Traitor's Codex

by Jeri Westerson

  ‘I know.’

  Gaunt reached out between them and their horses and patted Crispin’s leg. ‘A wealthy man may dally. A poor one does not have the luxury.’

  Crispin gritted his teeth. ‘I know.’

  ‘How does he fare? Does he look like you?’

  Crispin couldn’t help but smile. ‘He looks too damnably like me. If you saw him you would know instantly. I’m sure I looked much like that at ten.’

  ‘I should like to see him sometime.’

  ‘That’s probably unwise.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I promised to teach him arms practice.’

  ‘What? You are speaking to the boy?’

  ‘I could not help it. He was accused of murder and I … I exonerated him.’

  Gaunt was staring at him. Crispin could tell out of the corner of his eye, but he would not look at his former mentor head on. ‘God’s blood and bones,’ said Gaunt. ‘Perhaps you were set to a higher purpose. Have you ever considered, Crispin, that had you not been sent from court and become this Tracker, he and many other innocents might have died?’

  Crispin shook his head, unable to speak. The thought was too frightening, too close to home. The notion that he needed to be brought low in order to reach the heights was too big to comprehend. Such things happened to martyrs, and he was nowhere close to a saint.

  ‘All the lives you’ve saved,’ Lancaster went on, thoughtfully. ‘All the justice you have meted out. None of that would have happened without you. Have you ever thought about it, Crispin?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well do so. It may lessen the suffering.’

  ‘I have come to an understanding after all these years, my lord. I am … content.’

  Gaunt’s head jerked sharply. ‘Are you indeed? Ah, Crispin. I am glad to hear it. There have been many nights when I … well.’ He swallowed. ‘I have done much penance for all I did to you, my friend.’

  ‘I have forgiven you.’ He surprised himself when he said it. He hadn’t known he had.

  Gaunt smiled, raising his head as they cantered toward Westminster. ‘And now more justice to serve,’ he said quietly, as Westminster Palace came into view.

  Crispin pulled his hood close and kept his head down. They moved into the courtyard and dismounted. Men took their horses to the stables, but there was much more chaos than Crispin had anticipated. Not only were there the returning carts from Sheen, but there were scores of woodworkers and masons working on the great hall. Crispin had heard that the master mason Henry Yevele, who had worked on Westminster Abbey, and the king’s master carpenter, Hugh Herland, were erecting a new roof and windows. The whole was in a mess of dust, workmen, timbers and beams, and ropework throughout. Crispin followed behind Lancaster as they worked their way through the maze of what was left of the great hall.

  Gone were the pillars that held up the roof. Now there were temporary struts holding aloft great carved beams with the faces of angels. The stairs were moved, the windows were different. When it was complete, it wouldn’t be recognizable from the hall Crispin had known and had dined in.

  It seemed that stewards were busily hushing the workmen and the call had gone out that the work was to stop for a time in deference to the death of the queen. Masons and carpenters were packing up their tools, moving tables piled with more tools and measuring devices. The aproned men gathered in groups, discussing it all, perhaps wondering when the work – and their pay – could recommence.

  But besides the milling workmen, there was no raucous talk or laughter among the courtiers. Those standing about did so solemnly and talked in quiet, even reverent groups. Yes, this was much like when the old king died. Thankfully, Richard was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where to first, Crispin?’

  ‘Perhaps it is best you not use my name, my lord,’ he said quietly. ‘Call me … Jack.’

  Lancaster smiled. ‘Very well … Jack. Where shall we go first?’

  ‘Let us call on the king’s physicians.’

  They made their way through the grave crowds and came to St Stephen’s Chapel, the doors to which were guarded by knights. Crispin peeked over their shoulders through the open doors. The queen was lying on a bier, draped in finery and lit by candles at the four corners of the resting place, and a figure – the king – knelt before it, head crushed under his arms as he wept.

  ‘How long has he been thus?’ Crispin whispered.

  Lancaster ushered him away. ‘Ever since we returned. She’s to be moved to Westminster Abbey. But he won’t allow anyone to enter the chapel.’

