John’s eyes were wide. ‘He … knew?’
‘Yes. And though I thought he would kill me, he soon abandoned that idea. He told me things …’ Even now the king’s voice played in his head. The plaintive sound of it, as if he were ten years old again. He drank the wine. ‘I feel the worse for my part in his betrayal.’
‘You felt your cause was just.’
‘Yes. But I never thought beyond it. I never imagined that it might mean Richard’s death. And that should have been foremost in my mind.’ He knocked back the rest of the wine, hesitated, then returned to the sideboard to refill it. ‘I was at the top of my strength then, John. Lord of Sheen, a burnished knight, a strategist on the battlefield.’ He shook his head and drank. ‘How young and foolish I truly was.’
‘How truly all of us were.’
‘He said he had loved me. And I never knew that. In my pride, in my arrogance … I never knew.’
John remained quiet as Crispin slowly sloughed off the prickly emotions as the wine settled within him. ‘I, er, also encountered one of the queen’s ladies when I left the chapel. I am becoming more convinced that this death was … a natural one.’
‘Not murder?’ John fell hard into his chair. ‘Thank God for that. Do you still need to speak to our Lollard courtiers?’
‘I would still speak with them. On other matters. But this matter can be put to rest.’
‘Thank you, Crispin, for your work. If the king only knew, he would be grateful.’
‘Let us all make certain that he never knows.’
They both lifted their goblets to that.
Crispin slept heavily in one of the niches set aside for pages. He thought he would find it hard to sleep in such cramped quarters, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out until morning.
He stretched, feeling the cricks in his back. As Richard had told him, he was old and felt it. He asked one of Lancaster’s grooms for shaving things but, knowing who he was, the groom offered to do it for him.
With a face clean and shaved, he greeted his hosts once more. Though there were servants around them, John chose to serve Lady Katherine himself, bringing her tidbits to eat and poured her warmed wine.
It was almost as if Crispin had never left them all those years ago. Almost.
But then it was back to the business at hand. Thomas Clanvowe, a Lollard but one of the king’s men, sent a message to Lancaster, telling him he would meet with him. And so Crispin and Lancaster waited. It was mid-morning when Clanvowe arrived.
He was brusque, with a dark head of hair and a trimmed beard and mustache. He was richly attired as Lancaster was. Crispin knew that he had joined the king’s household only a few years ago and had married one of the queen’s ladies. He was from Herefordshire with important connections there.
He greeted Lancaster, and then turned a stern eye toward Crispin.
‘I know who you are, Crispin Guest,’ he said without preamble. ‘I know the duke and so know of you. You are an enemy of the king.’
Crispin girded himself.
Clanvowe’s expression softened. ‘But your family is Welsh, as are mine, and so, as a fellow countryman, I extend my hand.’ He did so and, without hesitation, Crispin took it. ‘I understand, Your Grace, that you have a question for me and my compatriots,’ he said to Lancaster.
The duke reached into his pouch and unfolded the parchment, handing it to Clanvowe.
Clanvowe read it and lowered the parchment. ‘What is this?’
‘This was left on the queen’s bedside at Sheen,’ said the duke.
‘And it follows that Lollards are responsible for her death?’
Crispin gently took it back from him. ‘I hope you could tell us otherwise, my lord.’
‘That is a foolish supposition. The queen was a friend to the Lollards of court. No one would dare touch her.’
‘Yes,’ said Crispin, handing the note to John. ‘I have already discovered that.’
‘You’re that Tracker in London they speak of, aren’t you, Guest? You ferret out criminals.’
‘I am and I do.’
‘Good. Glad to see your training is not going to waste. But … I have heard another rumor among my friends both in and out of court. These rumors travel quickly. You seem to be in possession of a … a book.’
John narrowed his eyes. ‘What have you to say on this matter … that involves several deaths?’
Clanvowe’s smile was grim. ‘Only that such books can be dangerous. That some would gladly free it from Master Guest’s hands for their own purposes. And … that he should be very careful.’
‘Do you know a Bishop Becke?’ Crispin asked, keeping a tight lid on his ire.
