malice. “Do you think he’ll ever take vows, Justin? I know there can be no higher calling than to serve the Almighty, but it still seems a waste of a good man.”
She giggled, looking both pleased and shocked by her own irreverence, and Justin laughed, too. “You ought to hear Durand on that subject,” he said, remembering the knight’s diatribe about “the madness that drives a man to renounce the pleasures of the female flesh.” “And if I needed more proof that it was time for me to leave, starting to quote Durand is surely it!”
“I think you showed great forbearance in not murdering the man and disposing of the body in some Breton bog. Care to wager how long it takes for Durand and Simon to be at each other’s throats?” When he shook his head, grinning, she glanced around the hall before saying confidentially, “I hear that Yann asked you to take him with you to England, and you mustered up enough fortitude to refuse.”
“How did you know that? Ah, Claudine, that was so hard to do. But I had no choice. I could not look after him, not as long as I serve the queen.”
“Well, what about that tavern maid… Belle? She could keep him when you were away. Though I suppose she is not the motherly sort.”
Justin was surprised by that sudden flash of claws. “You mean Nell, and I could not ask her to do that. She has enough on her plate, taking care of her daughter and running the alehouse. Why do you not like her, Claudine?”
“Are you going to claim that she speaks well of me?” she demanded, and he conceded defeat with a smile and a shrug. It was then that Yann appeared at his elbow, startling them both.
“I promise,” he said, before Justin could say anything, “that I’d be no trouble. I do not eat much and I could take care of your dog and run errands-”
“Yann, we’ve been over this already. I am rarely in London, and that is not a city for a Breton lad to be roaming about on the loose. You’d not have to go looking for trouble. It would come looking for you.”
Yann ducked his head, as if blinking back tears. “The Lady Arzhela would want you to take me,” he said, so disingenuously that Justin and Claudine were both touched and amused, in equal measure.
“Yann, you scare me sometimes,” Justin said wryly. “Lad, listen to me. A city like Paris or London is not where you belong. If only I knew someone who could find a place for you on a country manor, the way Lady Petronilla can-”
“Justin, you do,” Claudine interrupted. Leaning over, she whispered a name in his ear. When he shook his head vehemently, she looked at him challengingly. “Why not? Who better to do a good deed than a man of God? Or are you too proud to ask him for a favor?”
“If you want to learn how to get people to do what you want, Yann, you need only watch the Lady Claudine in action,” Justin said, more sharply than he’d intended. “This is what I can do, lad: I will ask the Bishop of Chester if he can take you into his household or find a place for you on one of his manors. It is likely he will agree, but you must remain here until I get word that he does. Then, I will come back for you. Agreed?”
“How do I know you are not just saying this? That you will come back for me?”
“You have my sworn word. If the bishop agrees, I will return and take you to Chester. But you must promise to stay here in Paris until you hear from me. Fair enough?”
Yann was not happy with the bargain they’d just struck. But at least it offered a glimmer of hope, and he’d learned to settle for much less. “I promise,” he said, fingers crossed behind his back.
Within the hour, though, John and Morgan returned, and Morgan would have none of it. “You do not want to live in England, Yann. You’d be happier in Wales, for Welsh is much easier for a Breton lad to learn than English. Stay here with me and when I go home, you can come with me. I’ve cousins about your age at Raglan and my mother’s brother Hywel is the Lord of Caerleon now, so you’ll have your pick of places. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal,” Yann said happily, and Justin, blinking at how quickly the boy switched allegiance from him to Morgan, gave his approval, not seeing what else he could do. He trusted Morgan, after all, could hardly blame the man for being John’s brother. Sending Yann off on an errand to the kitchen, Morgan looked intently from Justin to Claudine, back to Justin again.
“John learned something from the French king that disquieted him greatly. He would not tell me what, and I did not feel free to press; after all, our relationship has lasted barely a day. He went out into Lady Petronilla’s gardens, and is still there. I was hoping that you or Durand or mayhap you, Lady Claudine, might be able to find out what is troubling him. I suspect it concerns the Bretons and that damned letter.”
Justin was not thrilled at the prospect; the last place he wanted to venture was into the murky terrain of John’s mind. But Claudine and Morgan were looking expectantly at him. Getting to his feet, he started across the hall to find Durand.
John was seated on a wooden bench in the gardens, playing with one of Petronilla’s greyhounds. Seeing the men and Claudine bearing down upon him, he showed no surprise. “Passing strange how quickly people are drawn to the site of a disaster.”
“We want to help,” Morgan said, so simply that not even John could doubt his sincerity. “Why not let us?”
“I would that you could,” John conceded, “but there is naught to be done. One of Philippe’s spies at the Breton court has sent him word that Constance plans to make use of that accursed letter. I was hoping that they’d decide it was too risky after Simon and the Breton both disappeared under such strange circumstances. I ought to have known better. My luck has always been rotten.”
“But you can prove the letter is false,” Claudine said, sounding puzzled. “The Breton is dead but Simon de Lusignan is not, and he can testify that it was a scheme to cheat the Bretons at your expense.”
“And you think anyone in Christendom would give credence to a de Lusignan?” John looked at her in disbelief. “No one would believe anything he had to say. His evidence would either be dismissed out of hand because no de Lusignan has ever been on speaking terms with the truth or it would be assumed that I’d paid him to lie on my behalf.”
“The French king knows the truth,” Morgan suggested, and winced when John laughed harshly.
“God spare me, another innocent! Morgan, you have much to learn about our family. Brother Richard would sooner believe the Devil than the French king. Moreover, it is no longer in Philippe’s interest to clear me of suspicion, now, is it?”
Only Durand seemed to follow John’s thinking; the others looked so baffled that John sighed, struggling to hold onto the scraps of his patience. “Things have changed dramatically in the past fortnight, or have you not noticed? Richard is free, back in England, and most likely besieging my castles even as we speak. Once he reduces them to rubble, he’ll be heading for the closest port, eager to wreak havoc and let loose the dogs of war upon Philippe. With Richard’s fiery breath on the backs of our necks, we’re going to be hard pressed to defend our own lands, much less strike into his domains. I’d say my chances of becoming England’s king are about as good right now as yours are of becoming Pope, Morgan. And you may be sure that has not escaped Philippe’s notice.”
Morgan still did not see, but Justin did and he felt a strange pang of pity for John and Philippe and Richard, even for his queen, for all those wielding power whilst treading on shifting sands that were no less treacherous than those in the Bay of Mont St Michel. “He is saying, Morgan, that Philippe will fear he may be tempted to try to make his peace with Richard. So the more suspicion and rancor between the brothers, the better it now is for the French king.”
“Good for you, de Quincy,” John said, with a sardonic smile. “You might one day make it to wolfdom, after all.”
That was incomprehensible to Morgan and Claudine, who’d not been present for John’s little lecture about wolves and sheep. Morgan hesitated, sensing that he was stepping out onto thin ice. “What of Queen Eleanor? Could you not tell her that this letter was a forgery? She could convince Richard, then, surely?”
The others tensed, knowing from painful experience that John’s tangled, tortured relationship with his mother was a bottomless swamp, from which few emerged unscathed. John surprised them, though, by not lashing out at Morgan, giving his newfound brother something he rarely gave to anyone-the benefit of the doubt.
“That tactic-truth telling-might work with you and the Lady Nesta,” he said tersely, “but not in the bosom of our loving family. My lady mother would not believe me.”
With that, Justin heard the jaws of the trap slam shut. “Mayhap she would not,” he said wearily, “but she might believe me.”
