Cruel as the Grave

  "Indeed," John agreed, so readily that Justin tensed, anticipating the pounce. Instead John turned again to his servant. "Set a place for Master de Quincy. He looks like a man in need of a meal."

  Justin was astounded. One of John's most intriguing - and unsettling - attributes was his unpredictability. It made him interesting company... provided he was not also one's gaoler. Whatever John's motivations, though, Justin was not going to stand on false pride. "Thank you, my lord," he said, taking the seat indicated and watching appreciatively as a roasted chicken leg was placed upon his trencher.

  "Not at all," John said amiably. "The least I can do is to offer a condemned man one last meal."

  Justin thought that was a dubious joke... if indeed it was one. Talking with John was like taking a stroll through a quagmire; the slightest misstep could lead to disaster. Before he could respond, though, the door opened and a woman entered the bedchamber. She gave Justin an incurious glance, then leaned over to kiss John, taking a seat beside him. Justin's wine cup halted, halfway to his mouth. He had seen women more beautiful. He'd rarely seen a woman whose appeal was so blatantly carnal, though. What man could look upon those smoky grey eyes, pouting red mouth, bright flaxen hair, and lush, voluptuous body and not think of mortal sins? He didn't realize he was staring so obviously until John commented, "I do not mind sharing my meal with you, de Quincy, but my generosity has its limits."

  Justin acknowledged his guilt with a quick smile and an apology to John's concubine for his bad manners. Her own manners were in need of mending, for she ignored him utterly, devoting all of her attention to her chicken. When Justin glanced back at John, he saw amusement in the other man's eyes. Unlike Durand, John was not hostile. He seemed curious, almost friendly, as if welcoming a distraction midst the monotony of the siege. The Prince of Darkness. Justin wondered suddenly if John knew about Claudine's private jest. He suspected that John would have been flattered, not offended. He must not let down his guard with this man. John could as easily doom him with a smile as with a curse.

  John was gnawing on a chicken leg, watching Justin all the while. "Are you ready now," he said, "to tell me why my mother sent you to spy on me? What guilty secrets did she hope that you'd unearth at Windsor?"

  "I was not sent here to spy upon you, my lord."

  "Durand says he found you ransacking my tower chamber. What were you doing, then, if not spying?"

  "That never happened. I was not searching your chamber."

  "You are saying that Durand lied?"

  Justin's mouth was dry and he paused to take a swallow of wine and draw a bracing breath now that the moment was at hand. "Do you speak English, my lord?"

  John shook his head in bafflement. "No, I do not... why?"

  "As English is unknown to you, so is the truth an alien tongue to Durand."

  John laughed. "I'll not quarrel with that. But Durand does nothing without a reason. So why would he lie to me about your spying?"

  "So you'd hang me."

  John considered that for a moment and then grinned again. "Ah, I am remembering now... the two of you got into a brawl over the Lady Claudine a few weeks back. I'd already left the hall, was sorry I missed it. So he still bears you a grudge, does he? Well, I suppose it would be ungallant to suggest Claudine's charms are not worth dying for, so let's say you're speaking the truth. If you are not here to spy, why, then?"

  "The queen hoped that I could convince you to surrender the castle."

  "Did she, now?" John's affability had vanished; his face was a mask, impossible to read. "And how were you to do that?"

  "She wanted me to tell you that she is willing to offer you more generous terms. If you agree to yield up Windsor, Wallingford, and the Peak, she will see to it that you keep control of your castles at Nottingham and Tickhill."

  "Why did you not come in under a flag of truce, then?"

  "The other justiciars do not know of this offer, my lord," Justin said, and then held his breath, waiting to see if John would take the bait. Something flickered in those tawny gold eyes, too quickly to catch. Justin ate some of his chicken; even under such stressful circumstances, it tasted delicious. If this was indeed his last meal, at least it would be a good one.

  "That is a generous offer," John conceded, but he did not sound happy about it. "Why is she suddenly so eager to settle this siege without bloodshed?"

  Justin had decided to tell John the truth, or as much of it as he dared. "She has two reasons, my lord. It would be more difficult to collect King Richard's ransom in a realm beset with strife."

  John showed no surprise, confirming Justin's suspicions; he'd wager John had known about the ransom long before Eleanor did, courtesy of his conniving ally, the French king. "God forbid," John said dryly, "that there should be difficulties in collecting the ransom. What was her other reason?"

  "She fears for your safety if the castle is taken by force."

  "Does she, indeed?"

  The words themselves were innocuous, but John invested them with such an ironic edge that Justin stared at him. At first glance, a comparison between John and Daniel Aston seemed ludicrous. What did the worldly, sardonic, and unscrupulous queen's son possibly have in common with the callow, wretched youth huddling in sanctuary at St Paul's? And yet they were both second-best, less-loved sons who had been overlooked and outshone by bedazzling elder brothers. Jealousy might not be as lethal as hemlock or henbane, but it could poison, too. Justin leaned forward, saying with a husky, earnest intensity that John could not ignore:

  "The queen's fears for you are very real. When I expressed doubts that you'd be at risk if the castle fell, she was quite vexed with me and dwelt at length upon the dangers you'd be facing. If you need proof of that, my lord, I can offer no better proof than my own presence within this castle."