‘I’ve heard of him. He’s no friend to the Lollards.’
‘He’s no friend of mine either. And he, too, knows of the book.’
‘Then beware. When he strikes, you will not know it until you fall to the ground a corpse.’
‘You are indelicate, sir,’ said John. ‘The queen lies in the chapel.’
Clanvowe bowed. ‘I apologize. I did not mean to injure your sensibilities.’
Lancaster put a hand to his hip. ‘The queen, sir. Whatever you think of me, the king is still my nephew. It would be a shame should the information reach him that one of his rising courtiers had been tactless on the matter.’
Clanvowe changed tactics and set his features more congenially. ‘Forgive me, John. I’m afraid emotions are running somewhat high.’
‘Indeed, they are. Have a care. I might not always have defended Lollards, but you know I am one.’
‘I know. I merely wished to warn your … your pupil, here, that it is known what is in his possession.’
‘Such a well-known book,’ said Crispin, ‘and in an incomprehensible tongue, too. Curious.’
‘It was known before you got a hold of it, Guest. If I were you—’
‘Alas, you are not.’
He seemed to be struck mute for a moment … before he laughed and nudged Lancaster. ‘Your protégé.’
Lancaster said nothing.
‘I’ve seen a great deal of Lollards lately,’ said Crispin. ‘On the streets of London, preaching. Am I to be careful of Lollards, too?’
‘For this book, yes.’
‘Why in hell would a Lollard want to be seen with this book?’ said John. ‘Don’t they fear enough trouble when caught with an English Bible?’
‘Well, I am not so entrenched in Lollardy that I am in the midst of the cabal – if it could be called such. But I have heard rumors that this book is desired among those who lead.’
Crispin shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine why. And they’ve killed the only man likely to be able to translate it in London.’
‘They?’
‘Becke’s men.’
‘Becke doesn’t care to translate it. He only cares that it is destroyed.’
‘What have you got yourself into, Crispin?’ said Lancaster with a frown.
‘Too much … as usual, my lord.’
There was little left to discuss. Clanvowe bid his farewells and Crispin knew his time to depart had come. He turned to Lancaster regretfully. ‘I should be going too. I do not think you need fear that the queen died by misadventure.’
‘That is good, Crispin. You’ve done well.’
Crispin looked down at his tabard. ‘If I may keep this, Your Grace …’
‘I believe I gave you one before.’
‘I was careless with it.’
‘Hmpf,’ grunted the duke.
‘It will help me leave the palace, at any rate.’
‘You are the most charmed man alive, Crispin.’
‘Am I?’
‘You should have been dead a thousand times over by now.’
He chuckled. ‘I have a very weary guardian angel, my lord, that is the truth of it.’
‘If you must leave then have a care. You are in our thoughts and in our prayers. And tell that man of mine that he can stop guarding your Jack.’
>
Crispin hadn’t known what Lancaster had said to the man from whom he had got the tabard, but now he was more grateful than ever for the duke’s intervention. ‘That was kind of you. Thank you.’
‘I know how you dote on that boy. Reminds me of … well. Of the two of us.’
Crispin could only nod. He was afraid his voice would betray him.
Lady Katherine was either listening at the door or had a sense about these things. She appeared in the doorway just as Crispin was taking his leave.
‘You are leaving us?’ she said.
He bowed. ‘Yes, my lady. Always with regret. But I have other business to do.’
‘Your conclusion is resolved, then. The queen died of a sickness?’
‘As near as I can conclude. Be at ease on it.’
She sighed and crossed herself. ‘That is good news – among all the bad.’
‘Yes. Well, it was good to see you both. I thank you for your hospitality.’
‘God be with you, Crispin.’ She took his arm, drew him in, and kissed his forehead like any mother would. His throat tightened for a moment, for it had been many a year since his own mother had given him her blessing … but he sobered quickly when he felt a pouch pressed into his hand, a pouch of coins. He was about to object when she gave him a tender look that stilled his tongue. Well, if she wanted to be his mother, he supposed he’d have to indulge her.
