The Queen Man

20

WINCHESTER

March 1193

Winchester had built its gallows beyond the city walls, out on the Andover Road. A crowd had already gathered by the time Justin and his companions arrived. He was not surprised by the throngs of spectators, for public hangings usually drew a large audience, offering both grisly entertainment and reassuring proof that there is always a reckoning

for evildoers, a Dies Irae.

For Gilbert the Fleming's Day of Judgment, much of Winchester had turned out: men, women, even a number of children. Justin knew that some people believed this was an effective way to teach impressionable youngsters that Scriptures spoke true: the wages of sin is death. But he could not imagine ever taking a child of his to watch as a man choked to death at the end of a rope.

Aldith obviously agreed with him. "Blessed Mother Mary, look at all the little ones! And over there — a vendor selling hot pies! You'd think this was the St Giles Fair."

"Public hangings are always thus — like a besotted wake where none of the mourners grieve over the dead. Are you sure you want to be here, Aldith?"

"Yes," she insisted, not very convincingly. "This was a great triumph for Luke, catching a merciless cutthroat like the Fleming." Adding as a polite afterthought, "For you, too, Justin."

While Justin admired her loyalty, he still thought that the gallows was no place for her. He kept his opinion to himself, however. Nell insisted that women were much tougher than he realized, and he'd begun to suspect that she was right. Nell and Nora were capable of looking after themselves, for certes. But was Claudine? What would she have done had the queen been told of her duplicity? Would she have gone home to her family in Aquitaine, shamed and dishonored? Or would she have turned to John?

His mouth twisted, for he'd begun to feel as if his thoughts were no longer his own. Claudine seemed able to lay claim to them at will, despite his best efforts to banish her into limbo. Priests could exorcise evil spirits. A pity there was no exorcism for casting out a faithless lover. But self-mockery was no more effective than anger at vanquishing his ghosts, and it was a moment or so before he realized that Edwin was speaking to him.

"Sorry, my thoughts were wandering. You asked… what?"

"I was curious," the groom confessed, "about the Fleming's whore. If she'd been caught, could she have been hanged, too?"

"Not likely, since the killing Nora was helping to set up never happened. But an accomplice to murder can indeed be hanged, and she might well have been involved in some of his other crimes. If so, she could have gotten a death sentence. According to Luke, a court is usually harsh in its judgment upon a woman charged with murder."

Aldith nodded in quick confirmation. "Luke says we expect men to lose their tempers and become violent. But women are supposed to be docile and biddable, and when a woman is not, she is punished for it. This is a double-edged sword, though, for he says indictment and conviction are both more likely when the victim is a woman."

That made sense to Edwin. "That is as it ought to be," he declared, "for it is craven to harm a woman. They cannot fight back, after all." But soon he was muttering, with far less gallantry, "Quick, bow down, for here comes Queen Jonet and her court jester."

As they watched, Jonet and Miles swept through the crowd, intent upon staking out a vantage point as close to the gallows as they could get. Justin was not surprised to see them there, but he was startled at sight of the cowled figure hurrying to catch up with them. "What is Thomas doing here? I doubt that the abbot would give him permission to attend a hanging. Want to wager, Edwin, that our novice monk took off on his own without even asking?"

"Jesu, I hope not," Edwin said, with feeling. "If he gets thrown out of the abbey, he'll come back to Mistress Ella's house, and God help us all then!"

Justin thought it very unlikely that Thomas would ever be allowed to take his final vows. But he saw no reason to burden Edwin with his doubts, for the groom's pessimism was well founded.

Edwin had begun to fidget under the hostile looks aimed in their direction. "Mistress Ella told me I could come to the hanging, and Jonet was right there, heard every word. Yet now she's glowering at me like I sneaked away when Mistress Ella's back was turned."

"It's the company you're keeping, Edwin," Aldith said wryly. "Here you are, after all, consorting openly with me, Winchester's very own Whore of Babylon."

"I'm not in their good graces, either," Justin pointed out. "During the trial, they made it quite clear that they'd sooner break bread with a leper than with me."

"You've got that right," Edwin grumbled. "Even after they learned that you'd solved Master Gervase's slaying, they still blamed you for unfairly casting suspicions upon them, saintly souls that they all are."

"Now why," Justin joked, "does that not surprise me? Naturally their wounded pride would matter more than their father's murder."

