Sharon Penman: The Queen Man

The knight lost interest in evicting petitioners. Moving swiftly, he backed her against the wall, barring her way with an outstretched arm. Leaning down, he murmured intimately in her ear, his fingers sliding suggestively up her arm. She shook his hand off, slipping under his arm with an impatient "By the Rood, Durand, do you never give up?"

Durand did not take the rebuff with good grace, scowling at Claudine with simmering anger. She shrugged off his ill will as easily as she had his hand and crossed the hall to Justin.

Her smile was dazzling. "The queen," she said, "will see you now."

~~

Eleanor of Aquitaine had been blessed with the bone structure that age only enhances, and it was easy to see in the high cheekbones and firm jawline evidence of the youthful beauty that had won her the hearts of two kings. She was elegantly clad in a gown of sea-green silk, her face framed in a delicate, white wimple. As he knelt, Justin caught the faintest hint of summer, a fragrance as intriguing as it was subtle, one sure to linger in a

man's memory. Her throat was hidden by the softly draped wimple, and only her hands testified to her seven decades, veined by age, but also adorned with the most magnificent gemstones he'd ever seen, rings of emerald and pearl and beaten gold. But what drew and held his gaze were her extraordinary eyes, gold flecked with green, candle lit and luminous and quite inscrutable.

"I thank you for seeing me, madame." Justin drew a bracing breath, then said in a rush, before he could lose his nerve, "Forgive me if this sounds presumptuous, but would it be possible for us to talk in greater privacy?" Dropping his voice, he said urgently, "I have a letter for you. I believe it has already cost one man his life, and I'd not have it claim any more victims."

She studied him impassively, but Claudine gave him a reproachful look, letting him know that thwarting her curiosity was poor repayment for her kindness. Whatever Eleanor saw in Justin's face was convincing, though, and she signaled to Peter, who was hovering a few feet away, bristling at such an audacious request. Within moments, the chamber had been cleared of all but Eleanor, Justin, Will Longsword, and her chaplain.

"This," Eleanor said coolly, "is as private as it gets. Now… what would you say to me?"

"Your son is alive, madame. But King Richard is in peril, for he has been taken by his enemies."

Her control was impressive; only the twitch of suddenly clenched fingers gave her away. The men were not as disciplined, their shocked questions and challenges cut off when Eleanor raised a hand for silence. "Go on," she said, and Justin did.

"The king was shipwrecked, madame, not far from Venice. He was not hurt, but soon thereafter, he was captured by a vassal of the Duke of Austria and turned over to the Holy Roman Emperor."

There were smothered exclamations at that from Will and the chaplain. Richard had made many enemies in his thirty-five turbulent years, but only the French king Philip hated him more than the emperor and Austria's duke. Again Eleanor stilled the clamor. "How do I know this is true? Have you any proof?"

Justin drew the letters from his tunic. "Three days after Christmas, the emperor wrote to the French king, informing him of King Richard's capture. The Archbishop of Rouen learned of this letter and somehow had it copied. He entrusted it to a Winchester goldsmith named Gervase Fitz Randolph, fearing to send it by agents known to the French Crown." Holding out the letters, Justin said quietly, "This is Fitz Randolph's blood, madame. I cannot swear that the letter is genuine. I can attest, though, that Fitz Randolph died believing it to be so."

There was not a sound in the chamber as Eleanor read. The others scarcely seemed to be breathing, so still was it. When she at last looked up, she was very pale, but in command of her emotions. Seeing Will's stricken expression, she said, "No, Will, no grieving. Richard is alive and that is what matters. No one has ever come back from the bottom of the Adriatic Sea, but men do get out of Austrian dungeons." Justin was still kneeling and

if she gestured for him to rise. "How did you come by this letter?"

Justin told her, as succinctly as possible. She listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face. When he was done, she said, "What we have learned here must not go beyond this chamber, not until I've been able to consult with the archbishop and the other justiciars. Now I would speak with this young man alone."

They were reluctant, but they obeyed. Once they were gone, Eleanor motioned for Justin to take a seat. She was fingering the broken seal. He'd planned to claim it had happened when Gervase was struggling with the outlaws, but as his eyes met Eleanor's, he found that he could not lie to her. "If I was to get killed because of that letter, I did not want to go to my grave with my curiosity unsatisfied." He held his breath then, hoping that his candor had not offended.

"If you'd brought this letter to me unread, I'd have been impressed by your honour, but I'd have wondered about your common sense."

Justin looked up, startled, in time to catch the glimmer of a smile. When he smiled back, he shed anxiety and years, and she realized for the first time how young he really was. "What is your name, lad?"

"Justin, my lady." She was waiting expectantly. But he had no family name, no family at all — only a father who had refused to acknowledge him. "Justin of Chester," he said at last, for he'd passed much of his childhood in that unruly border town.

"You said the goldsmith was slain by outlaws. What makes you think this was not just a robbery gone wrong? Have you reason to believe they were after the letter?"

"Gervase thought so, madame. I cannot say, for certes, that he was right. I do believe it was no random robbery. They were lying in wait for him, that I know. I'd passed by earlier and heard them whispering. I did not understand at the time, but I do now. 'No, it's not him.' And when I came upon the attack, one of the men was searching his body and the other called out, 'Did you find it?' He was not referring to Gervase's money pouch, for the outlaws already had that. Mayhap Gervase had something else of value, but the letter might well have been what they sought. The Archbishop of Rouen had spies at the

French court, for how else could he have gotten a copy of the French king's letter? So who is to say that the French king did not have spies, too?"

"From what I know of Philip, you may be sure that he has far more spies than he has scruples." Eleanor was silent for several moments, absorbed in her own thoughts. When Justin had begun to wonder if she'd forgotten him altogether, she said, "You have done me a great service, Justin of Chester. Now I would have you do me another one. I want you to find out who murdered Gervase Fitz Randolph… and why."

Justin stared at her. Surely he could not have heard right? "Madame, I do not understand. The sheriff of Hampshire is far more capable of tracking down the killers than I am!"

"I disagree. I think you are uniquely qualified for the task at hand. You are the only one who saw the killers, the only one who can recognize them on sight."

Eleanor paused, watching him attentively. "Moreover, it would seem perfectly natural for you to return to Winchester to find out if the culprits had been caught and to offer your condolences to the Fitz Randolph family. No one would think to question that. To the contrary, the family would surely welcome you with gratitude, for you tried your best to save the man's life and you did save his servant."

"I suppose so," Justin conceded. "But why, my lady? Why would you have me do this?"

Eleanor's brows arched. "To see justice done, of course."

Justin glanced away lest she notice his perplexity. It made sense that the queen should want to see the killers punished. The king's roads must be safe for travel; that was part of the covenant between a sovereign and his subjects. And it could be said that the goldsmith had died in the queen's service. Yet there was more to Eleanor's request, much more. He could not have explained why he was so sure of that, but he had no doubts whatsoever that it was so.