Cruel As the Grave

7

LONDON

April 1193

Luke left the next morning, after coaxing Nell into making him a hearty breakfast of fried bread and sausages. Justin saw him off with an exchange of affable insults and hoped that the other man would not tarry too long at the Windsor siege. If Aldith grew tired of waiting, there would be no lack of men eager to take Luke's place in her bed. After the deputy's departure, he found himself reluctant to return to the cottage, where the scent of Claudine's perfume still lingered. Nell insisted upon serving him another helping, waiting with rare patience for him to eat his fill before she broached the subject of Melangell's murder.

"Must you seek out the queen today?"

"I might stop by the Tower later, check to see if she has need of me. This morn I thought I'd see for myself where Melangell died and then pay another visit to her family."

Nell's blue eyes brightened. "Take me with you," she urged. "I'll get Ellis to open the alehouse whilst I'm gone. I can sniff out untruths faster than a pig can unearth acorns. Did I not prove that when we fooled the Fleming's whore?"

She was anticipating an argument, but Justin did not offer any objections. Nell's verve would keep his own dark mood at bay, and if her presence vexed the irascible Humphrey Aston, so much the better. Cutting up his trencher, he fed the gravy-soaked bread to Shadow, and then rose to his feet. "What of Lucy?"

Lucy was Nell's five-year-old daughter, the one pure legacy left by Nell's late husband, an amiable dreamer who'd died in a drunken accident. "I'll ask Agnes to look after her," Nell declared, jerking off her apron before Justin could change his mind. Solving a murder was infinitely more satisfying, after all, than tending to the demands of querulous alehouse patrons.

~~

The parish church of St Mary Magdalene was just off the Cheapside, on Milk Street, so conveniently close to the Aston family's shop that it was easy to see why Geoffrey and Melangell had chosen it for their trysts. Churchyards were popular places for dalliances, for any number of secular activities frowned upon by the Church. People played camp-ball and quoits; children darted between the wooden crosses in games of hoodman blind and hunt-the-fox; goods were bartered; prostitutes occasionally lured men into the shadows to sin; it was not unheard of to find goats and sheep placidly cropping the grass over the graves. And on an April evening less than a week ago, Melangell had gone to her death in this deceptively

tranquil setting.

The churchyard was still and deserted. The morbidly curious had already flocked to the site to gawk at the bloodstains; the more squeamish would keep away until the spectre of violent death had faded from memory. Not all of the graves were marked; some had wooden crosses, a few had flat gravestones, and others lay hidden under a blanket of new spring grass. Several earthen mounds were still visible, evidence of recent burials. They'd be the last for some time to come, for a churchyard polluted by bloodshed could not be used again until it was reconsecrated, the spiritual stain purged with holy water and Holy Scriptures. Melangell's murder would cause grief to a few, inconvenience to many.

Entering the churchyard, Justin nearly stumbled over a little mound of earth. It resembled a grave, but why had it been dug on the very edge of the cemetery? Nell saw him frown, and answered his unspoken question. "A babe who dies unbaptised cannot be buried in consecrated ground. Some priests will allow them to be laid to rest as close as possible to the cemetery's hallowed soil. Others are less merciful, and it is not unknown to refuse burial to a woman who died in childbirth if the babe was still within her womb."

Justin said nothing, gazing down at that small pitiful grave. Had his mother been shriven ere she died? Was she buried in holy ground? He had no way of knowing, for it was not likely his father would ever tell him. He did not even know her name. With an effort, he shrugged off his own ghosts and looked about for Melangell's.

Jonas had said she'd died by the cross, and as he drew near, he could see the dried blood darkening the greyish-white stone. The grass was trampled and torn by the base and it was all too easy to envision a girl's body crumpled in the dirt. With Nell watching him intently, as if he were an alchemist working his unholy magic, he studied the death scene in silence. She'd either fallen or been pushed, and had struck her head against one of the cross's outstretched arms. Panicked, the assailant had fled, leaving her dead or dying in the twilight dusk. Had he meant to kill her? Had this been a rape gone awry as Jonas suspected? If so, that would make Daniel a more likely suspect than Geoffrey.

