Masques of Gold (13 page)

“Perhaps that is why most guildsmen marry within their craft,” Adela said. “And now I think of it, of course it must be best. When I look back on all the years my dear Goscelin and I have been married and how little I still understand of business, I see it is better if a wife is bred to her husband's trade. But there are so few goldsmiths that you can see such marriages are not always possible. My father was Sir Sefrith of Poges. Goscelin made a chalice for our church and I suppose took a fancy for me when we met twice, but I never suspected and no one could have been more surprised than I when my father told me I was to marry a burgher. Still, it worked out well. Goscelin has always been so kind, and our eldest son now holds papa's manor—” She stopped abruptly and said, “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. My tongue does run on so.”

“There is no need for apology,” Lissa said. “We had not had time, Peter and I, to come to a true bonding. But Peter was kind to me, as Master Goscelin was to you, and I am grieved at his death—”

“I am sure you are,” William interrupted impatiently. “I am also sure you have many duties that you must be about immediately. It was very kind of Mistress Adela to come to you, but—”

“I cannot imagine what you are talking about, father,” Lissa said, as both women turned to stare at him. “Mistress Adela has come to help me with those duties. She knows far better than I what should be done.”

For a moment William was so angry that he could not speak. He knew it would be far more difficult to get his daughter out of Flael's house if she made a friend who lived close by. He was seeking wildly for something to say when there was another knock on the door and a young man's voice asking for “Madame Lissa,” followed by the sound of boots taking the stairs two or three at a time.

An instant later a young man, richly but soberly dressed, appeared in the doorway and made his way straight to Lissa, to whom he bowed. “I am Thomas FitzAilwin, Justin's cousin,” he said in French. “Some matters of importance have made it impossible for Justin to attend your husband's burial, and he asked me to come here in his stead and support you in any way that is necessary.”

Thomas was telling the truth in that he was repeating exactly what Justin had said to him; however, it was not the whole truth. Thomas, the handsomest and most charming of the FitzAilwins, had one assigned task he had been told to keep to himself. Beyond that, he did not know the whole truth. There was a second task he did not even know he was performing.

The assigned task was simply to keep his eyes and ears open, first for any surreptitious appearance of either of Flael's sons, who were known to Thomas, and second to watch in general for any remark or incident that was in any way, no matter how slight or seemingly unrelated to Flael's death, out of the ordinary. Thomas had performed similar tasks for Justin a number of times, and he was very good at them. His open friendliness was very disarming and, aside from inducing most people to like him at once, led them to discount the keen businesslike mind he had inherited from his father.

The task Thomas did not know he was performing was to determine whether Lissa was a flirt who threw out lures to every man. Justin had taken considerable pains to hide from his cousin what he felt was a ridiculous and incomprehensible infatuation. He had not been perfectly successful; Thomas had sensed a special interest in Lissa, but he had connected it with the crime he was helping his cousin investigate rather than with any emotional entanglement. Certainly he saw nothing in Flael's widow as he bowed over her hand that could arouse a suspicion of Justin's motives. She had been pale as chalk, her eyes dull and her voice flat as she thanked him for being willing to come in his cousin's stead.

***

It had taken considerable will for Justin to remain in his chair after Thomas left his house. He felt guilty about setting a spy, even if an unknowing one, on Lissa. Still, he had to know whether her manner to him had any meaning. If she behaved in the same way to Thomas…The thought woke in him an unexpected quiver of anger and disappointment. He should have sent Richard, who, despite being the youngest FitzAilwin, had the ponderous manner and gravity of a king's justice during a trial. It was unfair to test her with Thomas, who could elicit flirtatious behavior from a matron of sixty. Justin half rose and then sank back into his chair. Richard was useless for general investigation, and Justin had no idea whether Richard knew Flael's sons. Thomas had to be the one to go. Justin told himself he simply would not blame Lissa for her response to Thomas—every woman responded to Thomas—but when he broke his fast, he felt as if he were eating cold pebbles, and when his servant came up the stairs and told him there was a messenger from Robert FitzWalter at the door, Justin bade him send the man in with a definite sense of relief.

