She hadn’t come here to make small talk with anyone. She asked for an urgent audience with the king.
The page who took her request kept a calm face but she sensed he was astonished by her audacity. He returned a short while later. “The king is attended by several barons in the green chamber. You may join them.”
Ela blinked. This was not at all what she’d hoped for. But it would have to do.
She followed the page into a great chamber usually reserved for private feasts. Seated at a long oak table were a group of men, including William de Warenne, Gilbert de Clare and young Simon de Montfort, relaxed and with their wine half drunk as if they’d been there for a while. And, of course, the dreaded Hubert de Burgh. He probably followed Henry into the garderobe. They all rose as she entered.
“Countess Ela,” said King Henry. “What a pleasure.” She approached him and held out her hands, and he kissed them. “I’m sure you know the assembled gentlemen?”
“Indeed I do.” She bowed her head in a greeting. What were they doing gathered here in private? Perhaps planning an overseas conquest. She’d heard the young king was obsessed with regaining the territories lost by his father. They offered murmurs of sympathy for the loss of her husband and congratulations on the marriages of her children. Then there was an awkward moment when they all—no doubt—silently wondered why she’d come.
“I’m here for three reasons, which I will elucidate in order.” She hadn’t anticipated such an audience, but it would serve her purposes.
Witnesses.
“First, I brought Sheriff le Duc with me this morning to investigate a warehouse in search of the missing children we seek. He refused to search it, saying it belonged to an important gentleman of the city. I find this inexcusable and now worry that children’s lives are being traded for coin and that the sheriff is putting some of those coins in his own purse.”
It was an outrageous accusation and was met with stunned silence. She moved on quickly before any protests could start.
“Second, I have brought with me a complaint…” She held out her hand for Bill to give her the parchment. He pulled it from his scrip and gave it to her. “Against Sheriff de Hal of Salisbury, brought by the burgesses of Scarborough in Yorkshire, where he was lately sheriff.”
She read out a few of the more pointed accusations and watched with pleasure as the eyes of the barons widened and the king leaned forward in his chair. De Burgh shifted, brows lowered, and glared at her.
“As you can hear from this complaint,” she continued. “He wreaked havoc in Yorkshire, using violence, fire and imprisonment to extort and threaten, to the point of extinguishing trade in the region as people were afraid to leave their homes to come to market.”
She paused and looked around. “I cannot understand for even one moment why a man with such a reprehensible record should be made high sheriff of Wiltshire and installed in the castle of my ancestors.” Her voice rang out and echoed off the paneled and painted walls. “How did such a thing happen?”
“Indeed how?” asked Henry. “These accusations are shocking indeed.” He turned to stare at de Burgh.
Who cleared his throat. “He was an experienced sheriff, with a cadre of well-honed men. He seemed ideal for the role of—”
“Had you not seen this complaint?” Henry interrupted his justiciar. “It implies he should be brought before the sheriff, not installed as one.”
“He made a very persuasive argument,” said de Burgh.
“One involving a large number of gold coins, perhaps?” said Ela.
This was war. She knew it. She’d raised her sword against de Burgh. Would he now try to slay her?
She lifted her chin. “I find it unacceptable that a man with a record for extortion and exploitation, let alone violence, should continue to rule as sheriff in the land of my fathers. I have expressed my own desire to continue in my husband’s role as sheriff. I believe I’ve demonstrated my ability to fulfill the role, and I seek immediate installation as sheriff of Wiltshire. As to the third reason for my visit I am pleased to offer the sum of five hundred pounds to the crown in exchange for the restoration of this office and the castle of Salisbury to my family.”
Now she paused, heart pounding, to let her words sink in.
No one moved. The barons stared. De Burgh fumed. Henry peered at her in amazement. Eventually they all turned to look at the king. Who looked at Ela.
