Cruel As the Grave (29 page)

As Geoffrey rose to his feet, struggling to pick up his cross, some of the spectators began to drift away, for the high drama of the event was now over. Turning to soothe his restive stallion, Justin happened to catch sight of the figure hovering on the edge of the crowd. Muffled in a hood that was conspicuously out of place on a summer's day, Humphrey Aston looked like a man bleeding from an internal wound, his face grey and drawn, his skin blotched, his grieving so raw that Justin felt an unwelcome twinge of pity. He waited, but Humphrey did not move toward Geoffrey, and when he glanced again toward the mercer, he was gone.

Geoffrey started his halting walk across the churchyard, his feet already stinging from the gravel, for his were not the callused soles of youths accustomed to going barefoot. He'd taken only a few steps, though, before Daniel pushed through the crowd to his side. They stared at each other for a pain-fragmented moment, and then Daniel stepped forward, enfolding his tearful brother in a wordless, healing embrace. Again, the bystanders nodded and murmured approvingly, and Justin wondered if they'd have been as magnanimous if Daniel had been the one going off into foreign exile.

Echoing his thoughts with eerie accuracy, Jonas appeared at his elbow, muttering in a mordant undertone, "Half the fools here think that outer packaging is proof positive of the state of one's soul. I suppose we ought to be thankful that Gilbert the Fleming did not have flaxen hair and a winning smile like the Aston lad, else they'd have been weeping over him, too."

They were soon joined by Nell and Gunter, and Justin's worlds collided as Claudine acknowledged his Gracechurch Street friends. It could have been an awkward moment, but Claudine had polished her social skills in the demanding arena of the royal court, and she was up to the challenge, unperturbed by Nell's obvious hostility, Gunter's discomfort, and Jonas's sardonic, silent amusement. Within moments, she'd adroitly drawn them into a lively discussion of Geoffrey's punishment, even coaxing the taciturn Gunter into confiding that he'd not have wanted to see Agnes's nephew go to the gallows.

"You can thank St Justin for that," Jonas gibed, and Claudine turned her long-lashed gaze upon the serjeant, full power.

"What will happen to Geoffrey now?" she asked, in appealingly accented English, for unlike many at the royal court, she'd taken the trouble to learn the native language of this island realm. "What usually befalls men who abjure the realm? Do they seek to do penance for their sins in monasteries? Or, she added slyly, "do they use those sins as stepping stones to greater crimes?"

Jonas grinned. "More of the latter than the former, my lady. I've heard that the French thank us not for exporting our outlaws to their shores. They have no like custom over there, they cannot even return the favor by sending us their felons. As for young Aston, I suspect he'll do better than most. I doubt that Frenchwomen are any wiser than ours when it comes to a good-looking lad with an easy way about him. And I'd wager that he has money hidden away under that sackcloth, in addition to what the Church provided for his expenses on the road."

Nell nodded emphatically at that. "I know that Agnes and Odo scraped together what they could, and Agnes told me that Humphrey was - for once in his life - being open-handed, giving her a goodly sum to take to Geoffrey last night. Rumor has it that even Master Serlo contributed some."

"A pity they couldn't have been as generous with Melangell's family," Justin said caustically, and Nell scowled at him.

"You cannot blame them, Justin, for grieving over Geoffrey's plight. He is paying a heavy price for a moment of madness."

Justin couldn't resist making the obvious riposte. "Not as heavy a price as Melangell paid."

It was Jonas who played the unlikely role of peacemaker. "If we are going to fight about this, I suggest we do it over wine. Let's find a tavern. We'll let you pay, de Quincy; from the way your money pouch is bulging, you can well afford it."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Jonas, but this is not worth anything, not even blood money," Justin said, opening the pouch to show them the rock.

Nell grimaced. "Why are you carrying that... that thing around with you?" Justin shrugged. "I had it in mind to get rid of it after the abjuration, mayhap put it back in the churchyard where she died. Out of curiosity, how did Geoffrey explain away the rock whilst he was making his tearful confession?"

