Jonas halted in front of their table. "There is an Irish whore working at the Bull over in Southwark."
Luke and Justin were impressed that he'd been so successful so soon. But when they began to offer up praise, Jonas cut them off. "It gets better. One of my informants claims he has seen her in the past with our man. It looks," he said, with the glint of a grim smile, "as if we've found the Fleming's woman."
14
LONDON
February 1193
Rain had begun to fall at dawn, mixing with sleet by midday. Hastening into the alehouse, Luke shoved a table as close to the hearth as he could get without being singed and shed his sodden mantle. From a hemp sack, he withdrew his purchases: several parchment sheets, an inkhorn, and a goose-feather quill pen. Coaxing a tallow candle from Nell, he was soon laboring over his task, gnawing his lower lip in concentration, occasionally swearing when the ink ran and he had to scrape the skin clean with the edge of his knife. He lacked a goat's tooth to smooth the surface afterward, but he was still satisfied with the final result, a letter that was both concise and reasonably legible. Only then did he look up and discover he'd attracted a curious audience, for writing was a mysterious and arcane skill to the residents of Gracechurch Street, most of whom knew no more about books than they did about the black arts.
A few of the bolder ones began asking questions about writing. Almost before he knew what had happened, Luke found himself surrounded, spelling out their names for them on one of his costly parchment skins. At first he'd enjoyed being the center of such awed attention, but the novelty soon wore off, and he was relieved when Justin's entrance put an end to the impromptu lesson.
Trailed by Shadow, Justin pulled up a stool and rid himself of his wet mantle. "I see you're keeping busy," he said, glancing at the parchment. "But I think Thomas is spelled with an h."
"Why? Next you'll be telling me I need to stick an h in Justin, too!"
Justin grinned. "I do not believe it. You do know my name, after all!"
Luke shook his head. "You're odiously cheerful for a cold, wretchedly wet day in Lent. Usually when a man is this good humored, he's just come from some woman's bed."
Justin laughed outright, for when he'd gone to the Tower to inform Eleanor about the latest developments, he'd had a brief but ardent encounter with Claudine in the stairwell and she'd promised to meet him as soon as she had a free afternoon. Luke was still regarding him curiously. "Was I right about the woman? Or is that another one of your secrets?"
Justin shrugged. "I've good reason for cheer. The queen is pleased with our progress and this Irish whore may be the lure we need to draw the Fleming out of hiding. That is more luck than I've had in a long time, Luke."
"If you were truly lucky, you'd have found some poor fool willing to take in that mangy beast. Or have you decided to keep him? I notice you have stopped trying to foist him off onto innocent passersby."
Justin was embarrassed to admit he'd become so fond of Shadow. "No," he insisted, "I'm still looking to find him a home. I thought, though, that I'd have a better chance if I taught him some manners first."
Luke's smile was skeptical. "So… you have the fun of teaching him not to piss in the house or chew on table legs or eat a candle and then spit it up on the bed like he did yesterday, and once the dog is tolerable, you give him away? Makes perfect sense to me. But I'm not one for meddling betwixt a man and his dog. Here… I want you to do me a favor. The next time one of the queen's couriers is passing through Winchester, will you see that he takes my letter? It'd be too costly to hire a messenger on my own."
"My luck must be starting to rub off onto you, for there's a man riding west on the morrow. Hand it over and I'll see that it goes with him. Whom is it for — Aldith?"
"Eventually. First it goes to the sheriff, explaining that I've been detained in London. I imply that it's at the queen's request, so I trust I can rely upon you for corroboration if need be. I asked him to send the letter on to Aldith once he's read it. I've penned a message for her, too, down below."
When Luke pointed, Justin saw that there were indeed a few lines scrawled at the bottom of the page. After scanning them, he glanced up at Luke in amused disbelief. "You tell her you expect to be back in a fortnight or so and that you hope she is well and that is it? You're a romantic devil, in truth!"
"I told her what was important, when I'd be back," Luke protested. "What else am I supposed to say?"
"It would not have hurt to say you missed her. You might even have told her that she holds your heart. What do I have to do, write your love letters for you?"
"Jesu forfend! I might say that in bed, but not in the light of day, and for certes, I'm not about to put it down in writing. I'd feel like the world's greatest fool. Not to mention how the priest would feel when Aldith brought him the letter to read!"
Justin couldn't help laughing. "I suggest, then, that you teach Aldith to read. Now… what of Gilbert's whore? Were you able to find out anything more about her?"
"Jonas is seeing to that. He said he'd meet us here this afternoon with whatever he'd learned. But I'll be astonished if that road leads anywhere."
"Are all sheriffs so miserly about doling out hope?" Justin gibed, although hope had always been a scarce commodity in his own life, too — until now.
"Hope and whores rarely go together," Luke countered, and with that, Justin could not argue. Instead, he borrowed a pair of dice from another alehouse customer and ordered a flagon from Nell. If they had to wait for Jonas, they might as well enjoy themselves.
~~
They had not long to wait, for Jonas arrived within the hour. He was accompanied by a tall, gangling youth, towheaded and freckle faced, who looked as if he belonged behind a plough in the Kent countryside, not braving the urban perils of London. Signaling to Nell for drinks, Jonas pulled up a bench.
Almost at once, Nell materialized by the table. Ostensibly, she was there with two more cups and a brimming flagon. She made no move to withdraw after serving them, though, hovering nearby with unabashed curiosity. But the men were so focused upon Jonas and his news that they did not even notice her eavesdropping.
"This is Aldred. We have to speak English, for he knows no French. Aldred is the one I sent to the Bull. All my men wanted to go," Jonas said with a sly smile. "It was the first time I can remember them actually volunteering for a duty. But Aldred did right well. Being in a bawdyhouse seems to've sharpened his wits, for he was able to follow Nora home afterward without getting caught. I've a man watching now in case the Fleming comes calling on her."
Justin was surprised. "She does not live at the bawdyhouse? I thought that was the usual practice?"
Jonas shook his head. "The Southwark stews are different from whorehouses in other cities, for the old king set forth laws to govern them, laws meant to confine sinning to one specific area and keep public disorder to a minimum."
"They have all kinds of rules," Aldred chimed in eagerly. He had a rustic's way of speaking, lacking the distinctive East Saxon accent of the native Londoner. But the blue eyes meeting Justin's gaze were bright and clear. He might be green; he was not dull. "Women married or with child cannot work in the stews " he continued. "Nor can nuns."
Luke interjected a wry "I would hope to God not!"