Masques of Gold (32 page)

At that point Justin, also speaking English, admitted that he had set the cart before the horse and asked if Master Gamel could come to his house where he would explain the whole matter, which was a long story.

Justin's house also impressed the sea captain, who understood the use of authority. The large chamber on the lower floor, usually a shop, was arranged as a kind of court. Although Justin did not try to pretend to higher status than he had or to overawe those brought before him with a thronelike canopied chair of state, he did have a high-backed seat behind a table that was set at the very edge of a dais. Those who stood before that table were subtly made to feel small, and as many arguments were diminished by that implication of their insignificance as by Justin's reasoning or threats.

Benches lined the walls, and more benches and stools were piled under the stair behind the dais. Gamel was puzzled by so much seating but had a good laugh when Justin explained his own innovation some time later. Since he could not have a whole crowd kneeling to him without raising unhealthy ideas about his ambitions and intentions, the stools and benches were his method of dealing with large groups, usually subdued rioters, who were easier to control by standing guards when they were sitting.

Candelabra stood at each end of the table and brackets holding torches were fixed along the walls and beside the door. Sir Justin did not like to miss anything, Gamel thought. The place would be bright as day no matter what the time or weather. At present the candles and torches were not lit, as there were no felons to examine, and the windows, open to the morning, gave light enough.

One grizzled man-at-arms stood up as they entered, and Justin smiled suddenly and said, “Halsig, this is Lissa's uncle, Master Gamel, a sea captain—” And then he became aware that both men were looking aside self-consciously. “Ah, I see you have met already,” he went on, his smile broadening. “I hope the wounds are healed.”

“I bear no malice,” Gamel said. “At least not against Halsig here, who only did as he was ordered.”

“I had no choice, master,” Halsig agreed, nodding. “It was the order of that one who was my lord then. I tried to send you on your way, but you would not listen.”

Gamel laughed and admitted to being unreasonable at times when he was drunk, and Halsig muttered something under his breath and also laughed. Justin then recalled what Lissa had told him when she had introduced him to her factor at the Hanse, that her uncles had been taken up for fighting and then imprisoned so long that promised cargoes were shipped on other ships.

“Yes,” Justin said, “I heard from Lissa that you were held overlong for no more than breaking a few heads. I am sorry. I will not say that you will be allowed to break heads while I am master of the watch—at least, not beyond reason—but I can promise that you will lose no business by being restrained.” He looked at Halsig. “You hear? Take him in charge if you must, but bring me word of it.”

The man-at-arms grinned from ear to ear. “Aye, my lord. I hear.”

Once he had escorted his guest up the stair and seen to his comfort, Justin began his story by reporting Flael's murder, only to discover from a few choice expletives that Gamel had not known about Lissa's marriage. If William had made the arrangements before Gamel's last visit in the autumn, he had kept them secret until after Gerbod and Gamel had left. The brothers generally did meet both in the spring and the autumn in the Steelyard.

“We try to make it so he comes a few days before I leave in spring and the other way in the autumn. But he will not come at all this spring. We met in Rochelle and he gave me all he had for Lissa. He will come, likely in July, and I again in August. Mostly we come, turn about, every month in the summer—we are mixed up this year because of the war and the extra trade in France—but I will swear Lissa knew nothing of any marriage before I left the first week in November, and she was married in December.” Gamel shook his head. “So fast. Why? It stinks of one of William's games.”

“Goscelin—he is master of the goldsmiths guild and knew Flael well—said it was a business arrangement. Yet what business a pepperer could have with a goldsmith I cannot imagine, nor has a goldsmith any real use for Lissa's ties with you and your brother. I do not know why Lissa agreed, but she told me that Flael was kind to her. She also said she did not wish him dead, but she did not pretend any great grief when he was killed.”

“Lissa did not kill him,” Gamel said seriously. “Unless he was terribly cruel or frightened her very, very much, she would have waited for me or Gerbod to deal with him for her.” He looked at Justin. “That would be true for any husband.”

