‘You didn’t let me finish,’ he said before he took the cup from Crispin’s hand and drank it down. He took up the jug, looked inside, and poured more into the cup. ‘What I was going to say, before you left so abruptly, is that your decision to bar me from seeing you was out of the question. I have too many things yet to learn from you.’

  ‘Christopher. You must know how foolish this is—’

  ‘You keep interrupting me, Master Guest. This will never work between us if you keep on interrupting me.’ He drank again before setting down the cup. ‘I don’t want to get drunk.’ He belched. ‘My mother won’t be best pleased if I come home at the end of the evening stinking of ale.’

  ‘Master Walcote,’ Crispin began with a growl.

  ‘Ooh, “Master Walcote”, is it? Now I know I’m in trouble.’

  ‘No, you are not in trouble.’

  ‘So you want all the trouble for yourself? That seems very selfish.’

  It was all getting muddled in his mind. How much had he drunk? But he didn’t feel tipsy. He gestured to Christopher, pointing a finger at him. ‘Harken to me, boy. I don’t know what foolishness you are concocting in your head, but I want you to stay away from me. Do you understand? It’s for your own good.’

  Christopher pulled at a loose string on his sleeve, seemed preoccupied with it as he spoke. ‘So many people over the years have told me what is for my own good. My tutors, my father’s journeymen, my mother, my nursemaid, my governor … If it’s all for my own sarding good, shouldn’t I enjoy it more?’

  ‘Language,’ muttered Crispin without thinking.

  ‘And that’s another thing.’ He slammed his hand to the table. ‘God’s blood! I can swear if I want to. I’m almost a man.’

  ‘But not yet.’

  ‘Your problem is you don’t understand the youth of today. We want to have our own say.’

  Crispin swung in his seat. ‘What was that nonsense you just said to me?’ asked Crispin, brows digging into his eyes.

  ‘You don’t understand the youth. I’m not Jack Tucker, you know. I’m younger even than him. Me and my peers, we talk about it a lot. How the aldermen of this city run things. We don’t like it.’

  Crispin was suddenly struck dumb. The … the gall. The utter gall of the lad. Who did he think he was?

  ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing. And what does this have to do with—’

  ‘All I’m saying, Master Guest, is that I’m my own man. That I make my own decisions. And someday I’ll be an alderman and fix the ills of London. It’s not like it was when you were my age.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ He paused and seemed to gird himself. ‘And though it’s true that I was … disturbed … by catching you and my mother—’

  ‘We only kissed,’ he rasped, keeping his voice down.

  ‘I know that. And I was angry and disappointed and … and frightened. Not for myself, but for my mother. I would not have her sin.’

  Crispin finally lowered his face. ‘Neither would I.’

  ‘You see? You are a man of honor. And that is what I wish to be. Who better to tutor me?’

  ‘Your father!’

  ‘No, he’s busy with this and that. But you. You understand the ways of the world better than most men. That’s what I would learn. That’s what you excel at.’

  ‘God’s blood, boy. Didn’t you hear one word I said to you?’

  ‘Yes, I heard it all. It was the speech of a most chivalrous knight. Where am I to learn that?’

  A spark of hope he had no right to feel warmed his chest. This boy – this too-clever-for-his-boots boy – had found an argument that Crispin found difficult to cross. Well, who was he fooling? He grasped at it like the last tree limb hanging over a cliff.

  ‘You are far too clever for yourself, boy.’

  ‘And who did I get that from, I wonder?’ he said quietly.

  Crispin gave him a sidelong look. He suddenly wanted to laugh. He never thought to meet a man as clever as Jack Tucker, who could twist logic all around him and weave it into its own reason. But here he was.

  ‘Christopher,’ he said after a long moment of contemplation, ‘if you can forgive me for taking liberties, I can accept our continued friendship. For all the good it will do the both of us. God willing, we will not destroy your life in the doing of it.’

  Christopher’s serious expression gave way to a wide grin. ‘Alleluia! You’re finally talking sense.’ He put his hand out to shake and Crispin reluctantly took it. ‘Now, as to my other news—’

  ‘Ho, Crispin!’ came a shout from across the room. Crispin looked up and scanned the many faces in the crowded space, until he saw a man in cassock waving to him. He rose and greeted the man halfway to him with a bow.