A sudden stir in the crowd put a halt to their conversation. Riders had come into view. The spectators surged forward at sight of the lumbering cart. Gilbert the Fleming was standing upright, defiant even in chains. But Aldith had eyes only for Luke. "There he is!"

Luke and his men were riding alongside the cart, keeping the onlookers back. Sometimes a condemned outlaw attained celebrity stature, but too many of the Fleming's crimes had been committed against the men and women of Winchester. He was greeted with a chorus of boos, hisses, and curses, and one man let fly with a rock, poorly aimed, that thudded into the cart. Before he could throw another one, Luke's serjeant shoved his way toward him. Wat remonstrated with the man, but no more than that, and when Justin remarked upon his restraint, not common when dealing with crowd control, Edwin explained that the stone-thrower was a kinsman of the merchant's wife left to die

on the Southampton Road.

"I do not believe my eyes!" Aldith sounded astonished, and then indignant. "What is the sheriff doing here? None of this was his doing. How dare he claim credit for Luke's arrest?"

One glance convinced Justin that she was right. The sheriff was indeed acting as if he'd been the one to capture the Fleming: gravely acknowledging the salutations of the crowd, giving needless orders to Luke and the other men, casting bellicose looks toward the outlaw, and generally putting Justin in mind of a barnyard cock crowing over another rooster's hen.

The more Aldith watched his preening and posturing, the angrier she became. But when Luke dismounted and joined them, he seemed philosophical about being relegated to a supporting role in the play about to begin. "You know how the Fleming was caught," he told Aldith, "and so does Queen Eleanor, thanks to de Quincy. So who else matters?"

The shackled and manacled outlaw had been dragged up onto the gallows, where the hangman was waiting impatiently. The sheriff had followed and gestured to indicate he wanted to be the one to put the noose around Gilbert's neck. Luke seemed to guess what was coming, for he said softly, "A bad move." And moments later, he proved prophetic, for when the sheriff approached with the rope, the Fleming spat directly into his face.

There was a mixed reaction from the crowd, gasps interspersed with some tittering. Aldith hid her face in Luke's shoulder to stifle her giggles, but Luke prudently kept his own amusement private. Forgetting his dignity, the outraged sheriff responded with a vituperative tongue-lashing, cut short by the condemned man's scornful laughter. Stepping back, the sheriff signaled abruptly and the Fleming's sneer became a contorted grimace as the hangman obeyed and hoisted him up.

The spectators fell silent. A few surreptitiously made the sign of the cross over the dying man. Aldith soon buried her face again in Luke's mantle. Edwin, too, looked away. But Luke and Justin watched grimly as the outlaw fought a losing battle for breath. It seemed to take a very long time before his struggles ceased and his body went limp.

Luke was the first to break the silence. "Well, he is finally on his way to Hell."

"I doubt," Justin said flatly, "if even the Devil would want him."

~~

Justin approached the Fitz Randolph house with reluctance. Unlike her children, the goldsmith's widow had not attended the Fleming's trial. While he cared nothing for the younger Fitz Randolphs' goodwill, he was not as indifferent to Ella's opinion. She was the only one of the bereaved family whom he'd found sympathetic, and he wanted her to think well of him. But if she did blame him as her children did, he was about to find out.

He was admitted by Edith, the serving maid, and escorted into the hall. Ella did not keep him waiting long. "Master de Quincy, this is a surprise." Ordering Edith to fetch wine, she led Justin over to the hearth. They'd barely seated themselves when the door banged and Jonet hastened into the hall.

She'd evidently been forewarned of Justin's presence, for she showed no surprise, only antagonism. "I cannot believe you have the gall to come calling upon us after the way you slandered our family! You are not welcome here."

"That is not for you to say, Jonet."

"Mother! This man saw us as suspects in Papa's murder!"

"I know that, Jonet. I also know that if not for him, your father's killers would never have been brought to justice."

"That does not excuse — "

"Yes," Ella said firmly, "it does. Nurse a grudge if you will. But I'll not have you be rude to a guest in this house — my house. Is that clear?"

Justin could not help noticing that Jonet was not as pretty when she was angry. Her fair skin splotched with hot color, her eyes slitted, she glared at her mother. But she was the one who backed down, flouncing off in a huff.

Justin found this exchange very interesting. It seemed that Ella was spreading her wings, asserting her authority as the family matriarch. A more satisfying role, for certes, than that of a wronged wife or a grieving widow.