  John frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "The queen has been generous with her praise since I entered her service. She has told me that I've earned her trust and I do believe she is even fond of me, in her way. I am sure that she would not want to see harm befall me. I am sure, too, that she knew full well the risks I'd be taking. Yet she did not hesitate. You see, my lord, my life is expendable to her. Yours is not."

  John said nothing. His lashes had swept down, veiling his eyes. Beside him, his sultry bedmate continued to eat with gusto, oblivious to the currents swirling around her. Justin could not imagine Claudine playing so passive a role. He reminded himself that he had no proof that Claudine had ever bedded John, and finished his chicken leg. He had said all he could; the rest was up to John.

  "You claim the justiciars know nothing of my mother's offer?"

  "No, my lord, they do not."

  "Who helped you, then, to get into the castle? Who staged that raid upon the gatehouse?"

  "I did confide in one man, my lord, telling him that I hoped to convince you to yield up the castle peaceably. He was more than willing to offer his aid once he heard that."

  John's smile was skeptical. "And the name of this Good Samaritan?"

  "Your brother, Will Longsword," Justin said, and sensed that he'd gotten through John's defenses, however fleetingly. He wished he could think of a way to learn if John had been the one entering the tower chamber as Durand struck him down. He was unwilling, though, to ask outright, for John's imagination was already tangled with suspicions and doubts; Jesu forfend that he plant any seeds of his own. John had fallen silent again. When he could endure the suspense no longer, Justin said cautiously:

  "Will you at least consider the queen's offer, my lord?"

  John studied him impassively and then nodded. "I shall think upon it."

  Justin knew the adage about letting sleeping dogs lie, but he could not help himself. He had to ask. "And what of me, my lord?"

  John's expression did not change, but his eyes caught the candlelight, reflecting a gleam that might have been malice or mischief, or both. "I shall think upon that, too," he said.

  12

  WINDSOR CASTLE br />
  May 1193

  Durand sauntered into John's chamber with a deliberate swagger. His gaze flashed from John to Justin, back to John. "You wanted me, my lord?"

  "Yes ... come in, Durand." John's smile was nonchalant, his eyes opaque. "Master de Quincy is going to be my guest for a while. See if you cannot find someplace for him to stay... more comfortable than his last lodgings."

  Durand did a marvelous impression of a man unhappy with his task but much too loyal to object. "I'll see to it straightaway," he said, glancing at Justin with feigned distaste that was, in actuality, quite real. Justin watched the performance, fascinated in spite of himself by the role-playing. When Durand looked in a mirror, did he recognize the man looking back at him?

  John gestured for his servant to pour more wine, then picked up another piece of chicken. Taking that as dismissal, Justin rose to his feet. John let them go, waiting until they'd reached the door. "De Quincy and I have been having a right interesting conversation about the art of lying. Any thoughts on that, Durand?"

  Durand shrugged. "Whatever gets a man through the day."

  John smiled. "Well, that is one viewpoint. A bit more tolerant, mayhap, than the Church's position. I believe it holds lying to be a sin, no?"

  Justin was close enough to see the muscles tighten along Durand's jawline. When the other man spoke, though, he sounded quite composed, even amused. "Are you fretting about the state of my immortal soul, my lord?"

  "No, I've never been one for lost causes. Sin all you want, with my blessings. But lying to me would be worse than a sin, Durand. It would be a blunder."

  Durand's face was blank, utterly without expression. "I'll bear that in mind, my lord."

  John smiled again. "That would be wise," he said, and to Justin's surprise, he found himself feeling a flicker of involuntary, unwelcome sympathy for Durand, who diced with death on a daily basis, knowing that his first misstep would likely be his last.

  Neither Justin nor Durand spoke until they had emerged out into the keep's inner bailey. By now the sunset was at its zenith and the sky above their heads was the color of blood. "We can put you in a chamber in the south wall tower," Durand said at last. "If it were up to me, you'd be sleeping in the pigsty. Just what did you tell John, damn your soul?"

  "That I was no spy. Of course you'd been very helpful in that regard, telling him you caught me searching his chamber. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you did not forge a confession for me, too."

  Their argument was all the more intense for having to be conducted in hushed undertones meant to deter eavesdroppers. They fell silent until a group of soldiers passed by and then Durand launched another sotto voce offensive. "What did you tell John about me?"

  "That you used the truth the way other men use whores, or words to that effect. I may have hinted that you'd seen a chance to settle a grudge. That fit for certes with what he knows of your high moral character, and the public brawl we had at the Tower helped, too. He thinks we are feuding over Claudine. Try to remember that in case he asks."

  Durand called Justin a highly uncomplimentary name, but after a moment, he conceded, "Well, I suppose it could have been worse."

  "Yes," Justin agreed, "we could have been hanged together."