Justin made no direct reply to that. He understood the unspoken threat, but he was almost amused. Whatever quarrels he had with Lissa, he was confident they would settle between themselves. It did not occur to him even after he had explained the whole matter and his whole relationship with Lissa—it took them right through dinnertime—that he had committed an offense he knew she would not condone—he had drawn a third party into their affairs. No matter what his anguish, Justin would never for a moment have thought of complaining about Lissa's behavior to his own relatives. Somehow, it did not seem to be the same thing to tell her uncle, who loved her dearly, how she hurt and puzzled him by refusing to marry him or even to acknowledge him as a suitor. Without thinking what he was doing, Justin poured out all his anxiety and frustration. He did, of course, hope that Gamel would take up the cudgels in his defense, but he had overlooked the sea captain's direct methods of dealing with problems.

Gamel went from Justin's house to Lissa's, where he was greeted with nearly hysterical delight and relief—Justin having forgotten to pass along the news of Gamel's safe arrival. After he had calmed her and followed her up to the solar, Gamel warned Lissa that Gerbod would not come until July and that she should not expect either of them at regular intervals this year owing to the opportunities for unexpected and profitable trading that the war was creating. Then, having looked about with satisfaction, for he had rarely come to the house to avoid having to meet William, he remarked that she was fortunate to be rid of her father.

“Rid of him!” Lissa exclaimed. “Is he dead?”

She felt in the instant before Gamel replied a vast, whirling confusion in which were mixed a hope that the answer would be yes, a terrible shame for desiring her father's death, an equally sickening fear that Gamel or Gerbod might have been responsible for his death, and an utter inability to find a response to a confession of responsibility amid gratitude, revulsion, joy, and shame. And Gamel's answer made all the riot in her heart foolish.

“No,” he said, “but Justin told me that he is gone.”

Lissa sat down suddenly on the stool nearest her. “Justin?” she gasped, so surprised that she had no time to feel relief that her uncles had not murdered her father.

“He seems a fine man,” Gamel said approvingly. “Of course, I must speak to a few people to be sure that he is what he says he is, but I have little doubt of his honor. You are a clever girl to wait until I could make sure. God knows our haste to make what seemed a good marriage brought great grief upon your poor mother, and I will be sure not to make such a mistake again, but—”

“But uncle, I cannot marry Justin.”

“What?” Gamel roared. “Did he lie?”

He half turned toward the door, and Lissa leapt to her feet and caught at him, crying, “No, I am at fault. I lied to him.”

“You lied?” That had stopped Gamel in his tracks. “I have never known you to tell a lie.”

“Not in business, uncle, but I love Justin so much. I could not let him slip away without knowing him.” She began to cry softly. “I know I have wronged him.”

Gamel patted Lissa awkwardly, begging her not to cry, offering to fetch her wine, ale, water, anything, until she drew her sleeves over her eyes and cheeks and asked him to sit down while she explained. She then retold much the same story Justin had related, but Gamel was not bored because Lissa filled in her father's part.

“So he knew why Peter was killed,” she ended, “and if he was not one of the men who destroyed Peter's house, I am sure he was involved in that too.”

“It is not at all certain he was as closely involved as you say, child,” Gamel said slowly, “but even if he was, he is gone and does not intend to return. Why else would he have taken everything of value with him?”

“Uncle, he will come back, and soon, for he will want to drain off whatever profit I have made since he left. And how can you say he was not involved after what I have told you and with all you know of him? Cannot you see that taking the money proves he has guilty knowledge of some sort? He is hiding it, I suppose, so that if he is accused, he can flee, leaving his bondsmen to be fined on his account, and he will have the wherewithal to live.”

“Very well, if you will have it so,” Gamel said impatiently, “but he is such a coward. If he ran because he suspected he would be accused, I do not think even the money would draw him back. And, more important, I cannot see what all this has to do with your marrying Justin. I should think you would take him in haste, before he gets a real smell of your father.”

“You would have me cheat him on the quality of the goods?”

“No!” That came out as a roar. “
You
are the goods, and the quality is perfect.”

“But there is a bond that goes with me. I am tied to William Bowles and will never be free of him.” Lissa shook her head and laid her hand gently over Gamel's mouth. “Let me talk.” And she did, trying to explain the disaster that must sooner or later follow her father's return if she were married or betrothed, and that the ultimate outcome would be that Justin must come to hate her.

“You are quite mad,” Gamel said. “Your father might, indeed, be stupid enough and dishonest enough to do what you say, but what has that to do with you?”

