Cruel As the Grave (13 page)

He was younger than Justin had expected, only about thirty and better dressed, too, his tunic spotlessly clean, his hair combed onto his forehead in the newly fashionable fringe. He was also extremely friendly; far from resenting Justin's interest in his case, he seemed to welcome it. Puzzled at first, Justin did not understand until Tobias leaned across the table to confide how pleased he was to be able to work with the queen's man.

So that was it! Tobias was ambitious, hoping to curry favor with one who might mention his cooperation to the sheriff or even the queen herself. Tobias had begun to talk about the capture of Gilbert the Fleming, so effusive in his praise that Justin was at a loss for words and Jonas faked a cough to camouflage a gleeful cackle. When the serjeant finally paused for breath, Justin seized his chance, politely asking if he could discuss with Tobias some of the more murky aspects of Melangell's murder.

The other man beamed. "By all means! My guess is that the mercer's youngest son will turn out to be the culprit. Although it could have been one of the girl's other lovers. From what I hear, she was a wanton, as willing to bed a man as look at him. Such killings are hard to solve, for women like that naturally know more than their share of knaves and felons."

"You said you suspect the younger Aston son. Not the elder son, then?"

"Well, Daniel's motive makes more sense. Also, Master Serlo of the Mercer's Guild gave the older lad a right favorable recommendation, says he is of good character and a responsible worker. Whereas the younger boy has a history of stirring up trouble, running away from his apprenticeship the way he did..." Tobias paused to swallow a mouthful of stew. "He seems the obvious suspect and it has been my experience, Master de Quincy, that the man who looks most guilty usually is."

Especially when he had no one of importance to speak up for him, like Master Serlo. Justin dared not look at Jonas, whose face was impassive, but whose one black eye was agleam. "What about the silk found under Melangell's body? Have you been able to find out who sells it?"

"Well... no, I saw no need. If she was killed by Daniel Aston, what does it matter who sold it?"

It was quiet for a time after that, as the serjeants devoted their attention to their meal and Justin sipped his wine, trying to figure out how best to bring Jonas on board this leaking boat. He finally decided upon blatant and shameless flattery and smiled across the table at Tobias.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your cooperation. I'll be sure to tell Roger Fitz Alan that the next time I see him."

At the mention of the sheriff, Tobias set down his spoon, his food forgotten. "I'm happy to help," he said expansively. "If there is anything else I can do, anything at all"

"As it happens, there is." Justin reached for the flagon and topped off Tobias's wine cup. "I know you have more than your share of felons to chase down. It must be hard to find time for a killing like this. But I would like to solve this crime quickly, if we can. In all honesty, Tobias, my duties for the Queen's Grace do not allow me much time away from the court. It occurred to me that mayhap Jonas might assist you in your investigation, do what he can to expedite matters so we can bring this sad case to a speedy resolution."

Tobias looked over at Jonas, back at Justin. "It is fine with me, if Jonas here is willing...?"

"I'd be overjoyed," Jonas said, wincing slightly when Justin then kicked his ankle under the table. The rest of the dinner passed without incident, and by the time Tobias was ready to depart, he was reveling in his newfound friendship with Justin, slapping him on the back in familiar farewell. The other two men watched him go and Jonas, finding that his wine cup was empty, reached over to claim Justin's. "You owe me," he said.

"What else could I do, Jonas? You heard the man. He does not care who killed Melangell - a peddler's daughter and part Welsh in the bargain? We'll never get to the truth with Tobias hot on the trail, and you well know it. Melangell deserves better than that, and so does Daniel Aston. If he is going to hang, I need to know he is truly guilty, not just a convenient solution to an inconvenient crime."

"I have to admit that Tobias could not find water if he fell into the river," Jonas conceded. "All right, I'll see what I can learn about this scrap of silk. That seems to be the only clue we have."

"Not necessarily." Justin took out his money pouch, laid it on the table. "I know you were never called to the scene of the killing, but you must have seen her body afterward. How else could you have been so specific with Luke, telling him that there was no blood under her nails or bruises on her thighs?"