"I apologize for my daughter's bad manners. I am glad that you've come, Master de Quincy, for I've wanted to thank you again for all you did on my husband's behalf."

"I wish I could have saved him, Mistress Fitz Randolph."

"I wish you could have, too," she said quietly. "He had his flaws, as do all men. But he was good hearted and generous and he did not deserve to die by an outlaw's hand. It pains me to say this, but his death seems to have grieved no one but me. For the others, it was almost… convenient."

"Surely that is not so," Justin protested politely, but without much conviction, for that same thought had occurred to him, too.

"I fear that it is. If Gervase were still alive, Thomas would not be Hyde Abbey's newest novice. For certes, Jonet and Miles would not be plight-trothed. Even that wanton woman has benefited from Gervase's death if the gossip is true. Is it? Does Luke de Marston really mean to wed her?" When he nodded, she grimaced. "Men are such fools!"

Justin felt confident that Aldith would understand if he did not try to defend her to her former lover's widow; she was too fair minded to deny that the older woman bore her a genuine grievance. "I have something for you," he said, taking out a sealed parchment. "The Queen's Grace asked me to deliver this to you."

"Why would the queen be writing to me?" she asked in wonderment. When he held the letter toward her, she did not take it. "Gervase insisted that Jonet be taught to read, but my father saw no such need in my girlhood. Will you read it to me?"

"Of course." Breaking the royal seal, he unrolled the parchment and shifted toward the closest light, a cresset lamp suspended from the ceiling by a braided rope.

"'Eleanor, Queen of England, Duchess of Normandy and Aquitaine, Countess of Poitou, to Ella, Mistress Fitz Randolph of Winchester, greetings. I wish to offer you my condolences upon the death of your husband. From all that I've heard of him, he was a good and brave man. I hope it may comfort you to know that he died in the service of the Crown.'"

When Justin glanced up, he saw that Ella was staring at him in bewilderment. "I… I do not understand. What does she mean?"

"You've heard that King Richard was captured by his enemies on his way home from the Holy Land?"

As he expected, Ella nodded, for Eleanor had finally made her son's plight public knowledge, after meeting with the Great Council at Oxford. "When your husband departed for London on Epiphany, he was bearing a letter for the queen, a confidential and urgent message entrusted to him by one who'd learned of the king s abduction. It is my belief that Gervase resisted his attackers so fiercely because he feared they were after the queen's letter."

"I see…" she breathed. "Then… then he truly did die in the queen's service?"

Gilbert the Fleming had not believed in leaving eyewitnesses to his crimes, and Gervase Fitz Randolph would likely have died whether he'd offered resistance or not. But Justin saw no need to tell that to his widow. "Yes, Mistress Fitz Randolph, he did."

Reaching over, he laid the letter in her lap. She touched the parchment gently, almost reverently, her eyes brimming with tears. He'd viewed the queen's message as a gamble, one that could have done as much harm as good. But he soon saw that Eleanor had guessed correctly, for when Ella looked up, her tear-streaked face was lit by a tremulous smile.

~~

The last time that Justin had looked upon Gervase Fitz Randolph's grave, it was covered with snow. The ground was still bare and brown, but it would not be long until Gervase slept under a blanket of lush, green grass. On this mild, sun-splashed Monday, the day after Easter, the scent of spring and renewal was in the air.

Kneeling by the grave, Aldith closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent prayer. When she rose, brushing dirt from her skirt, she said, "I wish I could have brought him flowers or a funeral lamp. But that would only have caused his widow's wounds to bleed anew. He does have my prayers, though, and will as long as I have the breath to say them."

Justin joined her beside the grave. "Requiescat in pace, Gervase," he murmured, hoping that the slain goldsmith would indeed rest in peace, and then offered Aldith his arm as they moved away. "I need your advice, Aldith. I want to buy something for Nell, to thank her for taking care of my dog whilst I was gone."

"It will be my pleasure. But if you let me, I can do more. I'd like to help you patch up a lovers' quarrel." She felt his sudden tension, the muscles in his arm constricting under her hand, and she said hastily, "Wait, Justin, hear me out. Luke told me that your courtship of one of the queen s ladies had gone awry, and I would — "

"'One of the queen's ladies,'" Justin said incredulously. "How in hellfire did Luke learn that?"

