Masques of Gold (50 page)

But Thomas abandoned the comment he had been about to make to Justin and said, “Why not? It would be better than a charter that says nothing at all. When all the extra words are taken out, Henry's charter says the king should be just and the barons should support him. Worst of all, it does not say who shall judge whether or not the king
is
just. I find that I am in perfect agreement with Lissa. I cannot see why everyone is so eager to have the charter reissued by King John.”

Swallowing the caustic reminder that some, like FitzWalter, would greatly prefer that the king refuse to sign anything, Justin offered a piece of news that he believed held a ray of real hope. What had been pushed out of his mind by his fury at the paralysis of the mayor and aldermen was that even the barons who would not dream of rebelling against the king might well want to control him. As word of the charter and of the meeting at Bury spread, men were not rushing to take up arms, as FitzWalter hoped, but they were expressing their grievances in specific terms.

“You are not alone in your doubts of the charter as it stands,” Justin remarked. “I had a letter from my brother late last night about the meeting at Bury. It seems that word of the charter is widespread, and the gentlemen of the shire have already sent a delegation to Archbishop Langton. They want him to propose the addition of some very specific articles on rights of inheritance.”

“Is that so?” Richard asked, his rather pompous voice for once unselfconscious. “I would not wish the burghers of London alone to be associated with those who threatened the use of force against the king, but if more moderate folk are joining in pressing for a charter, we of London must be sure that our rights and liberties are specially confirmed. I think, brother,” he said to Thomas, “that you and I should pass this news to the aldermen. Forgive me, Justin, but you do tend to lack a persuasive manner.”

“I make the mistake of assuming grown men will recognize what is best for them without dipping it in honey.”

Gamel nodded; Gerbod looked surprised; Thomas and Lissa burst out laughing; Mistress Margaret glanced from one to another in total confusion; and Richard sighed.

“Surely once they know that others are appealing to the archbishop,” Richard went on, ignoring Justin's remark, “they will be willing to do so also.” Suddenly he smiled warmly at Lissa. “And why should not Lissa have what she desires? We will ask not only that London's rights and privileges be recognized but that London measure be made the only one used throughout the realm.”

“Why not, indeed?” Gerbod asked, nodding. “God knows I wish from the heart that there were one measure for all places in all lands. The time and the arguments that would save us! But now is not the time to change the world. Now is the time to decide on the wedding to hold for sister's daughter.”

The FitzAilwins exchanged glances and returned without protest to the subject of the wedding. Lissa's uncles had little reason to be deeply interested in the attempts to wring a charter out of King John. As foreign merchants, they did not expect to be affected either by the granting of the charter or by the quarrel between the king and his barons. No king, not even Henry II, had made serious trouble for the merchants of the Hanse; fees and taxes went up or down according to conditions, but never became high enough to damage trade—despite the merchants' groans and threats of immediate ruin at any increase. Any merchant preferred that the kingdom be at peace because when war raged even neutrals could be hurt. Docks and ships caught up in a battle could be burned or looted, but even war did not pose much danger to the Hanse; the Steelyard had been built to be defended against an army, if necessary.

Later, after a compromise about the wedding had been reached—the ceremony itself would take place at Saint Anthony's Church and the celebration at the Steelyard in one week's time—Mistress Margaret served an evening meal as elaborate as any dinner. There were jests and laughter and singing and dancing, but no more talk about political subjects until Gamel and Gerbod took Lissa home. In deference to her uncles' sensibilities, Justin had moved back into his own house temporarily, and his cousins accompanied him so their mother could clear up the remains of the impromptu party.

When they were comfortably seated around the fire with goblets of wine, Richard and Thomas discussed exactly what they should propose in the special articles. Having listened to them for some time, Justin asked if they were not putting the cart before the horse.

“No,” Richard said curtly. “If we come to them with real proposals, they will begin to talk about the wording and how much we can hope to get. If we ask whether we should make proposals, they will think of how much the idea of a charter will anger the king.”

