Free Shields of Pride by Elizabeth Chadwick

was not going to procrastinate.
    De Luci looked Joscelin up and down with concern. ‘It has been a rough night,’ he said.
    Joscelin winced a reply and rubbed his aching forehead. He had not finished reporting to de Luci until after midnight, and by the time he had come off duty and arrived at his father’s house the matins bells had been ringing in the dawn.
    ‘Leicester’s claiming the blood-right to be the warden of Montsorrel’s heir,’ de Luci said. ‘He served me notice at first light and I told him that the Crown’s right was greater and that either myself or the king would appoint the right man to the post in our own good time.’
    Joscelin struggled to concentrate. His wits had not gone wool-gathering - they were the wool itself: grey, fuzzy and tangled. De Luci was looking at him expectantly. What was he supposed to say? ‘What about the silver?’ he asked.
    ‘Ah, yes, the silver.’ Smile creases deepened at the corners of de Luci’s eyes. ‘Lord Leicester was not slow to raise the subject either, nor the fact that when his representative went to the Montsorrel house last night to make enquiries he was summarily seen off the premises by one of my men. “A rustic trouble-causing oaf ” you were described to me.’
    Joscelin avoided de Luci’s sparkling gaze and wished himself a hundred miles away and dreamlessly asleep. ‘Hubert de Beaumont’s business was not legitimate,’ he said. ‘The only reason I did not arrest him was that Lady de Montsorrel pleaded for leniency.’
    ‘Oh, I applaud your diligence,’ said the justiciar. ‘That coin no more belongs to Leicester than does the boy’s wardship and I have no intention of letting it go to Normandy.’
    ‘Just how much is there?’ Ironheart asked curiously. ‘Have you had a chance to find out?’
    ‘Indeed yes, Linnet de Montsorrel was very cooperative. Including the plate, I would say about two hundred marks.’
    Ironheart whistled through his chipped teeth. ‘That’s as much as the inheritance relief on two baronies.’
    ‘I confess I did not realize the extent of the sum myself until I opened the chest.’ De Luci thoughtfully rubbed his chin. ‘Joscelin, I want you and your troop to escort the widow and her household to the keep at Rushcliffe. You are to remain there as acting castellan and hold the place in the name of the king until you receive further orders. The strongbox will travel with you since it is the boy’s inheritance and you’ll need monies to run the place. You can cast accounts, can’t you?’ It was a rhetorical question, for de Luci was fully aware of Joscelin’s abilities. ‘I am told that the coffin will be ready the day after tomorrow.’ There was an expectant silence. Joscelin knew the justiciar was waiting for him to reply decisively and with gratitude but in his mind’s eye he was seeing the open coffin of his dream and feeling very sick indeed.
    De Luci looked at him and frowned. ‘Of course, if the commission is not to your taste, I can always find someone else.’
    Joscelin struggled to focus. ‘My lord, I’ll be pleased to fulfill any commission that you lay to me,’ he said sluggishly. ‘Have I your leave to go and make preparations?’
    De Luci stared at him in open amazement. ‘What in God’s name is wrong with you? Anyone would have thought I’d kicked you in the teeth, not offered your career a substantial hoist.’
    ‘It’s not that, my lord. Truly, I’m grateful . . .’ Joscelin swallowed jerkily.
    Ironheart said quickly, ‘Let the boy go, Richard, before he’s sick all over your boots. You’ll get more sense out of him later, I promise.’
    The justiciar frowned but allowed Ironheart his way. ‘Very well,’ he said and dismissed Joscelin with a curt nod. ‘I will speak with you at dinner. Best get yourself pulled together by then.’
    Hardly bothering to bow, the young man staggered from the room.
    De Luci turned to Ironheart. ‘If he’s going to let me down, then