"I'll hold you steady, lad," a voice offered behind him, and he glanced up to discover that he'd been followed by the sailor and most of the onlookers. Praying that he'd not plunge headfirst into the river, he unbuckled his sword and then let the sailor lower him over the edge of the wharf.
The dog was still beyond reach, and Justin knew they were running out of time. "Lady Mary, smile upon us," he whispered. Dipping the grapnel into the water, he coaxed, "Come on, boy, over here!" The dog swam closer, passed over the grappling hook, and circled back. And then the chain jerked in Justin's grip.
"Jesu, I snared it!" Justin had not truly expected to succeed, but the dog's head and shoulders suddenly popped out of the water, proof that he had indeed/managed to snag the rope. A cheer rose from the crowd and the sailor let out a triumphant whoop. But Justin's elation soon ebbed. What now?
"If I pass the grappling hook to you," he told the sailor, "I might be able to cut the rope with my sword. But how do we get him out of the river? He'll never make it to shore on his own; the bank is too steep for him to climb."
"Do you think you can lift the rope up high enough for me to get a grip on it?"
"I can try," Justin said dubiously, and slowly began to maneuver the grappling hook toward the surface. It was heavy and he suddenly realized that he hadn't caught the rope at all; it was the sack itself. By the Rood, what luck! The Blessed Mother Mary truly had favored them. A moment later the sack came into view, neatly speared on one of the grappling claws. "Pull me up," he directed, and then it was the sailor's turn to lean out recklessly into space. As Justin reeled in the grappling hook, the sailor snatched at it and grinned when his fist closed tightly around the rope.
"I'm going to hoist him up," he said. "Better to hurt him than to let him drown."
Justin nodded, then swung his sword and sliced through the rope, above the knot. The sack sank back into the river with a splash, and he reached over to help the sailor haul the dog up onto the wharf. A sharp tug, a yelp, and it was done. The spectators at once recoiled, not wanting to be sprayed. But the dog was too weak to shake himself and lay motionless on the wooden planks, his sides heaving. Bending down, Justin cut the rope away from his neck. For some suspenseful moments, the animal lay still, limp and sodden. Then he gagged and began to retch.
The tension eased and people started to laugh and talk. Justin and the sailor found themselves encircled by approving men and women. Even those who'd normally have been indifferent to a dog's death had been caught up in the drama of the rescue, and
all were well pleased by the outcome — save only the two youths on the bridge.
They'd been hooting and jeering, but Justin had been too preoccupied to pay them any heed. Now his anger came back in a rush, and when one of them began to curse him for "meddling with our dog," he shouted a defiant challenge. "Come down and claim him then — if you dare!"
The crowd liked that, and a few men spoke loudly of thrashings and worse. The youths continued to rant, but prudently stayed where they were. Someone found Justin a hemp sack and he dried the shivering dog as best he could. By now the dog's first champion had squirmed through the throng of onlookers. Kneeling by the animal, the child took the wet head into his lap, looking up at Justin and the sailor with a smile of purest joy.
A peddler drawn by the crowd had begun to boast about his "hot, savory pies." They were neither hot nor savory, baked hours ago and flecked with grease, but he was soon selling them at a rapid rate. Justin bought two, and offered one to the dog, whose protruding ribs testified to a constant hunger. So, too, did the way he wolfed the pie down, and Justin ended up feeding him the second one, too. The excitement over, people were beginning to drift away. When the little boy's mother pulled him to his feet, Justin suggested that "This would make a fine pet for your lad."
The boy's face lit up, but the woman gave Justin an irate look, snapping, "Indeed not! Come along, Ned." Still glaring over her shoulder at Justin, she hustled her small son off the pier.
Justin and the sailor exchanged smiles. Their partnership had been highly satisfactory, but it was done. Retrieving his stallion from the patiently waiting monk, Justin mounted and started to ease Copper out into the road. He was followed by a ripple of laughter. Glancing back in puzzlement, he soon saw the cause of the crowd's amusement. The dog had lurched to his feet and was trailing after him.
~~
Justin had planned to follow Thames Street east to the Tower. The traffic was heavy, the street crowded with horsemen, lumbering carts, pedestrians, and stray animals. But as he neared the new bridge, the street became so congested that movement ceased altogether. Peering impatiently ahead, he sought the cause for this disruption. As soon as he saw a man riding backward, forced to face his horse's tail, hands and feet tied and drenched in wine, he understood. A baker who tampered with his scales, a vintner who watered down his wine, any merchant who cheated customers, could expect the same derisory treatment: paraded through the city so all could bear witness to his disgrace. Justin approved of the punishment, but he had no time to watch this day, and he turned off onto Bridge Street, planning to detour around the procession.
He still had not lost his canine shadow. At first he'd tried halfheartedly to discourage the dog. But he'd then decided that it might be best for the poor creature to get as far away as possible from his tormentors. Who was to say that they might not try again once the pup's protectors were gone?
Encountering another peddler, Justin remembered that he hadn't eaten yet and beckoned the man over. A hopeful whimper earned the young dog a pork pie of his own. Tossing a coin to the vendor, Justin was soon on his way again. He'd not gone far, though, before his mount's gait changed. Frowning, he swung from the saddle. A close inspection of Copper's left forefoot revealed the problem — a pebble wedged between the frog and inner rim of the shoe. But try as he might, he could not dislodge the stone. Straightening up, he stood by his lamed stallion in the busy city street and cursed his bad luck. It didn't help.
~~
Justin fidgeted, waiting anxiously for the verdict. But the farrier would not be hurried. A lean, greying man in his forties, sparing with words, he went about his tasks calmly and methodically, first winning the stallion's trust and only then examining the foot and extracting the pebble with a pair of pinchers.
"The hoof is badly bruised," he announced at last. "But I do not think the injury is a crippling one. I can make up a poultice now, if you like. You'll not be able to ride him for a few days, though, as he'll need time to heal."
When Justin readily agreed, saying he'd never put the stallion at risk, the farrier nodded approvingly, for not all of his customers were so solicitous of their mounts. They soon reached a mutually acceptable price for boarding and treating Copper, and when Justin asked about nearby lodgings, the smith suggested that he try the alehouse on Gracechurch Street.
"The owner of the alehouse no longer lives above-stairs and rents the rooms out. Ask for Nell. Tell her that Gunter the smith sent you."
The alehouse was just a stone's throw from the farrier's smithy, a two-story, overhanging timber building that had seen better days; its whitewash was grey, its shutters warped, and its ale-pole sagged out into the street at a drunken angle. Inside, it was dark and smelled strongly of spilt ale. A drunken customer was slumped over a corner table, snoring. Two other men were playing draughts and flirting with a bored serving maid. She looked toward Justin without noticeable interest. "What can I get for you, friend?"