John knotted the cloak at his throat with a fist. “It is a vile thing to call me, Crispin. I thought better of you. And here I have shared what little wine I have. Perhaps. . perhaps you should leave now.”
What was there to say? Crispin moved uncertainly.
John sighed and tapped a foot, trying unsuccessfully to avoid catching Crispin’s gaze. Finally he rolled his eyes and waved at the room. “Don’t be absurd.” He blinked at him to show his hurt and Crispin did feel genuine remorse.
At last, John sat again and adjusted his cloak and shift over his legs, rubbing them for warmth. Crispin returned to his stool. “I don’t lie with boys,” said John harshly. “I lie with men. Especially priests. They’re more profitable.”
“John! God’s blood! Will you be serious!” But at least he seemed to have forgiven him.
“I am serious!” he said, his demeanor changing again to the merry soul Crispin remembered. “For it was they who told me what a grave sinner I was. . before they dropped to their knees before me. The hypocrites.”
Crispin cringed. The man loved to taunt him with such tales. Could any of them be true? He conceded that they could be.
“But despite your misstep,” John went on, “I can see you are greatly troubled. So I shall try to speak plainly to you.” He cleared his throat and took on the look of some of the preachers Crispin had seen near pilgrim sites. “Though there are some men who seek out boys, I do not truck with them. They are. . vile. Twisted.” Crispin gave him a look and John wagged a finger at him. “I know what goes on behind your eyes, Crispin Guest. But I am not vile or twisted. I am a gentle soul, as you well know. I do not seek to hurt. My weakness is for grown men, not boys. This damns me as it is. Have I not been threatened with terrible tortures by the sheriff? I am condemned enough when caught in women’s clothes. The fines! Last time I spent a month in Newgate.” Crispin refrained from telling him “I told you so.” “But that is no matter. The truth of it is, I have no interest in children. None of my fellow whores do. Perhaps you do not see the difference, but I do. If I were of the sort who violated children, then I should be obliged to hurl myself from the highest tower.”
Crispin grunted in reply. Perhaps there was a difference. Perhaps not. Such things were difficult to fathom. Especially in the face of his own strange situation.
“I have been told there are secret stews of boys,” Crispin went on, staring into the fire.
“Vile panderers,” said John, swiping his hand absently across his knee. “I have heard of them. To use these boys. .” He shook his head and seemed to be genuinely appalled. It relieved Crispin. He had always liked Rykener. Though he did not approve of his doings or his choice of laymen, he had seen beyond the women’s clothes to the man beneath. Rykener’s petite features did not belong on a man, nor did those slanted and all-knowing eyes. But he wasn’t a bad sort, even with his insistence at being called Eleanor.
They both fell silent. After a time John ticked his head and turned to face Crispin. “You mentioned murder.”
“Yes. Horrific. Four boys in the same way.”
“Why murdered?”
He shook his head. “I do not know. To hide their crimes against these children perhaps. But there is more. I-” He recalled that John was not a man to enjoy blood. “I am reluctant to share the details with you. It is not. . pleasant.”
The man wrinkled his nose. “Then don’t. I’d rather not know.” He offered Crispin the jug again and he took it. “But if there is more of a violent nature involved”-he tilted his head to verify it and Crispin confirmed with a gesture-“then it seems that perhaps this is less about the sodomizing of boys and more about murder. Perhaps if you reason the why you can reckon the who.”
“Yes. Very astute of you, Master Rykener. I thought I knew the who and then. .” He felt his face heat again and he took another swallow of wine to hide it. But John was more astute than he would have liked. The man’s gaze stuck to him steadfast.
“The who was not the murderer?”
“No. Well, at least I do not think so. I mean-dammit.” He clamped his mouth shut before he condemned himself further.
John shook his head with a chuckle. “Crispin, I have never seen you this discomfited. Verily, you are the most unflappable man I know. And yet something seems to have, well, flapped you. These murders are horrible, yes. But I do not think it is that.”
“Leave it alone, John.”
“Oh now! You know that is an impossibility.” He scooted his stool closer to Crispin until their knees nearly touched. “Now then, Master Guest. You will tell me what has happened to bring such a faint glow to your cheek. Come now. Out with it!”
“No, I-” He reached for the jug but John snatched it from his hand.
“No more, Master Guest. Tell me and I shall see if you are deserving.”
Crispin used his harshest glare but it did no good against the gleeful expression of his companion, all former rancor forgotten.
Very well. Get it over with. Like scratching off a scab.
He positioned himself to fully face Rykener and dug his fist in his thighs. “A young man kissed me. And I liked it.”
The jug crashed to the floor. It took several moments for the gape-mouthed John to realize he had dropped it and he jumped to his feet to retrieve the shards.
Crispin morosely watched the spreading wine puddle. After all was said and done, he felt he truly deserved that wine.
John tossed the shards into the fire. “Bless me!” he gasped, searching for a rag to mop up the wine. “Bless me, bless me. I never expected you to say that!” He stole a glance at Crispin and couldn’t seem to help a small smile. “I wish I had been there to see that. Better, I wish it had been me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” The blush to his face only grew more furiously warm. He threw himself from the stool and tried to pace in the small room.
On his knees and sopping up the mess, John sighed. “Alas. He is fairer than me, then?”
“No, he is-I am not having this conversation!”
“He is young. Is that it? Is that why you ask about boys? Do you worry you will be wanting-”
“God’s blood, John! No! A thousand times NO!”
“Then what? It was a kiss. A little kiss. It took you off guard. Perhaps you were a bit in your cups. Perhaps he reminded you a bit of a woman. You lost your head. It means nought.”
Could it have been those things? Crispin grasped at the notion. Grasped so hard he’d throttle the notion to death.
John tossed the rag to a corner and Crispin was reminded briefly of the bloody rags he had seen in Julian’s rooms. There was so much yet to be explained. Was the boy entirely innocent? His experiments, his notes. Dammit, but the boy was clever in his distractions! Did Crispin truly believe him about the astrologer? He certainly could have made that up.
John found another jug and brought it forth. “Ale,” he said, raising it. “I have a feeling we are not done drinking, you and I.” He raised his chin and drank a heavy dose, his knobbed throat rolling with several swallows. Crispin watched him for a moment until-
“My God! John!”
The jug was pulled away and John stared, swallowing before he choked. “What now?” he rasped, trying to clear his throat.
“Julian,” he said wonderingly. “I’ll be damned.” He clutched his friend’s shoulder. “I thank you for your hospitality, John. But I must take my leave.”
“What? But you haven’t finished your story! I want to hear about this kiss-”
“Later. For now, I must return to Westminster. There is something I must do.”
John stomped his foot. “You are the most maddening man I have ever met, Crispin Guest!”
Crispin smiled. For the first time, he was feeling much better. “And you are a good friend, John. God keep you.”
“He always does,” he sighed, reluctantly allowing Crispin to leave.