Masques of Gold (14 page)

“Yes,” FitzWalter went on after the brief pause, confirming Justin's thought. “That will almost ensure the safety of the cargo, unless there is a special effort to determine that it is mine.” He nodded, then added, “And if it will not be burdening you too greatly, I would be glad if you gave the captains permission to refit the ships and kept at least one eye on them to be sure they do not arrange for the charges to be doubled so that they can put half in their own pockets.”

Justin nodded acknowledgment of that common practice and promised to speak to several shipwrights himself, after which FitzWalter went on to answer specifically all the questions Justin had asked about the disposal of the cargoes, ending with a question of his own about what share Justin desired as payment.

“You asked a favor,” Justin said, “let us leave it at that—or if you wish to be generous, I would be glad of, say, five casks of that same wine you bade me reserve for you.”

“It is good wine,” FitzWalter remarked, shrugging, “but not a fair return for the trouble my business may give you. I said a favor, and you bestow that by your willingness to take my affairs in hand at all. I did not intend that you lose time from your own affairs without some recompense.”

Justin sincerely hoped that Lord Robert's remark about trouble was only a result of his constant conviction, since the yielding of Vaudreuil, that he was being persecuted and did not imply any future intention of overt treason. However, he was not much worried about being stained by the pitch FitzWalter might pour over himself. Justin had not been willing to serve as FitzWalter's captain in France, but the sale of cargoes was a far cry from treasonable acts while under arms during a war, and he was confident that his reputation and the strong determination of the merchants of London to protect their own would keep him safe. Still, it could do no harm to make the arrangement appear more like business and less like a personal favor, Justin thought.

“If the matter of a favor owing troubles you,” he said, “I would be glad of a share in some future venture either in fine cloth—silks and velvets—or in wine, or if you would allow me some limited shipping space, say, a tenth, for a cargo of my own.”

“Gladly on either or both,” FitzWalter replied, “but I thought you had your own partners and shipping arrangements within your family.”

“I have and I have not,” Justin said. “Even before my uncle's death, my cousins were expanding their trade in wool. It is profitable and growing more so, especially since the risk of loss is much reduced by trading only across the narrow sea. I have my share in their ventures and in the profit, but they do the real trading. I make no complaint of that. It is, in fact, fortunate because much of my time, as you know, is given to keeping the peace in London and also because I find the wool trade very dull. I would like to add a little of the spice of the East to my business, and I can afford the risk.”

FitzWalter laughed and extended his hand to grip Justin's wrist. “Done! The shipment of supplies to La Rochelle, which will be the next voyage for my ships, will not serve your purpose, although you are more than welcome to add any cargo you desire to send to that port, but when I return to England, we will plan something more interesting. And speaking of interesting and your peacekeeping duties, whatever happened to the goldsmith Flael? Was he murdered as I heard?”

“Yes and no,” Justin answered, stifling a sigh of relief at having escaped from further talk about a partnership that Lord Robert would soon discover he welcomed more warmly than its proposer. “The whole matter of Flael's death is most peculiar,” he went on quickly.

Then, intent on keeping Lord Robert's mind on that subject and away from any extended discussion of joint trading ventures, Justin described the entire case. Lord Robert listened with a slight smile, and when Justin was finished, he shrugged.

“You have a strange puzzle there,” he remarked.

“I have, indeed,” Justin agreed. “Did you know Flael at all?”

“I suppose I must have met him,” FitzWalter replied, “but I did not
know
him. He was too much a king's man for me to do any business with him. It is strange that the sons fled, but if Master Goscelin says they had no reason to hate their father and would not have harmed him, he must be right. Likely it is a waste of time to seek them. No doubt they feared Flael had written a new will leaving all to the young wife. Bowles's daughter…I know of Bowles, and any child raised by him should know how to make a penny into two or even five. And any woman, even if she does not have the sense of a hen, somehow always seems to know how to cozen an old man into settling his sons' birthright on her.”

“Do you know Madame Heloise?” Justin asked, his voice totally without expression.

FitzWalter shook his head. “Not at all. I do not believe I have ever laid eyes on her, but women are all the same—witless and greedy.” He laughed and added, “I suppose she was frightened to death when she saw Flael all broken to bits.”