Nell picked up on his thoughts. "Poor Agnes," she said softly.

Justin was turning away when something caught his eye. Bending down, he retrieved a rock from a thicket of nearby bushes. It was about the size of a man's fist, looked as if it had broken off from a grave slab. Holding it up toward the sun, he ran his fingers over the reddish-brown stain, and Nell blurted out:

"That looks like blood! Do you think it is Melangell's?"

Justin did. Melangell had died on Friday night, just five days ago, five days without rain. If the blood was not Melangell's, whose was it? And if it was hers? Suddenly her death did not seem so accidental, after all. Squeezing the rock into his money pouch, he said, "We're done here. Let's go on to Friday Street, see if we can find some answers there."

~~

They found the Aston household in disarray. Beatrice was abed, not receiving visitors; the little maidservant mumbled that her mistress was "unwell." Daniel and Geoffrey were at work in the mercer's shop, the former helping another apprentice to sort through piles of newly imported silks and linens, the latter going over the accounts. But Humphrey Aston was nowhere in evidence, and all in the shop — journeymen, apprentices, even customers — seemed easier for his absence.

"My father had to go to the Mercer's Guild. But he ought to be back soon," Geoffrey said, with a glint of hidden humor. "I am sure you'd not want to miss seeing him."

"Indeed not," Justin agreed gravely. "Suppose I talk with you and your brother whilst we await his return?"

Daniel flung down an armful of silks, with such vehemence that they slid from the counter, fluttering into the floor rushes. "I do not have to talk to you," he said combatively. "You're not the sheriff or even one of his men!"

"He is the queen's man, you foolish boy," Nell said irritably. Daniel had already wheeled; the door banged as he retreated into the storeroom.

"His nerves are on the raw," Geoffrey said, stating the obvious with an apologetic half-smile. "He was fond of Melangell."

"How fond?"

The tone of Justin's voice took Geoffrey's smile away. "He … he may have fancied her. Is that so surprising? She was very pretty, after all."

Justin gestured for Geoffrey to join him and they moved toward the doorway, out of eavesdropping range. "And you were not jealous?"

Geoffrey looked startled. "No, of course not."

"Why not?" Justin was deliberately abrasive. "Because you knew she loved you and you alone? Or because you did not consider your brother to be a rival worth worrying about?"

Geoffrey flushed slightly; he'd had little experience in deflecting hostility. "Both, I suppose," he admitted. "Daniel is pitifully awkward with girls, so tongue-tied that they either laugh at him or avoid him altogether."

"Which did Melangell do?"

"Neither — she befriended him. Melangell was ever one for taking in strays."

Justin changed the subject abruptly, hoping to throw Geoffrey off stride. "What of the silk cloth found under her body? Did you give it to her?"

"No, I did not. I'd given her presents in the past, when I could. But we do not sell that sort of silk weave, a patterned twill."

Justin did not expect Geoffrey to fall into so obvious a trap, but he still had to ask. "I take it you've seen the silk in question, then?"

Geoffrey nodded. "The serjeant… Tobias, I think he was called … showed it to us."

Justin hoped that Tobias had thought to show it to the others who worked in the Aston shop; he wasn't very impressed so far with the serjeant's investigation. "Can anyone account for your whereabouts that night?"

Geoffrey smiled faintly. "Besides me, you mean? No, I regret not. I'd gone on an errand on my mother's behest, in search of henbane and bryony root and black poppy, for she was in need of a sleeping potion. But when I got to the apothecary's, he had already closed up for the night."

Justin sighed, sure that Beatrice Aston would verify Geoffrey's story, and sure, too, that her confirmation was meaningless; what mother would not lie to save her son? "That is all for now," he said, and then, suddenly, "Do you think your brother killed her?"

Geoffrey was not flustered by the unexpected question. "No," he said emphatically, "I do not."

Justin studied him for a long moment. They were of an age and could have been mirror images of each other, both tall and lean, although Justin's hair was dark and Geoffrey's was flaxen. "Would you tell me if you did suspect him?" he asked, and was not surprised when Geoffrey immediately shook his head.

