Crispin waited in the dark for Clarence to catch up to him. There was a burning torch on the gatehouse but its flame was dying. The light was sparse, and he could barely see Clarence’s face until he drew closer.

  ‘Oh, I wanted to thank your Master Tucker,’ said Clarence. ‘But it looks like he’s gone.’

  ‘I sent him home. It was a difficult day for all of us.’

  ‘Of course. I hope I can give you this small pouch. I would like this to go to Master Tucker in a more tactile expression of my thanks.’

  ‘As you will, Master Walcote.’ He stuffed it into his own pouch. He knew Jack would be happy to receive it. It would definitely cheer him.

  He bowed to Walcote, but Clarence touched his arm. ‘And … a small matter, Master Guest.’ Clarence rubbed at his face, petted the fur at the lapels of his robe. He seemed to want to speak but couldn’t quite form the words. At last, he raised his face. ‘I … I am not a clever man, Master Guest. I am quick in some things, but not others. My wife, she is clever in ways I find confusing. And I am grateful for her.’

  ‘She is a fine woman.’

  ‘Yes. But … not being a quick man myself, I might have missed a thing or two. You know how it is. But I am no fool, Guest. I … I am aware that … that it is you who is Christopher’s father and not me …’

  Crispin froze. He didn’t think his drumming heart could take another shock, but there he stood, mute.

  ‘I’m a simple man,’ Clarence went on. ‘I reckoned it some time ago. It wasn’t hard after seeing the two of you together, you and Christopher. I mean … he looks nothing like me. And very much like you.’ He said the last sadly, studying Crispin as he surely studied the face of his son.

  Crispin took a bracing breath. ‘Master Walcote …’

  ‘No, no, Master Guest,’ he said, laying a gentle hand on Crispin’s arm. ‘You mistake me. I am not angry. Christopher is my son in name and all else. And I love him dearly. Philippa told me the dreadful tale of that man that held her captive, and I felt … that perhaps now was the time to confess. I will not tell him I know. I will not tell Philippa. As I said, I am not a clever man, but I can count. And those months before we married said she was already with child. And … I know you had grown close to her in those days …’

  ‘We have not sinned, Master Walcote. She is a loyal wife.’

  ‘Oh yes, I am certain of that. Both your characters convince me of the truth of it. But I wanted that you should know. That … my son … is my son.’

  Crispin nodded. His relief flushed through him. Christopher was safe. That was all he had wanted. It took him a moment before he could speak, and even then, it came out haltingly. ‘I … thank you for your … unique generosity, Master Walcote. I shall remember you in my prayers.’

  ‘And you in mine, Master Guest.’

  There seemed little left to say. Crispin bowed low before he pivoted away and strode out to the street and back to the Shambles.

  He wanted to get back to Jack, he told himself, and when he entered his lodgings at last, Isabel had seated him by the fire in his chair. ‘Master Crispin,’ she said kindly. ‘You sit right there in your chair next to Jack, and let me bring you both warmed wine.’

  ‘Thank you, Isabel.’ He drew off his capelet and cloak – which she took and hung by the door – and he settled into his chair, glancing at his apprentice in the firelight.

  Gyb, Crispin’s black-and-white cat – an old soldier himself with his torn ear and old claw scars on his face – lay before the hearth, barely lifting a lid to acknowledge Crispin, but Crispin couldn’t resist leaning over and giving the sleepy feline a scratch on his head.

  ‘You don’t have to worry,’ Isabel added. ‘When Jack told me about it, I relayed the message to Master Robert and he insisted on getting back to his master’s household. I tried to delay him but he would have none of it. He extended his thanks to you for keeping him safe.’

  ‘That’s all well, then,’ he said, easing his weary shoulders.

  They both sat before the fire while Isabel fussed around them.

  ‘It’s not like anyone we liked died,’ said Jack suddenly. ‘We’re acting a bit gloomy.’

  ‘Then cheer up. Master Walcote was pleased you saved his wife and son.’ He withdrew the money pouch and held it up. ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘Me, sir?’ He took it, staring at the little leather pouch in his palm. ‘This is a first.’