He bowed again, clutched the pouch tight in his hand, and left them.
He made his way alone through the still mourning court, where courtiers wore solemn faces and conferred with the canons of St Stephen’s in the corridors. The scaffolding and ropes were still present in the great hall but no workmen were in sight. With impunity by virtue of his tabard, he made his way out the doors of the palace and into its courtyard.
And when he passed through the gates he came to halt when he noticed a beggar, the one who had accosted him before, sitting outside the gate, seemingly waiting for him.
THIRTEEN
Crispin grabbed him by his disgusting coat and dragged him to his feet, shoving him against the wall. ‘Why do I see you at every turn?’
‘Do you think I am following you, Master Guest? I just have to prick me ears for the voices of the dead to find you. They surround you.’
Crispin released him and frowned. The dead. Yes, he was surrounded by the dead. The deaths of his parents, those that died in the conspiracy that had failed to execute him, the dead of London who fell into his path. He did not like the images that grew in his head of the dead surrounding him. ‘You are a mad old man. I say again, stop following me!’
But even as Crispin stalked away toward London, he heard the beggar’s steps behind him. He whirled. ‘Do you have a death wish?’
‘Ah, a death wish. Now there is some strange language. No, no, I have no wish for death, not as yet. But I tell you, from what I hear – that constant chatter – that it isn’t so bad to die. No, not at all. It is just that those that die from murder are the saddest, sorriest voices you’ll ever hear.’
‘I praise God that I do not.’
‘Do you? Well now. It is a gift and a curse. For I hear them at night when I rest me head. And there’s been many a time I’ve pleaded with them to stop.’ His eyes seemed suddenly demented for a moment. He smacked his skull a few times. ‘But blind me, they don’t. They don’t stop neither day nor night. They plead. They call. Do you not hear them?’ He appeared annoyed that Crispin did not share in his madness.
‘No. Away with you.’
‘You pulled your sword on me once. Would you hear my voice in your head?’
Crispin thought of drawing his sword … and then left it alone. He didn’t like the idea that he might start hearing these voices.
‘What do you want of me?’ Crispin dug into his pouch and took out some of the coins that Lady Katherine had given him. ‘I’ll pay you to walk away.’
The man never even looked at the coins, some of them gold. ‘I don’t want your money. I can’t use it. I want … I want …’
A man on a horse rode hard, kicking up mud between them. Pedestrians jumped out of his way. Crispin stepped back, but once the rider was gone, so was the beggar. Crispin searched both ways on the wide avenue, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
‘Perhaps I am losing my mind,’ he muttered, stuffing the coins away, and heading toward London.
When he arrived at the Shambles he noticed Lancaster’s man, dead asleep and standing up, leaning against a wall opposite Crispin’s lodgings. Crispin strode up to him, tapped him on the shoulder, and smiled. The man sputtered awake and made a move to draw his sword.
With an appeasing hand, Crispin shook his head. ‘You have done your duty, and I thank you. His Grace the duke told me to tell you that you may return to Westminster.’
The man straightened his clothes and smoothed out his hair. ‘Where’s my horse?’
‘Oh. I didn’t think to bring it with me.’
The man sighed wearily. ‘Very well, then.’ He eyed the tabard that Crispin had taken from him and wasn’t about to give up. ‘God keep you, Master Guest.’
‘And you, sir.’
He watched the man walk away for only a moment before he proceeded to the poulterer’s shop. He unlocked the door and walked in.
‘Who’s there!’ came the cry from above. Jack was at the landing with dagger in hand. ‘Oh! It’s you, sir.’ He scrambled down the steps and sheathed his dagger. ‘Well? What happened?’
‘The queen died by sickness.’
Jack sagged against the table. ‘That is a relief. There would have been holy hell in the streets had any other verdict been reached.’
‘Yes, I am glad of it, too. Oh, and Jack. The queen’s ladies wished to give my salutations and good prayers to my “Goat”.’
Jack did not smile as he expected him to. Instead, a sadly tender expression stole over his features. ‘Aw, now. It makes me sad, thinking of the poor queen, bless her soul. But them sweet sentiments and soft memories I take very kindly. Very kindly indeed.’
