Justin couldn't help laughing. "I suggest, then, that you teach Aldith to read. Now... what of Gilbert's whore? Were you able to find out anything more about her?"
"Jonas is seeing to that. He said he'd meet us here this afternoon with whatever he'd learned. But I'll be astonished if that road leads anywhere."
"Are all sheriffs so miserly about doling out hope?" Justin gibed, although hope had always been a scarce commodity in his own life, too - until now.
"Hope and whores rarely go together," Luke countered, and with that, Justin could not argue. Instead, he borrowed a pair of dice from another alehouse customer and ordered a flagon from Nell. If they had to wait for Jonas, they might as well enjoy themselves.
~~
They had not long to wait, for Jonas arrived within the hour. He was accompanied by a tall, gangling youth, towheaded and freckle faced, who looked as if he belonged behind a plough in the Kent countryside, not braving the urban perils of London. Signaling to Nell for drinks, Jonas pulled up a bench.
Almost at once, Nell materialized by the table. Ostensibly, she was there with two more cups and a brimming flagon. She made no move to withdraw after serving them, though, hovering nearby with unabashed curiosity. But the men were so focused upon Jonas and his news that they did not even notice her eavesdropping.
"This is Aldred. We have to speak English, for he knows no French. Aldred is the one I sent to the Bull. All my men wanted to go," Jonas said with a sly smile. "It was the first time I can remember them actually volunteering for a duty. But Aldred did right well. Being in a bawdyhouse seems to've sharpened his wits, for he was able to follow Nora home afterward without getting caught. I've a man watching now in case the Fleming comes calling on her."
Justin was surprised. "She does not live at the bawdyhouse? I thought that was the usual practice?"
Jonas shook his head. "The Southwark stews are different from whorehouses in other cities, for the old king set forth laws to govern them, laws meant to confine sinning to one specific area and keep public disorder to a minimum."
"They have all kinds of rules," Aldred chimed in eagerly. He had a rustic's way of speaking, lacking the distinctive East Saxon accent of the native Londoner. But the blue eyes meeting Justin's gaze were bright and clear. He might be green; he was not dull. "Women married or with child cannot work in the stews " he continued. "Nor can nuns."
Luke interjected a wry "I would hope to God not!"
But Aldred was intent upon sharing his newfound knowledge and plunged in. "Nora - that be her name - told me all about the laws. They're right interesting and I think fair, too. No woman can be held there against her will. The whores are to live elsewhere and pay rent for their rooms to the stew-master. He is not supposed to lend them money, not over sixpence, lest they get so deeply in debt that they end up working for nothing. They must be seen by a doctor every three months, so men can be sure they are free of the pox. They are not allowed to have lovers, are punished if they do. They're not to whore during holy days, and the last man with a whore must stay with her all night long."
"Why?" The other regulations seemed self-explanatory to Justin, but that one puzzled him; he very much doubted that the Crown was concerned with making sure a man got his money's worth.
"That is easy," Luke explained. "It is to thwart river crossings. Once curfew is rung, the city gates are closed. But if men could hire a ferryman on the Southwark side of the river, they could then roam the streets as they pleased, up to no good."
Aldred started to speak, stopped abruptly as Nell approached with another flagon. As soon as she withdrew, he seized control of the conversation again. "I suppose that is why they are forbidden to sell ale or wine in the stews - to keep drunken brawls from breaking out. But some of the bawdyhouses still offer it on the sly," he confided. "Nora had wine sent up to her room. She said they are not supposed to sell food either, and I see no reason for that rule. Do you, my lords?"
Luke was about to venture a guess that it was to keep the customers from tarrying once they'd gotten what they paid for above-stairs. But Jonas forestalled him. "I daresay we could pass the rest of the day talking about whores. We ought to be talking, though, about one whore in particular. Tell us about the Fleming's Irish wench, Aldred."
