The eyes meeting his, though, were the eyes of the woman who'd taken greater pride in being Duchess of Aquitaine than Queen of England or France. "Your letters were rather cryptic, and wisely so, but you gave me enough facts to put together a skeleton. Now I need you to flesh it out for me."
She already knew what lay at the heart of the conspiracy — that Davydd had staged the robbery to discredit his nephew, that he'd been outwitted by his wife, and that her partner in crime was Eleanor's son John. She listened intently as Justin told her the rest, interrupting only to ask an occasional incisive question. By the time he got to the confrontation at the abbey grange, his voice had gotten so hoarse that she noticed and told him to fetch two wine cups from her bedchamber.
Justin welcomed the respite, for he was coming to the critical point in his account. In the past he had said nothing of his feuding with Durand, not even disclosing the knight's treachery at Windsor Castle, sure that Durand would have found a way to justify his actions, and half-afraid to find out whose service the queen valued more. After the episode at Mostyn grange, though, he had resolved upon unsparing honesty.
Yet now that he was face-to-face with the queen, he found that he could not do it. Conspiring to steal a throne was a favorite pastime for the brothers of kings. Eleanor was not likely to have been shocked by her youngest son's scheming. Like his brothers Geoffrey and Richard, John had learned at his father's knee. He'd been sixteen when Henry had quarreled bitterly with Richard and, in one of his infamous Angevin rages, encouraged Geoffrey and John to lay claim to Aquitaine. Striking back, Richard had set half of Brittany afire. Brotherly strife was John's birthright.
But ambition was a mortal sin only when it failed, whereas murder was the one sure road to eternal damnation. Here in the holy chapel of the Evangelist, John's last words to Justin seemed almost blasphemous. How could he tell the queen that her son had so casually given that command to "Kill him." What better proof that the Devil had already claimed his immortal soul?
Justin had no inflated opinion of his worth to the queen. He knew his death would have stirred royal regret, not grief. But whatever his transgressions, John was still the flesh of her flesh, he was still hers, and Justin was sure that each one of his sins struck her like a stone. Omitting John's lethal order to Durand, he picked up his narrative after John's departure from the chapel. If he lingered a little too long upon Durand's humiliation at Llewelyn's hands, he thought he could be forgiven for that.
Eleanor sipped her wine before observing, "My lord husband and I used to argue whether it was better for a man to be lucky or to be clever. I am beginning to think that Llewelyn is both."
"Yes, madame, I think so, too." Justin hesitated, but his curiosity was too strong to resist. "May I ask which view you took?"
"Harry was convinced that it was enough to be clever. He was always too clever for his own good, and unwilling to admit that luck alone could determine a man's fate. Harry believed almost until his last breath that a man could shape his own destiny. I'd believed that, too… once."
Justin cleared his dry throat, hoping he was not overstepping his bounds. "I would choose luck," he said, thinking of the unlikely chain of events that had led him to the queen. "As for Llewelyn, I think he'd agree that luck matters. But I suspect he'd still choose to be clever, confident that he could then make his own luck,"
"It sounds as if you admire the man, Justin."
Justin considered that for a moment, "I respect him, Your Grace. I think he will be a good ruler one day."
"Ah, but good for England or good for Wales? Davydd is neither admirable nor deserving of respect. My husband was right, though, to forge an alliance with him, for he better served English interests than…"
She paused and Justin suggested, "… A man who is both clever and lucky?"
"Indeed." Justin thought she was smiling, but the chapel was lit only by candles and he could not be sure. "You need not look so fretful, Justin. The English Crown will not intervene on Davydd's behalf. That would be folly, not to mention futile. Judging from what I am hearing, there seems to be a certain… inevitability about young Llewelyn ab Iorwerth's rise to power."
"I hope so, madame," he said, so forthrightly that he surprised himself, for he never forgot their respective ranks. He'd been well aware that he was not neutral in the Welsh conflict. But he had not realized until now how much the outcome mattered to him. "Davydd has done all in his power to get the English Crown to fight his war for him, my lady. Llewelyn asks only that he not be forced to fight uphill with the wind in his face."
"You make a most persuasive advocate, Justin," she said, and this time her smile was unmistakable. "You have done well in Wales. You justified my trust in you."
"Thank you, madame," Justin said, somewhat shyly, for she was sparing with her compliments, which were valued all the more for being doled out so economically.
Eleanor was silent for several moments, gazing down into her wine cup as if it were a portal to the past, and Justin wondered what memories had been inadvertently stirred up. Was she remembering the king who'd had such confidence in his own abilities, the lord husband who'd kept her confined for an infinity of sixteen years? Was it her favorite Richard who was staking his claim? Or was she thinking of John, the son who'd grown up during her long captivity, the son she'd seen so rarely from his fifth year until his twenty-first? He supposed his musings might be fanciful — for all he knew, she was deciding what to instruct her steward on the morrow — but how could a woman with her remarkable history not have ghosts in abundance?
"Well," she said at last, "we come now to the second half of the drama, the half still to be played out. Tell me again John's exact words."
"The Lady Emma had said something about catching two rabbits in one snare and that phrase took Lord John's fancy. He said, 'That is what I am doing myself with this return to England. I, too, am capturing two rabbits in one snare, and what makes it so sweet is that both rabbits belong to Richard.'"
"What further mischief do you have in mind, now, John?" Eleanor said softly, and although she was looking directly at Justin, he knew she no longer saw him.
"Durand claimed he did not know what was planned," Justin said and almost succeeded in keeping the skepticism out of his voice. "He bragged that he would find out, though. I do not suppose you've heard anything from him, my lady?"
"No, I have not. Once he sailed with John for France, it became increasingly difficult for him to send messages."
Justin could not help himself. "I would think that would significantly diminish his worth as a spy, then." Hearing his own words, he winced and said hastily, "Forgive me for being presumptuous, Your Grace. I spoke without thinking."
"You spoke the truth and gave away no secrets. I've long known that you and Durand like each other not, I would prefer that the two of you could work together more amicably, but I cannot say I am surprised by the discord between you. For what it is worth, Justin, most men react to Durand de Curzon the way you do, with suspicion and raised hackles."
Eleanor toyed with the stem of her wine cup and then raised her lashes. It was disconcerting to see John's eyes in her face. "Durand is more than a spy. He has done what I'd hitherto thought impossible: gotten close enough to John to be privy to some of his more outrageous schemes. I have no illusions about the man, Justin. What did you once call him, my 'tame wolf'? The fact remains that John trusts him as much as John trusts anyone, and that trust keeps him at John's side. You might say that his duties are threefold. To discourage John's wilder stratagems if he can. To get word to me if he cannot. And always, always to watch John's back."