"No," he said, "I would not," and Justin felt a faint flicker of respect. He'd grown up without a father and had felt the loss keenly. Geoffrey's father had been there since his first day of life, ever present and omnipotent, and Justin would not have traded places with him for half the riches in Christendom.

"Geoffrey!" The voice was a female one, unfamiliar to Justin. He turned to see a young woman coming up the street toward them. She was tall and willowy, and although she was modestly veiled and wimpled, her skin was so fair and her eyes so blue that Justin was sure her hidden hair color was blond. She was accompanied by a male servant, heavily laden with packages and bundles, so deferential that Justin knew at once this must be Adela, Geoffrey's prospective bride.

Geoffrey confirmed his guess even before the introductions were made, glancing toward Justin in mute entreaty. Justin understood what he was asking: to say nothing of Melangell's murder. Did Adela know suspicion had fallen upon her betrothed? Surely her uncle did by now. No wonder Geoffrey was uneasy, for the plight troth had not yet been finalized; Adela could still disavow him, put an end to the marriage plans if the scandal grew any worse. And it was obvious that Geoffrey wanted this marriage to take place, for there was an edginess underlying the affection in his greeting. Adela was a marital prize, niece to the master of the Mercer's Guild, and Humphrey Aston's choice of a bride for his son. With so much at stake, Justin was not surprised that Geoffrey should be nervous, and he obliged by identifying himself as a "friend of Geoffrey's, eager to meet his bride-to-be."

Geoffrey shot him a grateful look before giving Adela a circumspect kiss on the cheek. The talk was banal, mostly of Adela's shopping purchases in the Cheapside market, offering Justin an opportunity to appraise Geoffrey's future wife. She was undeniably elegant, but somewhat aloof, putting him in mind of a swan, regal and unapproachable, as unlike the earthy, wanton peddler's daughter as chalk and cheese. Would this pampered, bloodless child of privilege stand by Geoffrey if he fell under serious suspicion? Or would she shrink from the scandal, from a man less than perfect? If he were asked to wager on it, Justin would have put his money on the latter likelihood. And yet… those pale blue eyes were guarded, not vacant, and one of her well-tended, soft hands was resting possessively on Geoffrey's arm. Mayhap he had been too quick to judge, to assume that propriety was her ruling passion.

"Geoffrey, I would like you to escort me home." Adela seemed to take his compliance for granted, for she then bade Justin a polite farewell and signaled for her servant to follow. Justin watched them move off down the street, wondering how much — if anything — Adela knew about Melangell. And then he stepped back into the shop, where Nell was chatting easily with the journeymen, and went in search of Daniel.

He found the boy in the storeroom, sitting on a barrel surrounded by items of luxury, for while mercers dealt primarily in silks and costly textiles, they also sold toys, hats and caps, belts, and spices. Daniel's face was blotched with color, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. He glared defiantly at Justin, square chin jutting out, freckled fists clenching on his knees. "Are you still here? I'm getting bone-weary of running into you every time I turn around!"

Justin slammed the door shut behind him, then leaned back against it, arms folded across his chest, saying nothing. It didn't take long. Daniel was soon squirming under his cold-eyed appraisal. "What are you staring at?" he demanded. "Why will you not leave me be?"

"If I do, lad, you're sure to hang," Justin said brutally, and saw Daniel quiver under the impact of his words. "I do not know if you killed the girl. I do know you're the one likely to answer for it, and on the gallows. So if you can clear yourself, now is the time to speak up … ere it is too late."

Daniel's ruddy color had ebbed away. "I did nothing wrong," he said hoarsely. "I did not kill her!"

"I need more than your denial, Daniel. I need answers. Where were you on the night of Melangell's death?"

"I was down by the wharves."

"Alone?"

Daniel nodded. "I… I filched a flagon of my father's wine, and went off to drink it where I'd not be seen."

Justin didn't know whether to laugh or to swear. "Of all nights, you and your brother would pick that one to shun the company of others."

Daniel blinked. "Geoffrey cannot prove where he was, either?"

"You did not know that? Did you not talk to him about the killing?"

"No," Daniel said, so simply that Justin believed him. On reflection, it was not as odd as it first appeared. The Astons were not a confiding family, more like separate, lonely islands in a sea churned up by Humphrey's bile.