"From Nell. They were drinking at the alehouse after the Fleming's capture, gossiping and joking how you'd evicted Luke for a mystery bedmate. They were all curious about her, of course, and someone suggested, half in jest, that Nell ought to invite you and the girl to come over and join the revelries, so they could get a look at her. Nell retorted, right sharplike, that 'She's too grand for the likes of us,' and once the others realized she knew something, they badgered her until she told them: that a 'very elegant lady' had visited you after you'd gotten stabbed, escorted by the queen's knight."

When Justin swore under his breath, Aldith gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "It ought not to surprise you so. People love to gossip, especially about bedsport. And you're always going to be talked about on that Gracechurch Street, what with rumors that you serve the queen."

They had stopped on the narrow pathway that wound among the graves, and she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare, looking up earnestly into his face. "I do not pretend to know what happened between you or what went wrong. But I think you're still hurting. It might help to talk about it, to get a woman's view — "

"No!" he said, with a sharpness that he at once regretted. "I know you mean well, Aldith, but there is nothing you can do. It is over."

"Are you sure of that, Justin? There are few breaches which cannot be mended — "

"You do not understand. This was far more than a lovers' quarrel. It involved a betrayal."

"I see," she said. "But was it beyond forgiving?"

"Yes," he said, "it was."

They continued on up the path, walking in silence for a time. After giving him several sideways glances, she said, somewhat hesitantly, "When you said her betrayal was unforgivable, you really meant that you had to make a choice: whether to forgive her or not."

He smiled, mirthlessly, for she'd spoken greater truth than she knew. He had indeed been confronted with a choice. "I suppose so."

"I know I'm meddling," she said, "and after this, I'll say no more, I promise. But it seems to me that it is still gnawing at you."

"I suppose so," he said again, much more reluctantly this time.

"Could it be, then," she suggested softly, "that you made the wrong choice?"

When he did not reply, she was content to let the matter drop, hopeful that she'd planted a seed, one which might flower into reconciliation. Taking his arm again, she said, Come on, let's go spend your money. I think you ought to buy Nell a mirror. I know where you can get one of polished brass at a reasonable price. And some hair ribbons for her little girl. After that, would you mind if we stopped at St Mary's Church over in Tanner Street? Father Antony has been getting up a collection of blankets and clothing for Kenrick's family, and I would like to see how it is faring."

"I'm glad to hear that. But I'd not give Father Antony all the credit for that good deed. I understand he got a nudge or two in the right direction."

"Luke told you, did he? It was the lad, Kenrick's boy. I could not get that pinched little face out of my mind," she confided, "for that was once me…"

By now they were back on High Street. Eager to show Justin the brass mirror, Aldith was tugging at his arm, urging him to hurry. They had not gone far, though, before. Justin hear name being shouted. Aldith heard it, too. "It is Luke!" She exclaimed in surprise. Turning, they saw the deputy striding swiftly toward them.

"Where in blazes have you been, de Quincy? I've been searching all over town for you!"

Justin was startled by the tension crackling in the other man's voice. He'd thought that Luke had gotten over the worst of his jealousy. "Why?"

"I'd sent two of my men to Southampton to fetch a prisoner. They got back this morn, and with news you need to hear. John's ship dropped anchor in the harbor last night."

Justin drew a sharp breath, and Aldith looked from one man to the other in puzzlement. "John? The queen's son?"

"Who else?" Luke said tersely. "You know what this means, de Quincy?"

Justin nodded. "Trouble." Seeing that Aldith still did not comprehend, he said, "If what we heard is true, John has made a Devil's deal with the French king. He did homage to Philip for Normandy and promised to wed Philip's sister, apparently forgetting that he already has a wife. In return, Philip vowed to assist him in claiming the English crown. So you see, Aldith, his sudden return to England does not bode well for the queen or Richard."

"What are you going to do, Justin?"

"I have to let the queen know," he said, "straightaway."

~~

Aldith emerged from her cottage with a package wrapped in hemp; I packed bread and cheese for you, so you can eat on the road. While Justin put the food away in his saddlebag, she made one final attempt to get him to stay the night. "I do wish you'd wait, Justin, and leave in the morning."

"There are still hours of daylight left, enough for me to reach Alton with luck. That'll put me fifteen miles closer to London on the morrow."

Justin tightened the straps fastening his saddlebag to the crupper, pausing to look across the stallion at the deputy. "I've been curious about something, Luke. Do you know a man named Durand de Curzon?"

"No… the name is not familiar."