"Well... she is young and pretty. Her hair is a pale yellow color, like new-churned butter. She has a little waist and..." Aldred hesitated, for Nell was still nearby, and he did not know how to describe Nora's physical charms in polite terms. "She'd make a good wet nurse," he finally blurted out, gesturing with his hands to indicate the ampleness of Nora's breasts, and flushing then when Luke and Justin laughed.
Jonas did not. "I already know she's good in bed, lad," he said impatiently, "for you came back grinning from ear to ear. That's not what we need to know. Is she clever? Featherbrained? A bitch? A talker? You must have formed some opinion of the woman, Aldred!"
Aldred squirmed on the bench; up until now, Jonas had called upon him to provide brawn, not brains. "She... she talks easy enough, but she says little, in truth. She's not one for chattering, like most women. She was sweet as honey at first." His flush deepened; he could hear again that soft Irish lilt, calling him "darlin' lad" and "lover." "But she was different afterward, once she had the money. Then she became right practical. I think she is a woman with secrets, not easy to read." This last phrase was said self-consciously, for Aldred had never so much as opened a book. "Looking into her eyes was like looking into the eyes of our barn cat back home. Does that make any sense?" To his relief, they were nodding, so it must.
"Very good, lad," Luke said, and Aldred grinned widely. Picking up his ale cup, he drank, eyeing Nell all the while. She was cleaning spilt ale from a nearby table, but Aldred had enough experience in eavesdropping to recognize another practitioner of that useful skill. When Nell glanced his way, he winked, and was delighted when she gave him an impish half-smile before turning aside. She did not go far, though, staying within earshot. Aldred did not give her away, and as the men talked, planning their strategy, she listened intently, and she, too, made plans.
~~
Six nights later, Justin, Luke, and Jonas were back, seated at the same table. Nell was giving them such good service that the other customers noticed and marveled. But her efforts were in vain. They were not talking much, and when they did, it was in French. Nell was growing increasingly frustrated. Her spirits lifted, though, when the door banged and Gunter strolled in. A man who valued order and took comfort in routine, he was expecting only his usual evening ale. But he'd taken just a few steps before he was accosted by Nell, pulled aside for an urgent conference.
"Am I glad to see you! Go over and talk to Justin straightaway!"
"Why? Is something wrong?"
"I want to hear what they're saying. If you're there, they'll talk English." Gunter was starting to shake his head, for he did not want to get involved in one of Nell's schemes. He liked her well enough, but he did not fully approve of her; he was somewhat alarmed by her headstrong ways and quick temper. But then she entreated softly, "For me, Gunter? Please?" And he found himself crossing the chamber, as if propelled by the sheer force of her will. As she'd predicted, he was welcomed warmly by Justin and Luke, succinctly by Jonas, and was soon pulling up a stool to join them, feeling uncomfortably like a spy in their midst.
They were quite willing to share their disappointment with him, for his pitchfork attack upon Gilbert the Fleming had earned him the right to participate in their hunt, if only vicariously. They'd had no luck whatsoever, they informed him glumly. For six days now, they'd kept Nora under watch. They'd rented a room across the street from the house Nora shared with three other prostitutes, and took turns keeping her lodgings under surveillance. They'd put the Bull under close watch, too, and whenever she ventured out, she was trailed at a discreet distance. All to no avail.
Justin was not as downcast as his companions, for he'd managed to find some free time to spend with Claudine. He'd escorted her
to the leper hospital of St Giles, where she'd distributed alms at the queen's behest, and later in the week he'd taken her skating at Moorfields; both times, they'd ended up in bed back at Gunter's cottage.
But neither Luke nor Jonas had a Claudine to make the waiting bearable, even pleasurable. As the days dragged by without results, Luke was becoming as edgy and ill tempered as a wet cat. Nor was Jonas in the best of moods, either. He listened morosely as Luke complained about the futility of their efforts and did not argue with the deputy's pessimistic conclusion: that Nora was poor bait to catch a killer.
"The truth is," Luke said grimly, "the Fleming is not a man to lose his head over any woman. However much he enjoys rutting with this whore, he is not about to put himself at risk for her."
