Masques of Gold (51 page)

Justin's warnings to mayor and council proved far more accurate than he hoped. Once the influx of merchants and traders began in the spring and he needed men, he was unable to hire any but grandsires and striplings. The city became nearly ungovernable. Twice because the watch was so thin a major burning was only narrowly averted—once heroic efforts by local people checked the fire and the second time God sent rain. Roger FitzAdam spoke sharply to Justin about the inefficiency of his men, and Justin told him to do better himself with the men he had been allowed to hire and resigned his position.

Not five days later, 12 April, Stephen Langton's chief clerk came to the house and asked if Justin would be willing to serve the archbishop for a few weeks during the coming meeting between the king and his barons.

“The archbishop does me great honor,” Justin said, glancing uneasily at Lissa, “but if the service must be outside of London—”

“You must go wherever it is, my lord,” Lissa said. “If you are needed by Archbishop Langton, his work is more important than any other business.”

She had seen the way his eyes lighted, and knew he had not been happy lately, even though he had begun to work on some trading ventures. Justin would have accepted eagerly, she thought, if he had not been afraid to leave her. The watch was disintegrating into utter helplessness without his central control—the mayor and council having decided to try letting each alderman manage the watch in his section—and the situation was getting worse. Uncontrolled merrymaking too often turned into rioting; squabbles between the retinues of rival merchants turned into bloody fights. The disorder was beginning to spill over even into such quiet areas as the Cordwainery.

“I will be safe,” she went on. “The house is strong, and if you wish, though I think it unnecessary, Dick Miller's son and Halsig, and Mary, of course, can all stay here while you are away. With three men behind stone walls I will be in no danger.”

“The service will not be in London,” the clerk said, “but you will have a few days to make arrangements for your wife's protection. The archbishop would like you to meet him at Reading Abbey on the sixteenth. He is going to Oxford, where the king has summoned him to his Easter court.”

Justin nodded, and with a smile at Lissa that was full of pride and content in her, he agreed to take service. He had been less worried about the minor disorders than he had been afraid the king might insist the barons come to London on Low Sunday to separate them as far as possible from their strongest base of support, and he had not been certain, until the clerk said so, that Stephen Langton was still involved in the negotiation about the charter.

When the king had started to hire mercenaries, the archbishop had threatened to withdraw as mediator; the king had then sent the Poitevins home and directed the Flemings to Ireland, but Justin knew how stiff-necked the archbishop could be. Apparently he had accepted John's gesture, and John had chosen Oxford for his Easter court. If John was in Oxford, Justin was sure the barons would be farther north and London would not be the center of the confrontation. Since the watch still obeyed him, even stopped him in the street sometimes to ask for orders, Justin decided he would give them orders. Despite the mayor, he would make sure that Soper Lane was adequately patrolled over the time he was away.

Although Langton was traveling with a guard of five men-at-arms, once they reached Oxford, Justin began to wonder why he had been summoned. The court was poorly attended, but the king showed no sign of temper and he was polite, even cordial, to the archbishop. News soon came of the barons; FitzWalter and his allies had come to Northampton, and a large army was gathering near the town. On 23 April, King John sent a messenger to invite the leaders to come to court under safe conduct and to leave as freely as they came. All refused to come to Oxford. They said haughtily that they could not trust themselves to the king's safe conduct.

Justin wished their answer had been more civil, although he really could not blame them. But John did not lose his temper. Justin realized with a shock that the king was pleased. Now he could claim that the barons had not fulfilled their part of the agreement. He feared he had learned why he was needed when the stubborn archbishop pointed out clearly and loudly that John had not always honored his own safe conduct and prayed the king to be patient. But even as Justin's hand twitched toward his sword and he looked warily at those who would obey the king even in such a sacrilege as laying hands on Langton, his eye caught that of William Marshal and he relaxed. And John only looked sour and agreed that he would try again for a meeting.