"Yes, I saw the body. What do you want to know?"

"Tobias concluded that she struck her head on the cross, and there is indeed blood on it. But I need to know what her injury looked like. Could she have hit her head on the cross, fallen, and then been struck again as she lay helpless on the ground? Was the wound deep enough for there to have been a second blow?"

"I'd say so." Jonas frowned as he sought to call that particular grim memory to mind. "It was a nasty wound, a lot of blood and bone fragments. She could easily have been hit again. What put you onto that?"

Justin opened the money pouch, shook out a few coins to pay for the meal, then extracted the rock. Jonas reached over, weighed its heft in the palm of his hand. Even in the dim light of the tavern, the dried blood smears were easily visible. Jonas's inspection was thorough and unhurried, his face giving away nothing of his thoughts. Justin waited as long as he could, finally blurted out impatiently, "Well? What do you think?"

"I think," Jonas said, "that if you're right, this changes everything."

~~

The Tower of London's great keep rose up against the hazy dusk sky, over ninety feet high, a formidable citadel as well as royal palace. Justin had passed through the Land Gate countless times before, but never had he felt such a sense of unease, as if he were venturing into enemy territory. And a right dangerous enemy it was, too, a slip of a lass who would not weigh much over one hundred pounds soaking wet, armed with those deadly female weapons, dimples and come-hither dark eyes. Mocking himself didn't help, though. He was still loath to face Claudine.

But she was not present in the hall, and he began to hope he could avoid an encounter that would be awkward at best, painful at worst. As was his custom, he sought out Peter of Blois, Eleanor's secretary-chancellor, who would then inform the queen of his arrival. If she had need of him, he would be admitted to her presence; if not, he was free to return to Gracechurch Street and his other world. He was expecting a dismissal, but to his surprise, Peter beckoned him forward to enter the great chamber.

There he received another surprise, for Eleanor was alone. His private audiences with her were rare occurrences, usually the result of some new mischief-making by her son. As he came forward to kneel before her, Justin remembered his earlier assumption, that all mothers would lie to save their sons. He dared make no such facile assumptions about Eleanor and John. He could as easily understand the inscrutable feline mind of a female lion on the sun-baked plains of distant Africa. How often did a lioness swat a troublesome half-grown cub when he misbehaved? When did she finally turn upon him in a fanged fury, drive him from the pride?

Even after reaching her biblical three-score years and ten, Eleanor was still a compelling woman, the high, hollowed cheekbones and enigmatic hazel eyes attesting to the great beauty she'd once been, to the younger self who'd left a trail of broken hearts and broken rules from Aquitaine to England and triumphed over her enemies by outliving them all. On this Wednesday in mid-April, though, she looked very tired to Justin, showing more of the physical frailties of age; the hand extended for his kiss held the faintest of tremors and was hot to the touch.

"Madame ... are you well?" That was as far as he dared go. At times there was an odd intimacy between them, but he never forgot, not for a moment, that she was England's queen and he was a bishop's by-blow, plucked from obscurity by the vagaries of fate and her royal whim.

She caught the echoes of concern in his voice, and smiled. "There is nothing wrong that a good night's sleep would not cure, lad. You'd think I would have learned by now how to banish worries and cares from the bedchamber."

"Not even Merlin could do that, Madame," Justin said, with feeling, for his memories of last night's broken sleep were still vivid. "May I get you wine?"

She nodded. "Pour for yourself, too." Taking a gilded cup from him, she sipped some of the spiced red wine with pleasure, for it came from the vineyards of her native Aquitaine, the homeland she'd loved more deeply than any man. "The news is not good, Justin," she said after some moments of silence. "The French king has invaded Normandy. He has seized Gisors and Neaufles and I learned today that he is now laying siege to Rouen itself."

Justin set his own wine cup down, untouched. If John's ally succeeded in taking Normandy, that would go far toward bolstering John's claim to the English throne. "I am indeed sorry to hear that, Madame."

