It wasn’t long till he felt steps treading in the same rhythm behind him. When he stopped and turned, he was face to face with a smiling Hugo Crouch.
‘Well?’ he asked warily.
‘The voices, Master Guest. They are calmer now. They thank you for giving them rest.’
A deep shiver assailed him and he wanted nothing more than to run from this man, from his words, from the image conjured in his mind. But he stood his ground and kept his face neutral and said nothing.
‘It’s a fine thing to give peace to the dead. Ah, you have a rare gift, Master Guest, no mistaking. It isn’t just anyone who can do it. As rare a gift as mine. A gift and a curse, eh?’
Still, Crispin kept his lips shut tight, looking down his nose at the beggar.
‘A curse because it never ends, does it?’ Crouch went on. ‘But every man must make his way in the world. You’re better for it, I daresay. Better than you’ll ever know.’ Crouch smiled, winked knowingly, and gave a little salute. Humming to himself, he turned heel and wandered in his strange sideways gait off to God-knew-where.
Crispin watched him and wondered how many such men lived in London like Crouch. Was it a rare thing? He hoped so. Rather like madness itself.
He mulled his thoughts and continued his journey back home. Just as he was crossing into the Shambles, a man on the street approached Crispin and touched his sleeve. ‘Are you Crispin Guest?’
God’s blood, what now! He still hadn’t sloughed off the strangeness of Hugo Crouch, but he looked the man over and warily replied, ‘Yes.’ Before he could ask, the man handed him a parchment and quickly walked away. Dreading what the missive might say, he unfolded it and read:
To the most honorable Tracker Crispin Guest, I bid you God’s grace and my greetings,
Sir, I hope that this afternoon is a felicitous time for myself to make a visit to you. I have sent a message as you have described and I shall presently take myself to your doorstep. I do hope you are at home and that we can visit.
In all the mercy of the saints and of God Himself,
Christopher Walcote
Crispin read it through several times and smiled. That damned boy was persistent, he’d give him that. He looked up and realized he’d need to trot home to get there in time to intercept the boy. He got to within sight of his lodgings just as Christopher was arriving, walking by himself without an escort.
‘And just what do you think you are doing, Master Walcote?’ Crispin asked, strolling forward and trying to even his breathing. He stepped up the granite step and unlocked the door.
‘Why are you all wet? Did you get my message, Master Crispin?’
‘I received your message only mere moments ago.’ He stood at the door and let the boy tromp through. ‘Must I explain it in detail to you? You are to message me to see when I will be home and if I can accommodate you. It might well be that I have visitors or clients or must travel out of town. And here you are without a servant to escort you. What would your mother say?’
‘She’d scold me,’ he said, distracted. He was fingering the leather scabbard hanging by the door.
‘And rightly so. As it happens, I am expecting the return of my apprentice’s family.’
‘Oh, I like Jack Tucker!’
‘So do I.’
He seemed to run out of conversation, and there was no time to give him his fighting instruction today. Crispin stuffed the livery into the coffer by the door, sat on it and pulled off his wet boots. ‘Did you hear what I said, boy? Today is not a good day. You must give me more notice and then wait for my reply.’
Christopher heaved a great sigh and looked around, moving to the bottom of the stairway. He glanced up the stairs, trying to see beyond the gloom above. ‘Is that your chamber up there? It’s a small house, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Crispin stood back in his stocking feet, fitting his thumbs in his belt. ‘It is a humble dwelling for a humble family.’
‘I suppose. Do you truly have no time for me now, Master Crispin? It is hard for me to get away. My father has me spend more and more time on the business, and soon I will have no time at all to learn about swords and such.’
‘I … I am sorry to hear that, Christopher, but after all, your father is only sharing with you his trade, a trade that will make you as wealthy as he is.’
‘But you’re not wealthy.’