Jonas grunted a sour assent, and Justin shrugged. "What will you do now?" Gunter asked, trying to ignore Nell, who was industriously sweeping the floor rushes near their table.
"That is what we've been arguing about," Justin admitted. "I think we ought to give it more time. But Luke says we've squandered nigh on a week as it is, a week he can ill afford to lose. He thinks we have to take more drastic measures."
Luke nodded vigorously. "I'm getting bone-weary of sleeping on the floor of your cottage, Gunter. And it's becoming obvious to me that we can watch this woman from now till the spring thaw with no results. So Jonas is going to arrest her, see if we cannot get her to reveal the Fleming's whereabouts -"
"No! You cannot do that!"
The men were staring at Nell as if she'd lost her senses, but she didn't let that daunt her. "You must not do this," she insisted. "Once you arrest her, you lose any chance of catching Gilbert off guard. And if you cannot get her to talk, what then? You cannot even be sure she has anything to tell you!"
Luke was frowning. "I do not mean to be rude, Nell, but this is none of your concern."
"Be thankful that I'm here to keep you from making a great mistake. What do you know about this woman? Whores are not supposed to take lovers, can be fined and even put in gaol for a few weeks. So why is she sharing her bed with Gilbert? Is she too scared to tell him nay? From what I've heard about the man, that is not far fetched. Or she might like having such a dangerous lover. Some women do. Or she might want the protection of being known as the Fleming's woman. Or she could be his accomplice as well as his bedmate, for whores often hear useful information. Who's to say she's not passing it on to him? She could even fancy herself in love with him. As unlikely as that sounds, the world is full of fools. Could she be one of them? You do not know, do you? You cannot answer any of those questions. And until you can, arresting her would be lunacy!"
"What You say makes some ," Luke conceded. "I'll not deny that. But how are we supposed to find out those answers? Hide under her bed? None of us can approach her, for we're all known on sight to Gilbert. So who could we send… Aldred? A lamb to the slaughter, for certes!"
Glancing toward Justing, Nell saw that he'd guessed where she was going with this conversation, and she said hastily, before he could object, "I doubt that any man alive would have much luck with Nora. She'll take men into her bed, not into her confidence. Most whores do not trust men, as plain and simple as that. To get the answers you need, it'll take a woman."
Luke leaned back in his seat, the hint of a smile hovering in the corners of his mouth. "Do you have any particular woman in mind, Nell?"
"Well… I thought Justin could ask the queen if she has a free afternoon. Who do you think I meant? Me, of course!"
15
LONDON
February 1193
No!" Justin slammed his cup down with such force that ale sloshed over onto the table. "Have you lost your senses, Nell? I'd not let you get within a mile of Gilbert the Fleming, not even if he were six months dead and six feet deep!"
Nell arched a brow. "Need I remind you that you are not my husband? For certes, you are not my father. So unless you are one of the Almighty's own angels in disguise, what right have you to forbid me to do anything?"
Justin frowned, but her argument was incontrovertible. "No right," he conceded. "But I am not meddling in your life, Nell, merely trying to save it! I do not think you realize how dangerous a man the Fleming is -"
'"No? And who patched you up after your own encounter with the Fleming?" Arms akimbo, Nell glowered at Justin. Almost at once, though, she relented. "I know you mean well, Justin. But you need not fret on my behalf. I'll not be matching wits with the Fleming, or even crossing paths with him. It is his whore I seek to cozen, and I fully expect all of you to be close at hand."
"You can rely upon that, lass," Luke said, so heartily that Justin realized he'd embraced Nell's idea as his own. As for Jonas, Justin never doubted that he'd be one for staking out a lamb to catch a wolf. Finding himself outnumbered and outvoted, Justin could only say grimly, "I like it not," while vowing silently not to let Nell out of his sight, come what may.