"What did you and Melangell quarrel about, Daniel, on the day of her death?"

Daniel looked at him bleakly, finally mumbling, "I told you I do not remember."

"Do not be a fool, Daniel," Justin warned, but he was too late. The door, having opened a crack, now slammed shut again. Daniel's face was stony, green eyes staring stubbornly off into space, looking anywhere but at Justin's face.

Justin soon saw further discussion was futile. "Never have I seen someone so eager to get himself hanged," he said impatiently, and left Daniel to the solitude of the storeroom and his own troubled thoughts.

As soon as Justin stepped back into the shop, he felt the change in atmosphere. One glance pinpointed the source of tension: Humphrey Aston had returned. He was blocking the open doorway, shutting out the light, and judging from his stance and his scowl, he was not pleased with what had been occurring in his absence. The apprentices were visibly wilting under the heat he was giving off, the journeymen had suddenly found urgent tasks to perform, and even the few customers seemed uncomfortable. Only Nell appeared unfazed by Humphrey's ire. She was regarding him with the same detached distaste she showed whenever her Lucy brought snails and toads inside for her inspection and identification.

Humphrey was startled by the sight of Justin. "Why did no one tell me you were here?" he asked irritably. "Well? What do you have to report? Have you found out who killed that peddler's wench?"

"No."

Humphrey waited for Justin to continue, and drew a shallow, aggrieved breath when he realized that terse response was all he was going to get. He may have been a bully, but he was no fool, and he'd grudgingly concluded that Justin was not easily intimidated. Swallowing his anger, he said dismissively, "I'd hoped you'd have made more progress by now." As his eyes roamed the shop, taking inventory of his realm, he noticed then two conspicuous absences. "Where are my sons?"

When it became apparent to Justin that no one else was going to answer, he said, "Geoffrey left to escort Adela home."

"Adela was here?" It was the first time Justin had seen Humphrey show pleasure and it was a moment before he realized that teeth-baring grimace was indeed a smile. "Well, that was what he should have done," the mercer said, so indulgently that Justin understood exactly why Geoffrey was so anxious to wed Adela. Humphrey's satisfaction was short-lived, though. Remembering that he had another son still unaccounted for, he demanded to know where Daniel was.

Again, it was left to Justin to respond. Deciding that it was better to reveal Daniel's whereabouts than to have Humphrey conclude he had sneaked off as soon as his father's back was turned, he said, "He is working in the storeroom," and hoped that the boy would have the wit to appear busy as soon as he heard that familiar heavy tread. Catching Nell's eye, he headed then for the door.

Once they were out in the street, Nell said indignantly, "You should have heard the way he was browbeating those poor souls! What a pity he was not the one murdered instead of little Melangell."

"Murder is probably not the best way to cull the wheat from the chaff," Justin said, with mordant humor. "Did your conversation with the apprentices and journeymen yield anything of interest?"

"They all loathe Humphrey, of course. But the sons do not seem to be following in the father's footsteps, for Humphrey's hirelings bear them no ill will. I get the sense that they find Geoffrey more likable, but Daniel has earned their respect — on a few rash occasions, he actually dared to stand up to his father. You can well imagine what his courage cost him in bruises and welts. Humphrey will not abide the slightest opposition to his will, and has a temper that kindles faster than sun-dried straw. But they say he fawns over Adela as if she were the Blessed Virgin Mary, so eager is he for an alliance with Master Serlo, the girl's uncle."

"I saw that, too," Justin agreed. "I'd even wager he hungers for the prestige of such a union as much as the marriage portion she'd bring to his son. What of Melangell? Did the other apprentices know about her dalliance with Geoffrey?"

"Indeed, they did. It had to be one of the worst-kept secrets in all of London. The other lads were quite envious of Geoffrey's 'good fortune,' for they thought Melangell looked like a 'right ripe piece,' a judgment they delivered with much smirking and rolling of eyes." Nell did some eye-rolling now of her own, for she had little patience with youthful male braggadocio. "What of you? Did you have any luck with the sons?"

