A murmur ran through the crowd, almost like a sigh. God's Judgment had been passed; the man would hang. Now it was his partner's turn. He had gone ashen, biting his lips until they bled. But he advanced resolutely, peering through the steam to find the stone. He hesitated so long that people began to fear that he, too, would balk, and mutters of disappointment and disapproval began to be heard. But then he lunged forward and thrust his arm into the cauldron. Staggering back, he held up the stone for all to see, and some of the spectators cheered.
They were at once rebuked by the priest, who reminded them that the Almighty's verdict had not yet been rendered. The prisoner was instructed to extend his arm and a serjeant wrapped it in thick linen. While it was being sealed with the sheriff's signet to ensure there'd be no tampering, the priest declared that the man would be returned to gaol. In three days, the bandage would be unwrapped. If his skin was blistered and scalded, he would hang. If not, he would go free.
The crowd was slow to disperse and Justin found himself still walled in by bodies. He was waiting for a path to open up when he glanced toward his right and saw John and Durand standing together on the other side of the cauldron.
Recognition was mutual. As their eyes met, Justin's own dismay was mirrored on Durand's face. Justin was not surprised that Durand had beaten him back to London; he'd lost half a day finding a saddler to repair his broken rein. Durand would still have had to leave Winchester right after he did, though, further proof — if it were needed — that the knight had been in the city to spy on him.
Durand quickly recovered his equilibrium. But that brief flash of alarm had been very telling; so he hadn't admitted to John that he'd been caught in the act. Justin relished having the upper hand, but before he could decide what he wanted to do, John turned and saw him. Justin had to admire the other man's equanimity, for he showed not even a flicker of surprise. Instead, he smiled and beckoned Justin over.
"There is nothing like Judgment Day to bring out a crowd," John said dryly, "especially when the sins being judged are not ours. What did you think of the ordeal, Master de Quincy?"
Justin shrugged. "I'd rather take my chances with a jury."
John laughed. "So would I. It is a lot easier to bribe a jury member than the Almighty. But on to more important matters. Have you decided to sell me that horse?"
"Not yet, my lord count."
"Do not wait too long. I might lose interest."
"Somehow I doubt that, my lord." Sparring with John had a certain edgy appeal, like venturing out onto a frozen lake with no way of knowing when the ice might start to crack underfoot. But with Durand, hostility need not be muted, and Justin gave the knight a cold smile. "You do keep turning up unexpectedly, Sir Durand. If I had a suspicious nature, I might wonder if you were following me."
"Passing strange," Durand jeered, "for I was thinking the same about you."
Dislike surged between the two men, all but sending up sparks, and John looked from one to the other, his eyes narrowing. "I suppose you're in search of my lady mother, Master de
Quincy. You'll find her in the great hall."
It was obviously a dismissal, and Justin took his leave. As soon as he'd been swallowed up in the crowd, he doubled back. He moved fast, treading on a few toes in the process, but coming up behind John in time to hear him say in a low, angry voice, "Why did you not tell me he knows you, Durand? I'll have to look elsewhere now."
~~
Justin had never seen a hall as huge as the eleventh-century great hall at Westminster; he guessed its length to be well over two hundred feet, almost a third as wide, with a soaring roof supported by heavy wooden columns. People were milling about, and it took him a few moments to spot the queen. Eleanor and a companion were ensconced in a window seat at the far end of the hall, engaged in what was obviously an intense discussion. Justin started toward her, planning to let her see him and then withdraw, awaiting her summons.
As he drew closer, his step faltered, for the man with Eleanor was a bishop. The sight of that white alb and richly decorated cope was unsettling, calling up unwelcome memories of his father. How often he'd seen Aubrey clad in those same ecclesiastical vestments, never dreaming that this prideful prince of the Church was his own flesh and blood. The man in the alcove was too short and stocky to be Aubrey; at least he need not fear coming face to face with his father. But at that moment the bishop shifted in his seat, and for the first time Justin saw his profile.
Justin recognized him at once. The Bishop of Coventry had visited his father frequently over the years, although he did not think that Aubrey considered Hugh de Nonant to be a friend. Coming to a halt, he stared at the bishop, trying to remember if Hugh had been present when he'd burst into the Bishop's Palace to confront his father. His emotions had been in such turmoil that he could not trust his memories of that night. But he did seem to have a hazy recollection of Hugh de Nonant seated on the dais at Aubrey's side. Better safe than sorry, he decided, and retreated as inconspicuously as possible.
"Who are you trying to avoid, Master de Quincy?" He'd not heard Claudine's approach and started so visibly that she laughed. "You must indeed have a guilty conscience," she teased, "if your nerves are that raw! Are you seeking the queen?"
"I was," Justin said, "but I did not want to interrupt her conversation with the Bishop of Coventry."
"Conversation? Is that what you think they are doing? No… what you are watching is a verbal chess game between two master players, each one probing the other's weaknesses, poised to take advantage of any unguarded move, check and mate."
"Why would the queen be so wary of Bishop Hugh?" Justin asked curiously and got an answer that was anything but reassuring.
"You do not know?" Claudine asked, sounding surprised. "The queen has good reason to be cautious, for Hugh de Nonant and John are long-time allies." Lowering her voice, she confided, "If truth be told, the pair of them are thick as thieves, and that means the good bishop is no friend to King Richard."
Justin was quiet for a moment, as he sought to come to terms with the realization that John's shadow might reach as far as Chester. Taking Claudine by the arm, he led her toward the nearest window alcove. "I want to thank you, demoiselle, for warning me that the queen's son was showing too much interest in my activities. Forewarned is forearmed."
"With John, that is always wise," she agreed.
"You know him better than I, demoiselle. In all candor, what manner of man is he?"
"A complicated one, Master de Quincy, with more layers than an onion and undercurrents deep enough to drown in. I think he is twice as clever as Richard, and dangerously charming when he chooses to be, just plain dangerous when he does not." They were standing very close, for he'd not released his hold upon her arm. The look she gave him now was both amused and intimate. "Do you want to know my own private name for John?" she murmured. "The Prince of Darkness."
~~
A chilling wind had sprung up and the last light of day was fast ebbing away. Justin glanced protectively at the queen as they walked. But she'd chosen the cloisters of St Stephen's for their meeting, and he sensed that she'd not welcome his suggestion that they talk indoors. She seemed indifferent to the cold, but he could not help noticing how very tired she looked. There was a distance between them that he'd not felt before. It was as if the inner Eleanor had withdrawn where he could not follow, leaving the queen behind to defend the barricades.
Her first question took him by surprise. "I saw you earlier in the hall. You shied away from the Bishop of Coventry as if he were a leper. Why?"