The queen's man : a medieval mystery (16 page)

"There is nothing like Judgment Day to bring out a crowd," John said dryly, "especially when the sins being judged are not ours. What did you think of the ordeal, Master de Quincy?"

Justin shrugged. "I'd rather take my chances with a jury."

John laughed. "So would I. It is a lot easier to bribe a jury member than the Almighty. But on to more important matters. Have you decided to sell me that horse?"

"Not yet, my lord count."

"Do not wait too long. I might lose interest."

"Somehow I doubt that, my lord." Sparring with John had a certain edgy appeal, like venturing out onto a frozen lake with no way of knowing when the ice might start to crack underfoot. But with Durand, hostility need not be muted, and Justin gave the knight a cold smile. "You do keep turning up unexpectedly, Sir Durand. If I had a suspicious nature, I might wonder if you were following me."

"Passing strange," Durand jeered, "for I was thinking the same about you."

Dislike surged between the two men, all but sending up

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sparks, and John looked from one to the other, his eyes narrowing. "I suppose you're in search of my lady mother, Master de Quincy. You'll find her in the great hall/'

It was obviously a dismissal, and Justin took his leave. As soon as he'd been swallowed up in the crowd, he doubled back. He moved fast, treading on a few toes in the process, but coming up behind John in time to hear him say in a low, angry voice, "Why did you not tell me he knows you, Durand? I'll have to look elsewhere now."

Justin had never seen a hall as huge as the eleventh-century great hall at Westminster; he guessed its length to be well over two hundred feet, almost a third as wide, with a soaring roof supported by heavy wooden columns. People were milling about, and it took him a few moments to spot the queen. Eleanor and a companion were ensconced in a window seat at the far end of the hall, engaged in what was obviously an intense discussion. Justin started toward her, planning to let her see him and then withdraw, awaiting her summons.

As he drew closer, his step faltered, for the man with Eleanor was a bishop. The sight of that white alb and richly decorated cope was unsettling, calling up unwelcome memories of his father. How often he'd seen Aubrey clad in those same ecclesiastical vestments, never dreaming that this prideful prince of the Church was his own flesh and blood. The man in the alcove was too short and stocky to be Aubrey; at least he need not fear coming face to face with his father. But at that moment the bishop shifted in his seat, and for the first time Justin saw his profile.

Justin recognized him at once. The Bishop of Coventry had visited his father frequently over the years, although he did not think that Aubrey considered Hugh de Nonant to be a friend. Coming to a halt, he stared at the bishop, trying to remember if Hugh had been present when he'd burst into the Bishop's Palace to confront his father. His emotions had been in such turmoil that he could not trust his memories of that night. But he -did

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seem to have a hazy recollection of Hugh de Nonant seated on the dais at Aubrey's side. Better safe than sorry, he decided, and retreated as inconspicuously as possible.

"Who are you trying to avoid, Master de Quincy?" He'd not heard Claudine's approach and started so visibly that she laughed. "You must indeed have a guilty conscience/' she teased, "if your nerves are that raw! Are you seeking the queen?"

"I was," Justin said, "but I did not want to interrupt her conversation with the Bishop of Coventry."

"Conversation? Is that what you think they are doing? No . . . what you are watching is a verbal chess game between two master players, each one probing the other's weaknesses, poised to take advantage of any unguarded move, check and mate."

"Why would the queen be so wary of Bishop Hugh?" Justin asked curiously and got an answer that was anything but reassuring.

"You do not know?" Claudine asked, sounding surprised. "The queen has good reason to be cautious, for Hugh de Nonant and John are long-time allies." Lowering her voice, she confided, "If truth be told, the pair of them are thick as thieves, and that means the good bishop is no friend to King Richard."

Justin was quiet for a moment, as he sought to come to terms with the realization that John's shadow might reach as far as Chester. Taking Claudine by the arm, he led her toward the nearest window alcove. "I want to thank you, demoiselle, for warning me that the queen's son was showing too much interest in my activities. Forewarned is forearmed."

"With John, that is always wise," she agreed.

"You know him better than I, demoiselle. In all candor, what manner of man is he?"