The arrangements for the second message to the barons taught Justin, at last, why the archbishop had been so eager for his service. He had been brought along not so much to protect Langton, who had protection enough in the presence of William Marshal and his men, as to serve as an elevated messenger—and because he was well known to Robert FitzWalter. He went to the barons at Northampton as Langton's man, not the king's, but even so he did not expect any sign of reasonableness from the rebel leaders. Had they intended to bargain about the charter, they would not have used the terms they did to refuse the king's first invitation and they would have suggested another place of meeting.

Justin was rather surprised by his meeting with FitzWalter, who was clearly the leader of the baronial group although he had not yet been officially selected. At first it went as he expected. FitzWalter attacked, saying with contemptuously lifted brows and downturned mouth, “So you are a king's man, Sir Justin. I did not think that of you.”

But Justin was far too clever to rise to such a lure, and he smiled and replied with amusement he allowed to be obvious, “I am a London man, Lord Robert. My first and deepest loyalty is to my city and her good. At this time, I happen to be in service to Archbishop Langton because I believe that will best serve London.”

But then FitzWalter did not make the remarks Justin expected. He abandoned his caustic tone and asked with considerable interest, “You are no longer in charge of the watch?”

Justin answered that he had resigned that post, and FitzWalter only nodded. He then went on to speak of the business that had brought them together, but his tone was now pleasant. Justin had the oddest feeling that FitzWalter was specially pleased by the fact that he no longer commanded the watch. He was also troubled about so easily obtaining an agreement that the leaders of the rebel party would come to Brackley, halfway between Oxford and Northampton, and there receive whomever the king would send.

On his ride back to Oxford from Northampton, Justin came to understand that FitzWalter's agreement to meet John's envoys at Brackley had nothing to do with him. He realized that FitzWalter dared not refuse the archbishop's plea for reason and restraint. Most of the men who had followed him only wanted the charter signed, not to depose or kill the king. So if FitzWalter refused even to present the charter, which was what would happen if he would not speak to the king or anyone else, they would see his real purpose and might abandon him.

Still, Justin was sure he was not mistaken about FitzWalter's reaction to the news that he had left his position. He began to wonder whether Lord Robert had been involved in William Bowles's death and in ordering Hubert to kill him. The idea was on the edge of madness; if FitzWalter wanted him dead there were myriad ways to obtain that end without using the clumsy lackwit Hubert. But he could not imagine any reason Lord Robert should care about the London watch except his knowledge that Justin alone might suspect him of murder.

His uneasiness lingered, intensified by FitzWalter's pleasant smile and nod each time they met at Brackley when Justin accompanied the archbishop and the earl of Pembroke to listen to the barons' demands. Had he been more hopeful about the fate of the charter, his personal doubts would probably have been washed away by his anger and anxiety, but he had expected the negotiation to fail. He was not surprised to see that the charter had grown almost as large as the rebel army. Anyone could see that FitzWalter and the other leaders had just written in anything at all that anyone asked. There had not even been any attempt to take out articles that repeated themselves, and right in the beginning were several that were utterly outrageous.

Pembroke was disgusted. Justin thought, considering the insults and indignities John had heaped on him, that Pembroke must have had some secret hope a charter curbing John's worst excesses could be signed. But when their party was out in the open where many could hear, Pembroke said that after listening to such demands his heart was much lighter for his promise to defend the king.

“The old man is no mean tactician,” Langton said in Justin's ear. “I wonder if he will not win us some changes of heart among these men.”

Whether he did or not made no difference because the king had no intention of yielding anything. When they returned to Oxford, John did not really bother to examine the barons' demands before he called them unjust and said he would never agree to a charter that would make him the slave of his barons. After what he had said in Brackley, Justin was surprised when William Marshal as well as the archbishop pleaded with John to look over the charter to see if there were not some articles that were just and reasonable. The king would not listen, and Justin again accompanied the archbishop and Pembroke to Brackley to give the barons John's answer. This time FitzWalter did not smile, but Justin knew he was barely concealing his triumph. Most of the others were aghast, but they were very angry as well as frightened. John's harshness had served FitzWalter's purpose well; even the doubters' resolve had hardened.

