Sharon Penman - Cruel As the Grave

"No — as far as we know, nothing has changed; Richard remains the prisoner of that whoreson emperor of the Romans. The trouble is closer to home."

Will's face had taken on so unhappy a cast that Justin realized the trouble must involve John, for he knew the man harbored a genuine fondness for his younger brother. It was William Marshal who confirmed his suspicions, saying brusquely, "John summoned the justiciars to meet him this morn here at the Tower. He then claimed that Richard is dead and demanded that we recognize him as the rightful king."

Justin was startled; he hadn't expected John to make so bold a move. "They did not agree?"

"Of course not. We told him that we have no proof of the king's death and until we do, the only king we will recognize is Richard."

Justin felt a surge of relief; he hadn't been sure the other justiciars would be as resolute as Marshal and the Archbishop of Rouen. The bleak truth was that they could not be utterly sure that Richard still lived. If he had sickened and died in confinement, the crown would be John's for the taking, for few were likely to support his rival claimant, a five-year-old boy dwelling in Brittany. So it was only to be expected that the justiciars would be loath to antagonize the man who might well be their next king, a man who forgot little, forgave even less.

"What happened then?"

"John flew into a rage," Will said sadly, "and made some ugly threats. The queen then insisted that they speak in private, and they withdrew to her chapel. If anyone in Christendom can talk some sense into John, for certes it will be the queen." Will did not sound very sanguine, though, and Marshal, a man known for speaking his mind plainly, gave a skeptical snort.

"Would you care to wager on that, Will? I could use some extra money." He went on to express his opinion of John's honour in far-from-flattering terms. By then Justin was no longer listening, for Claudine de Loudun was coming toward them.

The men welcomed her with enthusiasm — the young widow was a favorite with both Williams. All three engaged in some mildly flirtatious bantering, while Justin stood conspicuously silent, dreading what was to come.

Even as she teased the other men, Claudine's dark eyes kept wandering toward Justin, her gaze at once caressing and questioning. Finally she cast propriety to the winds and linked her arm through his, murmuring throatily that she needed a private word with Master de Quincy. Both Wills grinned broadly and waved them on, for Claudine's clandestine liaison with Justin de Quincy was a poorly kept secret in a court in which only Eleanor's secrets seemed secure.

Steering Justin toward the comparative privacy of a window seat, Claudine began to scold him lovingly. "Why did you not let me know you were back from Winchester? If I'd had some warning, I could have coaxed the queen into giving me a free afternoon. But she's not likely to be in any mood to grant favors now, for this latest exorcism of hers is bound to fail."

Others might not have understood the joking reference to exorcism. Justin did, though, for she'd confided to him that her private name for John was the Prince of Darkness. As he looked upon the heart-shaped face upturned to his, the thought came to him, unbidden and ugly: What did she call John in bed? He drew a sharp breath, not wanting to go down that road. He knew that she was John's spy. Was she John's concubine, too? He pushed the suspicion away, to be dealt with later. Now he must concentrate upon the danger at hand. How could he conceal his knowledge of her treachery? Surely she must see it writ plain upon his face.

Apparently not, for her smile did not waver. Those brown eyes were bright with laughter and temptation. Justin was shaken to the depths of his soul as he realized how much power she still wielded over him. How could he still want this woman? She'd betrayed him without a qualm. Even worse, she'd betrayed her royal mistress and kinswoman, the queen. And she'd almost seduced him into betraying the queen, too. For more than a fortnight, he'd kept her guilty secret, at last unburdening himself to Eleanor in a surge of self-hatred, only to find that she already knew of Claudine's perfidy. But Claudine must not know that she'd been exposed. If John learned that his spy was compromised, he'd look elsewhere. Eleanor had been able to act as if her trust was still intact, but his role was far more precarious, for he was Claudine's lover.

Claudine beckoned to a wine bearer, claiming two cups for them. "Did all go as you hoped in Winchester, Justin? Was that outlaw hanged?"

He nodded. "I'll tell you about it later. What has happened at the court whilst I was away? Will just told me that John is back from France." He tensed then, for John's name seemed to sink like a stone in the conversational waters, sure to stir up ripples of suspicion between them.

Claudine appeared to take his curiosity as natural. "Did Will tell you, too, that John has laid claim to the crown?" Lowering her voice, she said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Do you think he found out what was in that bloodied letter? The one claiming that King Richard drowned when his ship was wrecked in a storm? We know now that it was not true, but mayhap John thinks he can make use of it somehow?"

This was the tale Justin had spun, entrapping her in her own web of lies. The memory was still so raw that he winced, reluctant to relive one of the worst moments of his life. Claudine saw his disquiet and squeezed his arm in puzzled sympathy. "Justin … is something wrong?"

"No," he said swiftly. "I…" Groping for a plausible response, he found it in the sight of the knight just coming into his line of vision. Tall and swaggering, he moved with surprising grace for so big a man, impeccably garbed in an eye-catching scarlet tunic with a dramatic diagonal neckline and tight-fitting cuffed sleeves. But Justin knew that his fashionable courtier's clothing hid the soul of a pirate. "I did not realize," he said flatly, "that Durand de Curzon was here."

"He came with John." Seeing his surprise, she said quickly, "You did not hear, then? Rumor has it that he was John's man all along … as you suspected. The queen dismissed him from her service."

Justin did not have to feign his shock; it was very real. "When did this happen?"

"Within the last few days. He-"

Claudine got no further. The door to the queen's chamber had swung open, and John paused for a moment in the doorway, for he had an actor's innate sense of timing. The hall hushed, all eyes upon him. He let the suspense build, then gestured to his household knights and strode toward the stairwell, leaving a trail of conjecture and speculation in his wake.

Durand de Curzon started to follow his lord, then stopped abruptly at the sight of Justin. Swerving toward the younger man, he flashed a smile as sharply edged as any dagger. "Lady Claudine," he murmured, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth with ostentatious gallantry. Claudine snatched her hand away, scowling. Her distaste for Durand seemed genuine to Justin; she might conspire with Durand on John's behalf, but she had consistently rebuffed his every overture. Durand appeared oblivious to her recoil. "For the life of me," he said, "I cannot imagine why a woman like you bothers with this callow milksop. You could surely do better for yourself."

Claudine was a distant kinswoman of the queen and it showed now in the mocking arch of her brow. "You? I'd sooner join a nunnery."

"And you'd make a right handsome nun. But I believe, darling, that nuns are expected to take a vow of chastity."

That was too much for Justin. "You need a lesson in manners," he said angrily, taking a threatening step forward. Claudine thought so, too; her hand tightening around the stem of her wine cup, she flung its contents in Durand's face. At least that was her intent. Durand not only anticipated her move, he