Crispin weighed the facts. “Murder.”
Henry stopped and stared at him. “Murder? Did he murder someone?”
“Not by his own hand but perhaps at his urging.”
“Interesting.”
“And … it certainly involves an important relic.”
“A relic, eh?” He walked on. “What relic?”
“I … am loath to say, my lord.”
“Why?”
“The fewer who know of it, the better.”
Henry stopped again. “But I should like to know it.” At twenty-one years old, Henry was a formidable man. He no longer had the look of a lanky child, nor did his gaze brook obfuscation. He was his father’s son.
“An important enough relic to kill for.”
A slow smile spread over Henry’s lips. “I remember you well, Crispin. You always had your secrets.”
“For good reason, my lord.”
“Very well,” he said, bobbing his head. “I trust you. As I always have.”
Crispin reasoned that they were heading for the Lancaster apartments. He was familiar enough with the path they were taking.
But even though he was in Henry’s company, he thought it fit to keep his hood up and his head down. People were staring as it was and surely they recognized him, based on their astonished and ill-concealed gasps. Ladies in fur-trimmed cotehardies with ornate brocade surcotes eyed him with fascination. But it was their male companions who, after bowing for Henry, would rest their hands threateningly on their sword hilts.
Tall cressets burning with oak kindling cast warm light upon the walls and vaulted ceilings. The twin sensations of familiarity and discomfort warred within him. To be at court again felt like home, but a home where he was not a guest, but an alien.
“When we get to my chamber,” said Henry, speaking in low tones, “we will send for Suffolk. Or perhaps go to him. Will you accuse him to his face about this murder? Whom did he have killed?”
They both came to a sudden halt upon encountering a large entourage coming through a wide arched entry. Henry stood slightly in front of Crispin, blocking him, but Crispin was taller and couldn’t help but notice that it was the king in the archway.
And King Richard couldn’t help but notice Crispin.
17
RICHARD’S EYES ROUNDED. IT would have been comical in another situation, a situation that did not involve possible imprisonment and death.
The king’s mouth turned down in a scowl so black his bearded chin furrowed. “What is he doing here?” The royal hand lifted a bejeweled finger and pointed at Crispin.
Crispin dropped to one knee and lowered his head. He said nothing. There was nothing to say. He heard Jack plop on the floor behind him, breath wheezing like a bagpipe.
“Sire,” said Henry, rising from his knee. “I encountered my old friend and childhood companion outside the gate—”
“Cousin, you are aware that this man is not allowed within my palace walls, are you not?”
“Oh, but sire, such an old friend. With such an interesting vocation. Did you know—”
“I know all about Crispin Guest. He is a traitor and those who encourage him are considered traitors as well.”
Henry sprang forward. “Your grace!”
Richard glared at him. “Well, cousin? Do you track with traitors now?”
Henry trembled with suppressed rage. “I am ever loyal, sire. Your grace and I are blood, my lord. To say such a thing to me is the gravest insult to my honor and my house.”
The king bounced on the balls of his feet and seemed to calm, raising a softer gaze to his childhood companion. “No, Henry. My tongue spoke before my wits could trap the words. You are ever loyal to me as my closest and dearest cousin.” He turned again to Crispin, his scowl renewed. “But this one, on the other hand…” He stepped forward until he was standing directly over Crispin. Crispin stared at the long-toed slippers, their points nearly touching his knee pressed to the floor.
“Get up,” said the king.
Slowly, Crispin rose, and it was another moment before he dared raise his eyes to Richard. The king’s gaze was furious. “How dare you set foot in my palace when I expressly forbade it.”
“Sire,” Crispin began, but a gesture from the king cut him off.
Henry laid his hand on Crispin’s shoulder. “Your grace, it was important that he come. He brings criminals to the crown’s justice. I know this. And so do you. He saved your life—”
“I have no need to be reminded of that, Derby.” He was breathing hard, barely containing his anger. Crispin silently waited for it to explode at him.