“And that puts me in my place,” Justin said, which made both Richard and Thomas laugh, but they went back to their discussion without paying him any further attention. He was silent too, hardly thinking at all, suffused with a pleasure made up partly of the warmth of the wine in his belly and the fire at his feet, but mostly of his memory of the joy of dancing and laughing with Lissa and the comfort of knowing that they would soon be bound for life in the eyes of God and man. Next he thought lazily of the impossibility of expressing to her what she had done for him, which brought his mind to his wedding gift—armlets, earrings, and headband to match the necklet. He had better see Goscelin and make sure they were ready, or would be ready.

A slight uneasiness woke in Justin as the thought of his wedding gift passed through his mind, and he sat up straighter in his chair. But there could be no fault in the gift; Lissa had been delighted with the necklet and it looked beautiful on her when she wore it to the mayor's dinner. What, then, was niggling at his comfort? His uneasiness made him more alert, and as he sought the vagrant thought, he heard Thomas say that he did not think the charter should mention guild matters at all. That recalled his earlier anger when he had heard that Lissa had not yet been accepted into the pepperers guild. Why the delay? She was a better apothecary than all the rest put together, and must surely fulfill all their requirements.

Thomas interrupted his thoughts at that moment by rising and asking Justin for his brother's letter, only as an afterthought also asking if he could make copies to show to the aldermen and guild masters. Justin handed the letter over, and suddenly realized that he might be able to give Lissa a wedding gift she would like much better than the ornaments Goscelin was making for her.

“I will speak to Goscelin, who will not mind my manner, and to Master John le Spicer, with whom I have some business,” Justin said.

Richard groaned and Thomas advised him to go gently, to which he replied that he always went gently; but he remembered the advice when he was shown into the master pepperer's solar and introduced the matter of the charter first. Master John listened with considerable interest, and although he would not commit himself to any action without consulting the other members, agreed that this might be a good time to deal with the king.

Justin smiled but did not rise to go. “I also wish to invite you to my wedding,” he said. “It would please Lissa if the master of her guild came to wish her well.”

“She intends to remain a pepperer then?” Master John asked blandly.

“Most certainly,” Justin replied. “Our contract provides for her business and mine to be separate. She knows nothing of my trade, and truthfully, I do little business on my own. My cousins see to my share of the family ventures. Most of my time, as you know, is given to my duties with the watch.” He lifted his brows. “Surely there can be no doubt that Lissa will be accepted into the guild?”

Master John cleared his throat uneasily. “While the matter of her father's death remains unsettled—”

“I would not let that interfere,” Justin said. “I know who killed William Bowles, but unfortunately the man cannot be brought to justice because he is dead.” He smiled, but his eyes were like old ice when he added, “I assure you, I would not marry a woman who had murdered her father.”

“No,” Master John agreed quickly, “but there is the problem of taking a woman into the guild. There are duties that no woman can perform.”

“There are two women members already,” Justin pointed out.

“They are old. It has been many years since a woman applied for acceptance. There has been talk of writing a new rule excluding women. After all, they cannot serve in the defense of the city, or—”

“The rule has not been written yet,” Justin interrupted, “and I assure you that Lissa will provide an adequate deputy for any duty she is unfit to perform.” There was a brief silence and Justin asked, “Will it be necessary for me to visit the other masters?”

“I did not think Mistress Lissa would press the issue so fiercely.” Master John's voice was even, but there was anger and disappointment beneath. “She is about to be a wife and soon, with God's will, a mother. Her hopes should be set on womanly matters, not on business more fit for a man.”

“Mistress Lissa is not pressing the issue,” Justin said very softly. “She knows nothing of my visit to you, and if she should ever learn that I spoke to you about anything except the charter, that would be very sad.”

Master John swallowed hard. “No, no. She will not learn of it from me.” And then, as Justin got to his feet, he cried, “Wait.”

He wiped the cold sweat from his face with his sleeve, raging at himself but unable to still the terrified pounding of his heart. It was ridiculous for a man of his wealth and power to be afraid of the mayor's ferret, but the cold fury that flowed from Sir Justin was beyond his understanding and chilled his very soul.

“What for?” Justin asked, looking down on Master John with no expression at all. At the moment he was angry enough to kill every member of the pepperers guild because if all felt alike they would break Lissa's heart, but he could not admit that to John le Spicer so he added coldly, “I, too, hope that God will grant children to us, but I can see no reason why I should lose the profit of a thriving business so that Lissa can nurse babes. I will speak to every member of your guild, Master John, before I forgo my wife's acceptance as a member.”