  ‘Abbot William. What are you doing here?’ They clasped hands and Crispin pulled him along to their table.

  ‘Is that any way to greet an old friend? I haven’t seen you in many a day, Crispin. You owe me a game of chess, remember?’ The old abbot – a man who looked more like a merchant with a wide face and light blue eyes than a nobleman – glanced at Crispin’s companion. ‘Well, now. Who is this young man? A relation of yours, Crispin? By the Rood, he looks just like you.’

  Crispin grabbed the abbot and yanked him down to a seat. ‘You don’t wish to awake the whole tavern with loud conversation, do you, my lord?’ he rasped.

  The abbot stared at him and leaned forward to rub at his backside.

  ‘This is Christopher Walcote,’ said Crispin, gesturing to the boy, ‘the son of the prosperous mercer, Clarence Walcote. Christopher, this is Abbot William de Colchester, of Westminster Abbey.’

  ‘A very great pleasure, my lord,’ said Christopher with a respectful bow.

  Abbot William was still staring accusingly at Crispin, and Crispin tried to appease him by pouring ale into the cup on hand and pushing it toward the cleric. ‘Some ale, my lord? All I meant by way of greeting was that this tavern is so far from the abbey. Not that you had no cause to be anywhere in London you wished to be.’

  ‘Well … I …’ He glanced once again at Christopher before giving his attention to Crispin. ‘I had some business in London … and I was thirsty …’

  ‘Then drink up. I am glad to see you. I did not mean to imply that I was not.’

  ‘You’re friends with the Abbot of Westminster Abbey?’ said Christopher, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know why at this juncture I am surprised by any of your friendships.’

  ‘Now you, young man,’ said the abbot, leaning over the small table and clutching his cup. ‘You say you are a mercer? You aren’t related to this knave Guest?’

  ‘I am interested in his vocation.’

  Well parried, Christopher, thought Crispin.

  ‘Why, my Lord Abbot,’ Christopher continued, ‘just today, Master Guest has been engaged in investigating a twenty-year-old murder; a murdered man’s skeleton plastered inside a wall of a house. Isn’t that intriguing?’

  ‘Bless me,’ said the abbot, crossing himself.

  Crispin leaned on the table as well. ‘Indeed. A vexing case.’

  ‘But how should it be done, Crispin? I know you are clever, but surely even you have your limitations. Something that happened so long ago.’

  ‘I admit, there are many problems associated with it. But each piece is a puzzle to be worked out.’

  ‘So you have said many a time. Are you aware, young man,’ he offered, gesturing with his cup, ‘that this man has cracked some of the deepest puzzles of murder? Something no one else could have done, I’ll wager. I know your mind is keen, Crispin, but I owe it to the gifts of the Almighty. That He watches over your deeds and rewards you with insight.’

  Crispin bowed. ‘It must be so, my lord. For it is sometimes a bolt from the blue that gives me a notion. For instance—’

  ‘We discovered that there was a varlet that everyone in the household believed had stolen a relic and run off,’ Christopher interrupted, words coming fast in his eagerness. ‘And for twenty years, his memory was vilified. Can you imagine it? Your good name dragged through the mud.’

  The abbot flicked a glance at Crispin. Crispin could imagine it well.

  ‘And then,’ Christopher went on, heedless, ‘all at once, your bones are discovered, and it’s revealed that you weren’t the villain, but some other, who had murdered you and blamed you for the theft for all these years. And there you were: bound, gagged, and entombed with the relic.’

  ‘Good God.’ The abbot crossed himself again and looked from one to the other of them. ‘Your friend here, Crispin, seems as keen as you are in solving these puzzles. Perhaps you might have found yourself another apprentice.’

  ‘I don’t think Jack would like that,’ said Crispin.

  ‘Oh, I’m to be a mercer,’ said Christopher, matter-of-factly. ‘Like my father.’