"He did not," Jonas said, and Justin turned to stare at the serjeant. "What are you saying? Doesn't a man have to confess fully ere he can abjure the realm?"

"Supposedly so, but he made no mention of it in his confession. He admitted quarreling with Melangell after she threatened to go to Adela and he admitted panicking and trying to make it look as if she'd been raped. But he claimed that she died when she fell back against the cross. Nary a word about picking up a rock and dashing her brains out with it. I guess the lad is getting forgetful under the strain."

"Why did the sheriff not challenge him on it?" Justin demanded, and Jonas gave a weary shake of his head.

"Ask him, de Quincy, not me. Mayhap Tobias neglected to tell him about that particular detail, or mayhap he decided it did not matter."

Justin was outraged. "It
does
matter," he insisted. "He owes Melangell the truth!" Tossing the reins of their mounts to Gunter, he swung around and began to shove his way through the crowd. He had no difficulty in overtaking Geoffrey, who was already leaving bloody footprints in the dust. Lugging the cross, he was staring straight ahead, resolutely ignoring the occasional jeer or catcall as he plodded along the Cheapside, trailed by several of Jonas's men to make sure he got safely out of London. When Justin caught up with him, he flinched at the sound of pursuing footsteps, his shoulders slumping with relief as he recognized Justin.

"I was half expecting her father to be here to confront me," he confessed, "and no blame to him if he did. How could he not hate me for what I did?"

"And what did you do, Geoffrey? I understand your memory needs prodding, for you omitted the most important part of your confession."

Geoffrey came to a halt in the roadway. "What do you mean? I held nothing back. Why would I?"

His feigned bewilderment only stoked Justin's anger all the higher. "You told only half the truth, the half that works in your favor. The other half you ignored, hoping it would be forgotten... like Melangell herself."

Geoffrey shook his head slowly. "I do not know what you are talking about. Melangell will never be forgotten, not by me."

"Well said, Geoffrey; you'd have made a fine actor. I would almost believe you... if not for this!" Pulling the rock from his pouch, Justin slammed it into the palm of Geoffrey's hand.

Geoffrey looked down at the rock, then back up at Justin, uncomprehending. "What is this?" he asked. "I do not understand."

Justin stared at him in disbelief. "You truly do not... do you?"

Jonas's men were growing impatient at the delay and one of them ordered Geoffrey to move along. Reluctantly, he did, first politely handing Justin back the rock. As the men hustled him away, he looked over his shoulder, making one final plaintive protest. "I would not have let Daniel take the blame, Justin, I swear I would not!"

Justin would later wish that he had responded, given Geoffrey the assurance he sought. Now, though, he was too stunned, unable to do anything but stare down at the rock in his hand. "Jesus God," he said softly, as much to himself as the Almighty, "how can this be?"

"How can what be?" Jonas had muscled his way onto the Cheapside. His gaze flicked from the rock to Justin's face, that lone eye narrowing at what he found. "What ails you? What happened?"

Justin swallowed. "I showed him the rock, Jonas, and it meant nothing to him... nothing at all."

"Jesu! Are you sure about this?"

Justin nodded and they turned as one to stare after Geoffrey's slow progress along Cheapside, not moving until long after he had vanished from sight.

~~

"Justin, this serves for naught." Nell set a fresh flagon down on the table, then took a seat across from him. "You're not even drinking," she scolded, glancing toward his brimming cup, "just brooding. For the love of the Lord, let it go!"

"I cannot," he admitted, "God help me, I cannot. How could I have been so wrong, Nell? I was so sure this rock was the murder weapon, so sure!"

Nell regarded the troublesome rock with distaste. "Must you have it out on the table like this? It does have blood on it, after all, even if it is not Melangell's."

"Whose is it, then, if not hers? It makes no sense, Nell. What of the black hairs on it? I keep going around in a circle, always ending up back where I started."

"You're in a rut, not a circle, and getting nowhere fast. Put the rock away, Justin. Not all of God's mysteries are meant to be solved. Curfew will be ringing soon and I do not want to send you out sober into the night... so drink up, and let's talk of other matters besides that wretched rock. How is Luke faring these days? Have you heard from him since he returned to Winchester?"

