“Well, mayhap you’re in luck, after all. Come, I’ll try to get you in,” he offered, so obviously proud of his standing in Emma’s household that Justin was touched in spite of all he knew about the Lady Emma. He followed Morgan into the guest hall, and watched as the groom approached one of Emma’s handmaidens on his behalf. He was back so soon that Justin knew his news could not be good.
“Lady Mabella says Lady Emma is dining with Abbot Hugh, so you’ll have to wait till the morrow. Let’s see if we can talk the hosteller into squeezing you in with the other grooms-”
“You!” There was so much fury in that one word that Justin and Morgan both spun around in alarm. At the sight of the wrathful figure limping toward them, Justin suppressed a sigh, for Oliver was no stranger to him. The aging Norman knight was Emma’s faithful retainer, bodyguard, and co-conspirator, perhaps the one man whom she truly trusted.
“I cannot believe my own eyes! That you would dare to show your face after all the grief you caused my lady!”
I know; it was very unchivalrous of me to thwart her plans to steal the king’s ransom. The sarcastic retort hovered on Justin’s lips and he had to bite the words back, for Emma and John’s scheme had not been publicized; John’s crimes rarely were. “At the risk of being rude, I do not answer to you, Sir Oliver.”
Oliver’s mouth thinned. “Ah, yes, I know. You answer only to the queen. But you also answer to the Almighty, and that day of reckoning may be sooner than you think!”
By now they’d become the center of attention. Several monks were rapidly approaching, and Justin decided that a strategic retreat was in order. Morgan was staring at him, but he did not acknowledge their acquaintanceship in front of the furious Oliver, and Justin gave him credit for good sense. While avoiding the appearance of haste, he exited the hall before the monks could descend upon him.
Outside, he paused to consider his options, concluding that he had no choice but to return the next day. Before leaving the monastery, he slipped into the great abbey church and offered a prayer at the altar of St Winifred, or Gwenfrewi, for he’d become fond of the little Welsh saint who’d died in defense of her honor and then been reborn so long, long ago. Afterward, he decided to go back to Shrewsbury Castle, for it was now fully dark and he did not want to be shut out of the town when the gates closed.
There were still people about, all hurrying home before the curfew horn sounded, and Justin joined the flowing tide of humanity. By the time he’d retraced his steps to Gombestole Street, the crowd had thinned considerably. Making his way past a cook-shop, he remembered he hadn’t yet eaten, but it was tightly shuttered.
His steps slowed as he approached the entrance to Grope Lane, for the narrow footpath was a favorite shortcut into the Fleshambles, Chepyn Street, and the town marketplace. He was tempted to take it, for the wind was picking up, but it was more than a popular haunt for street harlots. So many cutthroats lurked there after dark that locals called it Ambush Alley. Wisely bypassing this dangerous detour, Justin continued on.
Wet snowflakes were falling and the street was empty as Justin turned onto Altus Vicus. He quickened his pace, grateful that he had a meal and bed awaiting him at the castle. He knew several of the castle garrison from his years in Lord Fitz Alan’s service, and if memory served, there were likely to be a few dice games going after supper.
A high-pitched scream suddenly ripped through the night’s quiet. Justin whirled toward the sound, for it seemed to have come from the Fleshambles. The cry came again, and then a woman’s slight figure stumbled from the darkness. She took only a few steps, though, before collapsing onto the ground.
Justin broke into a run. Even before he reached the prostrate woman, he’d flipped back his mantle to give himself swift access to his sword. Setting his lantern down on the ground, he knelt by her side. Her face was hidden by the hood of her mantle, but she moaned as he touched her shoulder.
“You’re safe now,” he assured her. “Are you hurt? Were you attacked?”
She gasped and clutched at his arm fearfully, then began to sob. Justin was never to know precisely what activated his sixth sense, his survival sense. Had he heard a muffled step, an indrawn breath? The sudden rush of air as the club swung downward? His body reacting before his brain realized his danger, he was already moving as his attacker rushed him.