“That will not be necessary.” Master John had heard something he understood clearly, and he had no problem with losing a business negotiation. No longer frightened, he stood up and shrugged. “You cannot blame me for wishing to be rid of a rival in such a happy way. I thought if Lissa gave up her business for marriage I might obtain her receipt book and even an introduction to her sources of supply of special medicines and spices.” He paused and eyed Justin speculatively. “I would offer a very good price for the receipt book—more than the profit to be taken in several years.”

Justin stared back, balanced on a knife edge between fury and amusement. The fury had flared through him at the notion that he loved money so much he would sell Lissa's secrets for it, until he remembered that he had just virtually said his reason for marrying her was the income she would bring. “It is not mine to sell,” he said. “By contract it is part of her business.”

Not really having expected to win the point, Master John half smiled and showed an empty palm. “Some husbands are not so scrupulous.”

Justin burst out laughing then, shaking his head. “I am less honest than fearful. No amount of gold would make my life worth living if I sold the receipt book. Have you ever heard Lissa's tongue?” Then he sobered and locked eyes with the master of the pepperers guild again. “I would take it as a favor, Master John, if you would come to my wedding and bring with you the gift I know would make my wife most happy—her acceptance into the guild.”

Master John did not fail to come to Lissa's wedding; in fact every master of the pepperers guild attended, and theirs was indeed the most welcome gift of all. The dinner and entertainments that followed when all had reassembled in the great meeting hall of the Steelyard was, most guild members thought, worth the admission of a female member. The food and drink seemed inexhaustible, especially the ale, which rivaled the wine in strength if not in variety. There was even mead for those who liked it, but after a time most could not tell the difference and filled their cups with whatever was closest. It was never farther to keg, tun, or barrel than one could reach by stretching out an arm.

Justin, who had been out with Lissa's uncles, his brother, and his cousins the previous night and had wakened swearing he had looked his last on all drink, took a cup to steady himself. Lissa began with a toast to the members of her guild. She raised her cup by demand several times more, often enough to lose track of just who and what she was toasting. At first she and Justin had intended to leave early, but they changed their minds when a big group of guests offered to accompany them. They had wanted to avoid a procession in the streets and the shouts and advice of merrymakers surrounding the house. They did manage to avoid it, but they had forgotten by then why they had stayed and all the advice was shouted anyway. The one gain they made was by that time both of them thought the jests hilarious and did not mind a bit. No one was sober, and many slept where they were, under the tables in the hall.

Lissa and Justin did manage to get home, more because Noir and Lissa's mare knew the way than because they were directed. The house was empty, which made them very suspicious until Lissa managed to remember that they had just come from their wedding and at last sight Paul, Oliva, and the boys had been celebrating as energetically as anyone else. Lissa then found the heavy key; Justin opened the door to let her in and staggered off to the shed with the horses. He got the saddles off and the bits unhooked—he could do that in his sleep—and thrust an armful of hay into the manger, but then he eyed the beasts malevolently and said, “You are undressed. It is my wedding night; I wish to get undressed. You will have to wait for your combing and brushing.”

Lissa was very glad to see Justin. She asked him whether he had avoided the trap on the sixth step, which had come to life under her and nearly tripped her off the stairs. “And the logs are ill-behaved also,” she said, glaring at the hearth where one log had crushed the carefully mounded ashes and rolled away so the embers could not set it afire and the second leaned against the first, also well away from the coals.

“There is nothing wrong with the stair,” Justin said. “Nor with the logs. You are drunk.” He then knelt down to repair the damage Lissa had done to the fire and almost fell into the hearth.

Lissa hauled back on his shoulder, unbalancing them both so that he sat down hard and she tumbled into his lap. “That is very nice,” she said, “but I do not trust the floor. It dropped away behind me. And do not tell me I have had too many cups of ale and wine and who knows what else. I know that as well as you. Nonetheless, the house is wriggling like a dancing girl.” She giggled. “We will be safer abed, Justin.”