"He may have used another name. A man in his thirties, taller than most, with dark auburn hair and beard, bright blue eyes, an overbearing manner." Justin was unable to resist adding, "And a sneering sort of smile."

"I do remember a man like that," Luke said thoughtfully. "He claimed to be the sheriff's deputy for Berkshire, on the trail of an escaped felon. As I recall, he asked a lot of questions about crimes hereabouts, saying he had reason to believe his man might be sheltered by local outlaws. Why? Does it matter?"

"No," Justin said, "not anymore."

Aldith slipped her arm through Luke's, and they followed Justin out to the street. "Keep your guard up, de Quincy," Luke said brusquely, "for John could be a more dangerous foe than the Fleming."

"I'll be back for your wedding." Bidding them farewell, Justin turned his horse out into the road. When he glanced over his shoulder, they were still watching, and he waved, then rode on. The streets were thronged with carts and other riders and he had to keep checking Copper to avoid trampling careless passersby. Once he reached the East Gate, though, he left the city's congestion behind. The road ahead was clear and he urged his stallion into a steady gallop. But Luke's warning seemed to float after him on the wind.

It was late and most of London was abed. But lights still blazed in the queen's great chamber. It was quiet after Justin was done speaking. Eleanor was gazing down into her lap, her splendid rings glittering on tightly clasped fingers. "Pour us some wine, Justin," she said at last, "and we'll drink to my son's homecoming."

Her irony was so labored that Justin winced. Crossing to the table, he brought back two cups, but drank sparingly of his, for wine and fatigue could kindle a fire faster than any fuel he knew.

Almost as if reading his mind, Eleanor said, "You look bone weary. You must have slept in the saddle to get here so fast. Once again you've served me well."

Justin's mouth was dry. He took a quick swallow of the wine, then set the cup down in the floor rushes. "No, madame, the truth is that I have not served you well at all. For more than a fortnight, I have kept something from you, something you needed to know. I have good reason to believe that Lady Claudine is spying for your son."

She continued to sip her wine. "Indeed?"

Justin had been braced for anger, disbelief, even outright denial. But not indifference, never that. "Madame… you did hear me?"

He sounded so bewildered that she almost smiled. "Yes, I heard you, Justin. You said that Claudine is John's spy."

His breath quickened. "You already knew!"

She nodded. "Actually, I've known for some time."

Justin was dumbfounded. "But… but why?"

"Why did I not expose her double-dealing? Surely you've heard of the adage, 'Better the Devil you know than the one you do not.' Well, that holds even truer for spies. Besides, Claudine's spying was never more than an irritation, for she is not ruthless enough to be truly good at it. And as long as John thinks I trust her, he will not look elsewhere."

Justin decided that he needed a drink, after all. "You seem to accept betrayal so calmly, madame. Why are you not outraged?"

"Outrage is an indulgence of youth. It is not a vice of age… or queens."

Before Justin realized it, he had drained his cup. "You know her better than I, madame. Why would she do it?"

Eleanor shrugged. "There are any number of reasons why people are tempted to dance with the Devil. Some do it for money. Some are coerced, some seduced. My son can be very persuasive. But if I had to guess, I'd say Claudine was lured in by the adventure of it."

"The adventure of it?" Justin echoed, so bitterly that the words, innocuous in themselves, took on the sting of savage profanity.

"Yes, adventure," Eleanor insisted, "for that is how she'd see it. I am sure she has convinced herself that no great harm comes from her disclosures. She gives John what he wants, gets what she wants, and no one is truly hurt. It is a game to Claudine, only a game."

Justin shook his head slowly, a gesture as revealing to Eleanor as any outburst could have been. She watched as he returned to the table, poured them more wine. Accepting another cup, she said, "For what it is worth, lad, Claudine seemed to fancy you from the first. I doubt that she would have bedded a man she did not find desirable. She considers herself a spy, not a whore."

To Justin, that was meagre consolation, and he drank again, so quickly that she was moved to caution him to go slower. "I have no intention of getting drunk," he said tautly. "I've already gone down that road." Hearing his own words, he realized that the wine was loosening his tongue more than it ought, and he put the cup aside. "Did you know, madame, that I'd found out about Claudine?"

"Yes, I knew."

"Then why would you want to take me into your service?"

"I felt reasonably confident that you would come to me with the truth. I suppose I was curious to see how long it would take," she said, with a slight smile.

"You were testing me?"

"What do you think?"

"The truth?" he said, with a shaken laugh. "That I'm in over my head!"