Justin expected to be dismissed when they arrived back at Oxford, but he did not ask to go and when the archbishop said he would remain in Oxford a little longer and that Justin might be needed again, he was glad. Although he longed for Lissa, there was a feeling of incompleteness, of unfinished business, hanging in the air. First Justin thought the final stroke had come when the rebels renounced their homage to the king, appointed Robert FitzWalter their leader—with the grandiose title Marshal of the Army of God—and promptly began an active siege of Northampton.

Justin knew that the king dared not call up a baronial army; they would be too likely to march with him up to the enemy and then desert him, like the Poitevins. He expected mercenaries kept in hiding to close in on the rebels, and feared the archbishop, regardless of practical necessity, would accuse John of treachery. But nothing happened, and Justin first wondered whether Langton's presence was restraining the king. Then he assumed that John had sent for the mercenary troops and it would take time for them to come, but they did not come. Finally he wondered whether John was in the grip of the lethargy that seized him now and again. Justin had heard a long fit of that lethargy had cost the king Normandy.

In the end Justin decided John simply knew more than he did, for Northampton did not fall to the barons' siege, and their attack was inept and disorganized. Justin was shocked at what he saw when he was sent to the rebels on the tenth day of the siege with letters from John offering to put all grievances before papal arbitration. As far as he could see, the rebels were not doing anything that seriously threatened the castle. They had brought in no siege engines, and none were being built. Their efforts were so badly organized that Justin began to think he had credited FitzWalter with more ability than he possessed. He was disturbed too, when he was allowed to speak only to FitzWalter and Vesci.

The king's overture was rejected, although it actually amounted to an admission that there were grievances to be righted, but Justin heard enough while he was in the camp to learn why the attack had failed. Lord Robert and King John had similar problems. Neither could really rely on his sworn men—John because they disliked and distrusted him; FitzWalter because his aims and theirs differed. The barons wanted a charter not a war. And despite the elevated title he had been given, many were reluctant to obey him. Title or no title they knew him to be one of them, not born of royal blood and anointed by God as king, like John.

Five days later, the siege was broken. Langton waited hopefully to be asked to propose a truce, but no message came from the rebels. The day before they heard of the withdrawal of the baronial army, Justin had a letter from his cousin Richard asking that he return to London if the archbishop could now spare him. No reason was given and the letter had been carried by a merchant on business, so Justin could not believe an emergency existed. He hesitated to ask for his freedom, thinking a truce might be possible, until, a few days later, news came that the rebel army had not disbanded but had moved to Bedford keep and that its lord, William de Beauchamp, had greeted them with respect.

Justin could not see any sense in continuing his service, and Langton agreed that the defection of Beauchamp to the rebels meant that any move to negotiate must now come from them. He pressed several rich gifts on Justin and gave him leave to go, which he took quite literally, rolling his extra clothes in his blankets and riding Noir out of the city before the situation could change and Langton think of a new use for him.

Riding along the road hour after hour left his mind free, and Justin naturally wondered why Richard wanted him to return. Until that moment he had not feared for Lissa. He had had two letters from her, sent with journeymen riding to Oxford on business, and those had given him no reason for anxiety, although they had stirred his loins to life. Now, suddenly, he became convinced that disaster had swept away his whole life. He told himself not to be a fool, that if ill had befallen Lissa, Halsig or Dick would have ridden night and day to summon him.

All he accomplished was to convince himself that the house had been attacked and burned down and all were dead. The fear was idiotic and he knew it. Richard would never conceal a catastrophe of such magnitude. Besides, Justin knew Lissa's house was all of stone and could not burn. He retained enough rationality to keep from galloping Noir to death, but he was so sick with fear that he rode through the night and arrived some hours after dinner on Saturday afternoon.