Gunter was no less dismayed than Justin, troubled enough to forsake his usual reticence. "I have no say in this. But I must voice my misgivings, nonetheless. Nell, I urge you to think again. This Fleming is an evil, godless man, who kills for the sport of it. Why ever would you take such a risk?"
"For the money, of course." Nell smiled patiently at Gunter. "They pay informants, after all. They even offer rewards for the capture of some felons. Is that not so?" she demanded of Jonas and Luke, her eyes narrowing until they both nodded. "So you see, Gunter, it will be a profitable partnership for us all. They get what they want - to see Gilbert the Fleming hanged - and I get the money I need for my Lucy. Can there be a more worthy aim than that?"
Gunter shook his head somberly. "Any good mother wants what is best for her child. But what if this plan goes awry? What if you find yourself facing down the Fleming? What would happen to Lucy then?"
Despite her iron-edged resolve, Nell was chilled by his words. What if evil did befall her? An orphan's lot was not an easy one. Could her cousin be relied upon to do right by Lucy? For a moment or so, Nell wavered, and then turned a deliberately deaf ear to these insidious eleventh-hour qualms.
"I'll not deny there is some risk. But risk is as much a part of life as the air we breathe. I could step on a rusty nail this very night, have it fester, and be dead ere the week was out. I trust these men to see to my safety. Is that trust misplaced?" she challenged, and got the response she expected, immediate assurances from Justin and Luke and even Jonas that her faith in them was utterly justified.
Luke then went on to promise recklessly that she'd be in no danger whatsoever. But neither Justin nor Jonas echoed his avowal, for the former could not shake off a sense of foreboding and the latter knew that even the most heartfelt of promises could be reduced to tatters by the slashings of a sharp knife.
~~
During those hours when Masses were not being said, St Paul's Cathedral was used for more secular activities. Known as Paul's Walk, the nave was a favorite gathering place for citizens in search of bargains, gossip, and respite from the bitter winter weather. Although it was frowned upon by Church officials, who made sporadic attempts to discourage people from displaying their wares for sale and trade, on this bleak Tuesday morn in late February, the cathedral was crowded with peddlers and their customers. By the "serving man's pillar," bored youths were loitering in hopes of finding employment. Nearby, lawyers conferred with prospective clients, while boisterous youngsters played tag in the aisles, trailed by the vexed curses of their irritated elders.
Justin's gaze kept straying toward the west end of the nave, where scribes sat at small wooden tables, hiring out their quill pens as soldiers did their swords. Had he not blundered into that killing on the Alresford Road, he could have been at one of those tables, too, laboring to earn his bread by writing letters and wills.
"I feel I've got blinders on," Luke complained, but he kept his hood prudently in place, shadowing his face. Glancing at Justin's equally shrouded profile, he gibed, "I hate to say this, de Quincy, but you look like
you escaped from a lazar house."
Justin agreed with him, for the only hooded cloak he could find on such short notice was a drab, over-sized garment of rough burrell, coarse and scratchy. "You're one to talk," he retorted, "for you look like you ought to be prowling about cemeteries after midnight." Scanning the nave again, he shook his head in frustration. "Where the devil is Jonas? What if he does not get here in time?"
"If need be, we'll set it up for another day. But I do not think it'll go wrong. We were lucky that Aldred overheard Nora say she'd be at St Paul's this morn. I think we'll be lucky again. You ought to -"
Luke broke off in midsentence. "I see Jonas," he announced. "Over there... coming in the Si Quis door." But then he swore softly. "Damnation, he's alone!"
Swathed in a dark cloak of his own, Jonas elbowed his way toward them, responding to their anxious queries with composure. "I sent word that he was to meet me at St Paul's. He'll be here."
Justin did not share his confidence. "I ought to have locked Nell in the root cellar and have done with it," he muttered, glancing gloomily across the nave toward Nell, who was bargaining zestfully with a peddler over a bolt of linen. She was not ten feet from their target, but Justin had not caught her stealing so much as a glance at Nora. He had to admit that Nell was better at this than he'd dared hope.
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