Sharon Penman - Dragon's lair

Aubrey rose, too. "I assume you will go now to see the Earl of Chester?" When Justin nodded, the bishop's eyes narrowed and his voice iced over. "You have been taking a great liberty in making use of the de Quincy name. That you do this with the queen's approval does not make it right. I shall expect you to conduct yourself with decorum and discretion whilst you are in Chester."

Justin was becoming accustomed by now to paternal threats, but if they did not intimidate, they still stung. "My lord bishop," he said, with such mocking deference that his father made an angry gesture of dismissal. They glared at each other, and had they but known it, in that moment they did indeed look alike.

The queen's letter gave Justin the same swift admittance to Chester Castle as it had to the bishop's palace. Ranulf de Blundeville greeted him in the great hall, but after reading Eleanor's message, he led Justin abovestairs to his solar. He did not offer Justin wine or ale, but Justin took no offense, sure that Chester's omission was not a deliberate rudeness. Those who knew the earl knew, too, that he was single-minded to a fault, a man who focused upon the most pressing problem to the exclusion of all else. While Justin had never formally met Chester before, he was well acquainted with the gossip that inevitably swirled around a man of such prominence. Chester prided himself upon being blunt-spoken and forthright, which occasionally caused the cynical to brand him as naïve or credulous. Justin knew better, for Eleanor had warned him not to undervalue the earl's discerning eye. If the queen respected Chester's mother wit, that was more than enough for the queen's man.

Putting aside Eleanor's letter, Chester studied Justin through hooded dark eyes. It was a challenging look, even antagonistic. Justin had expected as much. The Earl of Chester was a great lord, cousin to the king, wed to an even greater heiress, Constance of Brittany, widow of Richard's brother Geoffrey, mother of Arthur, Geoffrey's young heir. As stepfather of the Duke of Brittany, Chester was sure to exercise influence in the boy's domains, for Arthur would not reach his majority for many years. And there was always the chance that Chester might find himself the stepfather of a king. Richard had sired no sons from his Spanish queen, and he was not a man likely to die peacefully in bed. If he died without an heir of his body, some would argue that his brother Geoffrey's son, Arthur, had a better claim to the English throne than the youngest brother, John.

Whatever Arthur's prospects of outwitting or outrunning John in a race for the crown, there was no denying that Ranulf of Chester wielded vast and profound powers, and so Justin had assumed that he would be jealous of his authority, even with one of Queen Eleanor's agents. But however much he might have preferred to keep control of the investigation in his own hands, he would cooperate, for he was not a fool. If the ransom were not recovered, Chester and Davydd ab Owain would both be blamed by the irate queen and frantic mother.

Chester's first question showed that Eleanor's confidence in his intellect was not misplaced. "I would like," he said, "to know exactly what Davydd ab Owain told the Queen's Grace."

"We thought you would," Justin acknowledged, holding out a second parchment. "This is a copy of the letter that he wrote to Queen Eleanor, informing her that the ransom had been stolen on its way to Chester."

Justin waited while the earl read and was amused when Chester echoed his own words almost exactly, saying brusquely that Davydd had been miserly with the details of the ambush. "Fortunately, one of my knights was in Gwynedd helping with the collection of the ransom, and he was able to give me a more thorough account of the crime."

This was the first piece of good news that Justin had gotten. "Was your man present at the ambush, my lord earl?"

"Luckily for him, no. There was but one survivor, and I'm told he was not expected to live. Thomas was at Rhuddlan Castle, though, and so he has some useful information for you. Davydd ab Owain has good reason to be closemouthed. Had I blundered as badly as he did, I'd be loath to share my shame with the world, too."

Justin was not surprised that Chester was eager to lay blame at Davydd's door. Marcher lords and their Welsh counterparts were natural rivals, for the borders were writ in sand, shifting or expanding as ambitious men jockeyed for advantage. "I would be most interested in hearing of these blunders, my lord. To judge by the prince's letter to my lady queen, all the guilt belongs to that Welsh bandit, who is apparently a kinsman of some sort."

"A kinsman of some sort?" Chester echoed, so sarcastically that Justin tensed. "You are not very well informed, are you, Master de Quincy? If you do not even know the players in this infernal game, how likely are you to come out as the winner? Llewelyn ab Iorwerth is no fourth cousin by blood or distant kin by marriage. Nor can he be dismissed as a 'Welsh bandit.' He is Davydd's nephew and in the eyes of Holy Church, he has a better claim to crown than his usurping uncle, for he was begotten in lawful marriage and Davydd was born in sin."

Justin was angry at the injustice of Chester's rebuke; this was why he'd come to the earl in the first place, to learn about the "players in this infernal game." But earls were not men to be reprimanded, and he contented himself by saying coolly, "I thought that the Welsh allow a bastard to inherit as long as he is recognized by his father."

Chester's heavy black brows slanted down in a frown, for Justin's tone was not as dispassionate as his words. Justin held his gaze and to his surprise, the earl was the one to look away first. "I am glad to see that you do have some knowledge of the Welsh and their ways," he said grudgingly, and Justin remembered that the earl had a reputation for more than pride and hot temper; it was said, too, that he was fair.

"I would like to meet with this knight of yours, my lord earl," Justin said, doing his best to sound like a supplicant, for his mission could be crippled if he made an enemy of Chester.

"I shall do better than that, Master de Quincy. It is my intent to send Sir Thomas de Caldecott with you into Wales."

Justin was less than thrilled by the earl's generosity, and there was a gleam in Chester's eyes that told him the earl well knew the presence of his knight would be a mixed blessing. It would be useful to have an ally who was so familiar with Wales and the Welsh. But this man would also be Chester's eyes and ears, and Justin was not yet sure if the queen's interests and the earl's interests were necessarily one and the same. Moreover, although he worked well enough with the serjeant Jonas and the under-sheriff Luke de Marston, he was more comfortable on his own. There was some truth in Luke's jest that he was a natural lone wolf, not happy hunting with the pack.

Justin now gave the only response he could, and thanked the Earl of Chester for his kind offer, "My pleasure," the other man said, with a brief smile. It was unexpectedly mischievous, and for the first time, he looked as young as he truly was, for Chester was only in his twenty-third year. "I've already sent for Thomas." Not at all uncomfortable with the prolonged silence that followed, the earl glanced again at the queen's letter and then back at Justin.

"De Quincy," he said, as if finally taking notice of Justin's surname, "Are you any kin to our bishop?"

It was the first time that Justin had been asked this question, although he'd often considered his answer. He did not want to lie, but neither did he want to admit the truth, for his candor could give rise to scandal and a public repudiation by his father. He compromised now by smiling and saying breezily, "I asked the good bishop that, too, but he says nay."