She smiled at him over her wine cup. "I think you've been treading water quite well. No… you're a better swimmer than you realize, Justin. You proved that by the shipwreck story you concocted to tempt Claudine."

He stared at her. "How could you know about that? It is not as if Claudine would tell you!"

"No… but Durand did."

For Justin, this was one shock too many. "I do not understand," he said, in what was the greatest understatement of his life. "Why would Durand tell you? He is John's tame wolf!"

"No," she said, with the faintest glimmer of grim amusement, "he is my tame wolf."

"Are you saying that Durand has not been spying for John?"

"No… he has been spying for John for months. But what John does not realize is that Durand tells him only what I want him to know."

Justin was still trying to come to terms with this new reality. "But Claudine knew about Gilbert the Fleming. How could John have learned about him if not from Durand?"

"Yes, that came from Durand," she confirmed. "What use would he be to John if he did not deliver valuable information? He gives up just enough to keep John coming back for more."

"So… when Durand confronted me in the great hall, that was all an act?"

"No, not entirely. Oh, he was doing what you expected. You'd have been surprised, even suspicious, if he had not blamed you for his supposed fall from grace. But his dislike of you is quite real. He was very vexed at being caught out in Winchester. He rarely makes mistakes like that and does not take failure well. It is obvious that you return his hostility in full measure, and that is one reason why I am telling you this. You are likely to be working with Durand in the future, and I'd not want your suspicions of him to blind you to other dangers."

Justin was regarding Eleanor with awe. If family could indeed be equated with that "castle on a hill" he'd once envisioned, hers was a magnificent structure, luxurious and majestic, but with blood splattered on the walls within. While he marveled that she could face a son's treachery without flinching, he sensed, too, that the queen's needs would always prevail over the mother's. He was not sure if he'd have chosen to be part of her world — so sun blinding and dazzling and dangerous — but he could not imagine walking away. For better or worse, it was too late.

Thinking that Durand must like to ride his stallion along the edge of cliffs and sleep in burning buildings, he said, "I am still puzzled, though, about Durand's role in this… you called it a 'Devil's dance,' I believe. Since Durand was not truly John's man, why bother following me all the way to Winchester, not once but twice? Why not simply tell John that he had done so and save himself a lot of needless time in the saddle? Instead, he even went so far as to interrogate Luke de Marston — "

The answer came to him then, in a burst of clarity that took his breath away. "My God… he was not in Winchester at John's behest, was he? You sent him after me!"

"I was wondering," she said, "when you'd realize that."

Justin had so many questions that he settled for one, a simple "Why?"

"You alone had seen the killers. That made you the logical choice. But you were still a stranger to me — and if you'll forgive me for saying so — very young. I wanted to make sure that I'd not be throwing a lamb into the lion's den. So I thought it best that you had Durand there to keep an eye on you, at least until you'd demonstrated that you were quite capable of looking after yourself."

"And until you could be sure that I'd not make a botch of it," Justin suggested and Eleanor laughed.

"Yes, that, too. With so much at stake, I needed to know that I could rely upon you. Fortunately, my instincts were right. But then I've always had good judgment where men are concerned."

Her lips curved and she added wryly, "Except for husbands, of course!"

Drifting clouds hid the moon and when Justin led Copper from the stables out into the Tower bailey, it was like plunging into a black, silent sea. Swinging up into the saddle, he was almost at the Land Gate when several horsemen rode in. Raising his lantern as they passed by, Justin was jolted to come face to face with Durand de Curzon.

Durand was astride a big-boned black stallion, an ill-tempered beast to judge by the flattened ears and white-rimmed eyes. Spurring the horse forward, he swerved into Justin's path. Justin hastily reined in. Fortunately, his chestnut was of an equable temperament and not easily spooked. He did not doubt that Durand's action had been deliberate, a warning to stay out of his way. The queen's tame wolf was going to make a provoking ally, if not a downright dangerous one.

Justin exhaled a deep breath, wondering what he'd gotten himself into, for in that moment, the future seemed as dark and murky as this moonless spring night. But he glanced up then, saw the lights still burning brightly in the queen's windows, like a shining beacon midst the blackness of the bailey.

"Come on, Copper," he said. "The Devil with Durand and John, too." Leaving the Tower behind, he rode for Gracechurch Street, for home. And each time he looked back, he could still see the glow from Queen Eleanor's chambers, high above the sleeping city.