  Crispin moved hastily away from the door, though he needn’t have worried; the king would never notice. ‘One of his intimates must help lure him away. Or … you.’

  ‘I am not one of the king’s favored intimates these days.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it.’ And shocked, he thought to himself. Surely Richard’s uncle was one of the most trusted men in the realm.

  ‘Let us go,’ Gaunt said gruffly. They moved through the corridors to Lancaster’s apartments. His wife, Constance of Castile, had died only a few months ago. Crispin expected that all would still be draped in black, but this was not so. Lady Katherine had been discreetly moved in and the windows had been thrown open, with garlands of flowers draping over their casements instead. Both his marriages had been done with an eye toward dynasty. With his first wife Blanche he had attained his title of Lancaster and its lands, and from Constance, he gained a claim to the throne of Castile – though that claim and subsequent battles in Spain ended without a good result.

  Yes, a fresh breeze had entered with the scent of blooms throughout. Crispin had never experienced the like in Lancaster’s lodgings. It was Lady Katherine’s doing, surely. Crispin wondered if the duke dared marry her. Could he hope to finally marry the woman he loved? He was the richest man in England. He could certainly afford to. Perhaps he had made his intentions known to the king, but would Richard give his permission?

  Oh, to be a wealthy and important man again.

  Crispin did not see her, but she was probably in his wife’s old quarters. It wouldn’t do for visitors to encounter her on first glance in the antechamber.

  ‘I will call for the physicians to meet us here.’

  ‘My lord, I shall – at some point – have to view the body of the queen.’

  ‘I doubt Richard could be torn away.’

  ‘This is monstrous.’ Even Crispin had to sympathize with the king and his loss.

  Lancaster unbuttoned his cloak and laid it aside. Crispin stilled. ‘My lord, where are your servants?’ He wondered if he shouldn’t have helped the duke as he used to do.

  ‘I sent word that they should … er … disperse, anticipating your arrival.’

  ‘You were that certain I would come.’

  He only smiled in answer. ‘Why don’t you pour us some wine, Crispin. I mean Jack.’

  Crispin did as he was told and went to the sideboard. The fragrant golden wine was likely from Flanders. He brought the finely embellished goblet to the duke. Crispin expected him to send a servant for the physicians straight away, but he didn’t. He sat on a fur-covered chair, stretched his long legs before him, and enjoyed his wine. He gestured vaguely to the chair beside him. Cautiously, Crispin seated himself, goblet in hand. Why wasn’t the duke hurrying to the task he’d set Crispin upon?

  ‘The years have been harsh to you, Crispin, but you have made the best of them. You have a loyal band of people surrounding you.’

  And how did the duke know who surrounded Crispin? He had to acknowledge that Lancaster probably had spies.

  He sipped his wine. ‘I have done what you trained me to do. What was the alternative? To surrender? To lay down and die?’

  ‘I never expected you to.’

  ‘I garnered too many friendships to allow that to happen. And, of course, Jack Tucker. He reminded me of my own humanity. That boy – that man – was responsible for bringing me back to myself.’

 
; ‘I shall be ever grateful to him for that.’

  Crispin settled into the chair, leaning back, studying the wine shimmering in the silver goblet. ‘Of late, it hasn’t been a bad life. I even have some coin set aside. And Jack and his family will care for me in my dotage. If I reach old age, that is. It could have been far worse.’

  ‘I am heartily glad to hear it.’

  ‘And it’s certainly been interesting. Far more interesting than merely copying out documents. Did you know I was briefly a clerk? But of course you did. No, I would say it’s been … satisfying.’

  Lancaster turned away. He reached a hand to his face but Crispin didn’t see what exactly he was doing.

  ‘I cannot lie,’ said Lancaster, still turned away, speaking into his hand, ‘I feared what would happen to you and was powerless to interfere. I … I hadn’t been brave enough.’

  What was Crispin to say to that? If Gaunt had reached out to Crispin, he would have been accused of treachery, even treason. He had already been accused by certain members of the Privy Council and others who whispered in the corridors of Westminster. He had a dynasty to see to. A son, his heir, and many others depending on him. In the end, Crispin couldn’t begrudge him.

