The queen's man : a medieval mystery by Sharon Kay Penman Page B
Authors: Sharon Kay Penman
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drinks, she smiled and slid closer on the bench, much closer. "I am Eve."
He doubted it; prostitutes often took on a new name for their
Sharon Kay Penman
precarious profession and "Eve" was a popular choice. Unable to resist the obvious jest, he said with a grin, "I am Adam . . . and I would love some company, Eve." There was no need to fret over her price, for never had his money pouch been so healthy, well fed with the queen's coins. He was determined that she'd squander neither her money nor her hopes on him. He could not help with what mattered most to Eleanor—he could do nothing to aid her captive son. But he would find a way to solve this Winchester killing for her. And when an ironic, inner voice challenged, "How?" he no longer heard it, for by then Eve was sitting on his lap, and the morrow seemed too far away to worry about.
Justin had elected to stay in the guest hall at Hyde Abbey rather than at an inn, hoping that he might be able to learn something useful about Thomas, the aspiring monk. He'd passed two nights at the abbey so far; the third, he'd spent in Eve's bed. The dawn sky was overcast, but it was not as cold, and there was a jauntiness in Justin's step as he crossed the abbey garth, heading for the stables to check on Copper. After that, his plans for the day were still vague. He'd thought about visiting the city's stables in search of Gervase's stolen stallion, but it seemed a waste of time. Surely the outlaws would not be foolish enough to try to sell the horse in the slain goldsmith's own city?
He was so caught up in his musings that he almost collided with a Benedictine brother, laden with an armful of bulky woolen blankets. When Justin sidestepped in time, the monk gave him a smile of recognition. "Good morrow, Master de Quincy. You're either up very early or you're getting to bed very late ... in which case, the less you tell me, the better!"
Justin grinned. "I promise to save all the depraved details for my confessor!" He liked what he'd so far seen of Brother Paul, an urbane, affable man past his prime, but still possessed of a lively curiosity about the world he'd forsaken, with a caustic humor that sometimes startled Justin, coming as it did from a monk's mouth.
THE QI 1 EN'S MAN
Brother Paul chuckled now, then nodded toward his burden. "1 could use a hand with these blankets. Look upon it as penance for those nocturnal sins of yours!"
Justin obligingly relieved the monk of half his load. "Where are we taking them?"
"Across the garth to the almonry. I'm collecting goods to deliver to the lazar house."
Justin stopped abruptly. "Lazar house?"
"The leper hospital of St Mary Magdalen. Why do you look so surprised? It is our Christian duty to do what we can for Christ's poor, the weak and infirm and afflicted . . . and few afflictions are more grievous than leprosy."
"Brother Paul . . . may I fetch the blankets to the lazar house for you?"
The monk was startled, for people rarely volunteered to visit a leper hospital. So pervasive was the fear of the disease that some would not even get downwind of a leper. "If you are truly willing, Master de Quincy, I would be beholden to you, for I have more tasks to do this day than I have time."
"Well, this is one task youTl not have to bother with," Justin said, but his mind was no longer on the monk. Jesu, how could he have forgotten about the leper?
The leper hospital of St Mary Magdalen was about a mile and a half east of Winchester, on the Alresford Road. It was encircled by a wattle-and-daub fence and had a bleak, foreboding look. Reining in his mount, Justin gazed uneasily upon it, girding himself to ride through that gateway. Never before had he set foot in a lazar house; never had he expected to enter one of his own free will. There was no shortage of theories as to what caused leprosy. Some people insisted it was the result of eating rotten meat or drinking bad wine. Others claimed it could be caught by sharing the bed of a woman
He doubted it; prostitutes often took on a new name for their
Sharon Kay Penman
precarious profession and "Eve" was a popular choice. Unable to resist the obvious jest, he said with a grin, "I am Adam . . . and I would love some company, Eve." There was no need to fret over her price, for never had his money pouch been so healthy, well fed with the queen's coins. He was determined that she'd squander neither her money nor her hopes on him. He could not help with what mattered most to Eleanor—he could do nothing to aid her captive son. But he would find a way to solve this Winchester killing for her. And when an ironic, inner voice challenged, "How?" he no longer heard it, for by then Eve was sitting on his lap, and the morrow seemed too far away to worry about.
Justin had elected to stay in the guest hall at Hyde Abbey rather than at an inn, hoping that he might be able to learn something useful about Thomas, the aspiring monk. He'd passed two nights at the abbey so far; the third, he'd spent in Eve's bed. The dawn sky was overcast, but it was not as cold, and there was a jauntiness in Justin's step as he crossed the abbey garth, heading for the stables to check on Copper. After that, his plans for the day were still vague. He'd thought about visiting the city's stables in search of Gervase's stolen stallion, but it seemed a waste of time. Surely the outlaws would not be foolish enough to try to sell the horse in the slain goldsmith's own city?
He was so caught up in his musings that he almost collided with a Benedictine brother, laden with an armful of bulky woolen blankets. When Justin sidestepped in time, the monk gave him a smile of recognition. "Good morrow, Master de Quincy. You're either up very early or you're getting to bed very late ... in which case, the less you tell me, the better!"
Justin grinned. "I promise to save all the depraved details for my confessor!" He liked what he'd so far seen of Brother Paul, an urbane, affable man past his prime, but still possessed of a lively curiosity about the world he'd forsaken, with a caustic humor that sometimes startled Justin, coming as it did from a monk's mouth.
THE QI 1 EN'S MAN
Brother Paul chuckled now, then nodded toward his burden. "1 could use a hand with these blankets. Look upon it as penance for those nocturnal sins of yours!"
Justin obligingly relieved the monk of half his load. "Where are we taking them?"
"Across the garth to the almonry. I'm collecting goods to deliver to the lazar house."
Justin stopped abruptly. "Lazar house?"
"The leper hospital of St Mary Magdalen. Why do you look so surprised? It is our Christian duty to do what we can for Christ's poor, the weak and infirm and afflicted . . . and few afflictions are more grievous than leprosy."
"Brother Paul . . . may I fetch the blankets to the lazar house for you?"
The monk was startled, for people rarely volunteered to visit a leper hospital. So pervasive was the fear of the disease that some would not even get downwind of a leper. "If you are truly willing, Master de Quincy, I would be beholden to you, for I have more tasks to do this day than I have time."
"Well, this is one task youTl not have to bother with," Justin said, but his mind was no longer on the monk. Jesu, how could he have forgotten about the leper?
The leper hospital of St Mary Magdalen was about a mile and a half east of Winchester, on the Alresford Road. It was encircled by a wattle-and-daub fence and had a bleak, foreboding look. Reining in his mount, Justin gazed uneasily upon it, girding himself to ride through that gateway. Never before had he set foot in a lazar house; never had he expected to enter one of his own free will. There was no shortage of theories as to what caused leprosy. Some people insisted it was the result of eating rotten meat or drinking bad wine. Others claimed it could be caught by sharing the bed of a woman
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