"The Earl of Chester will be your most useful ally. If you need men, he'll provide them. The bishop may be of some help, too, for he knows Davydd and Emma well. Go first to Chester, see the earl and the bishop. And then you'll have to seek out Davydd in Wales. He keeps his court at Rhuddlan Castle."
Justin in was no longer listening. She'd lost him from the moment that she mentioned the Bishop of Chester. He stared at her, incredulous. Surely she could not have forgotten that Aubrey de Quincy was his father? Unless… unless this was a stratagem, a means of bringing them together?
"My lady queen, I.. " He paused, not knowing what to say. But as his eyes locked with hers, he saw the truth. She had not forgotten. Nor was she seeking to arrange a reconciliation. She knew how loath he was to see his father. It did not matter. Nothing mattered but Richard and the recovery of his ransom.
Chapter 3
August 1193
Chester, England
The Bishop of Chester's Palace was located southeast of the city, just beyond the ancient Roman walls, adjacent to the cathedral church of St John. Justin drew rein at the sight of the gatehouse, not moving until his stallion began to fidget. Several months ago, he'd had to enter a lazar hospital in search of a killer. With some of the same dread that he'd felt at facing the lepers, he urged his mount forward into the precincts of his father's domain.
He was dismounting at the stables when he heard his name called out. Handing the reins to a waiting groom, he turned to greet Martin, the bishop's steward. Martin's face was creased in a delighted smile, and Justin smiled back, thinking that at least there was one soul here who was pleased to see him.
"Justin, I cannot tell you how much the sight of you gladdens my eyes. When you rode away last December, it was as if you'd vanished from the earth. I have often wondered where you were, how you were faring."
Justin felt a dart of guilt that it had not occurred to him to let Martin know he'd landed on his feet. He owed Martin better than that, for his father's steward had always treated him with great kindness, almost as if he suspected the truth about Justin's identity.
"I ought to have written to you, Martin, and I am sorry I did not. I should have known that… the bishop would not have told you that he'd encountered me in London after Whitsuntide. I hope we can find time to talk later, for I'd like nothing better than buy you an ale. But right now I need to see the bishop."
Martin's face shadowed. His obvious dismay confirmed Justin's suspicions — Martin knew he was the bishop's son. "You need not worry, Martin. I am not here to stir up trouble. The bishop will see me, for I am bearing a letter from the queen."
~*~
Aubrey de Quincy had taken Eleanor's letter to the open window, and as he read, the afternoon sun glistened upon the silvered strands at his temples. Justin hadn't realized he was going so grey, for it was usually disguised by the fairness of his hair. Justin's own coloring was dark, and try though he might, he could see nothing of himself in the man by the window. He supposed he must have gotten his black hair from his mother, though it was not likely that he'd ever know for sure. He had no memories of her, nothing but the gossip of an old woman who'd been the refectory cook in his father's parish. He'd never even been told her name.
Aubrey was taking a long time to read a brief letter, and Justin wondered if he felt the same unease, the same desire to be elsewhere, to be anywhere but the bishop's palace at Chester. The last time they'd spoken, it had ended badly, with his father angrily warning him to keep silent and him hitting back with the only weapon at hand, telling Aubrey that Queen Eleanor already knew the truth. Justin knew the queen's letter made use of the surname he had no legal right to claim, for she'd shown it to him before sealing it. He imagined the words Justin de Quincy must have leapt off the parchment at his father; had he taken it as a royal threat? A reminder that the queen knew the secret he'd sought to hide for so long?
When Aubrey at last looked up, it was with a smile that was as fleeting as it was forced. "Well, the queen must have great faith in you, Justin, to entrust a matter of such importance to you."
It had not sounded like a compliment — there was too much surprise in his father's tone for that — and Justin acknowledged it with a shrug. "It is not as if I am expected to find the missing ransom all by myself. I can rely upon the Earl of Chester for what ever help I need. And Davydd ab Owain, too. I daresay no one is more eager to retrieve the ransom than he is."
Aubrey nodded, "Yes… Davydd must be in a frenzy, and he has never been known for his serene, steadfast nature in the best of times."
This was an ideal opening and Justin was grateful for it; he much preferred to confine their conversation to the facts of the robbery, and he suspected that his father did, too. "The queen told me that you know both Davydd and his wife, the Lady Emma. What can you tell me about him?"
"Davydd's father was a remarkable man, a great prince. Davydd is neither."
It was a harsh assessment, but Justin knew that his father was not a man to make allowances for human frailty, not even his own. "What else?"
Aubrey gestured toward a carved wooden bench and they both sat, somewhat awkwardly. "I suppose you ought to know the manner of the man you'll be dealing with. Davydd has ruled Gwynedd east of the River Conwy for the past twenty or so years. After his father's death, Davydd and his younger brother, Rhodri, banded together and ambushed their half-brother Hywel, the heir-apparent. Hywel was slain; a pity, for he was a fine poet. Davydd and Rhodri soon turned on each other and for a brief time, Davydd ruled all of Gwynedd. These days he divides his time between his castle at Rhuddlan and his manors in Shropshire."
Justin's eyebrows rose. "A Welsh prince dwelling in England?"
"I imagine his wife prefers Shropshire to Wales; how could she not? But Davydd also sets great store by his ties to the English Crown. He is King Richard's uncle, if only by marriage, and rarely misses an opportunity to boast of it."
"You do not like him much," Justin observed, and Aubrey's mouth quirked.
"Few do," he said dryly. "Davydd does not hold the hearts of his people in the palm of his hand. He is a man of mediocre abilities who has been blessed with good luck, high birth, and a very beautiful wife."
Justin was remembering what he'd been told, that Emma was he illegitimate daughter of Count Geoffrey of Anjou. Geoffrey had been dead for many years, so Emma must be well past her youth. "You mean she was once a beauty?"
"Was and is," Aubrey said, faintly amused by Justin's polite attempt to disguise his disbelief. "She is a year or two past her fourth decade, which doubtless sounds as old as Methusaleh to a lad of twenty. But trust me in this, Justin. Emma of Anjou is still a beautiful woman."
Justin was surprised, both that his father had remembered his age and that he spoke so warmly of the Lady Emma. "What can you tell me of her marriage?" he asked, suddenly very curious to see Davydd's wife for himself.
"They've been wed for nigh on twenty years, have a son and a daughter if my memory serves. I first met her some years ago in Shropshire, ere I was made an archdeacon. I found her to be a lady of grace and piety and dignity. I trust you will bear that in mind during this investigation of yours, Justin."
"I will do my best not to shame you," Justin said, saw the muscles clench along his father's jaw, and regretted his rash words. Rising, he bent dutifully over the bishop's ring. "I thank you for sharing your thoughts with me."
Aubrey rose, too. "I assume you will go now to see the Earl of Chester?" When Justin nodded, the bishop's eyes narrowed and his voice iced over. "You have been taking a great liberty in making use of the de Quincy name. That you do this with the queen's approval does not make it right. I shall expect you to conduct yourself with decorum and discretion whilst you are in Chester."