  ‘I have already forgiven you, John. There is nothing more to say on the matter.’

  Gaunt turned. His eyes were wet. ‘Even as a child you were always the serious one. How I longed to put a smile on your face. I tried mightily for years.’

  ‘I am what God has made me out to be.’ He took another sip of wine and set the goblet aside. It was good to sit with his old mentor, good to remember how it used to be. But those were long-ago days, and they were both different men now. ‘And more often than not, you did manage to put a smile on my face. In your household I felt safe, and loved, and nurtured. What more could an orphan boy want?’

  John nodded. He looked as if he would say more but stopped himself. He leaned back and stared at the tips of his boots for a time until he rose and stepped toward a door to an inner chamber. He rang a small bell there.

  A servant appeared, never glancing toward Crispin. He bowed.

  ‘I want you to collect the queen’s physicians from every corner of the palace they might be. Bring them all here as quickly as possible.’

  The servant bowed and left.

  ‘It might be advisable,’ said Crispin, ‘to find any Lollard sympathizers who are not among the men you know well. I should like to study them.’

  ‘Good advice.’ He rang the bell again and a different servant appeared, an older man. ‘You are to find any Lollard men you are unfamiliar with. Speak with Thomas Clanvowe, for he will know this information. Make certain to tell him you come direct from me. Seek out their names and report back directly. Take any servant with you whom you trust if you need them. Make haste, man.’

  The servant bowed as if he were called upon to spy every day for the duke. It might be that he was.

  Crispin sighed. ‘If only I had such resources. But then, I would have to charge more for my services.’

  John looked at him before he laughed. ‘What would you call yourself then? The Lord of Trackers?’

  Crispin smiled. ‘I quite like the sound of that.’

  They seemed more companionable now. More comfortable with one another. Crispin told him tales of some of his adventures, and John would shake his head in surprise, digging deeper to get at the juicy details. Then John would tell Crispin of his battles in Spain, and Crispin, sitting at the edge of his seat with a longing to have been with him, made noises of sympathy when it all seemed to go wrong for his mentor. John told him that once he had returned from Spain, the king had begun treating him differently, more distantly. Something had changed but he hadn’t known what. But to break the morose fugue in the air, he told Crispin an amusing story that made him laugh out loud.

  Crispin was enjoying himself. It had been many a day since he had been in the company of those in his class. Society, he realized, was a strange thing. He had been cast away from this for so long he had supposed he was used to the underclass of London, and yet he wondered why, over the years, he had felt more adrift than not. After all, by his count, he had lived almost as many years outside his social strata than in it. He knew this was where he belonged, but also knew that it was not to be. He liked his new friends – the solid Gilbert and Eleanor Langton, the studious lawyer Nigellus Cobmartin and his lover the lively John Rykener, and faithful Jack and his family. But it always seemed to him temporary, as if he were waiting for something else. Perhaps that ‘something else’ was Heaven. He could only hope.

  His musing had made him miss the last thing John had said to him, and he avidly watched him laugh with silent amusement. It was good to see him laugh, good to see him with Lady Katherine as he had seemingly always longed to do.

  A knock on the door made them both sit up and reminded them where they were and what they were supposed to be doing. Crispin rose, straightened out his tabard, and stood off to the side as any household knight would.

  The servant had returned with three black-robed physicians, not a one of them under fifty years old. Long beards all, with gray hair hidden under merino caps.

  They bowed to the duke but seemed perplexed as to why they had been called to present themselves to him.

  The first man introduced himself as Robert Gaswyne, the second as James Trentham, and the third as Edwin Sackford. They were interchangeable in Crispin’s eyes, at least on the outset.

  ‘All of you cared for the queen,’ said Gaunt as he studied them, as if he were looking over his troops.

  They nodded humbly, two with hands to their hearts, the last with a sniffle of pity.