With exaggerated care, each helping the other, they managed to get to their feet and into the bedchamber. Undressing one another had always been stimulating and fun, but they achieved high comedy this time, doing battle with laces as lively and agile as young snakes and brooches that wriggled in their fingers and occasionally jumped off the garment like sportive little toads. They laughed so much that each collapsed on the rug and had to be lifted up by the other, and twice they sank down together. The second time Justin said, “I think it is meant, and since that time you invited me to take you so, I have always wanted to do it.”

Even befuddled as she was, the way Justin had begun to kiss her and slide his hands under her shift made his meaning clear. She was very willing; somehow that they should couple thus on their wedding night, on the thick bear pelts on the floor, still half clothed and choking with laughter, gave an extra sensuality to the act. It was also a kind of promise that marriage would not change their delight in playfulness and decay into dullness and indifference.

Passion spent, they found their way to bed, leaning perilously on each other, laughing uproariously when the unstable pyramid of tall man, short woman, and heaving floor teetered forward and back or from side to side. Both knew the price of the release into childish merriment that drink gives; they would be sorry in the morning. But they were not. Both woke bright and cheerful with clear heads and complete, delightful memories.

Justin was sure they were spared the illness that follows too much drink because clinging together to fight the chilly dampness of the unwarmed sheets inflamed their desire for what their drink-sodden bodies could not easily give. Satisfaction came only slowly. Both worked until they sweated with effort despite the cold sheets. The exertion, he told Lissa when they woke in the morning, had driven the drink out of their blood, but Lissa smiled like the sun and shook her head. No, she insisted. God had given her a wedding gift of a minor miracle. Justin looked at the glory of joy in her face and could not find his breath for a moment. Perhaps it was a miracle. Let her be happy while she could.

For the next three weeks their lives seemed split as the household had been that wedding morning—Justin and Lissa perfectly happy and content and the rest groaning in misery. Marriage graved in stone the satisfaction the two found in each other, but there was little ease for either outside of their own home. Tension mounted in the city over the following weeks; Lissa did a greater than usual business in sleeping draughts and in small purchases made to cover anxious questions about what Justin knew of the king's intentions.

About that, she had to confess, he knew nothing, but she had his permission and gladly told them that they need not fear the whole countryside would fly to arms. The barons of the north and those tied to them in blood were arming, but most of the lords and the free burghers of the other cities, like York and Bristol and Oxford, were talking about a charter that would bring understanding and peace between the king and his people. Archbishop Langton and most of the bishops favored that charter and were prepared to plead with the king to grant it.

That knowledge was what Lissa herself clung to, but Justin was drilling his guards like an army and all the guilds had given money for new arms for the men. One personal matter was resolved. FitzWalter sent a messenger from Dunmow asking Justin to inspect the men he had left behind to make sure they were not growing slack in his absence. The message was proof enough that FitzWalter trusted Justin and felt no anger over Hubert's death, but it diminished whatever small hope Justin had that Lord Robert would actually be satisfied if King John granted the charter. Why did FitzWalter's men in the city need to be in top fighting form? Against whom would they be fighting? Did FitzWalter intend to fight off Justin's guard and close the gates against King John if he intended to hold his Christmas court in London? Did he intend to allow the king into the city and then try to take him prisoner?

Any answer Justin gave himself was equally unwelcome, and he was particularly relieved when King John named Winchester as the site for his Christmas court. The relief was short-lived; attendance was so thin that the king remained there only one day and then rode east and settled himself at the New Temple, the stronghold of the mighty Knights Templars outside London. His choice showed how little he trusted his own barons, one of whom held the Tower of London, or the people of the city, who could protect him if they wished. When London closed her gates, manned her walls, and laid chains across the river, her great population made her nearly invincible. But John might also have remembered that London had driven out his grandmother on the very eve of her coronation because her manner did not please the burghers. John would not trust himself inside the walls of the Tower or the city—but he did not cry treason.

On 6 January the barons presented themselves, as they had agreed. John received the delegation and heard their demand for a charter with seeming patience. Again he did not cry treason, but he would not give a certain answer either, only saying that the matter was serious and needed time for deliberation. He would give an answer, he said, after consulting with his advisers, on Low Sunday, 26 April.

Justin went to the meeting at the mayor's behest. He had already been to Bury, Roger FitzAdam said, so he would be most familiar with what was going forward. Richard again argued against his attendance, fearing that his association with the more bellicose barons would blacken the FitzAilwin family, and Lissa was not happy about his going either, but a horrible kind of fascination drove him.

