CHAPTER 25
March 1194
LONDON, ENGLAND
Justin awakened with a gasp, fleeing the darkness of a Fougeres dungeon. It was not the first disquieting dream he’d had of his entombment, but this one had a happy ending: a blazing surge of sunlight as the trapdoor was flung open and freedom beckoned in the guise of Morgan Bloet. He lay back upon the bed, heartened by his night escape, hoping it meant that the dreams would come less and less often and, eventually, not at all. He was drifting off to sleep again when there was a sharp knocking on the cottage door.
He’d gotten to London just as curfew was sounding, and was one of the last travelers allowed to pass through the city gates. By the time he’d reached Gracechurch Street, the alehouse was shuttered and still, and the houses were dark, oil lamps and hearth fires doused for the night. He’d stabled his mount in a stall next to his stallion, Copper, and stumbled off to his cottage behind Gunter’s black-smithy. Not even bothering to remove his boots, he’d fallen into bed, asleep before he’d taken half a dozen breaths.
The knocking continued. Swinging off the bed, he was starting toward the door when it opened and a black whirlwind burst into the cottage to fling itself upon him. He staggered backward under the assault, and was fending off a hysterical canine as Nell followed Shadow in. “Dogs,” she said briskly, “are more loyal than men and not as much trouble. The mad beast has not forgotten you, I see.”
“How did you know I was back?” Justin asked, going over to give her a hug.
“What-you think Gunter would not notice another horse in his stable? Come with me,” she insisted, steering him toward the door. “Lord only knows the last time you ate, so I made you a meal over at the alehouse.”
Justin would have liked to change his clothes, but he knew better than to argue with Nell, and followed her outside, where he was surprised to see a twilight dusk settling over the city. Nell confirmed that he’d slept for more than eighteen hours. “We let you stay abed all day like a sluggard” was how she put it as she hastened him across the street.
“Who are ‘we’?” he asked, and had his answer as he pushed open the door of the alehouse. It was crowded with his neighbors and friends: Gunter the blacksmith; Odo the barber, his wife, Agnes, and their nephew, Daniel; Ulric the chandler and his wife, Cicily; Marcus the cartwright; Avice, the tanner’s widow; Nell’s helper Ellis and Nell’s young daughter, Lucy; even Aldred and Jonas, the one-eyed serjeant who was the bane of London’s lawless and Justin’s mentor. With a shy grin, Justin stepped forward into the warmth of their welcome.
By now they knew the rules-he never talked about what he did for the queen-so no one asked about his sudden disappearance or his long absence from Gracechurch Street. Instead they caught him up on neighborhood gossip and local happenings, telling him that the cobbler’s wife had run off with a peddler, that Humphrey the mercer had disgraced himself by turning up drunk as a sailor’s whore for Candlemas Mass, that a woman over on Aldgate Street had given birth to twins, that a fire had damaged the cook-shop down by the river, and that King Richard’s entry into the city had been a spectacle to dazzle all eyes.
“All the shops closed early,” Nell explained. “Even the taverns and alehouses shut down, since they knew everyone would be out in the street, watching for the king’s coming. And they were, too. So many people lined up that there was not space for a snake to slither by. They hung out of windows and perched in trees and some fools had even clambered onto rooftops to see!”
“And the streets were clean,” Aldred reported in awe. “The rakyers had actually worked for their wages and swept away all the dung and mud and straw and rubbish. It was a sight to behold… like a great fair day, with banners strung across the streets and ribbons wrapped around ale-poles and people waving scarves from windows and doves set free in white clouds when the king reached Cheapside!
“Thank God no fires broke out,” he added, “for no one would ever have heard the fire bells over the clamor of the church bells. I’m surprised you did not hear them as far away as France, Justin! It was a fine welcome we gave the Lionheart. We did ourselves proud for certes, and the king and queen seemed right pleased that we’d turned out in such great numbers.”
“Bearing in mind,” Jonas said dryly, “that Londoners will come out by the hundreds for a hanging.”