"One letter, saying he'd gotten home safely and complaining at length about that 'four-legged fiend,' Aldith's dog, who ate his best boots whilst he was away... or so Aldith claims." Justin mustered up a smile at the domestic discord of his friends, but almost at once lapsed back into a distracted silence.

Nell gave an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. "Like a dog with a bone, you are." Seeing that Justin was not going to drink his ale, she reached over and helped herself to it, taking a deep swallow and then another. "This batch tastes a bit off; I'll be having a word with the brewer. You know what surprised me, Justin? That Melangell's father was not there today to see Geoffrey's public penance. I thought the Welsh put a great store by vengeance."

"Vengeance is a luxury, one Godwin cannot afford, not since his mule died."

"Misfortune does seem to be dogging that poor man's footsteps. I saw him and the little lass the other day in the Cheapside, and my heart went out to them, Justin. Worn down to skin and bones and blisters, he is, and Cati like a wild creature, as bedraggled and unkempt as any beggar's child. What will befall her if her father drops dead in the mule's traces one day? Has she no other kin at all?"

"Her mother has family back in Wales." Justin reached for the drink Nell had appropriated. Thinking about Cati's bleak future was as troubling as thoughts of that blasted, bloodied rock. "She is tougher than she looks," he said, seeking to convince himself as much as Nell. "Her grieving for Melangell is an open wound, one that will be a long time healing. But she is not one for sharing her grief. Only once do I remember her being on the brink of tears, when she was telling me about her sister's funeral and the red dress she'd set her heart upon ..."

The image of Cati's stifled sorrow was too vivid for comfort, needed to be washed away with ale, and he brought the cup up with such haste that it slopped over the rim. It never reached his mouth. Setting the cup down with a thud, he gave Nell such a blind, unfocused look that she felt a superstitious chill and plucked uneasily at his sleeve.

"Justin, what is it? You look like you've seen one of God's own ghosts!"

He blinked, like a man coming out of a spell. "Not exactly. But it may be that Melangell just whispered a word in my ear, for I remembered something..." Before Nell could question him further, he was on his feet. "I have to go, Nell. There is someone I must see."

"Tonight?" Curfew is night! She protested in vain, though; he was already halfway toward the door.

~~

The usually affable landlord was less accommodating after being roused from bed and it took a combination of coins and blandishments to win his cooperation. Grumbling under his breath, he lit a candle and led Justin up the stairs to the room rented by Melangell's father. Godwin awoke at once, sitting up in alarm and fumbling for his clothes. Justin claimed the candle, raising it so that its wan flame would identify them. Godwin squinted up at the shivering light, then gestured for silence, pointing toward the pallet where Cati slept. The men retreated, Justin to wait in the stairwell, the landlord to go back to bed. After a few moments, Godwin emerged, half-dressed, to sit beside Justin on the stairs.

"Why are you here? What now?" His voice sounded muffled, sleep-sodden, and the candle's light showed hollows and grooves, his features blurred and flattened by exhaustion and despair.

"I am sorry I awakened you, Godwin, but I needed to speak with you straightaway."

"And it could not wait till the morrow? But men like you are not ones for waiting, are they? Ask what you will, then and try not to wake up my girl."

It took Justin a moment to realize what Godwin meant by "men like you." Men with power. He almost laughed, for he too often felt like an orphan buffeted by storms beyond his control. He had to remind himself that the bishop's bastard foundling was also the queen's man, and to the peddler, the gap between them must have seemed vast, indeed. "You were not there to watch as Geoffrey Aston abjured the realm."

"What good would it do? I'm glad he was found out, glad that he's paying for what he did to my Melangell. But he could bleed his life away a drop at a time and it would not bring her back, now would it?

"No," Justing agreed, "It would not. Yet there is more to this than you know, Godwin. Bear with me, for I've reason for asking. I need to know about Melangell's red dress, the one you bought her ere she died."