"Well, I got Geoffrey to admit the dalliance was more serious than he'd have us think, at least on Melangell's part. When I asked if she loved him, he conceded as much. And Daniel unbent long enough to insist he was innocent."

"Do you believe him?"

"I'd like to," Justin hedged. "Nothing would make me happier than to be able to clear Agnes's nephews. Like Geoffrey's protestations, Daniel's denial sounded sincere. Alas, the world is filled with people who can lie as easily as they draw breath," he said, thinking of his father, thinking of Claudine. "Nor is it helpful that neither brother can prove where he was whilst Melangell was being attacked."

"So," Nell prompted, "what does your gut tell you?"

"That I'm hungry again," Justin joked, and grinned when Nell shoved him. "You wanted a serious answer, did you? Well, I think Daniel Aston has something to hide," he said, his fingers straying toward his money pouch, feeling for the outlines of that bloodstained rock.

~~

Despite Nell's protests, Justin escorted her back to the alehouse, left her scolding Ellis for broken crockery while Lucy played in the kitchen with Shadow, and set out in search of Tobias. He found the serjeant at the London gaol, where he had just delivered a prisoner. Jonas was on the scene, too, and gave Justin an ironic smile when he ever so casually invited the two of them to share a meal, well aware that Justin hoped for his help in extracting information from Tobias. Both men accepted the offer, though, and led Justin to a tavern on Fleet Street, not far from the river where he'd rescued Shadow from drowning.

Justin waited until they'd been served heaping helpings of mutton stew before he broached the subject of Tobias's investigation. He was treading with some care, lest Tobias take offense, not yet knowing if the other man would view his involvement as meddling, his suggestions as interference. He soon saw, however, that he had no reason to worry, for Tobias was a far different breed of peacekeeper than Jonas.

He was younger than Justin had expected, only about thirty and better dressed, too, his tunic spotlessly clean, his hair combed onto his forehead in the newly fashionable fringe. He was also extremely friendly; far from resenting Justin's interest in his case, he seemed to welcome it. Puzzled at first, Justin did not understand until Tobias leaned across the table to confide how pleased he was to be able to work with the queen's man.

So that was it! Tobias was ambitious, hoping to curry favor with one who might mention his cooperation to the sheriff or even the queen herself. Tobias had begun to talk about the capture of Gilbert the Fleming, so effusive in his praise that Justin was at a loss for words and Jonas faked a cough to camouflage a gleeful cackle. When the serjeant finally paused for breath, Justin seized his chance, politely asking if he could discuss with Tobias some of the more murky aspects of Melangell's murder.

The other man beamed. "By all means! My guess is that the mercer's youngest son will turn out to be the culprit. Although it could have been one of the girl's other lovers. From what I hear, she was a wanton, as willing to bed a man as look at him. Such killings are hard to solve, for women like that naturally know more than their share of knaves and felons."

"You said you suspect the younger Aston son. Not the elder son, then?"

"Well, Daniel's motive makes more sense. Also, Master Serlo of the Mercer's Guild gave the older lad a right favorable recommendation, says he is of good character and a responsible worker. Whereas the younger boy has a history of stirring up trouble, running away from his apprenticeship the way he did…" Tobias paused to swallow a mouthful of stew. "He seems the obvious suspect and it has been my experience, Master de Quincy, that the man who looks most guilty usually is."

Especially when he had no one of importance to speak up for him, like Master Serlo. Justin dared not look at Jonas, whose face was impassive, but whose one black eye was agleam. "What about the silk found under Melangell's body? Have you been able to find out who sells it?"

"Well… no, I saw no need. If she was killed by Daniel Aston, what does it matter who sold it?"

It was quiet for a time after that, as the serjeants devoted their attention to their meal and Justin sipped his wine, trying to figure out how best to bring Jonas on board this leaking boat. He finally decided upon blatant and shameless flattery and smiled across the table at Tobias.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your cooperation. I'll be sure to tell Roger Fitz Alan that the next time I see him."

