Season of Blood

by Jeri Westerson

  ‘Blind me,’ he muttered, gazing at the two of them. ‘It’s witchcraft is what it is.’ He finally decided. ‘Aye, then. I’ll just … go get him.’

  He scrambled up the stairs and disappeared around the landing. There were raised voices – Jack’s strident one and another like a low growl.

  John wrung his hands. ‘Do you think it safe leaving him there alone in your lodgings?’

  ‘Young Master Tucker is right when he says it is small.’

  ‘And so are mine.’

  ‘But two amenable souls can reside so easily together.’ The lawyer’s young face burnished with suddenly ruddy cheeks and nose. He lowered his eyes abashedly for a moment before raising them again.

  ‘So they can,’ said John carefully.

  ‘Temporarily.’

  ‘As you say.’

  Thunderous footsteps on the stairs broke them apart and a tall man with a dark beard pushed his way into the hall. He cast his eyes upon them, one, then the other, and scowled.

  ‘Master Wynchecombe!’ cried Jack.

  ‘I was supposed to be hidden, Tucker. Your master expected better of you.’

  ‘He expects me to know who my friends are, and I do! This is Master Cobmartin, a lawyer and our landlord, as it happens. And this is …’ Jack hesitated.

  John curtseyed and inclined his head. ‘Eleanor, embroideress. And companion to … Master Cobmartin.’

  Wynchecombe’s scowl deepened as he looked John over. ‘These are Crispin’s friends. It figures.’

  ‘And they are doing you a courtesy, so I recommend you be polite.’

  ‘You seem to forget that I am your better, Tucker.’

  ‘There is none better than my master. And you are nothing more than an armorer.’

  Wynchecombe cocked his arm back to strike when Nigellus hurled himself forward to stand in front of Jack. John saw the absurdity of it: the tall Wynchecombe hovering menacingly over the equally tall Jack Tucker, with the shorter, paler Nigellus standing bravely in between. It was ridiculously endearing.

  ‘Hold, Master Wynchecombe,’ said Nigellus, arms out to protect Jack. Tucker glanced at him over Nigellus’ shoulder with a mixture of astonishment and annoyance. ‘Let us all remember that we are here for the greater good. And that is to save your life, good sir. A mission of God’s own mercy. No doubt our good friend Master Tucker here is at his wits’ end with worry. Let us calm ourselves and reason it out. Spes sibi quisque. Indeed, we are all greater than the sum of our parts. Now. My lodgings are at Gray’s Inn, and they are small but protected with walls and a porter. I will take you there, situate you and instruct our servants to bring you food. You must stay within for your own benefit and until we come to tell you all is well. Our only assignment is to keep you safe, sir.’

  Wynchecombe looked only mildly contrite, but his arrogance lifted his chin. ‘Let’s get this over with then.’

  John hesitated. ‘Should we all go?’

  Jack stepped forward. ‘Aye. All of us. More eyes on the streets.’

  The lad had certainly taken after his master, John noted. Jack took the lead as any captain of an army. He grabbed his cloak, buttoned it hastily and pulled the door open only a crack to search the lane. When all appeared clear, he motioned for John and Nigellus. ‘Up with your hood, Master Armorer,’ he ordered. Wynchecombe clearly didn’t like commands from a servant but he complied nevertheless without another word.

  Jack ushered them all out of the door before locking it. ‘The fastest route to Gray’s Inn, if you please, Master Nigellus.’

  Nigellus nodded and hastened up the lane, making a turn at Holborn once they passed Newgate. They neared the respected lawyer’s haven with its many storeys. They all reached the outer walled courtyard but Nigellus hastened them under the porter’s gate arch. Nigellus pushed his way forward and spoke quietly to the porter – that same deaf old man from before – and before the porter was done speaking, Nigellus grabbed Wynchecombe’s arm and pulled him along. John hurried forth and Jack took up the rear, scanning the courtyard and the windows above.

  They passed through a busy hall full of the smells of food, which reminded John of how long ago he had eaten. Too long. But there was no time to tarry with Nigellus’ insistence of moving forward. Out to a garden and through another building, up the stairs and up and up … until they reached his small room. He unlocked the door and pulled Wynchecombe in. They all managed to stuff themselves inside.