The coarse pleasure in that laugh, which showed the amusement FitzWalter plainly felt at the idea of an innocent woman's fear, was one of the reasons Justin could never like the man. In addition, he suddenly felt there was something besides amusement in the quick glance FitzWalter had given him when he spoke of Lissa, a kind of curiosity that belied his remark that all women were alike. It was fortunate that Justin was always wary and guarded when dealing with FitzWalter; it made it easier to clamp down on the rage that leapt to life in the wake of that notion. But to ask why FitzWalter was curious about Lissa would be useless; Lord Robert would only deny his interest—and, worse, his attention would be drawn to her if Justin had read him wrong and he had not previously been curious. Lord Robert might be coarse and brutal, but he was not stupid. All Justin could do was swallow his rage and turn down one side of his mouth while he lifted a shoulder with pretended indifference.

“She was shocked, of course, but I would say she was more bewildered than frightened. She said over and over that she could imagine no reason why Flael should be tortured—that was before we knew the wounds were inflicted after his death.”

FitzWalter sneered. “You mean she did not at once take her husband's injury to herself and shriek with terror and demand a guard to watch her every step?”

“I do not think it ever came into her mind that Flael's death had anything at all to do with her,” Justin said. “She seems to think that the cause stemmed from his moneylending activities, and for all I know her guess is as good as any other.”

Justin had answered FitzWalter's tone with a denial before he really considered what FitzWalter had said. After he spoke, he remembered that Lissa had been frightened, not only by Flael's death and the manner of it but by something she was hiding. But that was none of FitzWalter's business, he thought, keeping his hands open and relaxed on his knees with a deliberate effort when the man responded to his reply with a brief bray of cynical laughter.

“Was she not even curious about who killed her husband or why?” FitzWalter asked. “Was she that glad to be rid of him?”

“She did not pretend to be bereaved,” Justin said, struggling to keep his voice even and indifferent.

Now Justin was more eager to leave the subject of Flael's death than he had been to divert FitzWalter from the idea of offering him a partnership in a trading venture. He was very much afraid that his control would crack if Lord Robert made another remark about Lissa, and he forced a smile and stood up.

“I am beginning to wonder whether this is not likely to remain a mystery,” Justin said rather mendaciously, and then to kill the topic completely once and for all, he went on, “Nor am I sure it is worth my time to pursue the answer because it cannot be proven that any harm was done Flael while he was alive. So, even if I find out who broke his bones—with what can he be charged?”

FitzWalter laughed loudly again. “With what indeed?”

He also stood and clapped Justin on the shoulder in a blow that was friendly but at the same time was hard enough to hurt, hard enough to have knocked down a slighter man or one who was unprepared. Had Justin fallen, FitzWalter would have laughed even louder; it was the kind of jest he loved. However, when the buffet produced nothing but a faint smile on Justin's face, a flicker of approval showed in FitzWalter's expression, and he took the trouble to accompany Justin out to the courtyard and wait while his horse was brought. He mentioned then that he intended to leave London before the week was out and, when the groom led Justin's horse to them, put his hand on Justin's arm to hold him while he gave him a few more details that had come to his mind about the expected arrival of the ships and how to deal with the captains.

Justin assured FitzWalter of his attention to all the details of the business as he swung into the saddle and lifted his hand in a farewell gesture, but he was really thinking about Lord Robert's inexplicable interest in Lissa. Then he began to wonder whether that interest had been anything more than natural curiosity about a person involved in a murder. After all, most of FitzWalter's remarks were repetitions of what was said by rote of all women—that they were stupid and greedy but sly as serpents and that they were always eager to be rid of a husband and inherit his goods. Was it not because
he
felt a special interest in Lissa that he even noticed FitzWalter's remarks? If it had been some other woman, would he not have answered without thought or anger and with the same scornful laughter that Lord Robert uttered?

That must be so, he told himself. FitzWalter was not the type to let go of any subject in which he was interested before he had all the answers he wanted. If he had been truly curious about Lissa, he would not have permitted Justin to cut short the conversation and, when he walked out with him, would have asked more questions about her rather than returning to the topic of the ships.

And now that Justin thought about it, that was a far stranger thing than any curiosity FitzWalter showed about Lissa. Why had Lord Robert asked him to deal with the cargoes? Surely Hamo Finke could have handled the whole matter. Not that Finke would have sold the cargoes himself, but the services of a factor would have been easy to obtain. Was it possible that, being unable to involve him in his treasonous plans in one way, FitzWalter was seeking to drag him in in another? Justin considered the notion and then heaved a sigh. He was making goblins out of shadows in the corner. Perhaps FitzWalter might have some intention, in a business sense, of binding him closer and, through him, his uncle's family and friends; however, it was far more likely that he had been, so to speak, present in FitzWalter's mind because they had had recent dealings over the muster of men for the king's army. It was natural, then, for FitzWalter to decide to choose a man he knew to handle his business rather than to leave the burden on Master Hamo, who was a goldsmith, not a merchant.