“But he has another murder to unravel. For that, he needs to talk to your chancellor.”
“Suffolk? Oh, does he?” He stalked up to Crispin and looked him in the eye. “What would you speak with Suffolk about, eh, Guest?”
Crispin gazed mildly into the king’s eyes, more mildly than he felt.
“Nothing to say? Only to the earl, then? Well, let’s call him here. Better still, let us go to the Painted Chamber and await him. Come, cousin.” He glared at Crispin. “Guest. You come, too.”
Crispin swallowed the oath on his lips. This was not exactly the audience he craved. He had no choice but to follow. His glance cut to Jack and he could plainly see that the boy was terrified. He closed his hand over his shoulder reassuringly.
But who was to reassure Crispin?
They followed the king and his companions to the chamber, another hall. Richard sat on a chair set on a dais with his men around him. Crispin and Henry faced them. Richard was served wine while they sent for Michael de la Pole.
Crispin felt many eyes on him but kept his face impassive. This was insane! How could he possibly question Suffolk in this … this circus?
It wasn’t long until the chancellor arrived with his own entourage. More men. Excellent. One was another of Richard’s close associates, Robert de Vere, earl of Oxford. At first Crispin thought the sneer Oxford wore was for him. But on second glance, he realized the earl was aiming it at Henry.
“Your grace,” said Suffolk, sweeping Richard with a bow. “How may I serve you?”
“You see before you a specter, Suffolk. Lo, Crispin Guest.”
Suffolk turned and his aristocratic face darkened with a scowl. Without turning from him, he said to the king, “Did you summon him, sire?”
“No indeed. Never would I have done so. And yet here he stands.”
“Shall I call for your guards, your grace?”
“No, my lord. He is here by the good grace of our cousin Derby.”
The chancellor whipped his head around and beheld Henry, giving him a slight bow. Henry acknowledged him with the nod of his head. Crispin noted the definite chill between them.
“You have heard, my lords,” said Richard to the assembly, waving his goblet, “that Master Guest is a discoverer of criminals and scoundrels. What is that they call you in London, Crispin? Traveler, Trapper…?”
Crispin licked his lips. “Tracker, my lord.”
“That’s right. What a quaint title. Still, I suppose it’s better than no title at all.” He did not smile and neither did the assembled. He drank his wine and Crispin couldn’t help but wonder what Lancaster would make of this; if he would dare admonish Richard with his eyes or leave it alone. Certainly Henry’s emotions were worn on his sleeve. He was not happy about the accusation of treason and seemingly less happy about bringing Crispin into the palace than when he first began. What had been a lark was now turning to something more deadly.
“And why do you suppose this Tracker has come to court? It appears, my lords, that he is looking for a criminal.”
A few nervous titters made their way over the crowd.
“Or at least criminal intent. Is that it, Crispin? Is that what you are looking for?”
“I do not know entirely until I find more answers, my lord.”
“But here is where you expect to find them? In my palace? And what crime are you rese
arching, Crispin? Has someone lost a thimble?”
The laughter was a little less nervous.
“No, sire. It involves the murder of a man on London Bridge and the theft of a religious relic.”
The laughter came to an abrupt halt. Richard glared at him. He leaned forward. “Murder and thievery? In my court?”
“I merely have questions, my lord.”
“And you wish to ask them of my chancellor?”
Suffolk stepped back, his hand on his sword hilt. “What?”
Richard smiled and sat back, getting comfortable. He glanced at de Vere, whose eyes barely slipped over Crispin but instead trained on Henry. “Yes, my good Suffolk. Master Guest is here to talk to you. And so I have summoned you.”
Suffolk’s outrage was barely contained. “And you will permit this?”
Richard shrugged. “Why not? Proceed, Crispin. Ask your questions. I’m certain we’d all be fascinated to see how a Tracker performs his vocation.”
