‘Oh.’ Jack glared at the chessboard, suddenly seeing lines of men-at-arms and mounted knights. The sounds of battle assailed his imagination, and he could almost picture it all in his mind.
‘Percy was captured,’ she went on. ‘But Douglas’s right-hand man survived.’ She picked up another black knight and clutched it. ‘John Dunbar, earl of Moray. I should think that this victory might have riled the Scots into greater fervor. The marches are such dangerous places.’
‘And is he still in Northumberland, my lady? This earl of Moray?’
She shrugged, replacing the white knight on the board. ‘I don’t know if anyone knows his whereabouts. But it is said he is clever and treacherous.’
Jack rose. ‘A message should be sent to my master. This is valuable information he could use.’
‘And are you to deliver this message, Master Tucker?’
Jack jolted. Dammit! He had been ready to fly and suddenly remembered his wings had been clipped. He sagged back into his chair. ‘Faith! I cannot.’
‘But nothing prevents me from doing so.’
Jack’s hopes soared again. ‘Would you, my lady? Oh, but my master’s lodgings are on the Shambles. You … you shouldn’t go there.’
‘Nonsense. Every woman has the right to shop for meat. That is what one does on the Shambles, does one not?’
Slowly he nodded. ‘Aye. You could. And my lady, can you tell Master Crispin that all is well with me? That you are taking fine care of me.’
‘I will.’ She rose and called out for her lady’s maid. Mylisant popped through the middle door and frowned upon seeing Jack, as she always seemed to do.
‘Make ready to ride. We are going to London.’
Mylisant curtseyed. ‘Yes, my lady.’ And she rushed off with Lady Katherine to find cloaks and footmen.
Jack felt more at ease now that he was helping at last, though little he knew what good it would do Master Crispin in the end if the Stone was in Northumberland.
He paced again, from one side of the room to the window on the other.
He stopped abruptly when he heard noise outside the apartments in the corridors. Marching men. And suddenly there was a pounding on the door.
Jack dove for the squire’s room and scrambled to shut the door just in time, as he heard the maid, Mylisant, hurry to the antechamber door and open its locks.
A man bellowed to see Lady Katherine. Jack dropped to his knees and peered out the keyhole.
Lady Katherine strolled in, sedate and unperturbed, long gown trailing after her.
‘What is the meaning of this disturbance, Captain?’ she said sternly. Jack could well imagine her saying the same thing in that same tone to her erstwhile charges; to Crispin, when he was Jack’s age, if he had been rough-playing with Henry Bolingbroke.
The captain of the guard bowed. ‘Forgive me, Lady Katherine. But I was given to understand that the prisoner was broken out by you. His majesty is very displeased.’
‘His majesty gave me permission to house the hostage Jack Tucker in more amenable surroundings.’
The man, clad in armor, head covered in a visor-less bascinet and aventail, shook his head. ‘That is not the message the king conveyed to me, Madam.’
‘It is the message he conveyed to me, Captain.’
The captain sighed and shuffled his armored boots. ‘Lady Katherine, perhaps it is best that you divorce yourself from these dangerous proceedings. The king explicitly commanded me to make certain of the prisoner’s whereabouts. I think it is best that I take him and let you sort it out with his majesty at a later time.’
‘I do not think it best, Captain. I think that I should talk to the king myself now.’
The captain raised his chin and looked down at her. ‘I will not debate it.’ He turned to his guards and gestured them in. ‘Find him,’ he said to them.
Jack clutched the door. He should surrender himself before harm came to Lady Katherine. He rose and reached for the handle when a loud voice arose from the open doorway.
‘Hold! What, by Christ, are you doing molesting my governess!’
Jack knelt to the keyhole again and pressed his eye to it. Henry Bolingbroke himself walked through the door, shoving aside some of the king’s guards. He stepped into the room and stood with his fist at his hip, facing the captain. Garbed in a long, crimson houppelande with his family arms embroidered riotously over the material, Jack thought that Henry seemed more intimidating than that captain of the guard with all his armor. Henry little resembled his dark and stoic father Lancaster, but instead – so it was said – took after his mother the Lady Blanche, with his ruddy hair and husky build.