He felt the sting but shrugged it off. ‘No. I was once. And now my life is difficult. I must earn my wage to put food on the table. I have many mouths to feed now. Believe me, Christopher, though there are many responsibilities with having wealth, it is far better to be wealthy than to be poor.’
‘But our Lord Jesus says that it is easier to fit a camel through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into Heaven. And He is always talking about the poor. Isn’t it better to be humble and poor in the eyes of God?’
‘Hmm.’ Crispin rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him toward the table. Crispin sat and he held the boy before him. ‘You know your Scripture well. That is good. But, the truth is, God does love the rich as well as the poor, but perhaps He spares a little more love for the poor because they need Him the most. The poor hunger and are cold without a proper roof over their heads. Do not envy the poor, lad. But, on the other hand, when a man is wealthy he has responsibilities. He must make certain to help shelter and feed the poor. God wishes for him to do this. He must give charitably. He must never degrade the lowly.’ And, in that instant, Crispin thought of Hugo Crouch. ‘For to each man to whom much is given, much shall be asked of him; and they shall ask more of him, to whom they betook much. Do you understand that?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It means that the more you have – a wealthy man, for instance – the more is expected of you. When I was a wealthy man, I was obliged by my position to make certain that my tenants had enough to eat and were protected from outside forces. I gave generously, prayed for their welfare, and saw that the priests in the chapel prayed for their dead. Some wealthy men think that it means they may spend as much as they like, but we all must tithe to our parish churches and we must all be certain that our fellow man eats and is clothed.’
‘I … think my father is generous.’
‘I’m sure he is. And he does not brag of it. That is best. For God knows what we do in secret. It is only the braggart who must go about yelling about how great he is.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I see. That is a good lesson, too, even if we can’t use swords this time.’
Crispin smiled. ‘Yes. Everything in your life will be a lesson. And it is up to you to pay careful attention.’
‘I will, Master Crispin.’
Crispin rose and walked to the door with the boy. ‘Next time you will wait for my letter?’
‘Yes, sir. But … there is one thing that has been troubling me.’ He slowed and turned at the door. He looked up and Crispin realized the sadness in his eyes. He crouched low and took the boy’s shoulders.
‘What is it, Christopher?’
‘I don’t have many friends. I mean … close. Like … like Martin used to be.’
His heart swooped. The boy’s friend. He was dead now these two years.
‘Why did Martin have to die?’ His eyes were glossy, but the stubbornness of his set chin fought the tears.
Crispin gazed at him solemnly. ‘You know why.’
Christopher lowered his face. ‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘He was a murderer. But he was also my dearest friend. And John Horne deserved it. I should have killed him myself.’
‘Then you would have died. And your mother would have been greatly aggrieved.’
‘I know. Is it a sin to pray for Martin’s soul even if he was a murderer?’
‘Oh, no, child. It is a very great thing to pray for those we loved, even if they did wrong. Especially so.’
He nodded, put his finger to his mouth, and gnawed on a knuckle before he seemed to realize what he was doing and took it out, wiping his finger
on his coat. He screwed up his mouth and raised his eyes to Crispin again. ‘Master Crispin,’ he said quietly, seeming to choose his words. His fidgeting hands stopped and fell to his sides. ‘Are you my father?’
Crispin snapped up straight and blinked down at the boy. ‘You … you must never ask such a question!’
‘I don’t look like my father – Clarence Walcote, that is. I look like you. Tell me.’
He shoved him by the shoulder toward the door. ‘It’s time for you to go home, Christopher.’
He dug in his heels. ‘Please tell me. The servant I brought with me last time. I heard him talking to the other servants. That’s why I came alone. Master Crispin, please tell me and I shall never bring it up again.’
Stricken, Crispin stood before him. He shook his head. ‘I cannot.’
‘I love Clarence Walcote. I do. But I would just like to know—’
‘No, you don’t!’ Crispin turned away and paced across his hall. ‘You don’t want to be the son of a pauper.’
‘But you were a knight!’
