the prolonged silence that followed, the earl glanced again at the queen's letter and then back at Justin.
"De Quincy," he said, as if finally taking notice of Justin's surname, "Are you any kin to our bishop?"
It was the first time that Justin had been asked this question, although he'd often considered his answer. He did not want to lie, but neither did he want to admit the truth, for his candor could give rise to scandal and a public repudiation by his father. He compromised now by smiling and saying breezily, "I asked the good bishop that, too, but he says nay."
Chester nodded, asked Justin if he were kin to Saer de Quincy, who was wed to the daughter of the Earl of Leicester, and getting a denial, lost interest. Justin's words seemed to echo in his own ears, though, for there had been a bitter, bedrock honesty in his answer. The good bishop had indeed said nay.
~*~
"Two more ales, sweeting." Only then did Thomas de Caldecott interrupt his flirting with the serving maid to give Justin his attention, "Admit it, Justin. This is a better meeting place than the great hall under the eagle eye of my lord earl," he insisted with an airy wave of the hand toward their smoky, noisy, and dim surroundings. "Of course here we have to buy our own ales, but the next round is on you, so who cares?"
"I may," Justin said, "if you keep swilling down these tankards faster than the girl can get them to us. I do not fancy having to drag you back to the castle like a sack of flour after you get stewed to the gills.''
Thomas threw back his head and laughed loudly. "If you think you can drink me under the table, lad, you're in for a rude awakening. When it comes to carousing, I ought to be giving lessons. But then, you do not know me very well yet, so your ignorance can be excused."
"How kind of you." Justin lifted his own tankard in a playful salute. "To Sir Thomas de Caldecott, king of the carousers," he said, and Thomas laughed again, patting the serving maid on the rump as she sashayed by.
Justin slid his stool back so that he could lean against the wall and watched with wary amusement. Thomas was right. He did not know the other man well at all, and he was not sure what to make of the knight's easy affability. Justin had learned at an early age to keep his defenses up against a world that was indifferent at best and hostile at worst to a foundling without family, resources, or rank. He could not imagine lowering the drawbridges, opening the gates, and inviting people into the castle inner bailey as freely and confidently as Thomas was doing.
It had been a relief to find that the knight was not haughty and overweening as so many of his peers were. Unlike his lord, the Earl of Chester, Thomas seemed comfortable taking a secondary role in the ransom investigation. Justin had quickly realized that he'd found a valuable partner in Thomas. But he was bemused to be treated as an instant friend, for he was much slower to give his own trust. He was concluding that Thomas was that rarity, a man utterly at home in his own skin, with nothing to prove and nothing at risk, for failure would injure the earl, not his vassals and retainers.
The serving maids that Justin had known were far too jaded to blush, but Thomas managed it, whispering something that sent color flooding into the girl's face. As she withdrew in a gale of giggles, Thomas finally focused upon the matter at hand. "I suppose we ought to at least mention the robbery since we'll soon be on the road into Wales. The earl, God love him, will boot us out of bed at cockcrow. How good is your Welsh? Mine is more than good, if I may brag a bit. But the earl has a Welsh lad, Padrig, in his service, and I thought we'd take him along with us in case we run into anyone who cannot understand my elegant French accent. We'll need a goodly escort, too."
"Is North Wales that dangerous?" Justin asked, and Thomas grinned.
"I've heard that even the Welsh outlaws have their own bodyguards. But if we
"De Quincy," he said, as if finally taking notice of Justin's surname, "Are you any kin to our bishop?"
It was the first time that Justin had been asked this question, although he'd often considered his answer. He did not want to lie, but neither did he want to admit the truth, for his candor could give rise to scandal and a public repudiation by his father. He compromised now by smiling and saying breezily, "I asked the good bishop that, too, but he says nay."
Chester nodded, asked Justin if he were kin to Saer de Quincy, who was wed to the daughter of the Earl of Leicester, and getting a denial, lost interest. Justin's words seemed to echo in his own ears, though, for there had been a bitter, bedrock honesty in his answer. The good bishop had indeed said nay.
~*~
"Two more ales, sweeting." Only then did Thomas de Caldecott interrupt his flirting with the serving maid to give Justin his attention, "Admit it, Justin. This is a better meeting place than the great hall under the eagle eye of my lord earl," he insisted with an airy wave of the hand toward their smoky, noisy, and dim surroundings. "Of course here we have to buy our own ales, but the next round is on you, so who cares?"
"I may," Justin said, "if you keep swilling down these tankards faster than the girl can get them to us. I do not fancy having to drag you back to the castle like a sack of flour after you get stewed to the gills.''
Thomas threw back his head and laughed loudly. "If you think you can drink me under the table, lad, you're in for a rude awakening. When it comes to carousing, I ought to be giving lessons. But then, you do not know me very well yet, so your ignorance can be excused."
"How kind of you." Justin lifted his own tankard in a playful salute. "To Sir Thomas de Caldecott, king of the carousers," he said, and Thomas laughed again, patting the serving maid on the rump as she sashayed by.
Justin slid his stool back so that he could lean against the wall and watched with wary amusement. Thomas was right. He did not know the other man well at all, and he was not sure what to make of the knight's easy affability. Justin had learned at an early age to keep his defenses up against a world that was indifferent at best and hostile at worst to a foundling without family, resources, or rank. He could not imagine lowering the drawbridges, opening the gates, and inviting people into the castle inner bailey as freely and confidently as Thomas was doing.
It had been a relief to find that the knight was not haughty and overweening as so many of his peers were. Unlike his lord, the Earl of Chester, Thomas seemed comfortable taking a secondary role in the ransom investigation. Justin had quickly realized that he'd found a valuable partner in Thomas. But he was bemused to be treated as an instant friend, for he was much slower to give his own trust. He was concluding that Thomas was that rarity, a man utterly at home in his own skin, with nothing to prove and nothing at risk, for failure would injure the earl, not his vassals and retainers.
The serving maids that Justin had known were far too jaded to blush, but Thomas managed it, whispering something that sent color flooding into the girl's face. As she withdrew in a gale of giggles, Thomas finally focused upon the matter at hand. "I suppose we ought to at least mention the robbery since we'll soon be on the road into Wales. The earl, God love him, will boot us out of bed at cockcrow. How good is your Welsh? Mine is more than good, if I may brag a bit. But the earl has a Welsh lad, Padrig, in his service, and I thought we'd take him along with us in case we run into anyone who cannot understand my elegant French accent. We'll need a goodly escort, too."
"Is North Wales that dangerous?" Justin asked, and Thomas grinned.
"I've heard that even the Welsh outlaws have their own bodyguards. But if we
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