Masques of Gold (53 page)

The archbishop nodded and held out his hand. Justin rose, bowed to kiss Langton's ring, and went to see that his men would be given quarters for the night. He found them near the stable, taking advantage of the sun that now shone to dry cloaks and hoods dampened in the morning's drizzle, and directed them to the steward who would arrange their meals and lodging. The information was greeted with some relief; the news that they would leave for home the next morning was received more enthusiastically. The men found themselves uncomfortable in a place where authority controlled matters like eating and sleeping. They were accustomed to the freedom of city life; true, you might not eat at all and might sleep in the gutter if you had no money, but no one had the right to tell you which cookhouse to eat at or at which house to rent a bed.

Although Justin was not troubled by the workings of the archbishop's household—he had, like other males of his class, been fostered, served as page and squire, so he was accustomed to being told where to eat and sleep—he was as eager to leave as his men. He wanted to discuss what Langton had told him with his cousins and with the aldermen. Justin felt he must assure them that Langton would approve an article confirming the rights of London. He was a little afraid that FitzWalter might try to convince them the archbishop intended to exclude the towns to make them reject the charter.

One cannot hurry an archbishop's household, however. The archbishop had decided to add something to his letters after he spoke to Justin; his secretary had to oversee the scribe who wrote it, then summon the clerk responsible for copying; the packets had to be opened, the lines copied, the ink dried, the packets resealed…Justin and his men did not get away until after dinner. The men benefited by enjoying a good meal, at least. Justin ate it because he had trained himself to eat no matter what he felt, but he did not enjoy it. As if to rap his knuckles for not being patient, the sun, which had been shining brightly all morning, disappeared behind thick billows of clouds in the afternoon. By dusk, the rain was too hard for Justin to ignore. They stopped in Rochester, lodging at an inn in the town, and reached London the next day just before the gates closed for the night.

Justin dismissed his men and told them to hold their tongues about where they had been. He then rode to his aunt's house to speak to Thomas and Richard before anyone should know he had returned. They agreed that the more people who knew what Langton had said, the better chance they would have of getting the charter accepted and the barons out of the city.

“But not everyone is as eager as we to be rid of them,” Thomas pointed out.

“Aside from Serlo, is it yet known who opened Aldgate for them?” Richard asked.

“Not
known
, no—at least not for certain,” Justin said, “but Thomas is right. There must be others besides Serlo who fear what will befall them when the barons are gone. Still, little harm has yet come of opening the gates.” Justin stared at the packets he held in his hands. “And if the king is brought to sign this, it may well be that good will come of what was done.” He looked at Richard. “Do we need vengeance against those who have not truly hurt us?”

“There is the matter of the special charter for London signed by the king only two days before.” Richard was indignant. “That was kept secret.”

“I am not sorry,” Justin said, and his cousins looked shocked. “A special charter for London at this time might make us hated. Certainly there would be few, or none, to support us if the king withdrew his favor as capriciously as he granted it. But if our rights are one article among other articles that give rights to others, will we not all support one another? Will not all be aware that if the king violates one article he will soon violate all? Remember, I spoke for the other towns also. The barons may or may not make alliance with us, but the other towns will.”

“You have a point.” Thomas raised a brow at Richard, who still seemed inclined to carry a resentment over the treacherous opening of the gate whether good or ill came of it, but after another moment he nodded.

“Then let us assure each man—no matter how likely or unlikely it be that he was of the party who invited the barons in—that in the acceptance of the charter all past differences will be forgotten.”

“Very well,” Richard agreed stiffly, “I will expect you at first light, and we will all go, first to my father's friends. If our party goes together to the others, they will believe we will not press the matter of the opened gate. Then all of us will accompany you to the mayor.”

“I cannot hold back the letter and charter from FitzWalter,” Justin said.

“Nooo.” Thomas drew out the word. “But there is no law that says you must carry it to him in person, since you have no verbal message to give him.”

