The Queen Man

8

WESTMINSTER

February 1193

Justin reached London in late afternoon four days later, after a journey plagued by mishaps — a broken rein, a lost horseshoe — and unease. He'd been more shaken by the sight of Luke and Durand together than he cared to admit. Their confrontation with the Fleming had dispelled any last doubts about the deputy's good faith. He was still sure that Luke was not involved in the goldsmith's death. But was he in the pay of the queen's son? John would see an under-sheriff as a useful ally. Was Luke de Marston John's man?

Justin did not want to believe that, and it was not at all difficult to find innocent explanations for Luke's breakfast colloquy with Durand. But each time he'd convinced himself that his suspicions were groundless, he'd hear again the unsettling echoes of

Eleanor's warning: Be wary, watch whom you trust.

He went straight to the Tower, only to be told that Eleanor was at Westminster for the day. Reclaiming Copper from the stable, he wearily headed west again. There was less than an hour of daylight remaining by the time he rode into the New Palace Yard. After hitching his stallion, he started for the great hall. But the bailey was thronged with people, and he was soon caught up in the crowd, being swept along in spite of himself. "What is happening?" he asked the nearest onlooker. "Where is everyone going?"

"To see the prisoners submit to the ordeal. The sheriff's men will be bringing them out any moment. You'd best hurry if you want to get close enough to watch."

Justin had seen a trial by ordeal once before, years ago in Shrewsbury. A man accused of arson had been taken to the abbey's mill pond, bound hand and foot, and thrown into the water to see if he sank, proof of innocence, or floated, proof of guilt. The man had gone under and was therefore adjudged innocent, although he was half-drowned by the time he'd been pulled out. But the nearest body of water here at Westminster was the river.

"What sort of ordeal?"

"See for yourself." The other man pointed up ahead, where a large iron cauldron had been brought to a boil over an open fire. Justin was not sure that was something he wanted to watch, but the crowd's momentum carried him forward. People were jockeying for position near the cauldron. Justin's neighbor explained that the men had been charged with the murder of an elderly widow, but others claimed the crime was robbery and one stubborn soul kept insisting it was heresy. Midst all this misinformation, Justin did learn that Londoners could not be forced to undergo the ordeal, having been granted a royal exemption. So either the prisoners were not citizens of London or they'd chosen to submit to the ordeal, preferring that judgment be rendered by Almighty God and not a jury of their peers. Staring at that churning cauldron, Justin winced and made a quick sign of the cross.

The sheriff's serjeants were escorting the prisoners out now and the crowd pressed forward, eager to see. Both men looked young and very frightened. One was shivering noticeably as holy water was sprinkled on his bared forearm and when he was urged to drink he needed help to hold the holy water cup steady. A priest had stepped forward and, signaling for quiet, began to intone a prayer.

"If these men be innocent, do Thou, O God, save them as Thou did save Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace. But if they be guilty and dare plunge their hands into the boiling water because the Devil has hardened their hearts, let

thy Holy Justice be done. Amen."

The noise had been considerable, but suddenly it was utterly still. The crowd seemed to be holding its collective breath as the priest dropped a smooth white stone into the depths of the cauldron and then ordered the first prisoner to come forward. By now he was shaking so badly that he seemed on the verge of collapse. Shutting his eyes tightly, he leaned over the cauldron, but recoiled as soon as he breathed in the cloud of steam rising from the water. Twice he tried to grope for the stone, but each time his courage failed and he pulled back. After the third failed attempt, he began to sob and the serjeants stepped in, dragging him away from the cauldron.

A murmur ran through the crowd, almost like a sigh. God's Judgment had been passed; the man would hang. Now it was his partner's turn. He had gone ashen, biting his lips until they bled. But he advanced resolutely, peering through the steam to find the stone. He hesitated so long that people began to fear that he, too, would balk, and mutters of disappointment and disapproval began to be heard. But then he lunged forward and thrust his arm into the cauldron. Staggering back, he held up the stone for all to see, and some of the spectators cheered.

They were at once rebuked by the priest, who reminded them that the Almighty's verdict had not yet been rendered. The prisoner was instructed to extend his arm and a serjeant wrapped it in thick linen. While it was being sealed with the sheriff's signet to ensure there'd be no tampering, the priest declared that the man would be returned to gaol. In three days, the bandage would be unwrapped. If his skin was blistered and scalded, he would hang. If not, he would go free.

The crowd was slow to disperse and Justin found himself still walled in by bodies. He was waiting for a path to open up when he glanced toward his right and saw John and Durand standing together on the other side of the cauldron.

Recognition was mutual. As their eyes met, Justin's own dismay was mirrored on Durand's face. Justin was not surprised that Durand had beaten him back to London; he'd lost half a day finding a saddler to repair his broken rein. Durand would still have had to leave Winchester right after he did, though, further proof — if it were needed — that the knight had been in the city to spy on him.

Durand quickly recovered his equilibrium. But that brief flash of alarm had been very telling; so he hadn't admitted to John that he'd been caught in the act. Justin relished having the upper hand, but before he could decide what he wanted to do, John turned and saw him. Justin had to admire the other man's equanimity, for he showed not even a flicker of surprise. Instead, he smiled and beckoned Justin over.

"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 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 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 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 Marston 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 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."

"I 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?"

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 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 Longsword.

"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!"

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."

"Why would that matter so to him?"

"As long as Richard's whereabouts remain a mystery, John can sow rumors with impunity and find ready believers. So far he has been relying upon his agents and spies to spread these stories of Richard's death. Soon he must start making these claims himself. But it would be very awkward — to say the least — if Queen Eleanor could then offer proof that Richard is still alive. I am sure that is why he is so curious about that letter you delivered and your subsequent missions for the queen."

"Thank you, my lord, for being so forthright."

"You had a right to know," Will said simply. Snapping his fingers at the greyhound, he turned to go. "I am afraid you are caught in the middle of two separate hunts, lad, one for a killer and the other for a throne."

Justin stayed by the river wall, watching as the glow from Will's lantern grew fainter and fainter. There were too many players in this game — the Fleming, the queen's son, the queen herself, possibly even the King of France — and the rules kept changing. It was a sobering thought, that a mistake of his might prolong the English Lionheart's captivity.