  ‘This man,’ and he gestured toward Crispin, ‘Cr— Er, Sir Jack, will be asking you questions and I expect you to answer him with the truth, as if you were speaking to me.’

  He stepped back and allowed Crispin to move forward. He bowed to the physicians. ‘My good sirs,’ he began. ‘Is it your contention that this was a natural death?’

  They glanced at one another in silent consultation. The first man nodded sagely, as did the second, but the last one put a hand to his cheek and buried his lips within mustache and beard.

  ‘You, sir,’ said Crispin. ‘Master Sackford, is it? Do you believe otherwise?’

  ‘I wish I could agree with my colleagues, Sir Jack. But alas. The queen, God rest her, was suffering from stomach pain and lethargy while here in Westminster. These symptoms grew only more acute when she arrived at Sheen. The carriage ride was no doubt most uncomfortable for a woman in that state. But we were not in the carriage with her.’

  ‘Were her lady’s maids with her?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Jack. It was not our place to ride with her. But when we got to the palace—’

  ‘Now, now, Master Sackford,’ said the second gentleman, Trentham. ‘She seemed merely tired. Tired at our fussing. She was in her monthly condition,’ he said confidentially.

  ‘I have been attending Her Majesty for years, my good Trentham,’ said Sackford huffily, grabbing the front of his gown with both hands and rocking importantly on his heels. ‘And she never appeared thus during her menses. I tell you she was ailing greatly.’

  ‘So it was established,’ said Gaswyne, stroking his beard. ‘She was in her menses but something else was afoot. I warned that it was the plague.’

  ‘The sweating sickness, surely,’ said Trentham.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Sackford.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Crispin. This was getting them nowhere. Each one seemed to have his own diagnosis. ‘Is it your opinion – as a supposition – that the cause could possibly be intervention by … other means? Poison, for instance?’

  Gaswyne shook his head vigorously. But Trentham and Sackford put their heads together, discussing it back and forth in Latin.

  Crispin waited, flicking a glance once at Gaunt.

  Trentham shook his head sadly. ‘Do you contend, sir, that this was an unnatural death?’

&n
bsp; ‘We merely wondered,’ Crispin said judiciously. ‘There are enemies at court.’

  ‘But … to kill the queen!’ said Sackford in hushed tones.

  ‘Is it within the realm of possibility?’

  Sackford glared steadily at Crispin. ‘It is true … that there are enemies at court.’

  God’s blood. Did the man recognize him? By the look he was giving Crispin, he didn’t doubt it. He pulled his hood closer, uselessly.

  ‘But not in this room, sir,’ said Lancaster, stepping forward.

  Sackford acknowledged the duke’s defensive posture, flicked a glance at Crispin once more, and shrugged. ‘There is the possibility, given her symptoms and sudden turn for the worse.’

  ‘Out of the question!’ Gaswyne insisted.

  ‘Not so far out of the question, Robert,’ said Trentham. ‘But unlikely. How would it have been administered?’

  ‘Her ladies. At table. In her garderobe. A pinprick from a passing courtier.’

  Lancaster pulled himself up tall. ‘You seem to know a great deal about this, Sackford.’

  ‘Only as close confidant to Their Royal Majesties. For I must be made aware, mustn’t I?’

  Lancaster snorted. ‘That sounds more like the Florentine court than England’s.’

  ‘We must talk to her lady’s maids,’ said Crispin.

  ‘Very well. You,’ said Lancaster to the physicians. ‘You will not repeat what you were asked today … or by whom,’ he said pointedly to Sackford. ‘I would be very displeased if this got back to the king. And you don’t want to displease me.’

  The men received the message with stark faces. They reasoned that they were dismissed and turned to go in a huddle, keeping close like black geese.

  Lancaster ran his hand through his still thick hair and frowned. ‘Those bumbling arses. Do you suppose they know aught of what they are saying?’

  ‘Medicine is an imprecise science, my lord. Three men, three opinions.’

  ‘Then you must talk with the lady’s maids.’

  ‘And where can they be found?’

  Lancaster searched for a servant in the room and found none.

  ‘You’ve sent them all away, you know.’