Then Lissa explained Justin's political position with regard to the parties that jostled for power in London and how easily he could lose his place if scandal touched him. Gamel laughed and said Justin seemed to expect to lose his place anyway and certainly would not be fool enough to blame it on her if he did. To this, Lissa could not agree, and when her uncle told her to ask Justin, she burst into tears again and said it was no use asking. He would tell her just what her uncle told her—that he loved her, that nothing would change that love, that he would find other work if he lost his present place—but Lissa knew it was all dreams. When the shame struck him, his feelings would change. It would not be by his will, and the fact that he had promised to be constant would swell his guilt and double and redouble his resentment.

“Stop that weeping,” Gamel said. “I am ashamed of you. Do I love you less for your father's faults?”

Lissa thought that was a stupid thing to say. She was growing angry at her uncle's persistent blindness, and she dashed the tears from her eyes and pointed out, “You are here a few weeks a year. You do not need to live with people who sneer or laugh behind your back.”

“Lissa, this is womanish nonsense—or it is worse.” Gamel's voice lost its warmth and sounded more like that in which he spoke to her father. He stood up and looked down at her. “Is this all some woman's game you are playing, using your father as a crown piece? Are you laying a good man on the rack to show your power? You have led him on, have you not? He said you had agreed to marry him, told him that it is the dearest wish of your heart. Did he lie?”

“Uncle, it is not true!” Appalled at her uncle's idea that she had wantonly hurt Justin to amuse herself, Lissa also jumped to her feet.

“Justin is a liar then?” Gamel challenged.

“No, no. And I
do
wish to marry him, but I will not see him smeared with—”

“Enough! I will test the truth of what he told me about his business and what is thought of him among the merchants. If he is as good a man as I think he is and you will not keep your word to him, then you have been dishonest, and I will be very angry with you, Lissa.”

Lissa was perfectly correct about her father, having a much clearer understanding of his nature than her uncle did. At the time Gamel was leaving the house in Soper Lane, William Bowles was entering one on Wine Street in Bristol. He was at once shown upstairs to where a very old man nodded at him. William broached his business at once, telling the aged vintner that he was confirmed in his desire to buy the manor of Red Cliff but that he still had some business to complete before he could pay the full price. Master Henry nodded again, and they bargained politely for a little while, the discussion ending with an agreement that William, who was known as Amias FitzStephen, would pay another quarter's rent to hold the manor.

They agreed on a price, touching hands to seal the bargain. In Bristol Amias FitzStephen had an excellent reputation, and the vintner did not feel more than a handclasp was necessary. William smiled with satisfaction. The old man, he thought, could be no more than days or weeks away from death, and the nephew who now ran his business and would inherit everything else would take a much lower price. He would believe Master Amias's word and, since the money was to be Master Henry's death gift to the Church and would not come into the nephew's purse in any case, would care little.

Meanwhile William knew he would have to stay away from Red Cliff until the old man died. He might as well go back to London and sell the business there. He would get a better price if he was not in a hurry. There would be more chance that Lissa would find out what he was planning too, but what could she do? He had paid her dower; that was daughter's share, and she had no right to son's share. Of course, she could tell her cursed uncles, who were in and out of the Steelyard at this time of year. William shuddered. Maybe he would not rush home. Perhaps he should first travel to the north and return to London from there, just in case someone became curious about where he had been.

Partly because William was not much more eager to see Lissa than she was to see him, partly because the weather was unusually dry and pleasant, and partly because he had felt the need to be circumspect in his behavior while he was Amias FitzStephen, he retraced his route northward. There were places he had stayed on other journeys where, if he was not much liked, his coin was known to be good and his needs were supplied. At one of these places, to his enormous surprise, a message was waiting for Master William Bowles. A fellow pepperer of Peterborough had written to say that two young men had sold a pair of goblets to a goldsmith of the town at a suspiciously low price.

Peterborough was hardly out of William's way, and he rode over to speak to the goldsmith who showed him the goblets, which he still had. William recognized them and asked about the seller; the pepperer had written no details and he wanted to hear firsthand what the goldsmith had to say. There were two sellers, the goldsmith told him at once, and of two different minds. The price the older of the two young men was willing to accept was very good, so good that the goldsmith had been hesitant, thinking that the pieces might have been stolen. The younger man had then snatched the goblets up in anger and made some observations that proved he had done much of the work. The older had then drawn the younger aside and spoken to him earnestly, several times mentioning how close was King's Lynn and the need to have money for passage before they arrived there.