Crispin nodded and took out Lady Katherine’s pouch and handed it to Jack. ‘Courtesy of Lady Katherine Swynford. Put it in our retirement hoard.’
‘Hoard, is it?’ Jack grumbled. But when he looked inside the pouch he whistled. ‘Blind me. Maybe a hoard after all.’ He went to the loose board behind the stair and secreted it among the other coins and baubles he and Crispin had managed to save.
‘Any trouble while I was away?’
‘There was a man outside watching the place. I kept my eye on him.’
Crispin laughed. ‘And he kept his eye on you. He was Lancaster’s man.’
‘Oh, that’s a fine thing! Someone could have told me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m just glad to have you back in one piece, sir. If you had run into the king, I feared I’d never see you again.’
‘As it happens …’ he said, hanging his hood and cloak on a peg. He slipped off the tabard and carefully laid it in a coffer. ‘… I did. We have come to an … understanding.’
‘Eh? And Richard didn’t kill you where you stood?’
‘He almost did. Ah, Jack.’ He sat, fingers drumming at the table. ‘It is all far more complicated than I ever imagined. I felt sorry for him. He loved her dearly.’
It was all on Jack’s face. He would not ask for details and Crispin would not give them. It was far more complicated than ever he imagined. Had Richard’s fondness for him truly saved his life? Perhaps appeasing his uncle only served as a convenient excuse. And now that feeling of guilt would not leave him. He pondered the mystery that was Richard Plantagenet. He thought him a spoiled child, tending to tantrums, and when he got older and was king, his opinion on the matter hadn’t changed all that much. To suddenly discover that Richard loved him, had, in fact, wanted to save him, threw all his memories of him to the winds.
Jack thankfully awoke him from his guilty musings. ‘Is it safe to bring Isabel and the children b
ack?’
‘I don’t think so. As long as we are in possession of that book. Apparently, there are Lollards abroad who also want it.’
‘Blind me. Why would any of them want that book?’
‘It is a puzzle to me as well, Jack. But there are men who would wish to contemplate it, as I have done.’
‘I don’t see that it does anyone any good. It’s already killed three men.’
‘We are in agreement, to be sure. And, I have come to the conclusion that I must tell the sheriffs … well. What can I tell them? That a bishop is on my heels, that his men slaughtered those innocents on Church business? What would they say to that? What could they do about it? Sue to the Church? It is a complete muddle.’
‘Sheriff Whittington was good to you, sir. You must tell him something, at least.’
‘You’re right, of course. The truth is often the best. Let him sort it out.’
Jack kicked at an ashy stick loosed from the hearth. ‘It all don’t feel right, does it, master? We usually catch the man and the sheriffs scoop him up. And then that’s that. But here we are at loose ends.’
‘Yes, it does trouble me. I … I don’t know what to do, what to feel. And then there was this damned beggar following me, talking nonsense of hearing the dead and why didn’t I hear their voices too.’
‘What’s that? A beggar who hears voices? Well, there’s something new,’ he said derisively.
‘It wasn’t just voices but particular ones. The murdered ones, he said. That they were all around me.’
Jack shivered and crossed himself. ‘He’s just mad … isn’t he?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Crispin hunkered down in his chair. Was he listening to the silence, straining to hear those voices?
‘The sheriffs, sir?’ Jack reminded.
Crispin nodded and rose. ‘Yes. I must go.’
‘And I suppose … I must stay here.’
‘The book needs guarding.’
‘Shouldn’t we just surrender it to the sheriffs and let them sort it?’
Jack wore such a hopeful expression that Crispin nearly gave in. He wanted Isabel and the children home almost as much as Tucker did. But there was an itch at the back of his head that told him he mustn’t give it away. Not yet. Perhaps he was meant to destroy it as he had done all those years ago with the Mandyllon, that bit of cloth with Christ’s face upon it. Maybe some things were meant for the ash heap. Maybe some things were too dangerous. But damn it, he would decide, not some vile priest.
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