  ‘It is good for a man to follow in one’s father’s footsteps. I, of course, did not, for my calling was higher. In any case … this reminds me of something from long ago. Another servant in another household. He, too, was thought to be a thief, and he too was murdered. Bless me. I haven’t thought of this tale in many years. He was a valued man, trusted by one and all. But the object was missing – I can’t even rightly recall what it was now – and the man was gone. When a thing is presented in such a way, why … you don’t question it. The servant was gone and so was the object so it was natural to assume. There was no one in the house to naysay it. With the evidence of their own eyes …’

  Crispin nodded. ‘As you say, Lord Abbot. Why assume anything else other than what is in front of your face?’

  ‘But not you, Crispin.’ He took a drink and gestured to the boy. ‘Maybe you are not aware, Master Walcote, but our Crispin here always sees what is beyond the awareness of his eyes. You wait. Something amazing will come to him, by the Lord’s intervention, of course, and he will have puzzled it out. You wait, my boy. Patience, in the case of Master Guest, is indeed a virtue to be most prized.’

  ‘You flatter me, my lord. The puzzles only seem to grow harder the older I get.’

  Abbot William smiled. ‘I doubt that.’ He pushed the cup away and rose. ‘Well, I must go. I’ve tarried long enough. I only wanted to greet you and to remind you to come to the abbey. You mustn’t neglect your friends.’

  ‘I was just telling Master Guest that same thing,’ said Christopher, studiously not looking at Crispin as he said it.

  They both rose and walked with the abbot out of the door. Christopher held the abbot’s horse steady as the older man mounted.

  ‘Farewell, Crispin. And may God bless you and speed you on your course. I know that He watches over you.’ He sketched a benediction in the air over him, and Crispin bowed to accept it. ‘And farewell to you, Young Walcote. If I didn’t know better, I would call you father and son.’ He tapped the horse’s flanks and moved into the street. Crispin pulled his hood up, shielding his face from the people who stopped along the street to watch the abbot ride slowly down the lane.

  Christopher lowered his face as well, but he could not seem to scrub away his amusement. ‘Your friends, Crispin.’

  ‘They’re very loud,’ he muttered.

  ‘I liked your abbot very much, but his appearance interrupted me as to what I was going to tell you.’ He postured, thumbs in his belt. ‘Guess what I found out? The missing maid from twenty years ago? Ardath? I found her.’

  SEVEN

  ‘I … I am astounded,’ said Crispin. ‘How did you?’

  ‘By thinking like you,’ he said, thumbs in his belt. ‘I talked to several mercers who sent me to others to talk to, and on down the line. She’s still alive.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Yes. Shall we go to talk to her?’

  Crispin couldn’t help smiling. ‘I reckon we should.’

  They started walking toward Billingsgate. He couldn’t seem to stop stealing glances at his son, while Christopher, no doubt knowing Crispin was doing so, simply smirked, pleased with himself.

  A cart piled high with faggots caught their interest, and they both watched it silently creak and sway through the mud before it turned a corner, leaning far enough that it might have tipped … but didn’t. ‘Funny about Madam Roke falling down the stairs,’ said Christopher abruptly, after the cart’s squeaking dimmed into the distance.

  ‘Funny? How?’

  ‘Oh, well. I just heard from the other lads in the guild. It’s one of those accidents,’ he said with a wink.

  ‘You mean foul play.’

  ‘Yes. It seems when a man tires of his wife, she often falls down the stairs.’

  ‘So by this, you infer that Master Roke tired of his wife and she had a misadventure down the Cobmartin staircase?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘It is. It might interest you to know that Jack and I have been contemplating that very notion.’ After a pause, he added, ‘My mother fell down the stairs … and died. I was there. I was six.’

  He caught the boy’s expression out of the corner of his eye. The gray eyes were wide, mouth gawping like a carp.

  ‘What … what happened?’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘But … Master Crispin. What if it weren’t?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it was an accident.’

  ‘But how do you know? You were only six.’

  ‘Well … because I … because …’ He furrowed his brows. How did he know? He went by what the others had told him. But his father wasn’t home at the time. He was seldom home. And then he died anyway in battle several months later, without ever returning. Crispin couldn’t quite remember what either of them looked like.