William did not doubt for a moment that the two young men were Flael's sons and that they intended to take ship at King's Lynn for the Low Countries; however, there were several questions in his mind as he rode back to his lodging. Should he merely collect whatever more information he could and send it off to FitzWalter? Should he perhaps forget he had received any information, sell his business as quickly as he could, and disappear? Should he invest a little more time and some money and follow Flael's sons, if he could discover where they had gone in a reasonable time? The latter course had some attractive features. Since he already had a bolt hole and a new life selected, could he make a profit on the seal? Even when he sold his business, Master Amias would have to live carefully, not uncomfortably but carefully. If he could actually lay hands on the seal and bring it to FitzWalter, William thought, he should be able to wring a very nice reward for his service and his silence from Lord Robert.

There were also dangers in that path. There was the war with France being waged by King John's allies. So far, both the king and his allies had been successful, and the French had been driven back, but if Philip mounted a counterattack and flooded over the Low Countries while he was there, an Englishman might be ill-treated because of the sins of his master. And the cost? His passage would have to be paid, and food and lodging he had not counted on because he expected to be at his own house in London. However, he might rightfully ask Lord Robert to repay those costs, and so rich a lord would never even notice if he added a few shillings here and there or took only the most luxurious quarters, as a lord would. Perhaps he could say payment would be made by Lord Robert? That was very tempting. FitzWalter had many contacts in the Low Countries.

William was still not sure the next morning, but he could not resist riding to King's Lynn and asking questions around the docks, using FitzWalter's name freely. Like a beckoning finger, an alewife in the second place he visited recognized the names Peter and Edmond and the descriptions William gave of Flael's sons. The young men had spent the night at that alehouse where they had met the ship master who took them down the coast and across the narrow sea. That ship master was not there, but the alewife knew him well because he often stayed with her and made regular trips. She even knew his home city, which was Haarlem.

The temptation to follow young Peter and Edmond became too great for William when the alewife brought to him another ship's captain who sailed a similar route. That man listened willingly to William's smooth story about the young men as soon as he understood that FitzWalter was not seeking them for vengeance and did not attach any guilt to anyone who had helped them. William claimed that neither he nor his master had any idea why they left London after their father's sudden death but assumed it might be because the old man had married a young wife of whom they did not approve. All FitzWalter wanted, William said, was the design for some plate their father was to have done for him. It was not very important—as the captain could see by his neglecting to pursue the matter since February—but if Peter and Edmond could be found easily, William knew FitzWalter would be pleased.

The ship master, who was eager to please FitzWalter's servant because he wished to do business with FitzWalter if he could, admitted he had no way of knowing where Flael's sons had gone but offered to carry William to Haarlem for a very reasonable fee. William was so well treated during the voyage, owing to his supposed influence with FitzWalter, that he almost regretted the arrangements he had made to become Amias. The eager attention and help he received from the captain who had carried Peter and Edmond—who also sailed along the Essex coast and would be delighted to carry cargo for FitzWalter—made him resolve to reconsider selling his business in London if he could find Flael's sons and recover the seal. If the sons had it, he would have to rethink all of his plans, he told himself.

Through various merchant connections of the sailing masters, the young men were traced with little trouble. Feeling safe once they were outside of England, they had resumed their name and openly approached guilds of goldsmiths in various towns. They had settled at last in Reims.

Despite the best efforts on everyone's part, this final information did not drift back to William until the end of July. The ship masters were growing a trifle less eager to please by then. When William had first come to Haarlem, his influence had been on the increase. William of Salisbury and a substantial army of English had landed in Flanders at the invitation of the count. To the count of Flanders's great pleasure, Salisbury had brought even more money than men and had bought mercenaries with it. A little to everyone's surprise, Salisbury had honored to the letter the agreement between his brother and the count of Flanders and was protecting the country vigorously.

In the West, it seemed as if the English king would defeat the French and rule all the ports along the coast, gaining great power over trade. John appeared to be about to subdue all of Anjou. After bringing the Lusignans to their knees, he had taken Nantes, where he captured King Philip's cousin, Peter of Dreux, who was count of Brittany. Angers promptly opened its gates, but there was a great keep at La Roche-au-Maine whose seneschal held from King Philip and remained faithful to his oath. John promptly marched north to lay siege to the place.