At the mention of the sheriff, Tobias set down his spoon, his food forgotten. "I'm happy to help," he said expansively. "If there is anything else I can do, anything at all"

"As it happens, there is." Justin reached for the flagon and topped off Tobias's wine cup. "I know you have more than your share of felons to chase down. It must be hard to find time for a killing like this. But I would like to solve this crime quickly, if we can. In all honesty, Tobias, my duties for the Queen's Grace do not allow me much time away from the court. It occurred to me that mayhap Jonas might assist you in your investigation, do what he can to expedite matters so we can bring this sad case to a speedy resolution."

Tobias looked over at Jonas, back at Justin. "It is fine with me, if Jonas here is willing…?"

"I'd be overjoyed," Jonas said, wincing slightly when Justin then kicked his ankle under the table. The rest of the dinner passed without incident, and by the time Tobias was ready to depart, he was reveling in his newfound friendship with Justin, slapping him on the back in familiar farewell. The other two men watched him go and Jonas, finding that his wine cup was empty, reached over to claim Justin's. "You owe me," he said.

"What else could I do, Jonas? You heard the man. He does not care who killed Melangell — a peddler's daughter and part Welsh in the bargain? We'll never get to the truth with Tobias hot on the trail, and you well know it. Melangell deserves better than that, and so does Daniel Aston. If he is going to hang, I need to know he is truly guilty, not just a convenient solution to an inconvenient crime."

"I have to admit that Tobias could not find water if he fell into the river," Jonas conceded. "All right, I'll see what I can learn about this scrap of silk. That seems to be the only clue we have."

"Not necessarily." Justin took out his money pouch, laid it on the table. "I know you were never called to the scene of the killing, but you must have seen her body afterward. How else could you have been so specific with Luke, telling him that there was no blood under her nails or bruises on her thighs?"

"Yes, I saw the body. What do you want to know?"

"Tobias concluded that she struck her head on the cross, and there is indeed blood on it. But I need to know what her injury looked like. Could she have hit her head on the cross, fallen, and then been struck again as she lay helpless on the ground? Was the wound deep enough for there to have been a second blow?"

"I'd say so." Jonas frowned as he sought to call that particular grim memory to mind. "It was a nasty wound, a lot of blood and bone fragments. She could easily have been hit again. What put you onto that?"

Justin opened the money pouch, shook out a few coins to pay for the meal, then extracted the rock. Jonas reached over, weighed its heft in the palm of his hand. Even in the dim light of the tavern, the dried blood smears were easily visible. Jonas's inspection was thorough and unhurried, his face giving away nothing of his thoughts. Justin waited as long as he could, finally blurted out impatiently, "Well? What do you think?"

"I think," Jonas said, "that if you're right, this changes everything."

~~

The Tower of London's great keep rose up against the hazy dusk sky, over ninety feet high, a formidable citadel as well as royal palace. Justin had passed through the Land Gate countless times before, but never had he felt such a sense of unease, as if he were venturing into enemy territory. And a right dangerous enemy it was, too, a slip of a lass who would not weigh much over one hundred pounds soaking wet, armed with those deadly female weapons, dimples and come-hither dark eyes. Mocking himself didn't help, though. He was still loath to face Claudine.

But she was not present in the hall, and he began to hope he could avoid an encounter that would be awkward at best, painful at worst. As was his custom, he sought out Peter of Blois, Eleanor's secretary-chancellor, who would then inform the queen of his arrival. If she had need of him, he would be admitted to her presence; if not, he was free to return to Gracechurch Street and his other world. He was expecting a dismissal, but to his surprise, Peter beckoned him forward to enter the great chamber.

There he received another surprise, for Eleanor was alone. His private audiences with her were rare occurrences, usually the result of some new mischief-making by her son. As he came forward to kneel before her, Justin remembered his earlier assumption, that all mothers would lie to save their sons. He dared make no such facile assumptions about Eleanor and John. He could as easily understand the inscrutable feline mind of a female lion on the sun-baked plains of distant Africa. How often did a lioness swat a troublesome half-grown cub when he misbehaved? When did she finally turn upon him in a fanged fury, drive him from the pride?