She seemed lost in her own thoughts, gazing down into her wine cup pensively. "Stay close to London," she said at last. "I may need to send you to Normandy."

"Of course, Madame," Justin said, startled, for he'd never been out of England. He wondered what she had in mind, most likely a message she'd not want to risk falling into unfriendly hands. He was enormously touched that she had such faith in his abilities, and could only pray he'd not let her down. He was watching Eleanor attentively, waiting for an indication that he'd been dismissed, when the door opened and Claudine entered the chamber.

"I have the oil of roses for your headache, Madame," she said, holding up a small glass bottle. She halted as her gaze fell upon Justin, and although she managed an expression of supreme indifference, she betrayed herself by the sudden surge of color into her cheeks.

Justin got hastily to his feet, saying as politely as he could, "Lady Claudine." She acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod of her head, the sort of grudging recognition accorded those of inferior rank and importance.

"Would you like me to rub it into your temples now, Madame?" she asked, approaching the queen with a solicitous smile.

Eleanor gave her a bland smile in return, "No, dearest, not until after Master de Quincy and I are done."

"Oh... of course," Claudine said, as if she'd forgotten Justin's presence altogether. "I will await your summons." For Eleanor, there was another smile and a graceful curtsy. For Justin, enough ice to freeze him through to the very bone.

Once the door closed behind Claudine, Eleanor sat back in her chair, regarding Justin intently. "Well?"

Justin found himself shifting uncomfortably under those unsettling amber-colored eyes. "Madame?"

He was stalling and they both knew it. Eleanor's brows came I together in an imperious frown. "Do not play games with me, Justin. I am much better at them than you. What has happened between you and Claudine?"

"We ... we quarreled," he said reluctantly and she shook her head impatiently.

"That is obvious to anyone not blind and deaf! It is also obvious that she considers herself to have been wronged. Why?"

"I led her to think I was seeing another woman." Justin bit his lip, searching for a way to make her understand. "I lied to her about the other woman so she'd not suspect the truth, that we know she has been acting as John's spy. I had to take the risk, Madame. I could not keep bedding a woman I dared not trust."

"Ah, Justin... I'd forgotten how young you still are," she said, with gentle mockery. "It is true I did not want Claudine to realize she'd been found out. But I did not mean you must continue with a liaison you find painful. Fortunately, lovers can be shed much more easily than husbands or wives."

"Fortunate, indeed," Justin agreed wryly, although he'd found nothing remotely easy about casting off Claudine. Eleanor was holding out her hand and he took that as his signal to depart. Bending over to kiss those jeweled fingers, he bade her farewell. But there was one question he still needed to ask. "Madame... what is happening at Windsor?"

"The castle is under siege," she said, very evenly.

8

LONDON

April 1193

When Justin received an early summons from the queen the next morning, he assumed he'd soon be Normandy-bound. But there had been a change of plans. Eleanor now wanted him to depart at once for St Albans and its great Benedictine abbey. Justin did not know what was in the letter he bore, nor did he ask; queens were not ones for confiding. He'd expected to be back on Friday, for St Albans was less than thirty miles from London, a day's journey as long as the weather was good. Abbot Warren was not at the abbey, though, and Justin had to track him down on one of the monastery's Hertfordshire manors. He then had to wait for the abbot's response, and so he did not return to London until Sunday evening as Compline was being rung.

He went at once to the Tower, where he delivered the abbot's letter to Eleanor and was snubbed again by Claudine. With Eleanor's admonition to be ready to depart for Normandy at a moment's notice ringing in his ears, he rode back to Gracechurch Street, retrieved his dog from Nell, and fell into bed. His dreams that night were fragmented and disjointed, filled with foreboding. Durand stalked his sleep and the French king set Rouen afire, and there was a confusing confrontation with an unknown, overbearing bishop who bore an uncanny resemblance to his father. The most troubling of the dreams came just before dawn; in it, he returned to the cottage and found Claudine in his bed - with John.