  ‘Savor it. I’m sure there will be more in the future.’

  ‘Is that what he wanted to talk to you about?’

  ‘Yes.’ If Clarence was to keep it a secret, then Crispin would honor him and tell no one either. What mattered was that Christopher was safe.

  ‘I’m glad it’s all over. I don’t mind saying this was a vexing one. But you knew the answer all along.’

  ‘Not true, Jack. As I told you, I wasn’t certain and kept it to myself until I was more certain.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. So you’d appear more clever. I shall have to try that.’

  ‘You’re a terrible gossip. You’ll never be able to do it.’

  ‘Oi! I’m wounded, I am. You talking such about me and right to my face.’

  ‘Am I wrong?’

  A smile teased Jack’s lips. ‘Well … it isn’t proper you saying such, but I suppose … I do like to talk about our cases, sir. You could hear a pin drop at the Boar’s Tusk.’

  Crispin laid his head back. He could finally feel content, finally let his unease go in their camaraderie and in the warmth of their shared hearth. In its safety. ‘And you tell them so well. I’ve heard you once or twice.’

  ‘At the Tusk, sir? You hiding in the shadows? Tut, tut, Master Crispin.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Some of it was even the truth.’

  Jack leaned toward him. ‘It’s a fact that you must embellish or no one will believe the truth. I think a bard told me that once.’

  ‘I think he was embellishing the truth.’

  He would have said more, but there was a knock at the door.

  They both turned. Isabel hesitated, but Crispin held a hand up to her. It was late, he would go to the door.

  He rose to answer it, throwing back the bolt, and opening it only slightly.

  It was someone in livery, though the arms on his sleeve could not be seen in the shadows. ‘I am looking for Crispin Guest,’ said the man. He held the reins of his horse.

  ‘You have found him.’

  ‘Then this is for you.’ He handed Crispin a folded parchment with a wax seal and turned on his heel to get back to his mount.

  Crispin closed the door and took the missive to the light of the hearth.

  ‘What’s that, then?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I don’t know.’ The wax seal had no signet impressed into it. But he thought he recognized the hand that wrote his name on the outside. He snapped the wax and unfolded the parchment.

  All it said was:

  Meet me at Bishopsgate at midnight. Come alone.

  Hereford

  ‘Well?’ said Jack.

  Crispin lowered the parchment. ‘It’s from Lord Henry.’

  Jack sat up. ‘What’s amiss, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know. He would have me meet him at Bishopsgate tonight.’

  ‘I’ll be with you, sir.’ Jack made to rise but Crispin waved him back down.

  ‘He told me to come alone.’

  ‘But that don’t mean alone alone. Does it?’

  ‘I fear …’ He looked at the sparse message again. ‘It does.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Crispin saddled Tobias. A man on a horse in the streets of London after curfew was unlikely to be harried by the Watch, and so he sat and moved with the horse as it slowly clopped over the cobblestones and mud down lane after lane. There was no moon, and the only illumination besides the cascade of stars above, were the strands of light ringing each window shutter. He rode silently toward West Cheap to where it changed to Mercery and thence to Poultry and as it turned northward to Threadneedle and finally to Bishopsgate. Under the light from an upper window to his right that shed a little glow near the arch of the gate, he saw the shadow of a man standing by his horse … and another a little farther away.

  Crispin had to come alone, but not Henry?

  He dismounted several yards away and walked the horse forward. Finally, the sparse light revealed Henry’s face.

  He was the Duke of Lancaster’s eldest son and heir. He’d been under Crispin’s tutelage and governance in Lancaster’s household. Like Jack, he’d raised him till he was ten years old. That was when Crispin was arrested and banished for treason. He’d had to leave him, never getting the chance to say goodbye. He remembered that face, that ten-year-old boy, full of cheer and vigor. It seemed to be missing from that visage now. He was pale, and his expression stark. Henry had grown, had experienced. And now he was about the same age Crispin had been when he was banished from court life.

  ‘My lord,’ he said quietly.

  ‘No, Crispin. For God’s sake, call me Henry.’