Suffolk glared. He changed his stance to one of fighting readiness and faced Crispin with a dark scowl.
Crispin couldn’t help but cast his gaze about the room, taking in all the disgusted expressions. He was little more than something nasty tracked in on one’s boots.
He threw his shoulders back and raised his chin. “My Lord Suffolk, a knight with your colors is known to be looking for this relic, and is suspected of the crime of the murder of Roger Grey, armorer, and his two apprentices. Are you aware of the goings-on by your own men?”
Crispin quickly ticked a glance at King Richard. His eyes showed surprise at Crispin’s words but no culpability.
In Suffolk’s eyes, on the other hand …
“This is absurd!” he sputtered. “Which knight?”
“His name is Sir Osbert. He travels and does his mischief with two others.”
Richard turned to Suffolk. “Do you have a knight in your employ named Osbert?”
Suffolk cast his hands in the air. “I have many knights, your grace, as do you. Can you name them all?”
Richard did not reply but he was plainly no longer as amused as he had been. “And what else, Master Guest? What is this relic?”
“I … do not know what the relic is, sire.” He heard Jack make a squeak behind him. “But it is the cause of these murders. Perhaps my Lord Suffolk can enlighten us as to what the relic might be.”
“I don’t know what this cur is talking about!”
“I happen to know that Geoffrey Chaucer is also searching for it.” Richard sat up at this news. “And you were seen talking to him at an inn in London. Were you discussing it with him?”
Suffolk drew his sword and lunged forward, but Richard quickly directed his own men to stop him.
“But sire!” he pleaded. “This man, this traitor, has impugned my loyalties and my honor.”
“He merely asked a question, the answer of which I, too, would like to know.”
Suffolk slammed his blade back in its sheath. “Your grace! I cannot believe I am to stand here and be questioned by the likes of Crispin Guest, a known criminal and plotter. Everything he says must be a lie.”
“Are you lying, Guest?” asked the king.
“No, your grace. Why would I have cause to do that?”
“To foment rebellion amongst your nobles,” said Suffolk, red-faced. “Why else? There is already discord on the streets. This is meat to him.”
“To what purpose?” said Crispin. “I have no commerce with you or the king’s nobles. I stand to lose more than I gain in such a venture. My only interest is in seeing justice served.”
“Answer the man, Suffolk.”
“He lies. I was never talking to Chaucer at an inn.”
Richard raised his brows, turning to Crispin.
“I know what I saw, my lord.”
“And I say again, you are a liar!” Suffolk’s hand was on his sword hilt again, but Richard stayed him with a calming gesture.
“Stalemate. You have had your questions, Crispin. Now you may go.”
Suffolk’s eyes were dark with loathing and Richard looked on with a mild expression. There was nothing more to be gained. In fact, Crispin was happy to be getting off this easy.
He bowed low to the king as he used to do in court and, sweeping his wet cloak aside, moved swiftly for the exit lest Richard change his mind. He signaled to Jack to follow and the lad wasted no time and scurried quickly behind him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Henry take his leave and follow his furious pace toward the great hall. He and Jack nearly made it out the door when Henry stopped them. He looked none too pleased himself and he grabbed Crispin’s arm and dragged him to a shadowed corner with Jack in tow.
“Why didn’t you tell me all of that? Why didn’t you speak of these things before we were made a spectacle of?”
“I did not get a chance to, my lord, as you well know.”
Henry shook his head and breathed deeply. “Christ, Crispin. I only recall when you were the carefree companion of my youth. I was only told of your … indiscretions … much later.”
“Now you are a witness. Perhaps you regret befriending me.”
Taken aback, Henry measured him. “No! No, I do not. I regret … putting you in that situation. Forgive me. I thought it only an amusement to bring you into the palace and face the chancellor. Had I known what would transpire, well—”
Crispin quirked a half-smile. Softly he said, “I forgive you, Henry.”
The young lord’s face burst into cheer. “Ah! That’s the Crispin I knew.”