  ‘She was my grandmother,’ he heard beside him. The boy’s voice was awed and then he turned toward Crispin with a raw expression. ‘She was my grandmother,’ he said more distinctly.

  ‘I suppose she was.’

  ‘I … I don’t know much about you. Not truly. I don’t know where you lived and who you knew and the things you’ve done.’

  Crispin rolled his shoulders. He had been afraid of this. As the boy grew, he’d want to know more about his heritage, a heritage long gone.

  ‘Can you tell me about her?’ said Christopher. ‘About my … about your mother?’

  Crispin sighed. There was a dull ache from behind his heart. He supposed they were old memories trying to breach the careful walls he’d constructed over the years. ‘I don’t remember much of her. But … she was kind and sweet … and somewhat sad. Perhaps because her children had died some years before.’

  ‘You had siblings? They’d have been my aunts and uncles.’

  ‘They were children when they died. I am the lone survivor.’

  The lad cocked his head. ‘Funny you putting it like that.’

  ‘I suppose I heard it put to me like that enough that I absorbed the expression. My father died not too long after my mother and that’s when I went to live in the Duke of Lancaster’s household.’

  ‘You were a page at six?’

  ‘Yes. I was very studious. I … loved living in that household. I learned everything I needed in order to become a knight and lord. I had my own estates, you see. In Sheen. I inherited all but had to learn the means to run it properly, care for my tenants. It is not enough to be wealthy. One must learn one’s responsibilities.’

  ‘For to each man to whom much is given, much shall be asked of him; and they shall ask more of him, to whom they betook much. I remember you telling me that. I took it to heart.’

  ‘I am gratified that my words of wisdom have not fallen on deaf ears.’

  ‘I’ve listened to everything you’ve ever told me.’

  God’s blood, he thought. He mustn’t allow this. He mustn’t allow the boy this hero-worship. ‘Christopher, if I were so wise at everything, I would not be in the position I am in today. I would have been a lord, doing as I should have done, not eking out a living on the streets of London as a tracker. I’m glad that you have minded me where it counts, but I am a fallible man. Certainly Clarence Walcote has qualities to emulate.’

  Christopher frowned and turned away toward the street. ‘Just because I admire you doesn’t mean I’ve ignored him. He is my father in every sense. I’m not a fool.’

  Falling silent on the matter seemed the better course, Crispin decided, though he longed to say more.

  But the silence between them was broken when Christopher suddenly asked, ‘What were the names of your siblings?’

  So much for the boy’s speeches. Still, he couldn’t fault him for wanting to know of his bloodline. ‘Well, first there was Henry, then Robert, then Joan. They all died before I was born.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He bit his lip. ‘I am too. My parents are mere memories to me. Like a dream. Like … leaves on the wind. I can’t quite capture their faces anymore. I know how William Roke feels.’

  ‘They’d be proud of you.’

  He huffed a laugh. ‘I very much doubt that. I was a traitor, boy. You must never forget that. It meant that the family name was struck from the rolls of knights and lords. And it was my fault. The lone survivor.’ He spat the last.

  ‘But you couldn’t have known …’

  Crispin stopped, passed his hand over his face. ‘Look, Christopher. What I did was wrong. I swore oaths and then I broke them. An honorable man must never do that. He must never forswear his oaths to his lords, most of all. And this I did. The king is the king, anointed by God. Who was I to undo what God has made?’

  ‘You thought it was the right thing?’

  ‘What fancies you weave.’ He strode out into the mud again. ‘Who have you been talking to?’

  ‘My mother,’ he said quietly.

  Crispin closed his lips. There was nothing more in this world that he’d rather do than talk of Philippa … except to hold her in his arms. But he pointedly said nothing.

  After another short pause, Christopher asked, ‘The Cobmartins. How did you know them?’

  ‘I met Master Cobmartin when he was defending me … at my trial for murder.’

  Christopher’s mouth fell agape.

  ‘He was successful … obviously. And then he became my landlord, the place we now live.’

 

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