  Crispin presented a smile he did not feel. ‘Henry.’

  Hereford sighed. ‘You don’t know how good it is to hear your voice, to see you. Ah, Crispin. If only I had time …’

  ‘What is amiss, Henry?’ He glanced to the other shadowy man holding the horses. ‘Why did you call me out in the mid of night?’

  For a moment, the man seemed overcome, unable to speak. He ran a hand along his bearded chin, seeming to control himself. But even as he raised his blank face again, there was something in his eyes, something that haunted him, made them blank with an inner pain.

  ‘Richard has banished me.’

  Crispin paused. He had heard the words, yes, but he could not fathom them.

  ‘He … why?’

  Now the old Henry was back. His brows drew down, his teeth shone in the dim light in a grimace. ‘It was because of Norfolk.’

  Crispin had tried to keep apprised of court doings, mostly through Lancaster when he cared to speak to Crispin, but the news had been sparse of late. He was not an intimate any longer with those who knew. And minstrels couldn’t always be trusted with their tidings. He had not heard anything amiss about Thomas Mowbray, the Duke of Norfolk. All Crispin knew was that he was one of the lords aligned with Henry who had marched on Richard ten years ago to demand he put aside his favorites and rule as a king should. But he had also heard that Norfolk might have been one of the lords responsible for murdering his fellow counsellor lord, the Duke of Gloucester, Richard’s uncle. And at King Richard’s behest at that. At least, so it was said.

  Crispin asked nothing. He waited for Henry to speak.

  Henry raised his face again to look up at the shops and houses. His eyes roved over them like someone trying to memorize their contours and spires. ‘Norfolk told me he feared for our lives. He reported to me that Richard sought vengeance for our heroic routing of Robert de Vere at Radcot Bridge. I remarked that Richard had long ago pardoned us for that offense. But Norfolk wailed and moaned that Richard had never truly forgiven us for exiling one of his dear favorites and planned to mete out the same treatment to the two of us. He wove more tales, that there was a plot to kill me and my father at Windsor, and that the king’s intimates – Exeter, Surrey, Scrope, and Salisbury – were in on the plot. It was mad, Crispin. He was clearly out of his head and spewing vile lies. I told Father of it and he’s the one who told me to tell the king. I had no choice but to present it to Richard … as treason.’

  ‘And you declared it at court?’

  ‘I challenged him to battle as a disloyal traitor to the realm, false toward his majesty, to the crown, and to the nobles and all the people. And when Richard asked Mowbray to answer the charge, Mowbray accused me of being a traitor and a disloyal subject. I replied that I had every reason to believe he had embezzled several thousand pounds from his appointment as Captain of Calais and that he murdered Richard’s uncle.’

  He began to pace, striking his leg with his gauntlet to punctuate each step.

  ‘Richard agreed that we should fight a duel of honor. He arranged the place in Coventry at Gosforth Field and it was to be last sennight. The greatest of nobles were assembled – even the new Archbishop of Canterbury was there. All were in their finery to watch one of us die. But I began to doubt that Richard wished for me to live. After all, wasn’t Norfolk his toady? Wasn’t he the one willing to dishonor himself with murder?’

  ‘I can’t understand it.’

  ‘Then understand this. Richard found a way to win the day. To get rid of his loose-lipped toady and his rival – me – all in one breath. Norfolk and I had mounted our horses. I had only just lowered my visor and been handed my lance … when of a sudden, Richard called a halt to it. We waited nearly two hours to discover what he plotted. Richard didn’t even have the temerity to pronounce his sentence himself. He had one of his knights do the deed. He decreed that Norfolk was to be exiled for life for his embezzlements and for his character for all I know. He had to choose to dwell in Prussia or Bohemia or Hungary or the godforsaken lands of the Saracens. But he was not allowed to return on pain of death. And as for me … God’s body, Crispin! He banished me.’

  Crispin gasped. ‘But … you were to duel. It was to be settled.’

  ‘I know.’ He slapped his gauntlet against his thigh again and glared up into the heavens that seemed to have abandoned him. ‘I was banished for ten years on pain of beheading.’