“Well, that was a terribly long time ago.”
“I know.” He fell silent and only just noticed he still had a grip of Crispin’s arm. He released him and stepped back. “Shall I see you again?”
Crispin shrugged. “I do not think it wise, my lord.”
“You already said that.”
“And I believe I was right.”
“You used to be such fun.” Henry stood a moment before he reached into his scrip and pulled out a coin pouch. “Here. I want you to take this.”
“No, my lord. Absolutely not.” Crispin’s eyes darted about the large hall; he hoped that no one was paying attention to them. But of course, someone was always watching at court.
Henry grabbed Crispin’s hand and shoved it in. “You will take it. My father would insist.”
“Your father would have more discretion where he handed over money pouches, my lord.”
He laughed. “You’re right, of course. This looks terribly suspicious.”
“Terribly,” rasped Crispin.
“Doesn’t matter.” Henry spared Jack a glance and raised his hand in greeting to him. “Young squire, guard your knight well.”
“It is an honor to do so, your grace.”
“Ah, Crispin. You have found a gallant attendant.”
“There is none better than Master Tucker, I must admit.”
Jack glowed with pride and looked as if he would burst into grateful tears. Crispin cleared his throat. “We must not tarry and vex the king’s generosity.”
“No, you mustn’t. Off with you now, Crispin. I’m sure we will meet again.”
“I will do my best to avoid it.”
Crispin crossed over the threshold with the tinkle of Henry’s laughter on his ears and his coin pouch clutched in his hand.
18
THEY HEADED BACK TOWARD the Shambles. Jack seemed to take a long time to say what he wanted to say. “Er … Master?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“I think you done well back there. Under the circumstances.”
Crispin quirked an eyebrow at his apprentice. “Do you?”
“Aye. That was a mess indeed. Almost shat me braies.”
Crispin chuckled. “I’ll tell you a secret.” Jack leaned closer. “Me, too.”
The boy gave a tentative smile.
“But we did learn something.”
“We did? Oh, I know. Don’t go near the palace ever again.”
/>
“No. We learned that Richard did not know anything of these doings.”
“Oh. I didn’t know we cared about that.”
“I didn’t know it either until I noticed. I was somehow … relieved.”
“But that earl of Suffolk … he had guilt painted all over his face. And he was lying.”
“Yes, he was. That makes it all the more dangerous. For one, I have played my hand. Now he knows what I know.”
“But he doesn’t know where the relic is.”
“No.”
They ambled down narrow lanes and turned corners where men gathered around smoky braziers burning merrily.
The day was drawing on. The shops were already beginning to close. Crispin bought the last meat pie from a cart and Jack came running up from another street with sausage links held high in the air like a victory garland.
When they reached their lodgings, Jack poked the sausages with a long iron fork and set that leaning against the trivet over the fire. Soon, they were spitting and dripping with juices. Crispin cut the meat pie in half and pushed one of the halves nearest the stool and poured wine in both bowls.
They sat down to the table to feast, each holding a hot sausage in their fingers and chewing thoughtfully into the companionable silence.
After a time, Jack offered, “I think Master Chaucer is lying.”
Chewing, Crispin looked up. “Oh? About what exactly?”
“I think he knows where this relic is. He just doesn’t want anything to do with it.”
“That makes no sense,” said Crispin, mouth full. He chewed and swallowed before adding, “I can assure you, if he knew, we’d not see him again.” As soon as he said it, his stomach did a small flip. Chaucer was more than an opponent in this instance. He was one of his oldest friends. And he did not want their friendship left in tatters over this.
“What does Chaucer want?” Crispin muttered. “He was seen with Suffolk and he was seen with a Spaniard. What can that mean?”
“So he don’t have the Spear?”
“No. He doesn’t, and he doesn’t know where it is. You can be certain we are being followed all the time now.”
“Damn! I forgot to look for him!”
Blood Lance: A Medieval Noir Page 18