Even after reaching her biblical three-score years and ten, Eleanor was still a compelling woman, the high, hollowed cheekbones and enigmatic hazel eyes attesting to the great beauty she'd once been, to the younger self who'd left a trail of broken hearts and broken rules from Aquitaine to England and triumphed over her enemies by outliving them all. On this Wednesday in mid-April, though, she looked very tired to Justin, showing more of the physical frailties of age; the hand extended for his kiss held the faintest of tremors and was hot to the touch.

"Madame … are you well?" That was as far as he dared go. At times there was an odd intimacy between them, but he never forgot, not for a moment, that she was England's queen and he was a bishop's by-blow, plucked from obscurity by the vagaries of fate and her royal whim.

She caught the echoes of concern in his voice, and smiled. "There is nothing wrong that a good night's sleep would not cure, lad. You'd think I would have learned by now how to banish worries and cares from the bedchamber."

"Not even Merlin could do that, Madame," Justin said, with feeling, for his memories of last night's broken sleep were still vivid. "May I get you wine?"

She nodded. "Pour for yourself, too." Taking a gilded cup from him, she sipped some of the spiced red wine with pleasure, for it came from the vineyards of her native Aquitaine, the homeland she'd loved more deeply than any man. "The news is not good, Justin," she said after some moments of silence. "The French king has invaded Normandy. He has seized Gisors and Neaufles and I learned today that he is now laying siege to Rouen itself."

Justin set his own wine cup down, untouched. If John's ally succeeded in taking Normandy, that would go far toward bolstering John's claim to the English throne. "I am indeed sorry to hear that, Madame."

She seemed lost in her own thoughts, gazing down into her wine cup pensively. "Stay close to London," she said at last. "I may need to send you to Normandy."

"Of course, Madame," Justin said, startled, for he'd never been out of England. He wondered what she had in mind, most likely a message she'd not want to risk falling into unfriendly hands. He was enormously touched that she had such faith in his abilities, and could only pray he'd not let her down. He was watching Eleanor attentively, waiting for an indication that he'd been dismissed, when the door opened and Claudine entered the chamber.

"I have the oil of roses for your headache, Madame," she said, holding up a small glass bottle. She halted as her gaze fell upon Justin, and although she managed an expression of supreme indifference, she betrayed herself by the sudden surge of color into her cheeks.

Justin got hastily to his feet, saying as politely as he could, "Lady Claudine." She acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod of her head, the sort of grudging recognition accorded those of inferior rank and importance.

"Would you like me to rub it into your temples now, Madame?" she asked, approaching the queen with a solicitous smile.

Eleanor gave her a bland smile in return, "No, dearest, not until after Master de Quincy and I are done."

"Oh… of course," Claudine said, as if she'd forgotten Justin's presence altogether. "I will await your summons." For Eleanor, there was another smile and a graceful curtsy. For Justin, enough ice to freeze him through to the very bone.

Once the door closed behind Claudine, Eleanor sat back in her chair, regarding Justin intently. "Well?"

Justin found himself shifting uncomfortably under those unsettling amber-colored eyes. "Madame?"

He was stalling and they both knew it. Eleanor's brows came I together in an imperious frown. "Do not play games with me, Justin. I am much better at them than you. What has happened between you and Claudine?"

"We … we quarreled," he said reluctantly and she shook her head impatiently.

"That is obvious to anyone not blind and deaf! It is also obvious that she considers herself to have been wronged. Why?"

"I led her to think I was seeing another woman." Justin bit his lip, searching for a way to make her understand. "I lied to her about the other woman so she'd not suspect the truth, that we know she has been acting as John's spy. I had to take the risk, Madame. I could not keep bedding a woman I dared not trust."

"Ah, Justin… I'd forgotten how young you still are," she said, with gentle mockery. "It is true I did not want Claudine to realize she'd been found out. But I did not mean you must continue with a liaison you find painful. Fortunately, lovers can be shed much more easily than husbands or wives."

"Fortunate, indeed," Justin agreed wryly, although he'd found nothing remotely easy about casting off Claudine. Eleanor was holding out her hand and he took that as his signal to depart. Bending over to kiss those jeweled fingers, he bade her farewell. But there was one question he still needed to ask. "Madame… what is happening at Windsor?"

"The castle is under siege," she said, very evenly.