Suddenly, becoming aware of a strong odor of fish, Justin looked around and discovered that he was riding north on Friday Street. Why in the world had he turned off Knight's Bridge Road onto Friday Street into the stink of bad fish when he could have ridden up Cordwainer's Row or Soper Lane? And then his hand tightened on his rein so abruptly and so hard that the quiet palfrey he used for riding about the city slid to a halt and began to rear.

Justin brought the gelding down and soothed it with absent-minded skill. Then, with his long jaw jutting forward and an expression on his face that made apprentices and fishmongers scurry out of his way, he turned his horse back the way he had come. There was only one possible reason to ride up Friday Street, and that was to pass Peter Flael's house when he turned east toward his own. Master Peter's house was only a few doors from the corner of Friday Street. Any other route north from Knight's Bridge Road would bring him to the West Chepe beyond Lissa's home.

It was ridiculous that while he was thinking of FitzWalter his treacherous body had set him on a path that led directly to her. The woman had ensorcelled him! As he thought the word a faint chill passed over Justin. She was an apothecary's daughter, and a sly dog of an apothecary at that. Could she have put some potion in the food he ate or in the ale or wine? Nonsense! There were potions that could stir the loins, but without witchcraft that effect was brief and only physical, and whatever was said of William Bowles, no one had ever accused his daughter of being a witch.

Still, it was strange how heavy and sad he felt as he turned away from her. He had fancied himself in love in the past and was familiar with the warmth in his loins that started up at the thought of a beautiful woman, the images of a soft bed in a firelit chamber that enticed him in an idle moment to think of visiting the object of his lust. Never before, however, had thoughts of a woman unbalanced his judgment, as had his desire to defend Lissa while he was talking to FitzWalter, nor had he found himself wandering toward any other woman when he believed himself occupied with more serious matters.

It was not something he needed to worry about, Justin decided as he rode east along Knight's Bridge Road. The urge to see Lissa remained, but it certainly had no power to move him toward her against his will. All he need do, he told himself, was ignore the impulse and it would fade until he was entirely free of his desire for her.

The one and only good thing about the message Thomas FitzAilwin brought, Lissa thought four days after her husband had been buried, was that she could hardly remember that day at all. She had been numbed to everything by the shock of grief and disappointment that struck her when she realized that Justin was not coming at all, that he did not feel the urgent need to be with her that she felt to be with him, that he probably had felt nothing for her but pity, which she had misread into caring. It was almost as if the Justin she had obviously created out of her own imagination and desire was the man who had died. She could think of nothing at first but her loss, and she felt dizzy, as if the solid floor she stood upon were melting away and letting her slip into an endless void.

For the rest of the day, everything that happened was vague, only a few events standing out as shocking vignettes in a gray mist of misery. She recalled coming down the stairs from the solar into the shop—she supposed she had been summoned—and seeing a coffin draped in a black pall. The surprise of seeing it there, for she had no idea when or how it had come, must have drawn some sound from her, because both her father and Justin's cousin reached out to support her; she had shrunk from both of them, stepping back to cling to Mistress Adela. She also remembered being surprised at the number of people who had followed her down the stairs. They must all have been in the solar; she must have spoken to them, but for her life she could not remember doing so.

Six men, richly but soberly dressed, came forward and lifted the coffin onto a bier made of two strong poles with wooden crosspieces. They carried it to the church, where Father Denis was waiting. In normal times, the coffin would have been carried to the chancel gate. There the Mourning Office would have been said, the body censed and sprinkled with holy water. Then all the mourners would have joined in the Lord's Prayer, and the priest would have pronounced the absolution before the coffin was carried to the burial ground. Because the interdict was still in effect, however, the cortege moved directly to the burial ground and a much truncated mass was said, although Father Denis faithfully celebrated as much of the service as was permitted.

Seeing Peter lowered into the open grave was the last clear memory Lissa had of that day. She knew that all the mourners returned to the house, that somehow tables laden with food and casks of ale and wine had appeared. Perhaps they had been there all the time and her eyes had fastened only on Peter's coffin, or perhaps the servants of Peter's guild brothers had arranged the feast while their masters attended the burial service. She was also dimly aware that men and women came and spoke to her and that she must have answered them in some reasonable manner because her father, who stood close beside her, did not interfere in any way. All she really remembered, however, was going over and over Justin's every word and gesture the previous day and trying to discover how she had misunderstood him so completely.

