Masques of Gold (52 page)

None of his fears had any substance. Lissa greeted him with tears of joy and only joy. She had no idea that Richard had asked him to return. When she heard, she was troubled, but she had no idea what might have been behind his letter.

“Goscelin has been very quiet when I have been to visit with Adela,” she said. “I knew he was troubled, but I thought it was over the general disorder in the city and in the land. That is all anyone talks of these days. I am growing rich on potions to calm the spirits and on sleeping draughts.”

“I had better go and find him,” Justin said, but he did not release Lissa or lift his eyes from her face, and his voice was rough with desire.

“Go above,” Lissa whispered huskily. “I will send Ninias. You have ridden day and night. Let Richard come here.”

He kissed her then and if he had not been armed and unable to open her clothes and his without breaking the embrace, he would have had her there in the shop with Paul and Ninias just outside the door and Witta and Oliva peering from the workshop. Common sense followed frustration. Justin went up the stairs, and Lissa bade Ninias to go tell Justin's cousin Richard that Justin was at home and ready to receive him. Lissa made all haste to strip her husband, threw her own garments anywhere at all, and they fell together to the bear pelts on the floor, unable to wait to get to the bed.

Fortunately no emergency that required instant action existed, as far as Richard knew, and he had a deliberate nature. He did not leave at once but sent for Thomas. The delay saved him from arriving to find Justin still mounted. His first satisfaction came so swiftly that it left Lissa behind. She forgave him, but kisses and touches of remorse not only restored his appetite swiftly but honed it sharper so that he swelled within her and began anew. The second coupling took longer. Justin was still belting his robe when Thomas and Richard arrived, but his smile of greeting was much warmer than it would have been had they come sooner.

“I hope my letter caused no inconvenience,” Richard began. “I was of two minds about sending it, but I heard a most disquieting rumor.”

“You had better begin before that,” Thomas said, then turned to Justin. “Did you hear that Rochefolet was caught in the street by a troop of rioters and died of it? And Lafeit left the city—to buy calves and lambs, he said, but he was well known to be the second set of ears John had on the council, Rochefolet being the first, so I wonder. Then Master White and Odo Vigil proposed inviting the rebels into the city to protect us from the king's wrath.”

Justin laughed. “The king's wrath? But John said not one word about London all the time I was there.”

“Did he not?” Thomas remarked. “Perhaps those closest to that one know the least about him.”

“Thomas!” Richard exclaimed. “More to the point, I did not think the rest of the council were likely to nail themselves to a mast that might become a gallows, which was why I did not bother to send you that news.”

He stopped as Oliva came in with a tray, followed by Witta with two flagons. Thomas jumped up to move the table, Lissa rose from the stool where she had been sitting by Justin's knee to bring cups from the tall chest for the wine or ale, and Oliva set out plates of sweet cakes, since it was some hours past dinner. Having poured each man wine or ale, as he desired, Lissa resettled herself as close to Justin as she could without actually sitting in his lap. Her body was replete, but she had had to force herself to go down to order the cakes and wine. And now she could hardly bear to release her hold on Justin to serve her guests.

Lissa marveled at her silliness. She had missed Justin, yes, but she had scarcely spent every night weeping into her pillow with loneliness. It was only now that he was back that the sensation almost overwhelmed her. He must feel the same, she thought, for his fingers gripped some part of her all the time, no matter who was talking, and she had had to strike his hand gently to make him loose her so she could get the cups. It was the sudden painful tightening of Justin's grip that drew her mind back to the conversation.

“You really believe that the gates will be opened one night and let in the rebel army?” Justin asked sharply.

“How can one be certain of such a lunacy?” Thomas asked. “I did not believe it, but you know my tongue—I spoke it to the mayor in jest. Justin, he turned yellow and gray and shivered, and bleated about having done his best and being abandoned by all. He also told me that he knew the earl of Salisbury was marching the Flemish mercenaries across England with orders to enter London and force us to the king's will. That was when I bade Richard write to you.”

“Have you spoken to anyone else?”

“All of them,” Richard said. “And all are worried sick. Not all trust the information Roger FitzAdam has, but fear more not to act on it. If Salisbury takes the city, they are sure they will lose every liberty squeezed out of John when they agreed to support him rather than Prince Arthur for king. Still, not one will admit the intention—”

“Richard! You did not ask them if they intended to open the gates to an army, did you?”