"A complicated one, Master de Quincy, with more layers than an onion and undercurrents deep enough to drown in. I think he is twice as clever as Richard, and dangerously charming when he chooses to be, just plain dangerous when he does not." They were standing very close, for he'd not released his hold upon her

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arm. The look she gave him now was both amused and intimate. "Do you want to know my own private name for John?" she murmured. "The Prince of Darkness."

A chilling wind had sprung up and the last light of day was fast ebbing away. Justin glanced protectively at the queen as they walked. But she'd chosen the cloisters of St Stephen's for their meeting, and he sensed that she'd not welcome his suggestion that they talk indoors. She seemed indifferent to the cold, but he could not help noticing how very tired she looked. There was a distance between them that he'd not felt before. It was as if the inner Eleanor had withdrawn where he could not follow, leaving the queen behind to defend the barricades.

Her first question took him by surprise. "I saw you earlier in the hall. You shied away from the Bishop of Coventry as if he were a leper. Why?"

"He knows my father, madame, and it might arouse his curiosity to see me here, especially if he learned I am using the name de Quincy." That was true as far as it went. He did not want his kinship to Aubrey to be revealed. But it was not his father's reputation that concerned him. Who knew what John might do with information like that? He could not admit to Eleanor, though, that he harbored such suspicions about her son, and he hoped she'd not probe further.

She did not. "Why are you back in London, Justin? I trust you are not going to tell me that the trail has gone cold?"

"No, my lady. I learned that one of the hired killers, a man known as Gilbert the Fleming, has fled Winchester for London."

"Gilbert the Fleming? You were actually able to find out the man's name? Very good work, indeed!"

Justin flushed with pleasure. "I wish I could claim all the credit, madame, but I had help. Luke de Mars ton was able to identify the man once I told him that I'd seen a snake at the ambush. Gilbert thinks snakes make good partners in crime, for they can be relied upon to spook most horses and keep their mouths shut afterward."

Eleanor's curiosity was as healthy in her twilight years as it

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had been in her sunlit youth, and she still took delight in the novel and unexpected. "A snake accomplice?" she marveled and then laughed aloud. "Well, why not? A snake was Lucifer's ally back in Eden, after all. Speaking of allies, what changed your mind about Luke de Marston? The last time we spoke, you seemed ready to fit him for a hangman's noose."

"1 was too hasty, my lady. I judged the man ere I had all the facts," Justin said carefully, and reminded himself that Luke deserved the benefit of the doubt, too, with respect to any suspicions Durand had stirred up. And he told her then of what he'd learned during his latest foray into the world of the slain goldsmith.

Eleanor listened without interruption. When he was done, he drew out Luke's letter to the sheriff of London. Holding her lantern for her as she read, he silently willed her to agree, to let the sheriff assist in the hunt for Gervase's killer. If she balked, he'd forge on alone, without complaint, for pride would keep him quiet. But he'd be constantly aware of an uneasy prickling at the back of his neck, be seeing a dagger's glint from the corner of his eye. For Luke was right: Gilbert the Fleming was not a foe to hold cheaply.

"A wise precaution," Eleanor agreed, much to his relief. "De Marston would do well at court, for he knows how to dance around the truth and still avoid an outright lie. It is a cleverly worded letter. By all means, deliver it to the sheriff. Once the man is tracked down, we can decide then how best to get the truth from him. So you are convinced then that this was a family killing and not the doing of the French king?"

"No, not entirely," Justin said reluctantly.

"Why not? From what you've told me, the Fitz Randolph household is awash in secrets, and the only one to lack a motive is the stable cat!"

"I do not dispute that, my lady. But I keep remembering what I overheard during the ambush. Whilst the Fleming was searching Fitz Randolph, the other outlaw shouted out, 'Did you find it?' That puzzles me, madame, for Gilbert already had the money pouch. So what were they looking for?"

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Neither one said "the letter/' but the words seemed to echo on the air between them. After a few moments of silence, Eleanor said, "I've summoned a Great Council meeting in Oxford at the end of the month. We will decide then what measures to take on Richard's behalf. We're running out of time, Justin. You must catch this Fleming and find out if he was in the pay of the Fitz Randolphs—or the French."

