Aubrey began to relax, once more the gracious host, a role he played well. The respite gave him the chance, too, to consider his options. He must find a way to intimate — without actually saying so — that he was indeed sympathetic to John's cause, but not yet ready to commit himself, not until there was irrefutable proof of King Richard's death.
It was the sharp-eyed Hugh who first noticed the commotion at the far end of the hall. In the doorway, the steward was remonstrating with a tall, dark youth. As Hugh watched, the younger man pulled free of the steward's restraining hold and stalked up the center aisle toward the dais. Hugh leaned over and touched his host's sleeve. "May I assume that angry young interloper is your foundling?"
Oblivious to the intruder bearing down upon them, Aubrey had been conversing politely with the seatmate to his left, the venerable abbot of Chester's abbey of St Werburgh. At Hugh's amused warning, he stiffened in disbelief, then shoved his chair back.
Striding down the steps of the dais, he confronted Justin as he reached the open hearth, trailed by the steward. "How dare you force your way into my hall! Are you drunk?"
"We need to talk," Justin said tersely, and Aubrey stared at him incredulously, unable to believe that Justin could be defying him like this.
He was acutely aware of all the curious eyes upon them. The steward was hovering several feet away, looking utterly miserable — as well he ought. Martin had always been friendly with Justin, too friendly, it now seemed. "I told you that you must wait, Justin!"
"I have been waiting — for twenty years!"
Aubrey hesitated no longer. As bad as this was, it was about to get worse. Justin was a smoldering torch; God only knew what damage would be done if he flared up there in the hall. "Come with me," he said abruptly. "We'll talk above-stairs."
~~
Aubrey could have led Justin up to his chambers above the hall. He chose, instead, to enter his private chapel, for that was his own province, and the familiarity of the surroundings might give him an edge. He was going to need every advantage he could get.
Two tall candles were lit upon the altar, and glowing between them was the silver-gilt crucifix that was Aubrey's particular pride, both as a symbol of faith and as a work of art. Reaching out, he ran his fingers lightly over the smooth surface while bracing himself for what was to come.
Justin had followed him toward the altar. "Were you ever going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"That I'm your son."
There was no surprise. He'd known as soon as their eyes met in the hall. What else could have gotten Justin so agitated? His mouth was dry, but he still managed to summon up a thin, ironic smile. "Surely you are not serious?"
Justin was close enough now to touch, close enough for Aubrey to see the muscles tighten along his jaw. "I've come from Shrewsbury," he said. "I tracked down Hilde, the cook at St Alkmund's rectory. She told me about you and my mother."
"And you took an old woman's ramblings as gospel?"
"You deny it?"
"Yes," Aubrey said emphatically, "I do."
Justin looked at him, saying nothing. The silence seemed to fill every corner of the chapel, every corner of their lives. When Aubrey could endure it no longer, he said, "This night never happened. We need not refer to it again."
"How generous of you." Justin's voice was toneless, impossible to read. Turning away, he stood motionless for a moment before the altar, and Aubrey dared to think he had won. But then Justin swung around, holding out the silver-gilt crucifix.
"Swear it," he challenged. "Swear upon Our Lord Christ that you are not my father!"
Aubrey opened his mouth. But no words came out. It was so quiet that he could hear his own breathing, uneven and much too rapid. Or was it Justin's? After an eternity, Justin lowered the crucifix, replacing it upon the altar.
"Well," he said, "at least you'll not lie to God."
Aubrey found it unexpectedly difficult to meet Justin's gaze. "There was no need for you to know," he said at last. "What mattered was that I did right by you, and you cannot deny that I did. I did not shirk my duty. You always had food for your belly, a roof over your head — "
"What are you saying? That I ought to thank you for not letting me starve?"
"I did more than that for you," Aubrey snapped, "and well you know it! I saw to your schooling, did I not? Nor did I turn away once you were old enough to fend for yourself. If not for me, Lord Fitz Alan would never have taken you on as a squire. You have nothing to reproach me for, Justin, nothing!"
"A pity my mother could not say as much!"
Aubrey's mouth hardened. "This serves for naught. The woman is twenty years dead. Let her lie in peace."
Justin's eyes were darker than Aubrey had ever seen them, a storm-sky grey. "Her death was convenient, was it not? How disappointed you must have been that I was not stillborn, for then you could have buried all your sins in one grave."
Aubrey lost color. "That is not true. You are not being fair, Justin."
"Fair? What fairness did you ever show my mother, even in death? Have you forgotten what you told me? I was fourteen, had finally gotten up the courage to ask you about her. You said that any woman bearing a child out of wedlock was a wanton, and I should put her out of my thoughts."
"I thought it was for the best."
"Best for you," Justin said scathingly, and then stunned Aubrey by starting toward the door.
"Justin, wait!"
Justin halted, his hand on the door latch, and then slowly turned around. "What more is there to say?"
"A great deal," Aubrey insisted. "We must decide how to deal with this. Do you mean to go back to Lord Fitz Alan? I think it best if I find you another position. You need not fret, for you'll not be the loser for it. I will write on your behalf to Walter de Fauconberg, Lord of Rise in Holderness up in Yorkshire, ask him to take you into his service."
"Will you, indeed?" Justin's face was in shadow, for he'd moved out of candle range. "Is Yorkshire far enough for you? Are you sure you'd rather not send me up into Scotland?"
Aubrey sucked in his breath. "Damnation, lad, I am trying to help you!"
"Are you truly as blind as that?" Justin asked huskily. "I do not want your help. If I were drowning, I'd not want you to throw me a lifeline!"
Aubrey stared at his son. "As you will. You may be sure that I'll not offer again. But I want your word that you'll say nothing of this to Lord Fitz Alan."
"I have no intention of telling Lord Fitz Alan that you're my father." Justin jerked the door open, then paused. "You see," he said, "you're nothing to boast about."
Aubrey's face flamed. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he stood before the altar, watching as the candles guttered in the sudden draft. Only gradually did he become aware of the cold. A pervasive chill seemed to have seeped into the stone walls of the chapel, as damp and icy and desolate as the December night.
~~
It was a wretched January night, the air frigid, the sky choked with billowing clouds, the wind snarling at shuttered windows, chasing all but the most foolhardy of Winchester's citizens from its iced, empty streets. Most were huddled before their own hearths. But for Justin, who had neither hearth nor home, shelter on this dismal Epiphany Eve was a seedy, squalid alehouse on Tanner Street, in one of the city's poorest quarters.
The alehouse was drafty and dimly lit, reeking of sweat and smoke and the acrid odor of burning tallow. The company was as cheerless as the surroundings. The burly, taciturn owner inspired no tipsy confidences and tolerated no tomfoolery, serving his customers curtly and grudgingly, as if they were unbidden guests who'd overstayed their welcome. In the corner, a noisy drunkard was bullying the serving maid and bragging to all within earshot of his success in foisting off sacks of worm-eaten flour upon the lepers of St Mary Magdalen's. Across from Justin was a shabbily dressed man of middle years, grey haired and sad eyed, nursing a tankard of ale to last until closing. There were two tanners dicing by the hearth, being cheered on by a buxom harlot. And then there was Justin, brooding over the bad luck that seemed to be stalking him so relentlessly in the last fortnight.