He halted and swung toward the boy, viciously. ‘But not any more! Harken to me, boy. I …’ But what he was about to say died on his lips. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he shook his head. Quietly he said instead, ‘It hurts my heart that I cannot acknowledge you.’
Christopher’s eyes lit and his face beamed.
‘I would,’ Crispin went on heedlessly. ‘I would, believe me. But your life is far better off if you forget about me. Clarence Walcote is your father. He is wealthy. He is respected. That is something you cannot have as my son. You would be branded a bastard. Do you understand what that means? To those around you? To even your servants? Being a bastard is not any kind of honor. It will follow you all your days.’
The joy in the boy’s face faded. ‘My mother. Did she … did she commit adultery? It is a great sin.’
‘No.’ He sagged. He wanted to dash his head against the wall. Why hadn’t he told the boy no? Why had he all but admitted it? Because he had selfishly wanted to tell the boy. It was too late to take it back now. ‘No, Christopher. We … we were together before she married your father.’
He seemed to release all tension in his small frame. ‘Good. That is a great relief to me. I love my mother dearly.’ He gnawed on his finger again before tearing it from his mouth once more. ‘Is it so much of a sin …’ His voice was quiet, spoken to the door he was facing. ‘Is it so much of a sin … to be glad that you are my true father?’
Crispin swallowed. His mouth was parched suddenly. ‘Clarence Walcote is a good man. Not every man can or should be a knight, just as not every man can be a good mercer.’
The boy snorted but Crispin faced him again, giving him his sternest expression. ‘Christopher, you must never speak of this again. Please. For your sake and that of your mother. And, under the circumstances, perhaps … perhaps we should not meet again.’
‘No! I want to learn these things. I want to learn them from you. I might need it someday. We might go to war.’
‘I doubt very much that you shall need to go to war.’ Above all, he had to protect the boy. But he had a great need to teach him these skills, skills that he excelled at and had loved at Christopher’s age. The boy might never be a knight as Crispin had been, but a man needed to know how to fight. ‘Well … you must promise me that you shall never speak of this. To anyone. Even to me.’
‘I will, Master Crispin! I swear!’
‘Good. Now … it’s time for you to go home. When Master Jack returns I will have him accompany you. You must not travel alone unless you are deemed old enough.’
‘I wish … I wish I had been Master Jack.’
‘He had a dreadful childhood. Alone, impoverished, begging for scraps. Why on earth would you want such a thing?’
‘Because … then I would have been raised by you.’
It was every bit like a gut punch. Crispin staggered back slightly, holding his stomach that had seemed to steal his breath. If only it could have been. If only …
He shook it free and straightened. ‘You were raised by a loving father. Never speak of it. You promised.’
‘I know,’ he said, head lowered. ‘I’ll go.’ He even walked toward the door and Crispin thought he intended to go through it. But suddenly he turned, looked up at Crispin, and launched himself forward, wrapping his thin arms around Crispin’s waist. Crispin’s arms embraced him before he could think. He looked down on that dark head of hair and a wave of pride washed away the sadness … at least for a moment.
A knock on the door drew them apart.
‘You see,’ said Crispin. ‘Your governor has come seeking you out. You must never try to elude him again.’
But when he opened the door expecting a servant, the person of the Duke of Lancaster filled the doorway.
TWENTY-FOUR
John of Gaunt first looked at Crispin, but then his gaze fell to the boy beside him. Then he looked at Crispin again, and then the boy.
‘Your Grace.’ He bowed, then elbowed Christopher to do the same. ‘My lord, may I present Young Christopher Walcote, son of a mercer. Christopher, this is John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster.’
Christopher gasped. ‘Oh, my lord!’ He bowed again. ‘It is an honor.’
John leaned over, reached out his hand to shake the boy’s, and smiled. ‘It is a very great honor to meet such an accomplished mercer.’
‘Oh, sir. I am only the son of a mercer. I am still learning my trade.’
‘Ah, well then. It’s a proud trade. I’ve no doubt you shall excel at it.’