  ‘What a ghastly sty this is,’ growled the former sheriff.

  ‘You’ll be polite about it,’ warned Jack, hand on his dagger hilt.

  Wynchecombe swiveled toward him. ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or I’ll make you sorry you said aught.’

  ‘Now, now!’ cried John. ‘Remember where you are, sir. You are being done a kindness. Remember that we don’t have to do any such thing. Keep a civil tongue, or I shall throttle you myself.’

  Wynchecombe stared open-mouthed at John, beginning to suspect his true nature since John had forgotten to soften his voice. That’s done it, John, he admonished himself.

  But before Wynchecombe could say anything, Nigellus cut in. ‘We all must be very careful. I have told the porter that I will be sequestered in my room and to only send my meals here. And so a servant will come attend to it. You may have to offer the page remuneration to keep silent …’

  ‘So now it costs me more money.’

  ‘I’ll stay,’ said Jack.

  ‘My good sir, Master Tucker. These are close quarters …’

  ‘He’ll need a civilizing soul here. Besides, he’ll still need a guard and I reckon I can do that outside the room for the most part. I shall fetch the food for Master Wynchecombe so as to avoid the need to bribe any servants.’

  ‘What am I to do in the meantime?’ asked Wynchecombe.

  Jack looked around and picked up one of the many books piled about the place, along with scrolls, parchments and bits of quills and ink pots. ‘Read a book, sir.’

  Wynchecombe sneered but said nothing.

  Nigellus remained silent as he made his way to a coffer beside the door. He grabbed some clothes and stuffed them in his scrip, and then rummaged through his mounds of parchments, carefully choosing those he needed as a bird chooses just the right stick to place into a nest. He nodded to himself and opened the door. ‘Then I leave you to it, Master Tucker. I will get word to Master Crispin.’

  ‘I thank you, sir. God keep you.’

  ‘And you.’ He glanced at John and his pale cheeks bloomed pink. ‘Shall we?’

  John said nothing but he pulled Jack with them out of the door and stood with him on the landing. ‘Will you be all right? That man seems violent.’

  ‘He’s a lord, or thinks he’s one. They’re a different breed of animal, aren’t they?’

  ‘Master Guest was a lord as well.’

  ‘That’s why I’m used to it. I was frightened of Wynchecombe when he was sheriff. I was but a small lad then. I’m not anymore.’ He hitched up his belt.

  ‘No, you are not. You take care, young Jack.’

  Jack eyed Nigellus making his way down the stairs, and then John in his woman’s garb. ‘And you take care, too, John. And take care of that lawyer so that he don’t get into any trouble. Get my meaning?’

  ‘I get it very well. Don’t worry. I’m suddenly quite fond of Master Cobmartin and wish him no ill.’

  ‘So I see. God keep you, then.’

  John smiled, watched the door close and listened as the bolt was thrown. Down the stairs he went, glancing down below the rickety stairs once and taking a second look at a man in a hood and long gown standing in the shadows. When he looked a third time, he wasn’t there. Must be my mind gone mad, he thought anxiously.

  Back to Candlewick Street they went, neither one of them speaking. John ventured a glance now and again at his companion. The man seemed cheerful, watching the various passers-by and nodding to those who looked his way. He seemed intrigued by all he saw. And hadn’t he be
en intrigued hours ago when they’d been alone in John’s quarters? It had all been new to Nigellus. And though he was hesitant, he hadn’t shied from any of it. It was quite a new experience for John too, for his usual clients were jaded and used to his custom. Not Nigellus. He was tempted to grasp his hand but he remembered the look on Jack’s face as well as his admonishment. John was known on these streets and he didn’t wish to taint Nigellus with his comportment, though the man was following swiftly beside him and tongues would wag nonetheless.

  They found the candlemaker’s shop and the rickety ladder that led up to his lodgings. ‘Here, Nigellus. You first. It’s not the best of ladders.’

  ‘Yes, I recall it.’ He offered a shy smile, hitched up his gown and began to climb.

