Sampson had slouched down in his seat, but he still kept his eyes upon the wineskin. "Who's to say that I'll hang?"
"Oh, you'll hang, Sampson. You killed a man in full view of half of Aldgate and then got caught in the act. Christ, man, the blood had not even dried on your dagger! One of God's own angels could come down to speak out in court in your behalf and it would avail you naught. The day you go to trial is the day you go to the gallows."
Luke passed the wineskin to Justin, then tossed it to Jonas. "I suppose you can always hope that the rope might break. That happened to a prisoner back in my first year as under-sheriff, and the king pardoned him."
"I'll see to it that we use a sturdy new one, just for him," Jonas promised and laughed as if he'd made a joke.
Luke caught the wineskin deftly in midair, then set it down without drinking. "I know you've seen men die, Sampson. But have you ever seen a man hanged? It is not a sight to be forgotten, believe me. It is not quick, takes a long while for a man to strangle. His hands are tied behind his back, so he cannot free himself. Helpless, he just dangles there, feet kicking desperately to reach the ground, face turning blue and then black, gasping for air, willing to barter anything for one more breath. Sometimes a man even swallows his own tongue — "
"God curse you!" Sampson was on his feet, his manacled fists raised in a futile threat. "I've had enough of this, I do not want to hear any more!"
"You think I care what you want?" Luke said coldly. "Sit back down."
Justin doubted that Sampson would obey the command, but after a moment, the man slumped back in his chair. His face was blotched with heat, his eyes red rimmed and puffy, and when Luke suddenly tossed the wineskin, he snatched at it with hands that shook. He gulped the wine as if he could never get enough, uncaring when it ran into his beard and splattered on his dirty, torn tunic.
"What do you want of me?" he asked, clutching the wineskin to his chest. "Why are you here?"
"I want the truth. We have questions to put to you about other killings and we need answers. I want to be able to bury these cases with you."
"Why should I?" Sampson asked, with a trace of his earlier bravado. "What do I get out of it?"
When Luke leaned forward, Justin knew this was the question he'd been waiting for Sampson to ask. "You are going to die. I cannot change that, would not if I could. But I can make your last days more tolerable. If I were facing the noose, I'd want to make my peace with God. And then I'd want to get drunk, so drunk I'd not care when they came for me. You tell us what we want to know, Sampson, and I'll see that you get enough wine or
ale to go to the gallows as drunk as a blind minstrel's bitch."
Sampson started to speak, stopped himself. Twisting around in his seat, he looked over at Jonas, then back at Luke. "If I agree, how do I know you'll keep your part of the bargain?"
Luke reached under his mantle again, this time drawing out a money pouch. "Answer our questions and you'll earn money to buy all the ale you want from the guards. Not to mention food or blankets. For enough money, a man might even be able to buy himself some female company. Am I right, Jonas?"
"It has been known to happen," the serjeant said laconically.
Luke balanced the pouch in the palm of his hand. "So… what say you, Sampson? Do we have a deal?"
"Let me count it first." Sampson fumbled the catch, made clumsy by his manacles. Scooping the pouch up from the floor, he fingered the coins before saying gruffly, "What do you want to know?"
Luke permitted himself a quick glint of triumph in Justin's direction. "Let's start with London. I know Jonas is right curious about all you've been up to in his city."
"You already know about that lackwit in Aldgate."
"Overcome with remorse, are you?" Luke said sardonically, and Sampson looked at him blankly.
"Why should I feel sorry for him? He brought it upon himself, meddling like he did. He gave me no choice. I do not know what else to tell you."
"How many robberies?" Jonas asked impatiently. "I know about the man you robbed in Southwark, near the bridge. And the drunkard you dragged into an alley off Cheapside. Any more?"
Sampson screwed up his face, trying to concentrate. "Well… I took a money pouch away from a stripling over in the stews. Green as grass he was, boasting that he was there to
'buy some tail,' and waving his money about like he was begging to be robbed. Then I got into a brawl in an alehouse near Cripplegate, took the man's rings and dagger for my trouble. That is all, I think. Oh, I also broke a woman's jaw, but she was just a whore, trying to cheat me. And Gib and me robbed a man on the Watling Street Road. Since we'd not reached London yet, does that count?"
"Gilbert was getting careless, letting a witness live. Or was he feeling charitable that day?"
Luke's sarcasm was wasted upon Sampson. "Gib meant to kill him, but he ran off into the woods and we decided it was not worth chasing after him." Shaking the wineskin, he discovered that there was enough for one more swig and gulped it down. "What else do you want to know?"
They'd been conversing in English, but Luke now switched to French, effectively shutting Sampson out. "I suppose you want to take over from here, de Quincy? He's in no hurry to go back to the pit, ought to tell you whatever you need to know about the goldsmith's murder. I hope you will share it with me afterward, for I want to solve Fitz Randolph's murder as much as you do. But I expect you'll have to get the queen's consent first?"
"Yes, I will," Justin admitted. "But I'll tell the queen that if not for you, we'd not have gotten Sampson to talk."
Luke grinned. "If you want to praise me to the queen, I'd not object. But you'll still owe me for the money I gave that swine!" Standing up abruptly, he aimed a hard, quelling stare at Sampson. "The serjeant and I have an errand to take care of. Master de Quincy will ask the questions whilst we're gone. Answer them well and I might bring back a wineskin for you. Lie to him and you'll pass the night out in the stocks, stripped down to your braies."
With that, he started for the door. Jonas followed, leaving Justin alone with the prisoner. The other man was regarding him incuriously. He showed no antagonism, but neither did he display any of the grudging wariness he'd accorded Luke and Jonas. Justin was not troubled, though, for Luke had taught him how Sampson could be tamed.
"Here," he said, and pitched his own wineskin toward the burly outlaw, waiting while Sampson drank greedily. He'd felt an involuntary twinge of pity, watching Luke break the man's spirit with such brutal expertise. But it had dissipated as soon as Sampson had begun his nonchalant confession. Listening to that unemotional litany, he'd soon concluded that the dim-witted Sampson was no less loathsome than the more murderous Fleming.
Sampson took another long swig from the wineskin. "So you're the one who spoiled our ambush on the Alresford Road. I thought you looked familiar. What do you want?"
"I want to hear about that killing. How it came about and why."
"Why do you think? We were paid to lie in wait for him. Why else would we be freezing our tails off out in the woods? No man with any sense goes robbing in the midst of a snowstorm, not unless he knows it'll be well worth his while."
Justin felt sudden excitement, realizing that he was but one question away from solving the mystery of the goldsmith's murder. "Who paid you?"
"A friend of Gib's."
Justin went cold. Christ Jesus! What if Sampson did not know who had hired them? What if Gilbert had been the one to make the deal? Taking another tack, he said, "Why was he to be killed? What had he done?"
The answer he got was completely unexpected. "You need not waste your pity, for he had it coming to him. Lord Harald swore the dice had been tampered with, and I believe him. I'd never seen him in such a tearing rage. He said he'd split the money with us, but he had to know we'd keep most of it. I suppose it was enough for him to get his revenge… and the ring back. He set quite a store by it. I was sorry the coxcomb did not have it on him, for I'd always fancied it myself. Silver, it was, with a reddish stone, mayhap a garnet or — "