Jeri Westerson - Blood Lance

The woman was stoic but he could well see the fear in her eyes. He knew that look. There was nothing as fearsome as the threat of losing the roof over one’s head. And with winter coming on …

Crispin sighed deeply. “What amount did you owe?”

“Five pence,” said the man. “We had just spent our last cache on new cloth from Italy. We were counting on a new Flemish clientele when the borders were closed. Our funds have dried up. And the rent, which was in a pouch hidden in a wall niche, was stolen.”

“What else was taken?”

“Nothing.”

Crispin eyed him curiously. “ Nothing else was taken?”

“No, good sir. Just the coin pouch.”

“The hidden coin pouch.” He looked once at Jack. The boy’s eyes were alight with ideas. Sharp lad, was Jack.

Crispin was about to comment when the door slammed open. A red-faced man with a bald pate and long gray whiskers stomped forth. He clearly only expected to find Robert Coterel and his daughter and sputtered upon encountering Crispin and Jack. He recovered and with a hand on the hilt of his sword he pushed his way in and stood toe to toe with Coterel.

“The time has come for you and your daughter to pack and leave, for I will not tolerate vagrants on my property.”

“This must be the exacting landlord,” said Crispin. He folded his arms over his chest.

The man turned, still keeping a hand on the hilt of his weapon. “This is a private affair between me and my tenant.”

“Your tenant has hired me to find his stolen rent money.”

The man sneered. “Stolen, eh? Is that what he told you? More likely it was spent on wine, for he dallies more in a tavern than in his shop.”

Anabel released her father’s arm and grabbed the landlord’s, spinning him. “That is a lie!”

“Master Coterel,” he said, grabbing her wrist tightly and tossing it away. “Try to control your daughter. It is rumored she is not easily controlled and goes about most freely.”

She raised a hand to slap his face but Crispin grabbed it in time. He ticked his head at her before letting her go. “I don’t think you want to be doing that,” he told her, backing her away by stepping forward. He faced the landlord and his perpetual sneer. “Sir, you speak too harshly to these people. Insults are not necessary.”

“I have drunks and whores under my roof. I would rather they were gone.”

Coterel staggered back and sat heavily in a chair. He seemed a bit wobbly to Crispin. He could not tell if he smelled of wine because of his damnable cold, but perhaps the landlord was right on that score. Still, these people had come to him. There was murder no one wished to contemplate let alone solve, and there was the intense gaze Anabel Coterel directed his way. Her obvious charms were affecting him. The sight of a beautiful woman often did. He swore at himself for what he was about to do.

Crispin snatched the money pouch from his belt and counted out five pence. Clenching them in his fist he thrust his hand toward the landlord. “Here is your rent money. Take it, you churl.”

He sputtered again. “What? What are you doing?”

“I am paying Master Coterel’s rent. Take it before I fling it into your face.”

The man reddened even further, and he looked first to Coterel and then at Crispin. “This is absurd! You can’t mean to lend this man money. You will lose your funds, for he will never return them.”

Hadn’t Crispin been in similar straits for years and years? What a pleasure it was to finally be on the other end of it for a change. His lips pulled back in a mockery of a smile. “I said take it or I shall shove it down your throat.” Crispin took a step forward and the man held up his hands in defense. Crispin grabbed one of them and slapped the coins into his palm, closing his fingers over it and shoving his hand away. “You’ve been paid. Now get out.”

He merely stared but Crispin made a false leap at him and the man turned so swiftly he almost tripped on his cloak. He stumbled once as he made for the door. Safely outside he turned and shook the fist with the coins in it. “Threats! I will see the law on you.”

“Begone, you tiresome man,” said Crispin, and slammed the door. Very satisfying. He even smiled at Jack, who was looking back at him with an exasperated expression.

Robert Coterel got unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head. “He is a foul man. But in this instance, at least, he speaks the truth. I am a drunkard.”

“Father,” said the girl. But she did not contradict him.

“You know it is true, my dear. But I did not spend our rent on drink. I swear by the Rood I did not.” His glossy eyes looked up at Crispin. “I cannot pay your fee nor return your five pence, sir. You have done a noble thing, but a foolish one, I fear.”

“Nonsense. You will make it up to me.” He grabbed Jack by the shoulders and thrust him toward the man. “You will make a fine cotehardie, two shirts, and a pair of stockings for this young knave. And use the best material a shilling will buy. That will cover the five pence and my fee.”

“Master Crispin,” Jack muttered, struggling to pull away.

“Take your measurements, sir,” he said to the tailor. “In the meantime, I have some investigating to do.”

Jack was still arguing when Crispin opened the door and stepped out onto the bridge’s street. He didn’t get very far before Anabel accosted him, pulling her cloak about her. The wind caught the hem of it and billowed it up until she captured it with a wind-chapped hand. “That was a fine thing you did, sir. My father and I are grateful for your honorable deed.”

“It is more that I hate greedy landlords. Were you much in arrears?”

“No, Master Guest. In fact, he had never been so impatient before. We were only two days late and he threatened to turn us out. Well, you saw for yourself. He has never been so insistent before.”

“Yes, he did seem anxious.” The street was busy now with carts and drovers, tapping at the heels of sheep with sticks to move them along toward Southwark. Young girls were weighted down with heavy bougets of water from the cisterns in London proper and they hurried up the street as fast as their heavy burdens would allow. The smells of cooking meats rolled down the avenue as sellers with carts with songbirds on sticks called out to buyers. Shopkeepers and apprentices hustled along the single avenue, setting up their folding shopfronts and laying out their wares, though few were buying in these uncertain times.

“Is it true about your father? Does he overindulge?” Even as he asked it he felt a twinge of guilt. He was one to talk, for he overindulged plenty. And he had the overdue bills at the Boar’s Tusk to prove it.

She swiped at the air and rubbed her elbow distractedly. “Perhaps he does. What of it? It doesn’t affect us. He gets the job done. There is always food on the table.”

“And what of you?”

Her bright eyes caught his. “What of me?”

He wanted to ask if what the landlord said of her was also true, but her steady gaze and squared shoulders gave him pause. He offered a crooked smile instead. “Never mind. I … God’s blood.” His eye caught a spectacle he had no desire to see. Down the street on their fine horses dressed in silky trappers, simply waiting in the shadows, were the sheriffs. When they saw Crispin their faces broke into large grins and they trotted their mounts forward.

“You see,” said William Staundon. Their horses suddenly flanked Crispin, hemming him in. “I told you he would be here.”

“I told you that!” said William More indignantly.

Good Christ. Crispin sighed and gave an apologetic shoulder lift to Anabel. “And so you find me, my lords. What do London’s sheriffs need with me?”