He was, therefore, in a mood to agree to anything that would occupy him and prevent him from thinking about Thomas's effect on Lissa—and hers on Thomas—when he learned that FitzWalter wished to see him on a matter of business that might be profitable to them both. The messenger said his master would be glad to receive Sir Justin as soon as he could ride over or, if Sir Justin was unable to come, would be glad to set a time to come to him. Without pausing to wonder about the remarkable courtesy of FitzWalter's invitation, Justin told the messenger to assure his master that he would come as soon as his horse was saddled. When the man had bowed himself out, Justin rose to exchange his sober merchant's tunic for a more elaborate one better suited to a gentleman's dress and to belt on his sword.

Since he was only half befuddled by his jealousy and confusion over Lissa, Justin began to wonder, when he was about midway between his house and the partially reconstructed Baynard's Castle, what made FitzWalter so polite. If the business he was about to propose was equally profitable and no more risky to one than to the other, he was doing Justin a favor and could afford to suit himself as to the time and place of making the offer. Thus, Justin entered Lord Robert's presence with a smile but with a certain wariness, which was not lessened when FitzWalter rose from the bench where he was sitting near the lively fire and gestured him to a second bench set at an angle to his own.

In general Justin had no complaint about FitzWalter's courtesy to him. They were of different ranks—FitzWalter among the greatest in the land and Justin's father barely within the barony—and Justin did not resent Lord Robert's looking down at him from a chair of state on the dais when they were in council on the affairs of the city. FitzWalter was not only of high lineage but was the Standard Bearer of the city of London. Nor did Justin feel specially honored when FitzWalter greeted him as an equal in social company; they were both gently born and Justin knew himself to be as strong as Lord Robert and probably more skilled with weapons. But this fraternal warmth was something out of the ordinary.

Before Justin's doubts could show on his face, FitzWalter said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Justin sat down, openly sighed with relief, and then grinned. “If I can do you a service, I will be glad, my lord. And I am glad you come so quickly to the point. To speak the truth, I was wondering why I was being gentled.”

FitzWalter laughed aloud. “You too will profit from this favor—within reason. But I am far too clever to hold out honeyed bait if I wished
you
ill or intended trickery. That would be like calling out ‘This is a feint' in battle. And before you begin to wonder if I am doing just that so you will be sure it is
not
a feint, let me tell you what I desire of you.”

Justin echoed Lord Robert's laugh and raised a brow in wordless query.

“You have not changed your mind about remaining here when the king goes to France, have you?”

“No, I have not,” Justin replied, feeling wary again but keeping his expression mildly questioning.

“Well,” FitzWalter said, “if you will not serve me in one way, perhaps you will serve me in another. I have heard from an agent who came from France last week that two of my ships loaded with wine, cloth, and blades of Damascus steel are beating their way up the coast from the south. It is ever thus. When you desire a thing swiftly, it is laggard; and when a delay would better suit your will, the devil adds wings. I had hoped the ships would arrive before it was necessary for me to join the king, but even if they came tomorrow I would not have time to dispose of the cargoes now. I would like to leave that task in your hands.”

“I will be happy to serve you in this,” Justin said heartily, enormously relieved, for he had feared FitzWalter intended to order him to accompany the London forces to France. “All I need know is what you wish to reserve for your own use, how you want payment for the cargo—in gold or in kind—whether you desire a quick return or you would prefer me to hold the goods to get the greatest return, and whether I should send the return to you, keep it for you, use it to begin a new trading venture, or pass it to the goldsmiths for profit.”

Lord Robert's lips twisted. “Should you not first ask how you will keep the king's appointed regents, Peter des Roches and Nicholas of Tusculum, from swallowing the cargo whole in the name of some fine or tax John has levied against me?”