La Roche-au-Maine did not fall, however. King Philip sent his son Louis to break the siege. He did not succeed through battle, but King John's campaign was damaged almost as badly as it would have been by a major defeat. First whispers and then reliable information reported that John had been unable to attack Louis's army, which was greatly outnumbered by his force, because the Poitevin nobles refused to fight.

This news brought the first chill to William's relationship with the ship masters and guild masters of Haarlem. Not that they turned their backs on him; there was still Salisbury's army in Flanders and Otto of Brunswick, the Holy Roman Emperor, was marching from the southeast to join Salisbury in France. John could not be considered defeated while King Philip still had to face a major battle with his allies. After all, no matter what the political situation, there would always be trade between the Low Countries and England; no matter which king ruled what territory, fleeces and other goods would be carried from the ports in the East to those in the Low Countries, and fine cloth, Damascus steel, exotic spices, and other cargoes would be carried back. Still, the favors a defeated king could grant his nobles and, through his nobles, others, were less valuable than the favors a victorious king could grant. The defection of John's vassals made William a less reliable investment.

William was furious. Desire for it made possession of the seal seem so close. He could not imagine why Flael's sons had taken it with them, since the seal was useless to Peter and Edmond in France, and William was sure he could induce them to relinquish it. However, if King Philip defeated King John's allies, William wanted to be safe in England. It would be better to accept the lesser reward he would be able to claim from finding Flael's sons than to be caught by the French.

Once he had resigned himself to being deprived of his chance to have the seal himself and exact what price he liked for it, William approached the captain who had brought him to Haarlem. The captain willingly agreed to take him home as soon as his cargo of metal came upriver from Strasbourg, but with the cargo came the news that King Philip had marched into Flanders with the whole feudal host in an attempt to cut Emperor Otto off from his English allies. Otto had been slow in gathering the German forces, but he had moved swiftly enough to foil Philip's advance and the king of France had turned back from Tournai. William brought his bags down and put them and himself on the ship. It would take some time to load the cargo, but he thought grimly that the captain would rather sail without some of it than be caught with an Englishman aboard his ship.

The captain never gave him a thought. His thoughts and energy were all given to loading his cargo as fast as human flesh could accomplish it. William was no problem at all compared with the fact that if the French did sweep through Flanders into Holland, they would surely confiscate his cargo and perhaps his ship too. He was as prepared as William could wish to abandon some of the cargo if it was necessary, but he would drive himself and the men he hired to dropping to get it all aboard if he could.

On 29 July, two days after the battle, the bad news came. The French had won. Salisbury and most of the other leaders had been captured; Otto had fled. There was no chance of the allied army re-forming to fight again. The single saving grace in the news was that the battle had been so fierce and so bloody that there was little chance of Philip pursuing the tattered remnants of his enemies into Flanders and that Holland was certainly safe from any immediate threat. William came out from behind his barricade, but he did not leave the ship. He was finished with adventuring. He had found Flael's sons. Let FitzWalter extend his long arm into France and pluck the seal out.

***

On the day her father began his adventure, leaving Bristol and his new role as Amias FitzStephen, Lissa came near ending hers by telling Justin she would not marry him as long as her father was alive. She had not intended to go so far; she had intended to introduce the subject gently, but guilt and a resentment that grew bitterer because of her guilt caused her to say much more than she intended to Justin when he came that night.

The guilt had lain uneasily under all her joy from the very beginning of her affair with Justin. The resentment was new, sparked by her uncle's attitude toward what she felt was an utter sacrifice of her own happiness to another's good. Lissa had been shocked into immobility by the scorn and disappointment in her uncle's voice and expression when he called her cruel and accused her of toying with Justin's affections for amusement. Even after she explained, he had been adamant and told her she had wronged Justin by promising to marry him if she would not fulfill that promise.

The shock had been severe. Never in her life had Gamel shown Lissa anything but love and support. She had run after him down the stairs after a moment but had caught only a glimpse of his back as he thrust past the pepper barrels, shaking one so hard it would have spilled if it had not been almost empty. It was too late to catch him—and what would she have said? All she could do was to repeat what she had already told him. She stood halfway down the stairs with a hand pressed to her cheek, staring through the open doorway, reviewing once again her fears and wondering if Gamel could be right.