Sharon Penman: Dragon's lair

As John frowned over the letter, Durand sauntered over to the table, found flint and tinder and struck sparks until he was able to ignite the wick of a large wax candle. When John raised his head to demand more light, Durand was already there, holding out the candlestick. He took the opportunity to appraise John's bedmate at close range, his gaze moving appreciatively over the voluptuous curves so inadequately draped in a thin, linen sheet.

Ursula was well aware of his scrutiny, but she made no attempt to cover herself, regarding him with an indifference that pricked his pride. Durand could not make up his mind about Ursula. Was it that she was too jaded to care about anything but her own comfort, disenchanted and distrustful? Or was it merely that she was dull-witted, a woman blessed with such a lush, desirable body that the Almighty had decided she had no need for brains, too?

Durand had flirted with her occasionally, if only to alleviate the boredom when they were trapped at the siege of Windsor Castle, but to no avail, and he'd soon decided that she was a selfish bitch and likely dumb as a post. Not that he would have lain with her even if she'd been panting for it. He'd long ago concluded that John's sense of possession was even stronger than his sense of entitlement. Still, the risk had its own appeal, separate and apart from Ursula's carnal charms. He'd learned at an early age that danger could be as seductive as any whore. Irked by Ursula's blank, impassive gaze, he stripped her with his eyes, slowly and deliberately. By God, she was ripe. Would it truly matter if her head was filled with sawdust? All cats were grey in the dark.

Belatedly becoming aware of John's utter silence, he glanced toward the younger man and all lustful thoughts were banished at the sight of John's ashen face. Durand held no high opinion of Queen Eleanor's youngest son. He thought John was too clever by half and as contrary and unpredictable as the winds in Wales. But he did not doubt John's courage; treason was not for the faint of heart. So he was startled now to see John so obviously shaken. What dire news was in the French king's letter?

"My lord? You look like a man who's Just heard that there was hemlock in his wine. What is amiss?"

John continued to stare down at the letter. A muscle was twitching faintly in his cheek, and the hand resting on his knee had clenched into a fist. Just when Durand decided that he was not going to respond, he glanced up, eyes glittering and opaque. "Read it for yourself."

Many men would not have been able to meet that challenge, but Durand was literate in both French and Latin. As he approached the bed, John thrust the letter at him like a knife. He did not flinch, taking the parchment in one hand and holding the candlestick in the other, then stepping back so he could read it.

The French king's seal had been broken when John unthreaded the cord and unfolded the letter. There was no salutation, no signature, just seven words scrawled across the middle of the page, written in such haste that the ink had bled before it dried, blotted so carelessly that a smudged fingerprint could be seen.

"Look to yourself for the Devil is loosed."

July 1193

Westminster, England

WALKING IN THE GARDENS OF THE ROYAL PALACE ON a sultry, overcast summer afternoon, Claudine de Loudun recognized for the first time that she feared the queen. This should not have been so surprising to her, for the queen in question was Eleanor, Dowager Queen of England, Duchess of Aquitaine, one-time Queen of France, Burning as brightly as a comet in her youth, Eleanor had shocked and fascinated and outraged, a beautiful, willful woman who'd wed two kings, taken the cross, given birth to ten children, and dared to lust after power as a man might. But she'd survived scandal, heartbreak, and insurrection, even sixteen years as her husband Henry's prisoner,

The older Eleanor was wiser and less reckless, a woman who'd learned to weigh both words and consequences. Her ambitions had always been dynastic, and in her twilight years she was expending all of her considerable intelligence, political guile, and tenacity in the service of her son Richard. She was respected now, even revered in some quarters, for her sound advice and pragmatic understanding of statecraft, and few appreciated the irony — that this woman who'd lived much of her life as a royal rebel should be acclaimed as a stabilizing influence upon the brash, impulsive Richard.

To outward appearances, it seemed as if the aged queen had repudiated the carefree and careless girl she'd once been, but Claudine knew better. Eleanor's tactics had changed, not her nature. She was worldly, curious, utterly charming when she chose to be, prideful, stubborn, calculating, and still hungry for all that life had to offer. She had a remarkable memory untainted by age, and although she might forgive wrongs, she never forgot them. As Claudine was belatedly acknowledging, she could be a formidable enemy.

Claudine was not a fool, even if she had done more than her share of foolish things. It was not that she'd underestimated the queen, but rather that she'd overestimated her own ability to swim in such turbulent waters. It had seemed harmless enough in the beginning. What did it matter if she shared court gossip and rumors with the queen's youngest son? She had seen it as a game, not a betrayal, just as she'd seen herself as John's confederate, not his spy. How had it all gone so wrong? She still was not sure. But there was no denying that the stakes had suddenly become life or death. Richard languished in a German prison. John was being accused of treason. The queen was sick with fear for her eldest son and vowing vengeance upon those who would deny Richard his freedom. And Claudine was in the worst plight of all, pregnant and unwed, facing both the perils of the birthing chamber and the danger of disgrace and scandal.

She'd never worried about incurring Eleanor's animosity before, confident of her own power to beguile, putting too much trust in her blood ties to the queen, distant though they might be. But in this fragrant, trellised garden, she was suddenly and acutely aware of how vulnerable she truly was. It was such a demoralizing realization that she quickly reminded herself how understanding the queen had been about her pregnancy. She'd feared that Eleanor would turn her out, letting all know of her shame. Instead, the queen had offered to help. So why, then, did she feel such unease?

She glanced sideways at the other woman, and then away. She'd often thought the queen had cat eyes, greenish-gold and inscrutable, eyes that seemed able to see into the inner recesses of her soul, to strip away her secrets, one by one. Claudine bit her lip, keeping tier own eyes downcast, for she had so many secrets.

Eleanor was aware of the young woman's edginess, and it afforded her some grim satisfaction. She bore Claudine no grudge for allowing herself to become entangled in John's web; she'd had too many betrayals in her life to be wounded by one so small. And so once she'd discovered Claudine's complicity in her son's scheming, she'd been content to keep that knowledge secret, reasoning that a known spy was a defanged snake. She'd even used the unwitting Claudine to pass on misinformation from time to time. But if she felt no desire for vengeance, neither did she have sympathy for Claudine's predicament. Every pleasure in this world came with a price, be it a dalliance in conspiracy or one in bed.

Glancing about to make sure none of her other attendants were within earshot, Eleanor asked the girl if she was still queasy. When Claudine swallowed and swore that she no longer felt poorly, Eleanor gave her a skeptical scrutiny. "Why, then, is your face the color of newly skimmed milk? There is no need to pre tend with me, child. Only men could call a pregnancy 'easy,' but some are undoubtedly more troublesome than others. For me, it was my last. There were days when even water could unsettle my stomach. I've sailed in some fierce storms, but God's Truth, I was never so greensick as when I was carrying John."