Justin frowned. “I thought all such debts were canceled when you were pardoned by the king.”

“That was when the king was still the enemy of the pope. Now that John has yielded the kingdom into the hands of Innocent and made his legate a regent, any abomination the king wishes to perpetrate is readily sanctioned by the pope's legate. Do you not know how Nicholas of Tusculum agreed in every matter with the king, even against the bishops, not only about the reparations that the king promised to pay the Church and others who were injured—” FitzWalter waved a hand around at the rough timber hall, which was all that had yet been erected to replace the keep the king had had destroyed. “But the legate has appointed to Church offices every candidate, no matter how unsuitable, that the king has suggested.”

Justin had to repress a spark of amusement at the self-righteous rage with which FitzWalter uttered that last sentence. Lord Robert was ordinarily far from a champion of the rights of churchmen and had been known in his own territory to press for the election of his favorites without much regard to their holiness or scholarship. However, Justin was grateful that he had not been pressed to make any response about reparations for the destruction of Baynard's Castle. He was quite certain John would never pay a single silver penny for that, no matter what promises he had made or to whom. Moreover, Justin was not certain John
should
pay reparation for Baynard's Castle. There was very little doubt that FitzWalter had been involved in a plot to kill or overthrow John. Surely a king must have the right to punish rebellious barons and protect himself from plots. But what about those cases in which a king saw plots where there were none?

Since Justin had no intention of discussing that particular question with Lord Robert, he nodded a vague agreement and said, “The cargoes—”

“Yes, my cargoes,” FitzWalter snarled. “Now that we cannot even look to the Church to protect us, we can no longer be at the mercy of the vagaries of the king's will. We must have some charter, some bond, from the king other than spoken words, which each man remembers differently. You were at the meeting of the council in August of last year, and I could swear I saw you among the men Archbishop Langton called aside when he spoke of a charter from the reign of the first King Henry. Is it not right that we should have such a charter so that my cargoes could not be seized for a whim but only for a cause of law judged by my peers?”

“I have no quarrel with that,” Justin replied gravely. “I said so then and say so now, and say also that I will do all that is lawfully in my power to forward such a purpose.” Then he shrugged and smiled wryly. “However, that is for the long tomorrow. We will have no such protection when your ships arrive. Is there already a fine or a judgment against you?”

“No, but there will be as soon as the king hears that rich cargoes of mine have come into England.”

Justin chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. It was true that King John was malicious enough to make up some crime or slight that would justify a fine to injure an enemy; however, in Justin's opinion the king was too busy to look for trouble now, involved as he was with his plans to get an army to the Continent to fight King Philip. And since John was not expected to come to London before he sailed from Portsmouth, there was a fair chance he would never hear about FitzWalter's ships.

“Besides the agent that told you of them, who knows the ships are coming?” Justin asked. “And is the agent likely to speak of the matter widely?”

“You know the ships are coming,” FitzWalter replied with a grim smile. “I know, and Hamo Finke knows, and I assure you the agent will not speak about my business to anyone without leave.”

“Excellent!” Justin smiled. “Let us leave matters just as they are. I will take possession of the cargoes in the presence of Master Hamo Finke, pay the captains what is owing to them, and sell under my own name, taking back any cost to me. Do you desire that I have the ships refitted?”

“I had not thought of you doing the business in your own name. Thank you.”

FitzWalter sounded not only surprised but somewhat less pleased than Justin expected. Then he realized that Lord Robert was torn between his natural desire to profit from his trading venture and his need to have a new injury from the king to display as an example of John's irrational injustice. In another moment, however, FitzWalter's smile became warmer. Justin assumed that he had realized that even the most punitive and unreasonable fine levied by the king's justiciar, probably after the king had left the country, would not rouse much resentment against John in those who did not already hate him. Peter des Roches was thoroughly detested by many for his own sake, and the blame would fall on him rather than on the king.