“I am not an idiot, Justin,” Richard said stiffly. “I only asked about the rumor. All admitted to having heard it, and all said it was nonsense, but it was clear that they fear what the king will do if Salisbury comes. Half of them, at least, said that John must be forced to sign the charter so that London's rights will be confirmed.”

Justin shifted uneasily and rubbed a hand over his burning eyes. Apparently the king had been cleverer than he suspected and had completely deceived Archbishop Langton. John must have sent orders to his bastard half brother while they were at Oxford. Doubtless the arrangements to bring the mercenaries to England were made before he came to hold his Easter court there. No wonder he had seemed so calm in the face of the attack on Northampton.

Hindsight revealed to Justin that John must have been waiting for two pieces of information: whether the barons truly would go to war to get their charter, and if they did, how dangerous the threat from them really was. The poor showing and disorganization of the rebel army at Northampton must have been a signal to the king to attack rather than make any further attempt at conciliation, and John had ordered Salisbury and the other leaders of the mercenaries to move. When he had crushed them, John would be merciless not only to FitzWalter and his allies but to all. And the very fact that the king had dispatched an army to “take” London clearly indicated that the greatest city in the realm was to be made helpless before John's will.

“I am not sure I do not agree with the aldermen,” Justin said slowly. “I would greatly prefer to have no dealing with either party, to close the gates, draw the chains across the river, and arm ourselves to defend our walls. But if the city
cannot
resist Salisbury's mercenaries, it might be better to seem to do the barons a favor and invite them in.”

“That is why we wanted you here,” Thomas said. “I think we can get the council to appoint you to arrange the defense of the city—or at least to examine whether a defense is possible. Will you do it, if you are asked?”

“You know I will,” Justin said, “but I fear you have left it too late.”

When he spoke of having left the question of defending the city too late, Justin was thinking of the time it would take to train a capable force. There were plenty of men of fighting age in London, and all even had some rudimentary skill at arms. They could wield a club, swing wildly with a sword, stab with a knife—but fighting was not their trade. They were not trained to stand firmly in place and resist when attacked by an army, although that was really all they would need to do.

Justin's remark that it was probably too late was true in an entirely different sense, however. The very next morning, while most of London was piously attending mass on Sunday, 17 May, FitzWalter and the other leaders of the baronial party marched through Aldgate, which was obligingly opened for them, with enough of their army to ensure there would be no resistance. When Lissa and Justin returned from church, Dunstan was waiting at Lissa's door with the news that a troop of soldiers had driven away his watch from Cripplegate.

“What should we do, my lord?” he asked. “We had no orders, no warning. There were four of us and ten of them. We knew not what to do, so we obeyed the captain.”

“Thank God you did,” Justin said, “and that they must have been sent by a fool without proper orders. Now pass my word to the men of the watch: Go home or to any other safe place and hide your weapons, except your cudgels. Then go to whatever place your alderman has ordered as the place of meeting for your watch and wait for his orders. Obey them except for giving up your weapons. Be quiet. Do not offer any offense to the soldiers unless they attack you, in which case defend yourself as best you may, taking into consideration their numbers and yours—and the fact that there is a whole army of them near London if not in it. If you need to speak to me again, come by the back and quietly. It may be that I will be watched.”

Stammering thanks, his face bright with relief, Dunstan hurried away. Lissa looked up at her husband, pallid with shock, her eyes huge. “What will happen now, Justin? Do you think the gates are now closed? Should we try to leave the city?”

He led her into the house and closed the door. After another moment he shook his head. “I have no answers yet. Send Witta to Bishopsgate. Tell him only to watch, as boys will do. After Nones he can come home and tell us what the new rules of the gate are. And Ninias must run to my house and summon Halsig, Dick, and Mary. They are to bring any small things of value here and to shut up my house as well as possible. If there is going to be violence, we are safest here and together.”

Twice that day the men in the house gripped their weapons and Lissa watched with bated breath from a crack in the upstairs shutter as armed troops went by on Soper Lane. The household was not disturbed, however, and aside from isolated incidents of individual men-at-arms or small troops disobeying their orders and taking what they wanted by force, there was no violence. The punishments inflicted on those who had disobeyed were public and very brutal.