Justin nodded grimly. “Very good. One of my men lives on the turn of the road. I will send him with the packet and bid him say no more than that it was sent by Archbishop Langton in Canterbury. When we are done with our business, I will present myself and explain that the council and even the mayor are most eager for the charter to be approved by the barons. That may give him second thoughts about opposing it too openly.”

“I think,” Richard said slowly, “that you should also say the united guilds will give a great dinner to welcome the archbishop and to show our support for his purpose.”

“A most excellent thought!” Justin exclaimed.

“I agree,” Thomas said, grinning. “It is also the perfect news to make peace with your wife. Poor Lissa obediently stayed within doors all the time you were away and will be very glad indeed to be freed from prison.”

Justin had forgotten, until Thomas spoke of Lissa remaining indoors, about his feeling that FitzWalter had had some ulterior motive in sending him to Canterbury. The archbishop's discussion of the charter with him, and his approval of two articles Londoners desired, had obscured for Justin his original purpose as simple messenger. But nothing had happened on the road; the charter was safe in his hands; no one but his cousins even knew he had returned to London—and yet the moment he was reminded, he again felt uneasy. However, in the warmth of Lissa's greeting and the need to answer her eager questions about what had happened in Canterbury, the puzzle about FitzWalter's motives slipped out of his head.

Lissa had never had the faintest suspicion that Justin's orders to remain indoors had anything more to do with his trip to Canterbury than a general anxiety about his being absent when there were too many armed men in the city. The caution had seemed reasonable to her, and since Justin never interfered with her normal activities unless forced to do so, she had not asked why he gave the order. She had another reason for obedience; she was inclined for privacy while a hope was confirmed or a great disappointment endured, so it was not hard for her to stay home for four days.

Once or twice Lissa even wondered if Justin might have noticed her courses were very late and that had made him overprotective. She told herself she was silly, that men only noticed the moon times because a wife refused to couple. But in her heart of hearts Lissa believed Justin was different, more alive to her moods, more responsive to her feelings than other men to other wives. Foolish as she might be in her belief, Lissa was too wise to put it to any test; she was happy as she was, happy to think it was Justin who sent a boy from his aunt's house to tell her he was safe in London but had some business to finish before he could come home.

Thomas had actually sent the message, but Justin's greeting kisses were passionate enough so that she never discovered her mistake, and they were soon so deep in talk about the charter that Lissa even forgot the hope that was growing stronger each day. She laughed aloud when Justin told her of proposing the standard of measure to the archbishop and of Langton's approval.

“I will see that it goes in too,” she said. “Now, to whom can I speak? Goscelin is useless. What does he care about dry or wet measure? Well, I can speak to John le Spicer, and Master Chigwell is quite reconciled to me since Gerbod sold him that lot of pepper and promised another shipment in the spring.”

Laughing, Justin gathered her into his arms and kissed her again. “Do not exhaust yourself, dearling. I will make sure that Richard proposes your article when we carry the copy of the charter and the archbishop's letter to the mayor. And that reminds me that we must go early to bed. I cannot put off my riding until morning because I must be out of the house before Lauds.”

The words were lightly spoken, both the jest about riding, which Justin's look and moving hands made plain, and the advice not to exhaust herself, but Lissa was convinced he knew she was with child—or hoped she was. The growing urgency of his caresses stirred her deeply, being to her mind proof that he desired her for her charms and skill as a lover rather than merely as a brood mare. Lissa had few doubts on that subject because Justin had never expressed any impatience about her seeming barrenness. But after they were married, he had spoken about children and Lissa was sure he wanted them. Well, so did she, but not as her only reason for being his wife.

Grateful and excited, Lissa played harder than usual and slept harder also. Justin was gone when she woke, but she remembered at once what he had said. She lay abed a little longer than usual, feeling slightly unsettled—not really sick but different enough to give added strength to her hopes, enough strength that she was eager to confide in someone and decided to visit Adela, who had borne several children and would hold her tongue until Lissa was ready to tell Justin.