The captain was clearly ruffled. ‘My Lord Derby, I was sent by the king—’
‘I know that my cousin sent you,’ he said, gleefully emphasizing the royal relationship. Henry, as well as Jack, could plainly see how it discomfited the captain. ‘But I am telling you that there has been an error. Surely the king could not have made conflicting orders.’ He turned and bowed decorously to Lady Katherine. ‘My dear Lady Katherine.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Surely you spoke directly to the king himself on this matter?’
She nodded demurely, allowing the soft veil to flutter about her face to great effect. ‘Of course. I never should have had the nerve to steal one of the king’s hostages without his express permission.’
‘I thought as much.’ He turned to face the captain. ‘And you, sir. Was your audience with the king in person?’
The captain scowled. ‘No, my lord. I received a missive—’
‘Ah well!’ Henry slapped the man’s shoulder. The captain cringed. ‘That is all settled, then. Plainly the message was somehow muddled. I will speak to my cousin the king without delay and clear up this misunderstanding. You are free to return to your duties, Captain, as are your men.’
The men, poised in the room, looked from Henry to their captain. It was clear that Henry held greater sway. They bowed to him and exited smartly out the door.
The captain, tight-lipped and taut, stiffly bowed to Henry, then to Katherine, before turning on his heel and marching over the threshold.
Henry strode to the door and pushed it shut. Jack saw him relax his shoulders, and he suddenly looked like the congenial man he always appeared to be in front of Crispin. ‘My lady, you do get yourself into fixes. You know very well that the king gave you no such order.’
‘He might have done,’ she said with a shrug. She straightened Henry’s collar affectionately. ‘Had I asked him.’
‘Lady Katherine,’ he sighed. ‘Ah me.’
‘And how did you arrive in so timely a fashion, Henry?’
‘I happened to overhear the guards discussing it. Imagine my surprise to discover that you were harboring him. Of course I should have known.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘You are quick to find me guilty.’
He laughed. ‘Truly? Very well, tell me the miscreant isn’t here, then.’
Jack shoved the door open and raised his chin. ‘I am no miscreant, my lord,’ he said defiantly, if not a bit shakily. ‘I am the king’s hostage for no other reason but that he hates my master.’
Henry smiled. ‘And there is Jack Tucker, Crispin’s right-hand man. How goes it, Master Tucker?’ He took two long strides with an outstretched hand and met Jack in the middle of the room, grasping his hand in a tight grip.
Jack stared down at their clasped hands in awe. Why was Henry Derby shaking his hand like an equal?
Henry tightened his grip and pulled Jack closer. ‘And though it is true that King Richard does not favor Crispin …’ He leaned toward Jack’s ear and said in a rough whisper, ‘it is best not to say that aloud.’
‘I … I beg your pardon, my lord.’
He released Jack and waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Never mind. What’s done is done. There is time to make certain you are safe. I suggest moving you to my lodgings across the corridor. It might be safer there. But you must keep out of sight as it is next to the kin
g’s lodgings.’
Jack gulped. ‘Aye, my lord. You are being very kind to me. I don’t know that I deserve it except to keep my master happy, God bless him.’
‘I was on my way to see him, in fact,’ offered Lady Katherine.
Henry raised his brows. ‘Were you? Well then. While you are on your mission I shall sequester Master Tucker. And you can honestly reply once the king’s guards return – and they will – that he is not here. I don’t think the king would dare search my lodgings. I must say, I am surprised he sent men to search yours. Especially since I thought you were lodged at our estates with my wife.’
She turned her head slightly. ‘And so I was. You know I find her most charming and your little Henry a joy, but I felt the need to visit Westminster to see to the duke’s household here. I expected a speedy trip and an equally speedy return. Nothing controversial was on my mind, I assure you. As for the king searching my lodgings, well. As you well know, I am only Lady Swynford, governess to Lancaster’s children, all of whom are grown and at their own affairs. The king does not consider me to be unassailable.’
