Sharon Penman: Dragon's lair

So he was bodyguard as well as spy. John's guardian angel, as it were. That thought was so ludicrous to Justin that he almost laughed. Mayhap the queen was right. Mayhap it took one of the Devil's own to protect a man like John. It was not a thought he liked, though, for it seemed to confirm Durand's bravado at Mostyn grange, his boast that he was indispensable to the queen.

"John wants above all else to thwart our efforts to buy Richard's freedom." Eleanor sounded as if she were thinking aloud, but Justin felt confident she expected him to contribute to the conversation. If not, she would have dismissed him by now.

"My Lady… when I met Durand in Southampton this summer, he told me that the French king and Lord John intended to offer the Holy Roman Emperor a vast sum to keep King Richard captive, and I passed that information on to you. Have you been able to verify the truth of that report?"

"One hundred fifty thousand silver marks worth of truth," she confirmed. "Say what you will about my offspring, they do not lack for ingenuity."

"Would the French king pay most of that?" he asked, and Eleanor laughed.

"Philippe? That one would sooner drink his own blood than part with a single denier. Moreover, the French coffers were drained dry by the Crusade. He would expect John to put up his share. They are co-conspirators, Justin, not friends,"

"I was wondering how Lord John could get his hands upon so much money. Are his estates that profitable, my lady?"

"In peacetime, mayhap. But his demesnes have been long neglected because of this strife over the crown. And when he fled to France, his lands were declared forfeit." Eleanor was quiet again for a time, "So what do we know? That John would strike a bargain with the Devil himself to keep the ransom from being paid. That he has a great need for money if he is to have any hopes of outbidding the English Crown for Richard's freedom. That he has a perverse sense of humor, a taste for irony."

Justin did not follow her at first, not seeing how John's humor was a factor in her equation. When it did come to him, he gave an audible gasp. "He said. 'The rabbits belong to Richard.' Would he dare, madame?"

"Oh, yes," she said, "he would dare."

~*~

The Bishop of London, Henry Fitz Ailwin, the city's first mayor, and William Fitz Alulf, one of the city sheriffs, were awaiting Sir Nicholas de Mydden at Paul's Cross, the outdoor pulpit in the northeast corner of the cathedral churchyard. The knight was accompanied by a large armed escort, understandable in light of his mission: to transfer a portion of the ransom from St Paul's crypt to the greater security of the Tower.

After amiable greetings were exchanged, Sir Nicholas smiled and produced the queen's writ for their inspection. "I am sure you will want to see this again," he said jovially. "The good Lord forbid that you turn over the king's ransom to any knave wandering in off the street."

They joined in his laughter and made a show of examining the queen's seal, although they had scrutinized it at great length during his initial visit the day before. "In truth, Sir Nicholas," the lord mayor confided, "I will be glad to be relieved of the responsibility. I cannot tell you how many nights I've lain awake, fearing that thieves and brigands are robbing us blind whilst our guards sleep."

"Actually," Sir Nicholas admitted, "I'll breathe easier myself once the coffers are safely stored in the cellar of the White Tower. Imagine the burden borne by those poor souls who'll be escorting the ransom to Germany!"

The knight's men had brought several sturdy wagons, and as they crossed the churchyard, Sir Nicholas explained that the queen thought it would be safer not to keep all of the ransom at one site. He offered no reasons why the queen was suddenly so disquieted about the security at St Paul's, saying only that these were lawless times, a statement they could not dispute. Entering the cathedral, the bishop led the way toward the north choir aisle, cautioning Sir Nicholas to watch his footing as the steps were steep and the lighting poor.

The air in the crypt was cold and clammy, and it was easy to understand why it was popularly known as the Shrouds. A wooden screen ran the length of the vault, dividing the eastern and western halves, and it was toward the former that the sheriff headed. "The coffers are stored on this side, by the Jesus Chapel."

Following after him, Sir Nicholas peered blindly into the dark. "We'll need torches to keep my men from stumbling around like so many drunks. Getting the coffers up the steps will be — "

The rest of his comment was lost as he was shoved suddenly from behind, with enough force to send him sprawling. The air had been knocked out of his lungs by the impact and it was a moment or so before he could find enough breath to protest. "What in Christ…" Rolling over onto his back, he found himself surrounded by men with drawn swords. His words caught in his throat as he recognized the Earl of Arundel and Hamelin, Earl of Warenne, the king's uncle, both members of the council named to oversee the collection of the king's ransom.

The sheriff was already claiming his sword, roughly searching his body for a hidden dagger. "You are under arrest, whoreson." Another man was pushing through the circle, and the sheriff gestured toward the newcomer, saying, "Let me introduce you to Sir Nicholas de Mydden, who truly does serve the Queen's Grace."

Glaring down at the imposter, the knight cursed him in language that should never have been uttered in the presence of a prelate of the Church. The bishop did not object, though, understanding his outrage that someone would have dared to sully his family name and honor like this, putting out a restraining hand only when it looked as if the genuine Sir Nicholas's verbal castigation would become physical.

Standing apart from the others, the king's half-brother looked on quietly. Justin felt a prickle of sympathy, for Will Longsword's fondness for John was well known to all. Will alone had defended John, and he looked very unhappy now to have been proved wrong. Becoming aware of Justin's gaze, he mustered up a sad smile, "More fool I for letting myself be duped once again. That writ was the finest forgery I've ever seen. I'd never have guessed that it was not the queen's seal. So what sparked your suspicions, Justin?"

"It was the queen's doing, not mine."

The imposter had been dragged to his feet by Hamelin, a man known to have gotten his fair share of the infamous Angevin temper. "Let's get this hellspawn somewhere where we can put some questions to him."

The man raised his chin, looked defiantly at his captors. "I have nothing to say.

"You will," Hamelin promised grimly, "you will."

~*~

Eleanor listened without comment as the Earls of Arundel and Warenne vied with each other to inform her of the events earlier that day in the crypts of St Paul's. The theft had been painstakingly planned, no details overlooked, from the use of a man who bore a passing resemblance to Sir Nicholas de Mydden to the equipping of two sets of carts, the ones carrying the ransom to be driven to the wharves and the others to lumber slowly toward the Tower.

"We are still not sure, madame, if the fake coffers — filled with sand — would have been delivered to the Tower to sow confusion, or if they were meant merely as a red herring in case all did not go as planned at St Paul's. Whatever the intent, the aim was to buy them enough to time to reach the docks and load the real coffers onto a waiting ship."

When Hamelin paused for breath, Arundel seized control of the conversation, marveling at the amazing authenticity of the forged seals. "Both your signet and that of the Archbishop of Rouen were well nigh perfect, Your Grace. The mastermind behind this crime seems to have been very familiar with the royal court, knowing, for example, that both your seal and the archbishop's must be provided ere the ransom could be transported."