  John followed, and when they’d both made it inside safe and sound, John closed the shutter. He hurried to the fire to stoke it and warmed his hands before the small flames. When he turned, Nigellus stood directly behind him. ‘You are most kind to accommodate me. I shall not take your kindness for granted. I can easily sleep on these chairs. I daresay I’ve done it many a time while studying.’

  John sighed. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said softly. Was he telling himself that, or the lawyer? He took the young man’s face in his hands and, gazing at his smiling mouth, kissed him soundly.

  NINETEEN

  Jack took up his place in the corner, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and watched as Wynchecombe tried to pace in the small, cramped room.

  ‘This is damnable,’ the man grumbled.

  ‘Aye, it is. Me having to listen to you whine.’

  ‘I’ve had just enough peevishness out of you!’ Two steps took him directly in front of Jack. He raised his hand to clout him but Jack caught that hand and held it by the wrist, squeezing tight before he gave it a twist and tossed it back.

  ‘They’ll be none of that. I told you I wouldn’t put up with no grease from you. Master Crispin might do so by habit but I’m not in the practice of suffering fools.’

  ‘How dare you!’

  Jack jumped to his feet and got in close, pleased when Wynchecombe stepped back. ‘How dare I? How dare you, you miserable whoreson. As ungrateful a bastard as I’ve ever met. Here is Master Crispin and me doing you a mercy and you haven’t got the skin to even thank us? Sit yourself down and shut it. I’ll have no more of your grousing. Be grateful you’re alive and, by my master’s mercy, not in a cell in Newgate where you most likely belong.’

  ‘I did not kill that monk,’ he rasped between gritted teeth.

  ‘Says you. I seen your dagger in his back. Prove that you didn’t, I say.’

  ‘I didn’t. I’d had no reason whatsoever to kill that man. And I’d never stab him in the back.’

  ‘My master might believe you, but I don’t.’

  ‘Then it’s a good thing you’re not the Tracker.’

  ‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? But up till this moment, you thought you could belittle me like you done him. And now you know you can’t. Aye, you’re an alderman. I know that. And most of them deserve the respect London gives them. But you don’t. I’ll never give it to you.’

  ‘Aren’t you the philosopher, Jack Tucker, the high and mighty. Holding his praise dear for other thieves like him.’

  ‘So I was a thief once – I’m not no more. But once a bastard always a bastard.’

  ‘Do you think for one moment Guest would treat you any differently than how I’ve treated you if he didn’t need you? You’d be only one of the nameless army of servants he once had. If you had dropped dead in the mud of the streets he’d no more mourn you than he would a dog.’

  Jack’s hands knotted into fists. ‘Didn’t I tell you to sit there and shut it?’

  A smile stole across Wynchecombe’s face. ‘Yes, he’s your Achilles heel right enough. The master and his dog. What’s he promised you? I wonder. What can he promise you?’

  ‘No more than he is able to give. A roof over our heads, a wage and respect. My master treats me as his own. And you can use all the Devil’s words you want – nothing will change that fact.’

  Wynchecombe’s face altered. He seemed to finally absorb Jack’s words and he slumped in his seat, stretching out his long legs and crossing his ankles. ‘Very well.’ He sighed. ‘I seem to be unusually sour and menacing today. You’re right, of course. Master Guest seems soft in the head when it comes to you. And perhaps I am just that much envious of it. Of such a rapport. You have the better of me.’

  Taken aback by his sudden change of tone, Jack settled in on his perch of books. He rubbed his beard. ‘A man don’t have to be so sour all the time, Master Wynchecombe. For what does it profit a man—’

  ‘Good God. You’re not quoting the scriptures to me, are you? Next thing you’ll be spouting that Aristotle.’

  ‘Well … indeed, as Aristotle said, A common danger unites even the bitterest enemies. You must admit, he has a saying for all circumstances.’

  Simon laughed. ‘I should have known he’d teach you the words of that pagan.’

  Jack said nothing. The man’s words weren’t bitter for a change. They were even commiserating.

  After a long pause, Simon asked, ‘Tell me something. Am I mad, or was that Eleanor really a man?’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ he said, pulling a scroll out to stop it poking him in the arse.

  ‘Crispin does know the most interesting people.’

  ‘Aye, that he does. There is no one more loyal than John Rykener, though.’