He flung himself sideways and the blow aimed at his head glanced off his upraised arm. There was a sharp spurt of pain, but he kept rolling. A hulking form loomed over him; his lantern light caught a glimpse of bared teeth, an unkempt beard, and a thick wooden club. He kicked out, his boot connecting with flesh and bone, and the club missed him by inches. “Run!” he yelled to the woman, lurching to his feet and reaching for his sword. But his injured arm made him clumsy and his assailant was upon him before the blade could clear its scabbard.
The man’s lips were drawn back in a fierce grin; he actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Justin’s weapons training came to his rescue, though, for he’d been taught to counter a cut from above with a half-sword thrust. As the club was raised to strike, he dove under it and rammed his head into his foe’s belly. They both went down, the club flying from the man’s grip. Justin managed to get to it first, kicking it into the shadows as he succeeded in freeing his sword.
But he had no time to enjoy his triumph, for he was about to get a rude shock. The woman had shed her mantle and gown, revealing herself to be a man, albeit one as thin and puny as a beardless boy. He was gripping a full-sized dagger, though, and Justin did not fancy the odds he now faced, two to one. “End this ere someone dies,” he panted, pivoting to keep both men in view. “You made a bad choice, for I have no money.”
“We’ve already been paid!” the youth jeered, and looked offended when his companion cursed his “babbling big mouth.”
By now they were deeper in the Fleshambles. Justin could see a black slit off to his right, knew it gave entry to Grope Lane. He was close enough to reach it before his adversaries, but it was so narrow that he’d have no room to use his sword. The first knave had reclaimed his club, and they were circling, wary of his blade but persisting in their attack. It was then that a man emerged from the shadows of the alley, glanced their way, and then ambled over, for all the world as if he were taking a mid-afternoon market stroll.
The felons gaped at his approach. The one with the club recovered first. “Get out of here whilst you still can, you stupid son of a whore!”
“Comments like that are uncalled for,” the new arrival objected mildly, reaching down to pick up Justin’s lantern, “especially when your own mother rutted with half the swine in Shropshire.”
The words were not yet out of his mouth before the lantern was flying through the air, pitched with utter accuracy toward his antagonist’s face. The knave threw up his arm to deflect it, losing the club as the lantern struck his shoulder, and Justin lunged forward, bringing him down with a slashing cut to the back of his leg. The boy abandoned his partner without a qualm, spinning around and taking off at a dead run. Justin’s new ally had already reached the dropped club and, as the outlaw struggled to rise, the newcomer struck him with his own weapon. The outlaw crumpled, twitched, and then lay still.
“Merciful God,” Justin said softly, and got a heartfelt “Amen” in return. The lantern’s light had been extinguished when it took flight, but they were close enough now for recognition. Stepping back, Justin regarded Morgan Bloet in openmouthed amazement. “I never thought I had a guardian angel of my own, but how else can I explain your turning up like this?”
“I do not suppose you’d believe that I was just passing by? No, I thought not. You are entitled to an explanation, and I am willing to offer one. But first we ought to decide what we want to do with Cain here,” Morgan said, nudging the body at his feet with the tip of his boot.
“Cain? You are not going to tell me that this is a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly. We do work together, if that interests you. Aye, I thought it might.”
“Are you telling me this snake slithered out of Emma’s den?”
Morgan grinned. “Well, I doubt I would have put it quite that way. But yes, you had the dubious pleasure tonight of meeting Oliver’s favorite henchman. Two of them, in fact, for Cain’s little helper works as a stable lad at Ellesmere. It must sound as if we have half the felons in the shire under our roof, but I am reasonably certain that these are the only two. Well, I do have my suspicions about one of the cooks, for the man cannot even boil water-”
Morgan sensed rather than saw Justin’s impatience, for the street was too dark for much scrutiny. “Sorry! My mama always said I’d be joking as they put the noose around my neck. As I told you, I’ll answer any questions you want, provided that you answer one of mine. But I do think we ought to get out of here ere the Watch blunders by.”