  "I still do not think you'd have betrayed me."

  "Gambling on my goodwill, Durand, would be a fool's wager."

  "Not your goodwill, de Quincy, your loyalty. As you put it in one of your more coherent moments down in that dungeon, we both serve the queen. How would it have availed her to lose her best man?"

  Justin laughed incredulously. "So this was all my fault?"

  "Well, it was not mine. If I'd wanted you dead, I'd have reached for my dagger, not a candlestick."

  "The candlestick was faster," Justin said laconically, "what with John about to burst in the door," and got from Durand his first spontaneous smile.

  "Jesu, but you're a cynical one, de Quincy. You're also a better talker than I expected. Whatever you said to John, it saved your skin. Were you able to perform a second miracle tonight and talk him into yielding up the castle?"

  "I think so," Justin said slowly, and Durand gave him a look of genuine surprise.

  "I see that I've been underrating you, de Quincy. The next time I shall have to keep that in mind."

  "The next time," Justin echoed softly. There was no need to say more. They both understood perfectly.

  ~~

  The next day John demanded to see his brother Will, who immediately rode into the castle under a flag of truce. It still took nearly a fortnight before the negotiations were finally resolved, for John was not about to accept a verbal assurance, even if it came from his mother. Promises had to be committed to

  writing, compromises made, and the justiciars and barons reconciled to the generosity of the terms being offered by the queen. The Bishop of Durham in particular was incensed and had to be placated for the loss of John's castle at Tickhill, which he'd been on the verge of capturing. Eventually, though, a truce was struck until All Saints' Day, and John ordered the gates of Windsor Castle opened to the army of William Marshal.

  ~~

  Justin stood on the steps of the great hall, watching as Marshal's men swarmed into the bailey. John had ridden out shortly before noon, and with him had gone Justin's nemesis, departing in a cloud of dust for parts unknown. Justin harbored no illusions, though, that the queen's son was done with his rebellion. It would now take another form, but it would go on. He never doubted that Eleanor knew it, too.

  Hearing his name called, he smiled at the sight meeting his eyes: Luke riding into the bailey, leading Copper behind him. Drawing rein, the deputy slowly shook his head in mock wonderment. "Well, once again you walked into the lion's den and somehow avoided being eaten. How many of your nine lives did you squander this time?"

  "Too many," Justin conceded, hearing again the sound that still echoed in his sleep: the slamming of the dungeon's trapdoor. Over a flagon of wine in the great hall, he gave Luke an edited account of his misadventures, seeking - with limited success - to put a humorous spin upon Durand's double cross. Luke responded with gratifying indignation and predictable carping, taking Justin to task for turning his back upon a viper. "Did you learn nothing from your dealings with the Fleming, de Quincy? So what happens now? I do not suppose you can complain to the queen...?"

  "No... her man has covered his tracks. He would merely swear that he was protecting himself, and I cannot offer proof to the contrary. Even if I could, I do not know that I'd want to burden the queen with it. She has enough troubles of her own without taking on mine, too."

  Luke didn't argue; in Justin's place, he wouldn't have gone to the queen, either. "Let's drink then to the surrender of Windsor Castle," he suggested, clinking his cup against Justin's, "and to an untimely death for the queen's back-stabbing spy. I suppose I will have to go back to Winchester now and face Aldith's wrath. What about you?"

  "I leave for London at first light," Justin said, "to make my report to the queen." And to do what he could for a frightened youth cowering in the shadows of St Paul's sanctuary.

  ~~

  "Well, done, Justin!"

  "Thank you, Madame." Basking in the warmth of the queen's approval, Justin found it easy to forget how close he'd come to dying on her behalf. He had survived and she was pleased, and for the moment, nothing else mattered. "Do you know where John has gone?"

  "He took the road north, Madame. My lord Marshal thinks he was heading for his castle at Nottingham."

  "I assume Durand went with him?"

  "Yes, my lady, he did."

  "Good," she said, but her tone was preoccupied. Justin was learning to read her unspoken signals, and it seemed obvious to him that her thoughts were not of Durand. He was not surprised when she did not ask about his collaboration with Durand. Eleanor did not ever ask a question unless she was sure she wanted to know the answer. Justin understood that and waited for the question she did want to ask.


  "I have good news of my own," Eleanor said. "The French king was forced to abandon the siege of Rouen and retreat. For the moment at least, Normandy holds fast for my son."

  "I am gladdened to hear that, Madame."

  "Now we must concentrate all our efforts upon raising the ransom." Eleanor paused to sip from a silver goblet of watered down wine. "My son... he was well?" When he nodded, she drank again, her eyes on Justin's face. "What did you say to John?"

  "I told him what you'd bidden me, my lady, that he need not yield up all of his castles if he surrendered."

  "I know that," she said, with a trace of impatience. "What else?"

  "Just that... that you were concerned for his safety."

  "I see..." Eleanor continued to study him, so intently that he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd been sent to Windsor to speak for the queen, instead had found himself speaking for the mother, and he could only hope now that she'd not see his initiative as presumption.