  ‘Bless me, that was John Rykener? I think I arrested him myself once.’

  ‘No doubt.’

  He looked around the room. ‘And this Cobmartin fellow is truly a lawyer?’

  ‘He freed my master when he was up for murder.’

  ‘I heard tell you did that with your investigating.’

  Jack almost puffed with pride at the statement. How had Wynchecombe heard about that? ‘A little of this, a little of that.’

  The sheriff laughed. ‘I’ll be damned. You and Crispin. What a duo you are. It’s extraordinary.’

  ‘Which is why you came to us, eh?’

  Wynchecombe narrowed his eyes, but more to study Jack than to sneer at him. ‘I came to Crispin … because I could see no other option.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘What a pitiful thing I have become,’ he said quietly. ‘No friends to go to, no trusted lords. Certainly no other aldermen … or the sheriffs.’ He raised his face. ‘I could not trust them. But Crispin, I could.’

  ‘And you treat him most foully.’

  ‘He’s a traitor.’

  ‘He … he made a mistake. Once. Long ago. He’s made up for it since. Can’t you give him that?’

  ‘I suppose that’s true. And yet he’s never lost his arrogance.’

  ‘The pot calling the kettle black,’ he muttered.

  He smiled grimly. ‘You have the better of me again, Tucker.’

  Jack leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. ‘So why don’t you tell me what you wouldn’t tell Master Crispin about this woman, Katherine Woodleigh? Or Sybil Whitechurch. Whatever she called herself. Tell me how you met and what transpired.’

  Simon clasped his fingers over his belly and glared at the parchment-littered floor. ‘Crispin is a man like me. I didn’t have to tell him the details.’

  ‘Well, it cannot have escaped your notice that I am not a man like you. So you’ll have to spell it out.’

  Simon blinked, eyeing Jack. ‘There’s something of him in you, isn’t there?’

  ‘I take that as a compliment, sir.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t meant as one.’ He shrugged and sat back. ‘Well. I met her at Hailes. She introduced herself as Sybil Whitechurch. The monks vouched for her and I took her to be who she said she was. Why wouldn’t I? She is comely and solicitous. And I, a man far from home … well. A man such as myself might fall for flattery so as to not go to a cold and empty bed at the end of the day. She was willing. And before long … I fell for her charms.
’ He rubbed his own beard, quiet in his thoughts. ‘Do you have a woman, Tucker? You’re old enough.’

  ‘I do, sir. She’s my betrothed.’

  ‘Ah. Getting married, are you? Well, here’s a piece of advice—’

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I’d rather not take marriage advice from a man who’d commit adultery.’

  Wynchecombe drew back, surprised. And then he laughed heartily. ‘A moral thief. Well I never!’

  Jack scowled. ‘Laugh all you like. But I’d rather my wife knew what her husband was about than worry. What will your wife say when you finally make it home, I wonder?’

  Wynchecombe’s laughter stopped. He perched his chin on his hand. ‘I take your point.’

  ‘And so,’ prompted Jack. ‘Your story?’

  ‘She … bewitched me. Soon I was giving her money and trinkets. But they weren’t enough. She wanted me to obtain that damned relic for her.’

  ‘Did she say why?’

  ‘She said it would mean a great deal to her livelihood. She explained that her family estates were on hard times. And when I went there on a whim, I saw their state.’

  ‘Aye. So did we.’

  ‘After I refused to get her the relic, she turned cold. Would not speak to me. And it was then that I began to have my suspicions about her. I was leaving Hailes when I was attacked for the first time.’

  ‘Do you have any description of the man at all?’

  ‘None. It was dark.’

  ‘You said for the first time.’

  ‘I sent my horse on a dangerous gallop in the countryside at nightfall, just to get away from him and find succor at an inn. That night, he attacked again. I lost my dagger.’

  Jack stroked his beard, letting the coarse hairs run through his fingers. ‘You say the man was wearing a gown.’

  ‘Yes. And a hood.’

  ‘Could it have been a cassock?’

  ‘Someone from the abbey?’

  ‘Aye. Someone that Sybil – that is Katherine – also beguiled. My master and me met a monk there who accosted us, told us of her. He looked like a sore, jealous sort.’