Henry narrowed his eyes but nodded at the truth of it. ‘Be that as it may …’ He turned to Jack. ‘I think we are both tasked with making sure young Jack here is kept from the king’s eye. For an old friend’s sake.’
Katherine turned to study Jack, hands folded one over the other. She gave him an encouraging smile.
Jack looked from one to the other gratefully. Not in a thousand years would he ever have thought he would be in such company. Not if you had paid him a bag of gold.
NINE
Crispin trudged heavily back toward London. There was no speeding his journey. It would take a quarter of an hour, no less than that. Too much time to think. But maybe Rykener had discovered something from his … paramour? He shuddered. He liked the man well enough but couldn’t understand his tastes. Yet he was a reliable friend, and Crispin trusted whatever information John could glean. If that explosive powder was procured in Westminster or London, then that would offer a valuable clue, somewhere for Crispin to search instead of the void that lay open to him.
The Strand became Fleet Street, and he had only just passed White Friars. Ludgate was ahead and he’d be home in no time now.
A gust of leafy wind caught his cloak and billowed it like a sail before he cast it back with a flick of his arm. Autumn was just around the corner. Even summer had not been as warm as summers before it. Every season seemed like winter these days. Crispin shuddered in anticipation of the season to come. Fall was difficult, but winter was always much harder. He had hoped they could enjoy the warmer days for a little while longer, but it was not to be. Was it even likely that Jack had a window wherever he was housed? The boy was used to a certain amount of freedom. Four walls did not sit well with him. He was more of a wild thing, like a cat, needing his time to roam. Crispin sent up a silent prayer – and an apology to Jack. Surely he would not be in this predicament if he had not come to know Crispin.
Walking along the familiar path with his solitary thoughts and weary to the bone, he almost didn’t notice the man flagging him down from the alley. He slowed and looked back over his shoulder. Yes, the man was waving at him, a gangly fellow in an oversized green cotehardie. ‘God’s blood,’ he sighed and turned, trudging toward him.
The man greeted Crispin with an awkward bow. ‘You’re Crispin Guest,’ he said in a coarse whisper. ‘I seen you many a time on the Shambles.’
‘What of it?’ he answered gruffly.
‘It’s like this. I know of certain men who have been desperate to talk to you. Certain men who might have something you wish to find.’
He clenched his jaw. ‘And what might this “something” be?’
The man glanced quickly this way and that. ‘It isn’t exactly the sort of thing a man can talk about on the street, now is it?’
Crispin grunted and turned away. A hand reached out to clutch at his arm.
‘Now, now, good master. You give up too easily.’
‘I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I have no more patience.’
‘Very well, then.’ The man sidled closer. Crispin watched his prominent Adam’s apple bob on his scrawny neck. ‘It’s … the Stone.’
Crispin looked him over. ‘And who are you?’ The man’s accent was clearly from London. He was no northerner.
‘I’m a messenger what keeps his business to himself, for that is how coin is earned. I’ve been instructed to tell you to go to the Boar’s Tusk. Do you know it?’
Crispin snorted. ‘I have some acquaintance with it.’
‘Then I suggest you go there now. Or this Stone they speak of might be permanently lost.’
Could this man be trusted? Was he walking into a trap? Of course it made little difference at this point. He knew he would have to go.
‘Thanks,’ he tossed over his shoulder.
‘I hope it’s worth it!’ called the man after him before he ducked away into the shadows and disappeared amongst the travelers on the lane.
Crispin said nothing as he continued down the way until he could pass under Ludgate’s arch and cut up to Paternoster Row to the Shambles. Walking, he cast a longing glance toward his lodgings. Below, the tinker Martin Kemp was sitting outside at his table full of wares. In his leather apron-covered lap, he hammered delicately with a pointed hammer onto the curved bottom of a cauldron. His head was bent forward, and strands of his dark hair hung over his face, escaping from the leather cap he often wore.