Although she was unaware of it at the time, she was exhausted by the effort of disguising her true thoughts and responding properly to the condolences of Peter's friends and fellow goldsmiths and to questions about the absence of Peter's sons. At some time she found herself alone, except for Mistress Adela, who looked pale and exhausted and who said she must go, that Goscelin was waiting below for her. She also asked, with a troubled frown, whether Lissa would be all right, alone in the house, and whether—since she would not go home with her father—she wished instead to sleep in Goscelin's house.

Gratitude had brought a touch of brightness into the black blanket of misery Lissa had wrapped around herself. She managed a smile and hugged and kissed Adela, swearing that she did not fear being alone in the house at all, that she had been recalling her mother's death and burial, which had seemed like the end of the world to her. She was glad to see the anxiety fade from Adela's face and was able to listen to her comforting words, which were cut short by a bellow from belowstairs. The two women smiled at each other; then Adela fled to her husband and Lissa kicked off her shoes and tumbled into bed, clothes and all.

Lissa slept, as far as she knew, without stirring or dreaming; however, when she woke it was with the conviction that she had
not
misunderstood Justin. She had seen in other men the symptoms he exhibited; in fact, he had gone farther than several who had offered for her. Justin had shown every sign of a man delighted with a woman and desirous of her, a man who needed only a few more meetings to convince him to make an offer to that woman's father to have her as his wife.

Tears filled Lissa's eyes and coursed slowly down her cheeks. That was all. Clearly, as soon as Justin thought of making an offer for her he had remembered that he would become not only Lissa's husband but also William Bowles's son-by-marriage. Justin, of all men, could not afford to be associated with a man of Bowles's dubious reputation.

Under the circumstances, Lissa was even less willing than she might otherwise have been to listen later in the day to her father's reasons why it would be more sensible and convenient for her to return to his house. The fact that those reasons were perfectly sound only made her more furious, and she would not even discuss whether she would come each day to his shop to take up again her part in his business. She hardly noticed when her father yielded her a prize she had desired for years and said he had missed her and that her absence was a great loss to the business.

Worse yet, the knowledge that she was being unreasonable, that she really wanted to get back to the work she loved, rubbed her temper even rawer. Thus, when Binge and Witta appeared just as her father was leaving, each accusing the other of laziness and malicious mischief, Lissa scolded Binge with an unnatural ferocity and again threatened to cast her out if she did not mend her sullen manners. Binge fled from the room weeping, and Witta grinned smugly, whereupon Lissa slapped him so hard she knocked him down. Her father's mouth twisted in disgust and frustration, and he snarled at her that she was impossible to talk to that day and that he would return on the morrow, hoping to find her more sensible.

Guilt was added to guilt when she walked idly to the window for no better reason than a restless craving for movement and saw her father near the back door apparently trying to soothe the maid before he left. Because her emotions were raw, what seemed like a total reversal in her father's behavior toward her shook the foundation of her entire life. Was it possible that her mother's attitude to her father had so colored her own that she had built a monster out of an ordinary man who was hurt and angry—as she had built a lover-hero out of an ordinary man who only felt kindness and pity? This notion was so devastating that instead of telling Binge she was sorry for her threats, which she had meant to do, she found fault with dinner and also with the evening meal Binge had provided.

By the next day, resignation had taken the place of bad temper. Instead of screaming at her father to get out and leave her alone, she listened to him; however, she would not agree to move back into his house.

“I will return to work for you after another fortnight,” Lissa said. “I cannot come sooner because there is the matter of Peter's debts to settle and the debts owing to him to collect.”

“That is ridiculous,” William snapped. “You are not responsible for that business. I told you before that if you meddle you will find your own fortune eaten up—and I will not replace it. It is Peter's sons' fault that all is left in confusion. Let them come back and mend matters.”

“I do not think they will come back, father. At first I believed that they feared I had seduced Peter into making a will in my favor, but they knew their father better than that. I now think they fled from fear when they saw how Peter's body was cut and broken and burned.”

“I tell you I need you now. Why will you not be reasonable and come home? You could at least oversee the young fools in the shop, and perhaps make up a few of your special drugs and lotions while you try to collect the debts owed Flael—and you would be protected from those who wish to collect from you also.”

“I do not
wish
to be protected from them,” Lissa said wearily. “I have every intention of paying all of Peter's debts as soon as possible. Besides, it would be very wrong to leave Peter's house empty. You know an empty house draws thieves the way bad meat draws flies.”