  ‘Did … did you go to your father? Have him plead your cause?’

  ‘I went to my father. He had my banishment reduced to six years. But he thought it best that I comply. That I bring no more dishonor to our house.’

  ‘Dishonor?’

  ‘When we marched on Richard. You might remember that His Grace my father had not approved of that. And the circumstances of Gloucester’s death. You may not know this, but I was implicated in it too.’

  ‘Henry!’

  ‘I didn’t do it, Crispin! I never would have … I might have spoken about his imprisonment, but I did not conspire to have him murdered. But none of it matters. I must leave England. For … for a while.’

  Crispin’s heart stuttered hard in his chest. What was happening? It was bad enough that Crispin had been banished, but thank God it hadn’t been from England. That he had been allowed to stay in London was only by the good graces of Lancaster’s pleading with Richard. And, he supposed, by Richard himself, who in the end, had loved Crispin and had not wanted to see him die. At least that’s what Richard himself had told him some years ago.

  ‘Henry …’

  Hereford suddenly took hold of Crispin’s arms, squeezing painfully. ‘Crispin, I want you to watch over my father. I feel there is much treachery afoot. And he isn’t in the best of health.’

  ‘He is ill?’

  ‘Yes. But I fear the most that I won’t be here to protect him.’

  ‘He’s protected himself for years.’

  ‘But he’s older now. His friends are dead or gone. I fear he is vulnerable to Richard’s wrath.’

  ‘Are you truly leaving?’

  ‘I must. My father has declared it. I fear … I fear I will not see him alive again.’

  ‘Holy Mother of God.’

  ‘Promise me, Crispin. Swear to me you will watch over him, protect him.’

  He looked Henry in the eye and held that gaze. ‘On my oath, on my soul, Henry, I will protect the house of Lancaster.’

  Henry hung his head. He nodded to the ground. ‘Good. Good. I knew I could trust you. I knew you’d be loyal to the end.’

  ‘I will. You are my family, Henry.’ His voice cracked. All in the span of a few hours, Crispin had nearly lost his love, his son, and his apprentice who was like a son to him. He had thought the Almighty had spared all he loved. But now Henry was in peril. ‘What will you do? Where will you go?’

  ‘France, I suppose. Father wants me to go to Paris and endear myself to King Charles and his princes.’

  ‘To France? Jesus.’

  ‘I’m taking a small cadre of men with me.’

  Crispin licked his suddenly dry lips. ‘It won’t be forever. Only six years. You and Richard were friends as children. Remind him of that.’

  ‘I fear that time has long passed.’

  ‘My lord …’ said the man in the shadows.

  ‘Yes, yes. He’s telling me I have already spent too much time here. I have much to do before I leave. I don’t believe Richard understands how popular I am. Or perhaps he does, and this is why he would send me away so that the people forget. But they don’t forget, do they, Crispin? They remember. And I will make certain they remember.’

  ‘Don’t do anything foolish, Henry.’

  He drew back and looked Crispin up and down. ‘You sound like an old man.’

  ‘I am nearing the age when I must put aside my arms. I am certainly feeling it in my bones these days. I was banished too, you will recall.’

  ‘In loyalty to the house of Lancaster.’ Henry offered a gladdened face. ‘You will see to my father?’

  ‘You know I will. And Jack after me if I should be struck down.’

  ‘You and your Jack Tucker. I’m surprised he isn’t with you.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if he weren’t somewhere in the shadows now.’

  Henry stood for a long time, merely looking at Crispin. ‘I … I hope to see you again, old friend. God keep you, Master Guest.’

  ‘And you, Henry. Pray often.’

  ‘I shall. Farewell.’

  He dipped back into the shadows, mounted his horse, and he and his man slipped through the gates held open for him by the passing of coins.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Crispin returned to his house in darkness. The hearth had burned down to reddened coals with ash raked over them. It was quiet. The rafters creaked as he lifted away his capelet hood and unbuttoned cloak, and hung them by the door.

  A figure rose from one of the chairs before the hearth and merely stood.

  ‘You’re still awake.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

 

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