Jeri Westerson - Cup of Blood

“Yes,” Crispin answered mechanically. He did not look up when the sheriff left, nor did he stir when Jack cautiously returned to the room and straightened what he could.

“Would you have me fetch wine, sir? I can run to the Boar’s Tusk with the jug.”

“Yes, Jack. Do that.”

Jack hoisted the jug-miraculously untouched in the melee-and hugged it to his chest. “I’ll go now, shall I?”

Crispin nodded but Jack made no move to leave.

“Master,” said the boy, “it is a sore thing to lose your lady. But in truth, you lost her long ago and not in the way you think. The moment she thought you were less than her, that is when you lost her. A true love would not have felt so. A true love would have moved Heaven and Earth to stay with you.”

Crispin turned a tender smile on Jack. “When did you become such a philosopher?”

Jack blushed. “Well, I’m no such, but I heard a thing or two in me day.” He made for the door and stopped on the threshold. “Don’t be hard on yourself, Master. You solved the murder. You did the best you could for the grail. It was I what lost it.”

“Don’t fret, Jack. I am well. At least I will be.” Stoically, he rose and went to his basin to sponge away the blood from his neck.

Jack made a half-hearted smile. “There’s….there’s always that Lady Vivienne, Master. You said you were fond of her. And she is back at court.”

Crispin nodded. Yes. And he wondered why, though of late he seemed to have no time to wonder. He unbuttoned his coat and yanked off the dirty shirt blotched with dried blood, and replaced it with a cleaner one. He pulled on his coat again, buttoned it, and brushed it with a rag.

“Sometimes,” Jack went on, “my wanderings take me to Westminster.” He ducked his head and blushed. “Er…I’m a man of habits, Master. Best not to ask what I was about.”

Crispin closed his eyes briefly. “Go on.”

“Well, I saw Lady Vivienne-Lady Stancliff-at Westminster Palace.”

“And so I saw her myself. What of it?”

“That is true, Master, but she was with that vile Guillaume de Marcherne. I suppose…we could let it lie.”

Crispin rubbed his fingers into his eyes. “What I wouldn’t give to let it lie.”

Jack perked up. “Will we go? We don’t want that villain coming back to haunt us.”

It took only a moment to decide. “Yes, we’ll go.” Anger propelled Crispin. He’d had quite enough of all of it. To deal first with this was to put off having to see Rosamunde, and that was something his sick belly could delay for a long time. Was there no one to be trusted? No one he could be certain of? Well, he was certain of one thing: he wanted to stop Guillaume de Marcherne. One way or another.

Crispin and Jack made the journey to Westminster, avoiding the front gate altogether. Throughout the long walk, Crispin tried to decide what it was that was going on between Vivienne and de Marcherne. She lied, that was plain enough. Her “other business,” no doubt. But what hold did de Marcherne have over her if she had her ring? Was there something more?

They entered the palace by the tradesmen’s entrance, skirting as many wide eyes as they could. “What I need to discover,” said Crispin, “is where Lady Stancliff is lodged. And I am uncertain exactly how to do that.”

“Oh, that’s easy!”

Surprised at Jack’s flippant observance, he allowed the boy to do his will. Jack moved toward a gaggle of serving maids gathering cots and hay-stuffed mattresses from the alcoves in which they were hidden. Crispin watched him talk to them, a swagger in the young boy’s bearing. The maids-girls, really-responded with giggles and coy expressions, swaying their ragged skirts and fanning their fingers before missing teeth. Jack bowed to them and they curtseyed back, and then he trotted to rejoin Crispin.

“South wing,” said Jack and led the way.

Crispin grabbed hold of Jack’s shoulder. When the boy looked up, Crispin’s words dried up on his tongue. He shook his head instead and let the boy lead him, vowing to keep a sharp eye on Young Jack Tucker.

They came to the south corridor and Jack counted the doors. “I was told this one, Master.” Crispin recognized the place where minor nobility were housed. Certainly Lady Stancliff qualified. Crispin strode up to the door and lifted his fist to knock when Jack jumped up and grabbed his hand.

“What you think you’re doing? He could be in there!”

Crispin made an altogether unpleasant grin. “I’m counting on it.”

He rapped on the door and a servant answered, one who had encountered Crispin before and who also tried-unsuccessfully-to block Crispin’s entrance. Crispin shook his head at him while stiff-arming the door. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

He pushed the door open and strode in, Jack behind him. Vivienne stood in the middle of the room, her expression neutral, except for sparkling eyes.

“Again, Crispin. A most unexpected visit.”

“Is it? Somehow, sweet Vivienne, I do not think so. I think you enjoy this game. You said so yourself: you prefer the company of men. You fancy playing it innocent, as if you were the victim. First of your husband, then of D’Arcy, and then of St Albans. And finally, of course, of de Marcherne. It amuses me to wonder to whom you will play the victim from me.”

Her eyes didn’t sparkle as much, and her lip curled in a sneer. “So you think you know me, do you? Men have such pride. And it is so futile. What good is your pride, Crispin? Did it win you back your knighthood? Are your coin purses filled with gold?”

“My honor is my pride and I wear it freely under the sun. I need not hide it in secret rooms…or behind the curtains.”

Jack startled when the hangings were pushed aside by a sword blade and then de Marcherne stepped through. The boy moved in front of Crispin protectively, but Crispin gently pulled him back and stashed him behind him.

De Marcherne’s blade was aimed toward the floor as he stepped closer to Crispin. “My dear Vivienne,” he said, looking at Crispin instead of Lady Stancliff. “I do not think you are an adequate judge of a man’s pride or his honor. Best to keep to what you do know.” His eyes flicked toward her. “And that you do so well.”

Crispin backed toward the hearth. “What is your business with Lady Stancliff, de Marcherne? Aren’t you done in London?”

“A funny thing about my business, Crispin. That grail you gave me. A fake. One has to wonder where such fakery originated. With D’Arcy? No, he was much too stupid for such a trick. Edwin?” He slid his foot closer, inching his way forward. The sword slowly rose toward Crispin’s chest. “Again, no. He is not deceitful in this manner. He only wished he was. That, of course, leaves either you,” he said gesturing with the sword toward Vivienne, “or you.” The sword tip again aimed toward Crispin. “Now my dear Vivienne might conjure such an idea to stay in the game, for you are correct in your assessment of her. She is obsessed with danger. Aren’t you, love?”

She spat at de Marcherne. He only smiled in reply. “Did she treat you thus? Or is it only me who elicits such behavior?” He ticked his head. “I fear it may be me.”

Crispin stumbled over the hearth. The flames licked at his back.

“She left me once,” said de Marcherne. “But then she returned. She sought revenge of me. I knew the object she sought but I wanted her help in finding the one I was looking for. Now that she has her ring, she thinks she can be rid of me. But I am not easily cast aside. You just missed a very amusing scene in which she tried to stab me to death. I simply disarmed her. Imagine. Returning all this way to Westminster only to commit murder. Would you have arrested her then, Crispin? Or is the death of a Frenchmen not worth the Tracker’s time.”