She went in the afternoon, when she was reasonably sure Goscelin would be busy in the shop or away from the house and Adela, shopping done, would be at home and at leisure. As she left the house, she gave a thought to Justin's admonition to stay at home or take Dick and Halsig with her, but that had been while he was away. There had been no disturbances in the city; indeed, it was quieter than before the baron's armed men had come, and when she asked Paul about Halsig and Dick, she learned that Justin had taken them with him and bade Mary go home.

Lissa was sure Justin would not have done that if he felt there was any danger. Still, she decided to take Witta with her, and when she went to get him from the workroom, Oliva asked what she should do with the extra food she had bought to feed Mary and the men.

“Pack it up,” she said. “Witta can take it to Sir Justin's house on the way to Goscelin's.”

That took a little time and Lissa was growing impatient to share her hope, so when she and Witta came to the turning of Soper Lane into the Mercery, she told the boy to deliver his parcel to Mary while she walked on ahead to Goscelin's house. She did not order him to make haste. Because she had been confined to the house, Witta had been kept harder at work than usual. She was walking along the Cordwainery, smiling to herself, imagining the pleasure he would have dawdling through the market and only getting to Goscelin's house when he thought she was about to leave, when she heard running footsteps and then a man took her arm and spoke her name.

She turned, her breath catching in fear for Justin. “Yes?”

“Lady Margaret de Vesci begs you to come to her,” the man said.

Lissa did not recognize him. He still held her arm, but looked worried, almost frightened, and he was carrying a bundle. “Come to Lady Margaret now?” she asked.

Lissa was annoyed, both by the fright she had been given and because she wanted to visit Adela. She was about to refuse flatly, and then recalled her last meeting with Lady Margaret. She remembered the kind concern over her bruises and the frightened, bitter eyes.

“Please, mistress,” the man said. “It is very important. I ran after you all the way from your house.”

That could not be literally true; if he had run, he would have caught up with her long before. Lissa assumed, however, that the exaggeration meant that his mistress was in a bad mood and would punish him if she did not come.

“Very well,” she said, “but Lady Margaret's house is too far for me to walk. I must first—”

“She is here, mistress.” He waved toward the Chepe.

Much better. If Lady Margaret was shopping, Lissa thought, she could accept her order and still see Adela after all. “Quickly, then,” she said, and followed eagerly when the man led her across the market and turned into the narrow street that led to Honey Lane. He stopped suddenly and gestured her forward. Lissa walked around him, then hesitated when she saw a tall gate and empty yard before her, but she had no time to ask a question. A hard hand came over her mouth, cutting off speech, and she was thrust hard into the yard and forced flat against the wall, the man's full weight holding her so that she could not move at all.

“Be quiet,” he whispered. “You will not be hurt.”

Since she had little choice anyway, Lissa stood still and made no attempt to cry out, hoping her quiescence would delude her captor into releasing her. She intended to shriek as loud as she could the minute his hand relaxed its grip, but she was not given the chance. A cloth was pushed up under the muffling hand and tied tight before she could spit it out. In another moment the man's shoulder was pressed so hard against her upper back that she would have shrieked with pain if she could, but the torture did not last long. He reached around, seized one hand and then the other, and tied them behind her. He eased his weight then, turning her toward him.

“I do not want to hurt you,” he whispered, “but I will put you to sleep with this”—he held up his fist—“if you try to escape me.”

Lissa would still have tried to run; she knew she need only reach the market and there would be too many witnesses for him to drag her away, but he never let go. His grip was too strong for her to break with her arms bound, even though he was holding her with only one hand while he picked up the bundle he had dropped. She tried once to kick him, when he bent to shake it out, but he only stood up and drew a heavy hooded robe over her, pulling the hood so far forward that she could see only the ground at her feet and knew her face was hidden.