“And I thought,” he said to his assembled family a week later, “that Richard and Lissa were right and I would end dead or in a dungeon. When the king said wait, a roar of rage went up, and the men began to close in on him. I really thought FitzWalter would leap on the dais and have him by the throat, but Langton intervened and said the king was right, that charters defining rights and duties should not be written and sworn to in haste.”

“True enough,” Richard said. “That charter of the first Henry is useless to us. If we want London's rights to be confirmed, there must be time to write a new article, and others will desire their special articles, which means a new charter must be written.”

“That was what Langton offered as a sop, but one of the northerners—Vesci, I think—cried out that the king did not intend to consider a charter, only to gain time to bring in foreign mercenaries to kill honest Englishmen. It was a near thing, but the earl of Pembroke saved us that time. Old as he is, I would not like to meet him on a battlefield as an enemy. He let out a roar that stilled all lesser voices, and he offered himself as pledge that King John would be where he set as a meeting place and at the proper time. God, what a man! He must hate the king more than any, for he has been more injured and insulted, but his honor holds firm.”

“Still”—Thomas's lips had a wry twist—“I think the barons might trust him more to fulfill his word to them because of his hatred of his master than if he loved John.”

“They would be wrong,” Justin said. “He might act in gladness or he might act in grief, but the action would be the same.”

“So we have until spring,” Lissa said, touching the back of Justin's hand with one finger. “At least we will see the year turn in peace.”

Lissa was correct; by the middle of January all the barons and their retinues had left the city and London had settled into its winter quiet. Justin was not so much at peace as others, however; he had several heated confrontations with the mayor and aldermen, who wanted to dismiss all the new members of the guard, keeping only the tiny force they felt adequate for winter peacekeeping.

“This year is not the same as other years,” Justin warned. “If we dismiss men from the guard, they will go off and join the armies the barons are building—those for the king and those against him. All are crying for men, and if you will not pay them, others will. They must eat.”

He came home pale with rage because economy had, as usual, won over good sense. Lissa sighed with sympathy and held her tongue, letting him talk out all the signs of trouble. She had heard before of the way the king was courting the Church, offering the bishops promises and charters by the handful so they would withhold their approval of the charter demanded by the nobles. And she thought of the news Gerbod had sent from Calais on his way south around the coast of France.

Before she could ask, Justin said, “They would not even listen when I read them your uncle's letter about the king hiring Flemings. That old snake Rochefolet kept hissing that the mercenaries were for Ireland, which they could not fail to know was what he was told to say. Can no one see that the men are being mustered into companies there and can more easily be sent to England across the water than across the narrow sea where the weather is less certain?”

“I do not understand that myself, Justin,” Lissa said. “It may be easier to bring them over from Ireland than from Flanders, but I, too, feel that the best surety of using the troops in England would be to bring them here directly.”

“The king is afraid to do that,” Justin explained. “To bring in mercenaries when he swore he needed time to consider the charter would likely set off the war and also prove to many who still wish for compromise that there is no hope of it, thus pushing them into FitzWalter's party.”

“Is there any real hope of compromise?” Lissa asked.

There was a long silence during which she rose and went to Justin to stroke his hair and kiss his brow. He pushed his chair back and took her in his lap, holding her against him more for comfort than for love.

At last he said, “I do not know. The king may well yield and offer to sign because he will believe that he can later squirm out of the agreement. But it will depend also on how much influence FitzWalter has. He wants to be rid of John; no compromise will content him. I do not think there are many as violent as he—Vesci, probably, and likely Saer de Quincy—but even in FitzWalter's party I think most only want to control the king so that he cannot rage among them like a mad dog.”

Lissa shivered in his arms and said, “I have never seen a war. Will it be worse than the fire?”

“Good God!” Justin exclaimed, giving her a sudden squeeze and smiling down at her. “I did not mean to frighten you. I am only in a temper because those pinchpurses in the mayor's council will dismiss my men now, and then in the spring blame me because the watch is too small to stop riots. As for the war, thank God it seems as if it will not come near London. FitzWalter and his allies are staying where they are surer of support.”