Jeri Westerson - Blood Lance

“Jack tells me the barons are restless.”

“Aye, that they are. I have it from a steward who frequents the Tusk, that thirteen lords have been appointed as a special council.” Crispin sat up at that. This was indeed serious. Michael de la Pole, Suffolk, though loyal to the duke of Lancaster, was swiftly becoming a liability at court. He, like Richard himself, would seldom take the advice of his colleagues. Did he think that having the ear of the king was enough? Why was history so easily forgotten at court? The place where history was made.

“They have just arrived in London,” Gilbert went on. “And riding in on the news that the king does not expect an invasion. Well. I do not know what to think of that. Was it all a ruse to redirect our attention away from his own troubles?”

“I think if the French did not strike when Lancaster’s army was well away to Spain earlier in the year, they had not the funds or the vitality to do so. I think the king is correct in this, yet it does serve as a good distraction.”

A swell of noise rushed just outside the doors of the Boar’s Tusk, and the men in the tavern lifted their heads momentarily before it passed on again to another street.

“Although not distracting enough,” Crispin amended.

“And the joust,” offered Jack. “Don’t forget that.”

“The joust?” asked Crispin.

“I heard it a day or two ago. There’s to be a joust on London Bridge. For the knights who were left behind to guard the city, so they say.”

Crispin snorted. “Beguilements in a time of war? Yes, more distractions indeed.” So that was why the bridge folk were washing their walls and hanging garlands. The constant noise of hammering made sense, too, for viewing stands needed to be constructed.

Gilbert slammed his hand to the table. “Then all those stores he bid us buy? Useless!”

“Not so, Gilbert. You will make use of it. Eventually.”

“Pfft. I could have spared the expense. Now the prices are high due to lack of supply. I have as little patience for these games as does this new council.”

Crispin sipped the wine, easing the tension in his limbs. “Did you by any chance hear who is on this council?”

“I have heard that the Archbishop of Canterbury is in the retinue.”

Jack gasped and Crispin silenced him with a gesture. Gilbert looked from Jack to Crispin. “Oi Crispin. You were in Canterbury last year. Did you … acquaint yourself with the archbishop, by any chance?”

Jack snorted loudly but that was all Gilbert needed.

“Not the archbishop!” he rasped. “Crispin, have you not enough enemies?”

“Then what’s one more?” He smiled and took a drink, licking his lips.

Gilbert shook his head and rubbed nervously at his brown beard. “Crispin, I wish you’d have a better care. This tracking has made you hasty, foolhardy even. You cannot afford to offend the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

“I think that ship has sailed, Gilbert. But what more have you heard? With Lancaster out of the way, I am concerned as to what might transpire in the government when he is not here to crush dissenters.”

Gilbert scooted closer. “Dissenters? Crispin, what do you think this council means to do?”

“Who else is on the council?”

“I only heard a few names. The king’s uncles, the duke of Gloucester and the duke of York. Richard, earl of Arundel. Oh, and Richard, Lord Scrope. He was Lord Chancellor before, was he not? He would know if anything was amiss.”

“Indeed. An august body. Well, knowing what I do about the players, they mean to punish Suffolk by impeachment.”

Gilbert gasped.

“The king must be reminded of his limits and responsibilities and that he is obliged to consult with Parliament,” Crispin went on, “especially when excessive household funds have been spent. They can’t punish the king so they diminish his favorite. From what I know of Richard, he believes himself to be an infallible judge, like the early kings of Briton. He has never learned that those days are long gone.”

“But he is the king. The anointed of God.”

“Yes, that is true. But the barons imposed limits centuries ago to prevent the indulgence of favors over the well-being of the country. Has he forgotten so soon the sins of his great-grandfather, Edward II?”

“Hush, Crispin!” Gilbert looked around and crouched his bulky frame low over the table. “Talk of the late King Edward could be considered treason in these worrisome days.”

Crispin raised a brow. But he made a hasty scan of the room nonetheless. Edward II was deposed and murdered for his ignorance of his responsibilities. He, too, favored men who did not earn their station. He supposed throwing the name around at this juncture might be too bold, but he was past caring what the nobility thought of him. “I am too well acquainted with treason, as you know, to worry over it now.”

A hand clutched his arm. “Master Crispin, Gilbert’s right,” said Jack. “There’s no need to bring unwanted attention to you, sir.”

Crispin drank down the bowl of wine, but Jack filled it again. “There will be discord until this is resolved. Perhaps it is a good thing that you bought extra stores, Gilbert.”

“If it’s not high prices it’s high taxes. What the devil is Lancaster doing leaving the country at a time like this?”

Crispin kept silent. He brooded over his cup of wine while covertly surveying the room. Seeing Sir Thomas had awakened in Crispin something he had thought long dormant. The very idea of battle and encounters the knight must have had made Crispin’s sword arm itch. He should have been there with Lancaster! Nothing would have made him leave his lord’s side when the smell of battle was in the air. Thomas said he was sent back to England, but Crispin would have found any excuse to stay. Dammit, he would have stayed to the last stroke!

He pushed his wine bowl away and stood up. Perhaps a bit too fast, for the wine made him dizzy. Or perhaps it was that persistent fever and wooly head. He took a moment to feel the ground under him settle and stepped away from the bench. Jack stood, too, trying to anticipate his mood.

“Thank you, Gilbert, for opening an ear.” He reached for his pouch and was glad to have money for once to pay for the drink. “Here,” he said, offering more coins than that single jug cost. “I owe you more than this, I know. But you are too kind a friend to keep a roll of my debts. Please take this, at least, while I am flush.” He laid the coins on the table since Gilbert seemed loath to take them in his hand.

He walked out the door without looking back, knowing Jack would follow. At some point, Crispin would pay a call on Abbot Nicholas. The abbot of Westminster Abbey was bound to know all the more intimate details of what might be happening around the throne. But he supposed his presence in Westminster would not be welcomed, especially now.

He stomped through the mud churned by the rabble. He could hear shouting in the distance but the king’s men, no doubt, were doing their job.

“Master! Master Crispin!”

He did not stop but glanced over his shoulder at Jack trotting to keep up with his furious pace.

“Wait, Master Crispin. You are stirring yourself up.”

That boy knew him too well. “Go on, Jack. Go on to whatever devilry you do all day.”

“I don’t do no devilry, sir.”

“Go on, Jack. I would be alone.”

“Now Master Crispin, don’t go doing that, sir. You’ll only upset your fever.”

“My fever is no business of yours. Go on!”

“Bless me. You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered, hanging back.

The death of him? The nerve. That boy was getting too big for his station.

Crispin returned to the Shambles and trudged up his stairs. He opened the door and looked around, scowling. This room, this single room above a tinker’s shop, seemed as barren as his soul. A simple table with a chair and a stool. A coffer, a bed, a bucket. He didn’t own any of it. Only the meager things stored in the coffer and perhaps a few of the clay pots and iron pans hanging by the tiny hearth. His scowl deepened and he kicked the stool closest to him. It clattered along the floor. He was lucky it hadn’t shattered, but what of it if it had? He’d just owe his landlord one more coin, one more day’s wage. Paltry wage. Sixpence. That was the wage of an archer, but at least they were clothed and fed along with their regular sixpence.