Veil of Lies

Tracker could salvage it?”

He did not know Lancaster knew his new title. He felt uncomfortable hearing him utter it. “I know of a scheme that has our enemies embezzling England’s export taxes.”

Lancaster spun and stared at him openmouthed.

Crispin’s solemn lips curved up at one edge. “Is that important enough to concern you?”

“Who? Who is stealing the king’s money?”

“I have reason to believe it is the duke of Milan, Bernabo Visconti.”

Lancaster set down the bowl and grabbed Crispin’s arm to steer him toward two chairs at the fire. He pushed Crispin into one and sat in the other. “Tell me what you know.”

Crispin’s heart panged. This was too much like the old days. “I do not know much. Only that there is an Italian syndicate working its plots in England. I suspect they have on their payroll a guild member who performs creative bookkeeping at the staple ports.”

“Do you have proof?”

Crispin leaned forward and rested his fist on his thigh. “Alas, no. The ledgers were stolen from my lodgings. I think a man was murdered because he knew the truth.”

“Who was this murdered man?”

“A mercer. A rich one. Nicholas Walcote. I suspect those particular funds are stolen to prevent Richard from lining his war chest. Does he plan on marching to France any time soon?”

Lancaster sat back and pinched his lower lip between his thumb and finger. “Yes. That is…he did. Before Parliament advised him there were insufficient funds for such a venture. Now I know why.”

“Why would Visconti wish to interfere with our war with France? What’s to be gained?”

Lancaster sat as he was for a long time. He lowered his hand at last and let his arm drape over the chair arm. “Do you remember Geoffrey Chaucer?”

The name sent a warmth of memories through Crispin’s mind. “Of course. He served in your household. We were the best of friends. But it has been years since I have seen him.” Another ache of longing tightened his chest. Naturally he was forbidden from seeing his former friends for fear that the king’s vengeance would rain down upon them. They had been like brothers and never would he risk that.

He cleared his thickened throat. “I hear of his works from time to time.”

“Yes. I am his patron, as you know. But he is also a customs controller…and a sometimes spy for the crown.”

“Geoffrey?”

“Do you recall when I sent you to Visconti’s court?”

“Yes. I still smart from my stupidity.”

“You are not the only one. It pleased Visconti to make fools of the king’s emissaries. Chaucer was sent some years ago and also quite recently.”

“Can you tell me what he discovered?”

“Only that your fears are true. Visconti has been negotiating with France for months, perhaps longer. We believe his intentions are to prevent our troops from invading France, and in return, he will receive control of Calais and the route to Flanders.”

“He wants to control the wool market.”

“Yes. And if he does, it will bankrupt England.”

Crispin’s gaze never left Lancaster’s. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. If Visconti controls the major ports to Europe, he will control what and where we sell our goods. That cannot stand. I have operatives in Italy now.” He cast a hand irritably skyward. “My grandfather and his Italian bankers! If King Edward Longshanks had not aligned himself with these Italian Jews in the first place—”

“Yet it was your grandfather who established the collection of export taxes on wool. Almost one hundred years of successful taxation.”

“Still, I never trusted these foreigners. And now they forestall our goods, commit piracy, and steal our taxes.”

“Perhaps not all can be blamed on these Italians. Parliament froze wages but did not freeze prices. Wat Tyler—”

“Burned down my house!” Lancaster rose to the edge of his chair. “Do you traffic with his like now?”

“No, your grace. I merely point out that he and his ilk were angry at the state of commerce. The ills of the market may well have been ripe for the picking.”

Lancaster scowled and sat back. His tensed shoulders dropped again. “We did it to ourselves?”

“The door was left open. Now the rats have come in.”

Lancaster’s hand curled into a fist. “I should strike you for such insolence.”

Crispin blinked. “As you will, my lord.”

Crispin eyed his former mentor, awaiting a clout. Lancaster had done it many times before when Crispin was a much younger man. But this time the duke did not move. Instead he leaned back in his chair and studied Crispin. Lancaster raised his hand, but not to strike. He gestured at Crispin’s face. “Who did that to you?”

Crispin raised his hand to his face, partially obscuring it from view. Damn. He’d forgotten how he looked. “It is part and parcel of the job.”

“Is it?” Lancaster put a thumb to his mouth and ran it across the upper lip and then down his dark mustache.

This felt far too comfortable, recalled too many nights similar to this. I want to come home, Crispin longed to cry. Here, where I belong! His gaze slid upward toward the duke’s and met his dark eyes. They regarded Crispin with sudden gentleness. Crispin could almost imagine him saying, as he had said so often, “Crispin, my lad.”

Feeling a sting at his eyes, Crispin sprang to his feet, turning his face away from the man. “There is much for me to do,” said Crispin, rubbing his hands together. They couldn’t seem to get warm. “Forgive me for intruding upon your privacy.”

“It is not an intrusion,” the duke said softly. “It is more…” He shook his head, his face contorted with warring emotions. “More like a breath of fresh air.”

“Don’t.” Crispin stared into the fire until his eyes had a reason to burn.

Lancaster sighed and didn’t speak again for several heartbeats. But when he did speak, it was as if reluctant to let Crispin go so soon. “The king’s guards can be put at your disposal.”

“Oh?” Crispin chuckled guardedly. “So quickly my fortunes turn.”

“I can make the king understand—”

“Do not trouble yourself. It is dangerous to speak of him and me in the same sentence, remember? And I work alone.”

“Crispin, do not let your stubborn streak undo you again. There is too much at stake for your pride to get in the way.”

Crispin rolled his shoulders and straightened. “I work best alone. I find it difficult to trust others.” Lancaster nodded but still looked concerned. To mollify, Crispin added, “Should I need the court’s help, I shall work through the Lord Sheriff’s office.”

Lancaster snapped his head in a nod. “Better.” He rose and stood toe to toe with Crispin. “It seems you did have information of great import. I must thank the intelligence of my wife.”

“The duchess is always to be highly praised.”

Lancaster looked Crispin over again and even smiled. “Until we meet again, Crispin.” He turned, but over his shoulder he added, “But not too soon, eh?”

Leaving court, Crispin felt satisfied relief. Vindication sometimes came at a price. At least this time he had not paid too dearly. And it had been good to be in the man’s presence again.

So Visconti wanted to maneuver the English market not by armed invasion but by backroom conspiracies. If he and his men killed Nicholas Walcote, it wasn’t for the Mandyllon. Whoever has the books must be Walcote’s killer. But what about the locked door to Walcote’s solar?

Whoever killed him had a key or plotted with someone who had a key. And whoever killed him either altered the guild’s ledgers or conspired with those who did. Perhaps the killer did not care about the holy cloth. And yet it