Crispin did not hail him but instead raised his eyes yet further to the floor above, to his own lodgings and its closed shutter. Had Jack been home, the fire would be sending puffs of smoke from the slanted chimney above, but there was nothing coming from that rickety brick structure. The hearth would be cold, the place dark.
He put those thoughts aside as he strode on as the street changed to West Cheap. He approached Gutter Lane to his left, but as he made to turn up that lane to his favorite tavern, there was a tug on his mantle.
He jerked away from it, hand immediately covering his scrip. When he turned, he spied a short, squat man, wearing a bulky cloak of a thick woolen weave. ‘Crispin Guest?’
‘Yes? What is it? I am on my way to meet someone.’
‘I think you’d best come with me.’
Another northerner, by the sound of his accent.
‘And why should I care to do that? I told you. I am meeting someone—’
‘At the Boar’s Tusk. Aye. But you don’t want to be talking to them.’
He turned fully, appraising the man. ‘Don’t I?’
‘Och, no. For they no have the Stone. Me and my lot, on the other hand …’
Crispin closed his eyes, breathing harshly through his nostrils. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you have the Stone and not these others I am to meet?’
‘Aye. That’s it. Will you come?’
He opened his eyes. ‘Where?’
‘It’s no too far.’
‘Where?’
‘A chapel.’
‘A chapel?’ He shot the man a hard look before sighing. ‘Lead me, then.’
The little man waddled ahead and Crispin surveyed the street, surreptitiously looking for other men lurking and ready to pounce on him. Every shadow was a danger, in every archway lay a trap.
They turned down Bread Street to Trinity and there, tucked away amongst the overgrown brambles of a churchyard, lay an abandoned chapel, its ancient crumbling stone going back to King John’s time.
The man climbed over a fallen tree limb and looked back at Crispin as he headed for the door.
Vaguely, Crispin wondered how in Heaven he chose who to believe in all this. He knew he was desperate, but the wrong move could cost Jack his life. He decided he had to trust his oft reliable instincts. If he couldn’t trust those, then he was doomed indeed.
He stepped over the limb and met the man on the mossy steps. The man’s gaze met Crispin’s once before he knocked solemnly on the door. They
waited.
It was only a few heartbeats until someone opened the door and peered out, face encased in a hood. ‘You’ve brought him!’
The little man pulled himself up to his full height – which wasn’t much – and raised his chin. ‘I have.’
The man inside pulled the door open. ‘Come in, Master Guest. Come in!’
With all the dignity he could muster, Crispin stepped over the threshold into the dark chapel. Men had gathered over a brazier at what had once been the sanctuary. They turned and stared as he walked down the short nave.
He stopped just short of the sanctuary steps. ‘Well?’ he said, looking around the disheveled place. The sky was visible above the crossing where the roof had fallen in. Broken beams lay where they had landed God knows how many years ago and were covered in a layer of dust, dried leaves, and bird droppings. In fact, the rafters fluttered with settling birds, with flapping and the occasional downward drift of feathers.
The five men gathered about Crispin, and he was at the same time repulsed and amused by their awestruck expressions. ‘Who is in charge, and where is the Stone?’ Crispin asked without preamble.
The squat man who had retrieved him raised his stubbled chin. ‘I am Findlaich. And I speak for these sons of Scotland.’
Crispin squared with him. ‘Good. I weary of wasting my time. What do you want in exchange for the Stone?’
Findlaich traded worrying glances with his fellow. ‘I think you have the wrong idea, Master Guest.’
Crispin felt a headache coming on. He pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut. ‘The Stone. Where is it? I am thin with patience.’
‘We had our orders to take the Stone.’
Crispin slowly opened his eyes. Orders? Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Orders from whom?’
‘Ah,’ said Findlaich, pointing a finger at Crispin. ‘That, I canna tell you. But the Stone was ours to take, and by King Robert, we stole into Westminster.’
‘I say again,’ said Crispin, feeling his blood course within. He opened and closed his hands. ‘What do you want for it?’
‘It’s no that simple, Master Guest.’
The Silence of Stones Page 8
