Sharon Penman - Dragon's lair

"And I am sure you wept a sea of salt tears for those poor, murdered men."

"You know I did not," she snapped. "But the fact that I did not grieve for them does not mean that I wanted their deaths. That sin is on Thomas de Caldecott, and he has already answered for it,"

"Yes, so I heard, Oliver was sparing with the details, though. I do not suppose that you had a hand in it?"

"Of course I did not!"

"I was not accusing, merely asking. I have never been a believer in coincidences, so naturally I marveled that the man should be killed once there was no longer a need for his services."

"I am going to assume that you are making another of your dubious jests," Emma said, with enough ice in her voice to put John at risk for frostbite. "I do not know who killed de Caldecott, only that it was not me."

"A passing stranger, then?" John suggested sarcastically. "Surely you must have some suspicions?"

"Well… Davydd was acting so oddly afterward that I did wonder if he'd ordered it done. But it turned out that he was merely trying to put the blame upon his nephew, with his usual dazzling success."

"I hope that my own wife does not speak of me in such loving tones. Surely the man has some redeeming qualities?"

"None worth mentioning," Emma said scathingly. "As I said, I do not know who killed de Caldecott. Nor do I know why you should care."

"Because I do not like surprises, Aunt Emma. No more than I like riddles. Here is one I particularly dislike: Why is a woman willing to put her own son's birthright at risk? I have no trouble believing that you loathe your husband. Most men would be astounded if they knew what their wives really think of them. But if Davydd loses power, where does that leave your son? Or you, for that matter?"

"My son's 'birthright,' you call it? Davydd seized power over the bodies of his brothers and has clung to it ever since by force, threats, and blind luck. You truly think there will be a peaceful transfer of that power from father to son? When pigs fly! I've always known that my son would never rule North Wales after Davydd. I just did not know the name of the man who would… until now."

"And that would be the troublesome nephew?"

"Do you know what I see when I look at Davydd? I see a doomed man, one with a mortal ailment that is slowly killing him. It is only a matter of time. And in that time I mean to do all I can to give my son — and my daughter — a secure future,"

"By gaining a friend at court?"

"Why be so modest, John? What we are talking about is king making. Your chances of seeing yourself crowned at Westminster increase dramatically if Richard does not come home. And then I will have more than a friend at court. I will have the king's favor."

"Yes," John said, "you will. Ingratitude has never been one my vices." Judging from the sound of footsteps, Justin guessed that John had moved to Emma's side. "So you are taking such great risk for your children? I hope they appreciate how fortunate they are. My own parents would do anything for the flesh of their flesh, absolutely anything… provided it did not involve the actual surrender of an acre of land or the loss of a single vassal."

"I see that you know your father better than I thought you did."

The bitterness in Emma's voice was so palpable that a verse from Scriptures popped into Justin's head, the one that spoke of "wormwood and gall." With John's retort, it was obvious that he, too, had caught the bile behind her words.

"My lord father always had a knack for making enemies. What did he do to incur your wrath, Emma?"

"You need to ask?" Emma sounded startled and then angry. "He forced me to wed a man I despised, separated me from my son, and exiled me to this godforsaken wilderness!"

"Well, yes, he did…" John did not sound as if he shared her outrage. "But that is the way it is done, Aunt Emma. Your son was the heir to your first husband's lands, so he could hardly follow you to Wales."

"He was four years old!"

"I was even younger when my parents deposited me at Fontevrault Abbey to start my career in the Church."

"And how did you like that, John? Did you cry for your nurse, for all that was known and familiar to you? My son cried for me."

When John spoke again, the edge was back in his voice, which made Justin think she'd cut too close to the bone. "For the highborn, marriages are made over the bargaining table, not in Heaven. Jesu, Richard even offered our sister Joanna to a Saracen prince! Of course she all but scorched his ears off when she heard, but — "

"I did not have Joanna's right of refusal! Nor am I innocent in the ways of the world. I was married off to Guy de Laval at a very young age, or have you forgotten that? When he died, I learned what most women will not admit, that a widow's lot is better than a wife's more often than not. But then my loving brother Harry decided that pleasing a Welsh ally mattered more than his sister's happiness."

"I doubt that he acted on a whim. Most likely he thought the marriage would help keep the peace in Wales."

"Yes, that is just what he told me when I begged him… begged him on my knees! He thought my marriage was a cheap price to pay for peace, and why not? I was the one to pay it, after all!"

"True enough… but in my father's defense, I feel obliged to point out that he did not wed you to a crofter or a shepherd, Aunt Emma. He wed you to a prince."

"A Welsh prince!" She all but spat the words. "So it does not surprise me that Richard was willing to marry his sister to an infidel. He was merely following in his father's footsteps, was he not?"

"I am beginning to understand. There is more at play here than a mother's concerns for her son's future. You see that 'price' you paid as a debt, one owed by my father. And since the dead are notoriously unreliable about paying debts, you mean to collect from Richard."

She did not deny it, saying challengingly, "What if I do?"

"In case it has escaped your notice, my father had more than one son. So why does Brother Richard get the lion's share of blood-guilt? Not even my greatest enemies have ever suggested that I am not the spawn of Harry's loins. Do you know something the rest of Christendom does not, Aunt Emma?"

Such a cynical jest shocked Justin; he could not imagine anyone but John daring to joke about so inflammatory a subject as paternity.

"What… that you are the result of Eleanor's dalliance with a dark-haired Angevin or Norman lord?" Emma asked, and then laughed. "No, John, I have no doubts about your lineage. Blood breeds true, you see. You are indeed Harry's son. But you are also the only one who could understand my plight and my desire for vengeance. You already know what it is like to have no power of your own, to be utterly dependent upon the goodwill of those you detest… do you not?"

There was a long silence, broken at last by Emma, "You'd best hope that I've satisfied your curiosity, for I'll be offering no more secrets of the heart. This is no confessional, and you are for certes no priest."

"One more question, dear aunt, and only one. Where is the wool?"

"I would," Emma said slowly, "that I knew."

Justin stiffened in disbelief. John sounded no less stunned, "You do not know? What sort of game are you playing now, Emma?"

"I assure you it is no game. Thomas de Caldecott handled the robbery, hiring the men, hiding the ransom, doing whatever must be done. I was not pleased with his killings and let him know it. So he in turn balked at telling me where he'd hidden the wool. He said I had no need to know, not yet. He never quite put the threat into words, but his meaning was clear. As long as he alone knew the hiding place, he was holding the reins and I was riding pillion behind him."

It occurred to Justin that Emma had just given herself an excellent motive for not wanting Thomas dead. He no longer doubted her. Knowing what he now did about Thomas de Caldecott, he knew, too, that the other man had been quite capable of taking such audacious measures to protect himself.