"I will do my best, madame." Justin took back Luke's letter and tucked it away within his tunic. "My lady . . . there is something else you ought to know. I have reason to believe one of your household knights followed me to Winchester."

Eleanor had been turning to reenter the great hall. Swinging around, she studied Justin intently. "One of my men? You know his name?"

"I do, my lady. Durand." Justin did not insist that Durand was John's spy. There was no need to accuse the queen's son. Who else could it be?

Eleanor frowned and he was sorry that he must give her more worries when she already had so many. "I'll see to Durand," she said. "You see to this Fleming."

It was fully dark. Half an hour had gone by since Justin had escorted Eleanor back into the hall. But he'd then lingered outside, heedless of the dropping temperature and the passing time. In the stillness, he seemed to hear again John's impatient words: I'll have to look elsewhere now. See to the Fleming, the queen had said. But who was going to see to John?

After a while, he wandered out of the cloisters and into the royal gardens, desolate and deserted now, the ground rock-hard and barren, shrubs withered by killing frosts. The locale matched his mood, and he began to walk along pathways lit only by remote, pinpoint stars. The garden held no maze, but his life had become one, entangling him in half-truths, suspicions, false tracks, and trails that went nowhere.

He soon heard the river, splashing against the garden wall. Leaning into one of the embrasures, he was watching a passing ferry when barking erupted behind him. A brindle greyhound

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was loping up the path, trailed by a man in a grey mantle trimmed in fox fur. Justin tensed instinctively, for there was something about the man's walk that reminded him somewhat of John. But as the intruder came closer, he relaxed, recognizing Will Longs word.

"Down, Cinder!" The command came in the nick of time; the greyhound was about to launch herself at Justin. "We did not expect to find anyone out in the gardens at this hour, or I'd have kept her on a leash. All she'd do, though, would be to lick you to death—Justin de Quincy! When did you get back from Winchester?"

"A few hours ago, my lord. So you knew that I was in Winchester?"

Will set his lantern on the garden wall, then bent over to attach a leather lead to his dog's collar. "The queen told me. She said you've been hunting the goldsmith's killers. Any luck so far?"

Justin felt a surge of relief that Will knew about his mission. John's half-brother had a well-deserved reputation for integrity and honor, and he very much needed someone he could trust. He felt an odd sort of kinship with the other man, too, for they were both bastard born. Of course the similarities stopped there; Will's father had openly acknowledged him, even raised him with Eleanor's children. But Will still remained an outsider, albeit a respected and prosperous one, and Justin could speak to him with a candor that would have been unthinkable with Eleanor.

He briefed Will about his search for Gilbert the Fleming and was pleased when the older man offered generous praise for his efforts. After a moment's reflection, he told Will about Durand. While he did not doubt that Eleanor was quite capable of dealing with her treacherous knight, it could not hurt to keep Durand under another pair of eyes.

Will showed no surprise at the revelation. "Damn him," he said softly, more to himself than Justin. "The queen confided not long ago that she suspected Durand of conniving with John. More fool I, for turning a blind eye to his double-dealing!"

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Justin wondered which man he meant—Durand or John. But now that Will had brought John's name out into the open, he seized his chance, one that might not come again. "My lord . . . may I speak frankly? Lord John has been showing great interest in me, more than I am comfortable with. Like you, I think Durand was in Winchester at his behest. I am at a disadvantage in this hunt, for I do not know what he is seeking from me. Do you?"

That was blunt speaking, but Will struck him as a man who'd appreciate bluntness. John's brother was regarding him pensively. "I can tell you what I suspect," he said slowly. "This can go no further than the two of us, though. I'd not have words of mine used to discredit John, especially since I have no proof, only suspicions. Have I your oath on that?"

"You do, my lord."

Reaching down, Will stroked his dog's silky head, and Justin thought he sighed. "It is no secret that John covets his brother's crown. And if he is as deeply ensnared in the French king's web as we fear, it is likely that he knows of Richard's capture, for that is news Philip would be sure to share. I think he does know and is trying to find out if the queen knows, too."