Christopher looked up at Crispin. ‘Yes. I am proud of my father.’
Crispin grabbed his shoulders and steered him toward the door. ‘Christopher, you must wait outside for Master Jack to take you home.’
‘I can have one of my men do it,’ said the duke. ‘Young Walcote, tell my man there that he will escort you home.’
‘I will. Thank you, my lord. Farewell, Master Crispin. I will write and wait for your reply next time.’
‘God be with you, Master Walcote. Fare you well.’
The boy waved to Crispin as he slowly shut the door. And when it was shut at last, Crispin crumpled into his chair and covered his face with his hand. ‘God’s blood, what have I done?’
‘What have you done?’
‘He asked me if I was his father? And I … I couldn’t deny it.’
‘All he needs is a looking glass. God’s legs, Crispin. He is your very image. I remember that boy from years ago. I hoisted him on my own shoulders.’
He shook his head, still covering his face. ‘I couldn’t tell him it was a lie.’
‘Well …’ John pulled a chair from the table and sat next to him. ‘You admonished him to silence, did you not?’
‘Yes. But he’s a boy.’
‘And boys love to tell secrets. Though, if he is anything like you, he will keep it well.’
He raised his head. ‘Will he?’
‘I daresay there are still some secrets you have never told.’
‘I daresay there are.’
‘There you have it.’
He put his anxiety aside and stared at John. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘That’s a fine thing. Your old mentor comes to visit and that’s how you greet him?’
He smiled. ‘I apologize. I merely wondered …’
‘I wanted to see if all is well with that troublesome book you talked about.’
‘It is well. We are … all well. And by the way, the book came to me because of Henry.’
‘What’s that you say? My Henry?’
‘The very same. It seems he obtained it in the Holy Land and gave it to a man to give to me.’
John seemed embarrassed and then annoyed. ‘Well. I shall have to have words with him when next I see him.’
‘Yes. Please do so.’
They sat quietly for a moment, each in their own thoughts.
‘Will you have wine, John?’
&nb
sp; ‘No, thank you. It is only a brief visit. I wanted to see these new lodgings.’
‘But you already saw them.’
They both glanced around, assessing together. When their eyes met, they laughed. ‘It is better than the old one,’ said Crispin.
‘But where is this full house of yours?’
‘Jack has gone to fetch them. I sent them away while this other business happened. It wasn’t safe.’
‘Henry,’ muttered John. ‘I’m glad it’s concluded.’
Crispin surveyed the duke’s line-etched face. ‘Lady Katherine sent you, didn’t she?’
John bristled. ‘And what if she did?’
Crispin laughed. ‘I’m glad she did.’ He was satisfied when the duke smiled too. ‘Will you marry her?’
It was an impudent question, but he felt that they were Crispin and John again and did not fear his mentor’s wrath.
John’s expression softened. ‘It is my fondest desire to do so. Crispin, a little advice.’ He leaned in toward him and Crispin edged forward as well. ‘If you come across a woman whom you love, do not hesitate. Marry her. Time is fleeting.’
‘How I wish you had given me that advice some eleven years ago.’
John glanced toward the closed door, no doubt thinking of the boy who had just passed through it.
‘Do you regret your marriages, John? They made you wealthy. They gave you peerage.’
‘I was young and ambitious. No, I don’t regret them. At least, I did not at the time. But with the passing of years and at the twilight of my life—’
‘Surely not.’
‘And yet I feel it. We’ve traveled to many places, Crispin, you and I. We’ve fought many a battle. Hard battles.’
‘I regret none of that time with you.’
He patted Crispin’s leg. ‘Nor I. But that time is catching up to me.’
‘Me, too,’ said Crispin. He remembered the stitch in his side running after Ashdown.
‘It’s been a good life for me, Crispin. I am grateful to God for putting Katherine in my path.’
‘You mean putting that rogue Chaucer in your household, for she is his sister-in-law.’
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