Clearly an agreement had been reached with some of the powerful men of the city that London would help tame the king, and FitzWalter and his allies were keeping that agreement most carefully. The barons were not strong enough to risk losing the burghers' help. They had, Justin learned by the end of the week, sent letters all over the realm exhorting the neutral barons to join their cause if they wished to keep their lands. The response was disappointing. Some young hotheads, with a few men, rode off to London; the lords themselves stayed at home. It was natural enough, Justin thought, that the young should be less cautious in their desire for freedom from the king's domination. Then his lips twisted cynically; the “defection” of the heirs did not really help the rebels much, but it did provide those families with a foot in each camp.

By 24 May the barons had forced Roger FitzAdam to resign and appointed Serlo the Mercer as mayor. Despite that London seemed to have returned to normal, all except the king's courts and the exchequer, which were shut tight. That would hurt the king more than taking a castle here or there, Justin thought, but it would cause little disruption in the city. Since Justin could see no serious danger of looting or riot, he sent Halsig, Dick, and Mary back to his house. Later that afternoon Dick was back with a messenger from FitzWalter, who wished to speak to Justin.

“Now?” Justin asked, having come down into the shop and wishing that Dick had come alone with the message.

The squire looked disappointed. “Not if it is inconvenient to you, Sir Justin, but as soon as it will be possible for you to come. The matter is important.”

“I will come at once,” Justin said. “I wished to make sure, that was all.”

Justin was careful not to say what he wished to make sure about, since his question had been a discreet way of testing whether he was being invited or arrested. Apparently FitzWalter's squire had brought an invitation, but Justin remained cautious. He told Dick to saddle Noir and nodded to Lissa, who came out of the workroom and went up with him to help him into his armor.

“I will take Dick,” Justin said to her. “It is possible that FitzWalter will ask me to perform some duty in great haste. If so, Dick will return and tell you. If any man other than Dick comes to you to say I will not return home by dark, send to my cousins and tell them FitzWalter has me and inquiry should be made.”

Lissa had to hold on to Justin to keep from falling in her fright, but he took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Do not be silly,” he said sharply. “If I expected harm to come to me, I would not go. This is no more than a precaution when dealing with this man in these times. I do not think he wishes me ill. I think he has a task for me.”

The assumption seemed perfectly sound. FitzWalter greeted Justin in a friendly manner, perhaps a shade too heartily, but Justin thought that was because Lord Robert was a trifle embarrassed by the request he was being forced to make.

“You will be glad to hear,” he said, “that William Marshal has brought a new proposal from the king.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Justin said, remaining carefully expressionless despite the tightening of FitzWalter's lips and the single angry glare.

“The council of barons has decided to offer our charter again as a basis for peace,” FitzWalter said, his voice flat and hard. He drew a breath and then went on, lips twisted with distaste. “And we wish all to know if this negotiation fails that we are not at fault, that it is the king who is false, that John has rejected reasonable terms. Thus, we wish the charter to be reviewed and considered by those who are neutral between us. We would like you to carry our copy of the charter to the archbishop and ask him if he will mediate in this matter.”

“I will serve you in this gladly,” Justin said, was raked by another angry glance, and called himself a fool.

For a moment in his own enthusiasm for obtaining a charter and getting rid of the baronial army in London, Justin had forgotten that FitzWalter probably did not want peace. He asked quickly whether FitzWalter had any other instructions for him or any messages for the archbishop. There were letters for Langton, FitzWalter said, no verbal messages.

Justin blinked and raised his brows, and FitzWalter said, “You think it strange that I ask you to do what any common messenger could do, but I wished Archbishop Langton to be able to ask any question and have an answer he could trust. Also, he might desire to send back a message he did not wish to commit to writing.”

Although he smiled and nodded, Justin could barely prevent his nostrils from flaring in a quest for a scent of bad fish. FitzWalter's response to his unasked question was weak as water, but he obtained no other clue to Lord Robert's real purpose in asking him to ride to Canterbury while he waited for the copy of the charter and the letters to Langton to be made into a packet and delivered to him. Just as he was about to leave, Richard Percy and Robert de Vere came in, and FitzWalter mentioned to them that Justin had agreed to be their messenger to the archbishop.

It was a minor incident and might have been mere coincidence. Still, as Justin rode home he wondered whether FitzWalter was suspected by his fellow barons of not carrying out their decisions and had chosen him to take the charter to Langton to soothe their distrust. FitzWalter's use of “the council of barons” before he was able to bring himself to use “we” implied that he had not wished to accept the king's overture—and Justin was sure of that from his own knowledge of the man and his history. FitzWalter's hatred for King John could not be assuaged by a charter that prevented royal abuses; nothing but the king's exile or death would content him. If the other barons knew that, they might have demanded a neutral messenger.

