“And so, too, did I wonder.”
The poet’s laughter subsided. “This has gone far enough. I am your oldest friend, Cris. You can’t honestly believe-”
“Nor have I received a satisfactory answer from you.”
Geoffrey’s face darkened. “Very well. I was in the church. But I certainly wasn’t ‘lurking.’ I was praying. Isn’t a man allowed his time with God?”
“The church was closed-”
“Isn’t that the best time? When all is silent and dark? His holy presence is most notably felt at such times. Certainly even you can appreciate that, Master Guest.”
“Noted. But why did you not mention being in Canterbury a fortnight ago?”
Chaucer’s face, bright with triumph, suddenly fell. He tried to hide it by turning toward the sky and adjusting the liripipe tail trailing from his hat to his shoulder. “Is that what he said? I was here a fortnight ago?”
“Yes. He remembered you well. You wore a scarlet houppelande, much like the one you are wearing now. I wonder if I may examine it.”
Geoffrey slowly pivoted. “Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“It damn well does!” Chaucer tossed his cloak aside and strode briskly back and forth before the immense west door.
That pang in Crispin’s heart struck again, the feeling of distance between those he loved and the reality of their betrayal. Would these wounds ever heal? Where was honor? Where loyalty? He ran his hand over his brow. “Harken to me, Geoffrey. We must be frank with each other. I know you deal in secrets. It is not my intention to make them known. But I must venture into all avenues to solve this heinous crime. Surely you can see that.”
Chaucer raised his head but did not look at Crispin. “I might as well tell you now, for it will surely come out eventually. I, too, knew Madam Eglantine prior to this pilgrimage. In fact, I was also at the trial mentioned by the archbishop.”
Crispin’s hand dug deeper into his brow. “And why were you at this trial?”
“Because … I was a witness for the petitioner … Sir Philip Bonefey.”
8
Crispin took a breath and raised his eyes to his friend Chaucer. “So then you knew the Prioress. Did you speak to her at the trial?”
“Oh yes. We exchanged words, to be sure. Very heated ones. She is-was-a formidable woman. Bonefey was furious and still is. The archbishop did not help matters. At first he sided with Bonefey. In the end he and the judges ruled for Madam Eglantine, but no one in that chamber was satisfied.” Crispin watched his face change. “Do you suppose I was so angry at her words that I bided my time, followed her to Canterbury, and took a sword to her? For something that happened a year ago?”
The wind gusted through the courtyard, winging blossoms into the air. Crispin buttoned his cloak over his chest. “Well, I concede that you don’t seem to have had a vested interest in it.”
“No. But Bonefey does. I defended Bonefey because I was asked to. And because it was another instance of the Church treading where it should not go.”
“Spoken like a Lollard.”
“And what if I am? I follow the dictates of my liege lord who is also a Lollard.”
“Lancaster.” He scowled.
“For a man whose life was purportedly saved by him, your opinion of Lancaster seems unnaturally low.”
He bared his teeth. “Saved my life. And would that life have needed saving if he had not schemed and plotted?”
“I don’t understand you. He raised you. He knighted you. He made you-”
“What I am today? Indeed, yes.” Chaucer, in all his finery, stood with his fist at his waist, a courtly posture. It annoyed Crispin. “Our liege lord, the man to whom we both swore oaths of allegiance, the man for whom I would have gladly laid down my life … this man betrayed me! I was used. To discover his enemies he engineered the treasonous plot. And I, the loyal servant that I was, fell into the web.”
Chaucer’s face blanched. “No! It is a lie!”
“I heard it from his own lips.”
Geoffrey paced in stunned silence. He looked once at Jack huddled on the stone steps clutching the wrapped sword to his bosom. “Are you telling me that my Lord of Gaunt tricked you into committing treason? Do you actually have the temerity to say that?”
“Temerity? I not only say it, I avow it. It happened. Jack is my witness.”
Chaucer looked at Jack again who suddenly shrunk under their scrutiny. “This is your witness?” he cried, raising his arm and pointing toward Jack. “This … this beggar? This pathetic excuse for a protégé?” He laughed unpleasantly. “You may very well blame Lancaster for your misfortunes. God knows the great Crispin Guest would never blame himself!”
“I have blamed myself. Over and over in my mind. Don’t you think I do? Don’t you think I would rather have died for Lancaster than smear his name? If he had but told me before it all happened, explained it! But no.” Geoffrey’s expression infuriated him. “Fie! It’s wasted breath on you. I’ll never make you see that I have paid my penance. But has he?”
“You speak of payment and penance as if they are owed you.”
“They are owed me! Look at me, Geoffrey. Look at me! Do you have any idea what my stinking lodgings on the Shambles are like?”
“You chose your lot, Guest. You chose to throw in with traitors. You swore your life to Lancaster, and suddenly you forget that he may do as he wishes with it. Even throw it away. He owes you nothing.” Geoffrey straightened his gown and climbed the steps, skirting Crispin and Jack. “I have business within. Go back to your inquiries. Find your murderer and your bones. That’s where it seems to suit you best. Amongst the dead.”
Chaucer’s footsteps receded.
Crispin lowered his head and panted. What was the matter with him? Why was he suddenly fighting with Geoffrey?
All this for one scrap of cloth that may not be a clue at all. He dug into his pouch and pulled out the bit of fabric, rubbing it between his calloused fingers.
“He won’t stay angry,” said Jack quietly. He had crept up beside Crispin without notice. “You haven’t seen each other in years. There are bound to be misunderstandings.”
“You don’t have to mollify me,” he grumbled, but he was grateful that Jack tried.
“What’s that, Master Crispin?” He switched the sword to the crook of his arm and took the cloth scrap out of Crispin’s hand.
“A clue. I found it stuck in the door of the Corona tower last night.”
Dawn broke on Jack’s face. “Is that why you asked about the archbishop’s robe? Master Crispin! You don’t think-”
“I don’t know what to think. His robe might have been used as a disguise by any monk here. Remember, the archbishop suspects one of his own.”
“But he ain’t the only one with a scarlet robe.”
“My friend Chaucer.”
“Aye. But I was thinking of Sir Philip Bonefey.”
Crispin stared at Jack. “So he does.”
“And Rafe Maufesour the Summoner, for good measure.”
Crispin chuffed a breath. “Perhaps we had best make a list of those who do not have a scarlet gown. It’s a smaller roll.”
“Now Master, it’s not so difficult. We will examine their robes one by one to see how this scrap may fit. That will eliminate the innocent.”
Crispin smiled in spite of himself. “That is very orderly thinking, Jack.”
“Well, I was taught by the best, now wasn’t I?” His pale cheeks flushed. “Now then. You’ve got this key, do you? Shouldn’t we use it?”
“Let’s begin with that tower stair.” He took the cloth scrap from Jack’s fingers and led the way back into the church. Pilgrims had already gathered with other faithful who came into the disorderly dust and work of the church to pray. Crispin shook his head and mouthed a few choice words describing the archbishop. Why had he not closed the church? A murder certainly required reconsecration. But the archbishop flouted canon law. Why? Greed? How much did they take in from the martyr’s shrine? He guessed it was a goodly sum, possibly half of their income for the year. If that coin flow should be cut off for a year or more…? He glanced up at the masons hammering, mortaring, pulling up stones by ropes and pulleys. The master mason said their payments were overdue. Was there a possibility of a shortfall in the cathedral books? If that were the case then the treasurer had some answering to do. Crispin wondered vaguely if Dom Thomas had a scarlet cloak as well.