Sharon Penman - The Queen Man

Startled, he could only nod again. Her gaze was mesmerizing; he had the eerie sense that she could see right into his soul.

"John was blameless… this time. But I know where he has gone and I know what he intends to do. I'd wager the surety of salvation that he is at the French court even as we speak, plotting with Philip to make certain that Richard never sees the light of day again. Troubled times lie ahead for England, for us all. I am going to need men I can trust, utterly and wholeheartedly. Men like you, Justin de Quincy."

"I will not fail you, my lady." But the words rang hollow in his ears, for he was failing her by his silence. He'd meant to tell her of his suspicions, to warn her that Claudine was her son's spy. She needed to know that her kinswoman could not be trusted. And if she dismissed Claudine in disgrace — or worse — it was no more than Claudine deserved. But now that the moment had come, the words caught in his throat.

"Justin?" Eleanor was regarding him quizzically. "You seemed about to speak. Have you more to tell me?"

He swallowed, no longer meeting her eyes. "No, madame," he said, "nothing more…"

WINCHESTER

March 1193

Winchester had built its gallows beyond the city walls, out on the Andover Road. A crowd had already gathered by the time Justin and his companions arrived. He was not surprised by the throngs of spectators, for public hangings usually drew a large audience, offering both grisly entertainment and reassuring proof that there is always a reckoning

for evildoers, a Dies Irae.

For Gilbert the Fleming's Day of Judgment, much of Winchester had turned out: men, women, even a number of children. Justin knew that some people believed this was an effective way to teach impressionable youngsters that Scriptures spoke true: the wages of sin is death. But he could not imagine ever taking a child of his to watch as a man choked to death at the end of a rope.

Aldith obviously agreed with him. "Blessed Mother Mary, look at all the little ones! And over there — a vendor selling hot pies! You'd think this was the St Giles Fair."

"Public hangings are always thus — like a besotted wake where none of the mourners grieve over the dead. Are you sure you want to be here, Aldith?"

"Yes," she insisted, not very convincingly. "This was a great triumph for Luke, catching a merciless cutthroat like the Fleming." Adding as a polite afterthought, "For you, too, Justin."

While Justin admired her loyalty, he still thought that the gallows was no place for her. He kept his opinion to himself, however. Nell insisted that women were much tougher than he realized, and he'd begun to suspect that she was right. Nell and Nora were capable of looking after themselves, for certes. But was Claudine? What would she have done had the queen been told of her duplicity? Would she have gone home to her family in Aquitaine, shamed and dishonored? Or would she have turned to John?

His mouth twisted, for he'd begun to feel as if his thoughts were no longer his own. Claudine seemed able to lay claim to them at will, despite his best efforts to banish her into limbo. Priests could exorcise evil spirits. A pity there was no exorcism for casting out a faithless lover. But self-mockery was no more effective than anger at vanquishing his ghosts, and it was a moment or so before he realized that Edwin was speaking to him.

"Sorry, my thoughts were wandering. You asked… what?"

"I was curious," the groom confessed, "about the Fleming's whore. If she'd been caught, could she have been hanged, too?"

"Not likely, since the killing Nora was helping to set up never happened. But an accomplice to murder can indeed be hanged, and she might well have been involved in some of his other crimes. If so, she could have gotten a death sentence. According to Luke, a court is usually harsh in its judgment upon a woman charged with murder."

Aldith nodded in quick confirmation. "Luke says we expect men to lose their tempers and become violent. But women are supposed to be docile and biddable, and when a woman is not, she is punished for it. This is a double-edged sword, though, for he says indictment and conviction are both more likely when the victim is a woman."

That made sense to Edwin. "That is as it ought to be," he declared, "for it is craven to harm a woman. They cannot fight back, after all." But soon he was muttering, with far less gallantry, "Quick, bow down, for here comes Queen Jonet and her court jester."

As they watched, Jonet and Miles swept through the crowd, intent upon staking out a vantage point as close to the gallows as they could get. Justin was not surprised to see them there, but he was startled at sight of the cowled figure hurrying to catch up with them. "What is Thomas doing here? I doubt that the abbot would give him permission to attend a hanging. Want to wager, Edwin, that our novice monk took off on his own without even asking?"

"Jesu, I hope not," Edwin said, with feeling. "If he gets thrown out of the abbey, he'll come back to Mistress Ella's house, and God help us all then!"

Justin thought it very unlikely that Thomas would ever be allowed to take his final vows. But he saw no reason to burden Edwin with his doubts, for the groom's pessimism was well founded.

Edwin had begun to fidget under the hostile looks aimed in their direction. "Mistress Ella told me I could come to the hanging, and Jonet was right there, heard every word. Yet now she's glowering at me like I sneaked away when Mistress Ella's back was turned."

"It's the company you're keeping, Edwin," Aldith said wryly. "Here you are, after all, consorting openly with me, Winchester's very own Whore of Babylon."

"I'm not in their good graces, either," Justin pointed out. "During the trial, they made it quite clear that they'd sooner break bread with a leper than with me."

"You've got that right," Edwin grumbled. "Even after they learned that you'd solved Master Gervase's slaying, they still blamed you for unfairly casting suspicions upon them, saintly souls that they all are."

"Now why," Justin joked, "does that not surprise me? Naturally their wounded pride would matter more than their father's murder."

A sudden stir in the crowd put a halt to their conversation. Riders had come into view. The spectators surged forward at sight of the lumbering cart. Gilbert the Fleming was standing upright, defiant even in chains. But Aldith had eyes only for Luke. "There he is!"

Luke and his men were riding alongside the cart, keeping the onlookers back. Sometimes a condemned outlaw attained celebrity stature, but too many of the Fleming's crimes had been committed against the men and women of Winchester. He was greeted with a chorus of boos, hisses, and curses, and one man let fly with a rock, poorly aimed, that thudded into the cart. Before he could throw another one, Luke's serjeant shoved his way toward him. Wat remonstrated with the man, but no more than that, and when Justin remarked upon his restraint, not common when dealing with crowd control, Edwin explained that the stone-thrower was a kinsman of the merchant's wife left to die

on the Southampton Road.

"I do not believe my eyes!" Aldith sounded astonished, and then indignant. "What is the sheriff doing here? None of this was his doing. How dare he claim credit for Luke's arrest?"

One glance convinced Justin that she was right. The sheriff was indeed acting as if he'd been the one to capture the Fleming: gravely acknowledging the salutations of the crowd, giving needless orders to Luke and the other men, casting bellicose looks toward the outlaw, and generally putting Justin in mind of a barnyard cock crowing over another rooster's hen.

The more Aldith watched his preening and posturing, the angrier she became. But when Luke dismounted and joined them, he seemed philosophical about being relegated to a supporting role in the play about to begin. "You know how the Fleming was caught," he told Aldith, "and so does Queen Eleanor, thanks to de Quincy. So who else matters?"