“Leave the old woman. Nothing could give her greater pleasure than to have the house to herself.”

“No,” Lissa said, her lips a thin line in her set face. “When I am ready, I will ride or walk to our shop each morning, but I will finish Peter's business first.”

William knew that look. In the past he had tried every device he dared try but had never found any threat or reason that could alter Lissa's mind when she spoke it with that expression on her face. He stood up so abruptly that the stool he was sitting on overturned. “I am done trying to save you from yourself. Remember! All the pain and grief that come to you, you have brought upon yourself.”

Lissa shrugged when he stormed out. In fact, had her father reasoned rather than argued, he might have won his point, because Lissa had a guilty secret. Her real reason for remaining in Flael's house was a thin thread of hope that Justin might have withdrawn less because of his reluctance to be associated with her father than because he felt that the day of her husband's burial and even the following week or two were too soon to be courting a widow. She was ashamed of that silly hope, knowing that Justin could have sent a written message or found some other way to make the reason for his absence clear. Still, she could not bear to leave the place where they had really met. And what if Justin's absence was owing to some totally unknown cause? If he sought her in the future, she did not wish either to remind him of who her father was or expose him to her father's company, which would happen if he came to her at her father's house.

Lissa's misery was only deepened and confirmed in the afternoon when Thomas FitzAilwin again presented himself at the house. This time he came to return to her the list of debtors that Justin had taken. A single glance told her that the list was not being returned because more important matters had crowded it out of Justin's schedule; Justin had fulfilled his promise. Either written beside the record of the debtor or on a separate sheet of parchment rolled into the list, Justin had indicated the circumstances of nearly all of Peter's clients and even suggested how she should request payment. But Lissa could barely restrain tears and make civil conversation. To send Thomas with the list instead of bringing it himself amounted to a clear statement that Justin had no intention of meeting her again if he could avoid it.

Although Lissa was tempted to do so, she did not actually suggest that Thomas leave. She felt so reluctant to invite him to warm himself by the fire and have a cup of hot spiced wine, however, that she was ashamed. Shame drove her to mend her manners, and in response to his polite question about her health, she made herself smile and reply that she was feeling better. She managed to smile again when she refused his equally polite offer of his services if he could help her in any way. She did not remember what they talked about after that, but he did not stay long and when he was gone she could weep in peace.

Thomas had other business to finish that day, a shipment of wool to be delivered to traders from the Hanse in the Steelyard. Stepping into the Hanseatic enclave was like voyaging into a foreign country. Neither the king's sheriff nor the mayor's guardsmen had power in the Steelyard. If a merchant of the Hanse desired your business enough, he might come to you, placing himself under English law. Most often, however, the outsider was asked to come to the Steelyard, where he was in the power of the Hanse. Rarely did worse than frustration befall a merchant who visited the Hanseatic enclave, but Thomas like most others who dealt with the Hanse found that in full measure and overflowing.

So long had Thomas's argument with the Hanseatic wool dealer taken, that it was quite dark when he reached Justin's house. He found his cousin had just come in himself, after chasing several false rumors concerning Flael's sons. The upper chamber, lit by the golden light of a dozen candles—for Justin did not stint himself in comforts—was a welcome haven. Two chairs stood at a table covered by a white cloth and set before the leaping fire. As Thomas took off his cloak, Justin bellowed down the stairs to hurry the meal. Then both men stood before the fire, roasting the chill of January from their bones.

“They have slipped away, I think,” Justin said, continuing his remarks about Flael's sons, “and I no longer believe we will find them. We have found the cart and we have found the chests—separate and empty. Both have changed hands more than once already, and each step back leads to blind paths, no one being willing to say he knew the seller. Thus, I would guess both cart and chests were abandoned in different places in the town. Young Peter and Edmond must have realized soon after they fled that the cart and chests would mark them. And I had a thick head and gave them time to recover from their panic and become clever.”

“Nonsense. They had time enough to plan before the servant boy was brought to Master Goscelin, before you even knew Flael was dead, and you would be no closer to catching them, except by chance, if you had sent your men after them immediately. You do not even think them guilty,” Thomas said, glancing sidelong at his cousin, but Justin's face revealed nothing and he did not turn his eyes from their contemplation of the bright flames. “In the name of God, you do not even have a murder you can prove. Why do you
want
Flael's accursed sons?”

“Because I think they know why their father died, and to me it is murder to frighten a man to death.”

“Not unless it was done apurpose,” Thomas protested.