Justin smiled fondly at Jonas, for the serjeant’s habitual skepticism seemed like starry-eyed optimism when compared to John’s lethal cynicism. “It is good to be home,” he said. “You spoke of the ‘queen,’ Aldred. So Richard had Berengaria with him? I’ve never laid eyes on her; few have. Was she fair to look upon?”
Aldred blinked in confusion. “Beren… who? I meant Lady Eleanor. What other queen is there?”
At the mention of his royal mistress, Justin lost some of his cheer; he was not looking forward to pleading John’s case with the queen. But it had to be done on the morrow, even before he rode to St Albans to see Aline. “Where is King Richard lodging?” he asked. “Are they at the Tower or at the palace at Westminster?”
“King Richard did not dally here in London. He’s long gone, off to put down Lord John’s rebellion.”
“And the queen?”
“Why, she went with him, lad,” Odo volunteered, “and all the court, too, streaming out of Westminster like a flock of peacocks. Those pampered lords will be earning their bread now, just trying to keep up with the king!”
It sounded to Justin as if he would be earning his bread, too, chasing over half of England after the Lionheart. “Where has he gone?”
By common consent, they looked toward Jonas, for he was the sheriff’s man, would be likely to know. And he did. “You’ve got a long ride ahead of you,” he told Justin, with more amusement than sympathy. “He went north to besiege Lord John’s castle at Nottingham.”
Baby Ella was awake in her cradle, utterly intent upon getting her foot into her mouth. In the other cradle, her milk-sister slept peacefully, oblivious to her audience. “You must be amazed by how big she’s gotten,” Rohese said, pointing out the obvious with a coquettish smile, and her brother Baldwin rolled his eyes. She’d been visiting when Justin de Quincy arrived and she’d been so charmed by his courtly manners that she’d been hovering close by, insisting upon playing a role in his reunion with his daughter. Now she was chattering nonstop as Justin leaned over the cradle, and Baldwin and Sarra exchanged the sort of amused, exasperated glances that Rohese so often provoked.
“Of course Ella is much larger, but then, she’s older so she would be… bigger, I mean.” Rohese said, giggling self-consciously as she realized how silly she was sounding. “But your little lass is doing right well for her age. When she’s not swaddled, she squirms about like a baby eel, doesn’t she, Sarra? If you lie her down on her belly, she can roll over onto her back now. And when she wakes up in the morning and sees Baldwin or Sarra, she greets them with the sweetest smile.”
Baldwin wished his sister would stop gushing over the poor lad, and Sarra thought it was not tactful of Rohese to remind Justin de Quincy of all the milestones he’d missed in his daughter’s life. But in truth, Justin was not even listening to Rohese. Aline was the only one in the cottage for him at that moment, the only one in the world. She had a surprisingly thick cap of dark hair and skin like flower petals; when he touched her cheek with his finger, it felt like the soft, downy feathers of a baby bird.
“Do you want to hold her?” Rohese murmured throatily and, reaching for Aline, placed the sleeping infant in his arms before Sarra could object.
Justin cradled his daughter with such exaggerated care that it was both touching and comical to those watching. “I am back, butterfly,” he said, and those silky lashes fluttered, revealing eyes the color of ground cinnamon, Claudine’s eyes. For a heartbeat, they looked at each other, and then Aline’s lower lip began to tremble. Before he could react, her mouth contorted and she started to cry. There was nothing gradual or tentative about it, either; she screamed loudly enough to set his ears ringing, color flooding her little face, tiny fists beating the air in distress.
Sarra came swiftly to his side and reclaimed the frightened child. For several moments, there was no sound but the baby’s wailing and a soothing, wordless murmur from Sarra. Back in familiar arms, Aline soon quieted, her sobs subsiding into broken hiccups, and Sarra sat down in a chair, discreetly opened her bodice and offered Aline the comfort of her breast.
After an awkward silence, Rohese said, in some embarrassment, “She is usually such a calm, good-natured