Although his explanation was better than FitzWalter's, Justin was not much happier with it. Somehow he felt that choosing him had something to do with FitzWalter's deeper purpose, which was to show that King John was not sincere in his offers of amendment. Justin was sure FitzWalter wanted to show that the king did not intend to sign the charter and was either playing for time to build a stronger army or intending to repudiate the charter as soon as the barons had dismissed their army. If the moderate barons could be convinced that dealing with John was hopeless, many would agree to FitzWalter's more radical plan to depose the king.

The reasoning was good, but Justin could not connect his carrying the charter to Canterbury with FitzWalter's need to prove King John treacherous. All sorts of mad ideas passed through his mind, including an attack on the road that could be blamed on King John. But Justin would not be traveling alone, and the chances of killing him or fooling him were too small. He dismissed that as well as a number of other silly notions, but he remained so uneasy that he ordered Halsig and Dick to move back into Lissa's house and asked her to remain indoors while he was away or to take both men with her if she had to go out.

He took Dunstan and four other men of the London guard, armed and dressed in the leather hauberks of men-at-arms. FitzWalter's seal passed them all over the bridge without question just before the gates were closed for the night. They rode west in the last of the dusk, rested until the moon rose, and then rode on until it was necessary to rest the horses. At first light they started again and reached Canterbury without the smallest interference. Nor, Justin found, was his arrival any surprise—not that Langton had expected him in particular or on that particular day, but the archbishop had been informed by the king of his offer to grant the charter and Langton had been praying that the barons would accept it. He took Justin's packet and read the letters, frowning as he gave the untidy leaves of the barons' charter into the hands of a clerk.

“I have a copy already,” he said. “The king threw it at the clerk who tried to give it to him, so I took it and read it. Much in it is nonsense, but having taken the advice of my suffragan bishops and of honest and noble men, I have used what I could of it. I have a new charter that, I hope, contains just and reasonable provisions for curing the abuses of which the barons complain.”

Justin bowed silently, but Langton had caught the expression on Justin's face, and he laughed. “I am aware,” he went on, his lips twisting to wryness, “that what seems reasonable to me may not please those who have risked so much to bring King John to make clear their rights.”

Justin's face now reflected Langton's wry smile. “True enough, but I am afraid, my lord, I was less worried about the charter than filled with a selfish concern over the distance between London and Canterbury. We both know that some adjustments will have to be made, and I have little desire to ride this distance many times.” He hesitated, wanting to give warning without betraying FitzWalter, and then went on, “And, my lord, the delay in a protracted negotiation might be dangerous.”

“I agree.” Langton nodded. “I agree so strongly that I was already planning to come to London myself to be close by. Nor is there any need to leave the barons in suspense over my decision for even the few days I will take to make ready. Tomorrow I will give you two copies of the new charter. You can deliver one to Lord Robert and one to your mayor with letters explaining that the articles may be amended and stating my willingness to do all I can to bring peace to this land.”

Justin's thanks were so fervent, particularly for providing an extra copy of the document for the new mayor, that the archbishop smiled on him more warmly than at any time since he had identified himself as Lord Robert's messenger. He then offered Justin a seat and was gracious enough to describe to him some of the more important provisions of the new charter, so Justin dared mention the desire of the burghers to have included not only a confirmation of London's privileges but the extension of those privileges to all towns chartered by the king.

“That is not unfair,” Langton said. “The rights of the town descend to each free man therein, who has only the town as his lord. Yes. I will certainly speak for the towns if such an article is presented.”

And Justin suddenly remembered the talk with his cousins about Henry's charter and Lissa's suggestion, so he asked, “And, my lord, would it be too small a matter to ask that some measure be decreed as the measure to be used throughout the realm? Now a merchant who buys a quarter of corn in York will not have the same amount of corn as when he buys a quarter of corn in London or Bristol. This is no great matter, such as the laws of inheritance and wardship, but more heads may have been broken over it, as I know to my sorrow whose duty it was to keep the peace.”

“It is not a small matter,” Langton said. “No matter that causes strife between men and might be easily amended is small. I will speak for that article also, Sir Justin. You are a mine of good advice. Have you any more for me?”

“Only to present your charter to the largest group of barons possible. There are those who cannot be contented.”