forgive. Justin suspected that John would have more to fear from the mother than from the queen, for Richard claimed her heart and John could only claim her blood.
“Two questions,” he said, his eyes searching Durand’s impassive, unreadable face. “Is there any chance this is true? And what have you been able to find out about this Arzhela de Dinan? How reliable is she?”
“Those are three questions,” Durand pointed out. “But no, I do not see how it can be true. It is a charge that could eventually be disproved—assuming John was given the chance to disprove it. On the surface, though, it has enough plausibility to hearten his enemies and fire Richard’s Angevin temper, for he has long been at odds with the lords of Toulouse. It is easy to believe that Raymond would concoct a murder plot, given the oceans of bad blood there. He is already suspect because of the heresies he and his father tolerate in their lands.”
Justin knew that the Church was increasingly alarmed by the spread of a heretical doctrine that denied some of the basic tenets of the True Faith, but his knowledge went no further than that. He had more pressing concerns now than outlaw sects, and he interrupted before Durand could continue. “Tell me about the woman.”
“Arzhela de Dinan’s warning has to be taken seriously, for she is well placed to know the secrets of the Breton court. She is a first cousin to Duchess Constance, and to judge by the tone of her letter, she was once John’s bedmate. She told John that she has not yet seen the letter for herself, but she is sure it exists. She believes it to be a forgery, or at least pretends to believe that. I’d say John has good reason for concern. He has enough penance due for past sins without adding regicide to the list.”
“But what does Emma have to do with a Breton plot?”
“I do not know,” Durand admitted reluctantly. “All I’ve been able to get out of John is that he has sent an urgent message to his favorite spy, the Breton. But Emma’s part in this remains murky. With luck, I’ll have been able to find out more by the time you get back to Paris with Emma.”
Opening his mouth to protest, Justin realized that there was nothing he could say. As little as he liked the idea of being drawn into John’s web, he had no choice. He knew what his queen would want, what she always wanted—to save John from himself.
Durand had told Justin that Lady Petronilla had invited John to spend the night, for his lodgings with the Templars were outside the city gate, now shut until daybreak. Returning to the house, he felt like Daniel going into the lions’ den and wondered grimly if he’d emerge alive like Daniel or if the lions would have the mastery of him.
Claudine was not in the great hall, to his relief. But John was still there, with the Lady Petronilla fluttering about him flirtatiously. His attention was distracted, though, his thoughts obviously elsewhere, and when he noticed Justin, he jumped to his feet with betraying alacrity. Extricating himself from Petronilla’s orbit, he strode toward Justin, saying, “Follow me.”
He led Justin across the hall into the small oratory, the most private place he could find. As soon as he closed the door, he demanded, “Why did you come back?” eagerly enough to reveal how dismayed he’d been by Justin’s abrupt departure.
Justin shrugged. “After traveling all this way, I decided I wanted to hear the end of the story.”
“Then you agree to escort Emma to Paris?”
“Only if I know why you have such an urgent need to see her, my lord.”
“That is not your concern,” John said curtly, and Justin shrugged again.
“As you will, my lord,” he said, and turned toward the door.
John impatiently waved him back. “If you must know, I need to contact the Breton. I daresay you remember him from your foray into Wales. He has never been an easy man to find, and the messages I’ve left for him have gone unanswered. Emma
“Two questions,” he said, his eyes searching Durand’s impassive, unreadable face. “Is there any chance this is true? And what have you been able to find out about this Arzhela de Dinan? How reliable is she?”
“Those are three questions,” Durand pointed out. “But no, I do not see how it can be true. It is a charge that could eventually be disproved—assuming John was given the chance to disprove it. On the surface, though, it has enough plausibility to hearten his enemies and fire Richard’s Angevin temper, for he has long been at odds with the lords of Toulouse. It is easy to believe that Raymond would concoct a murder plot, given the oceans of bad blood there. He is already suspect because of the heresies he and his father tolerate in their lands.”
Justin knew that the Church was increasingly alarmed by the spread of a heretical doctrine that denied some of the basic tenets of the True Faith, but his knowledge went no further than that. He had more pressing concerns now than outlaw sects, and he interrupted before Durand could continue. “Tell me about the woman.”
“Arzhela de Dinan’s warning has to be taken seriously, for she is well placed to know the secrets of the Breton court. She is a first cousin to Duchess Constance, and to judge by the tone of her letter, she was once John’s bedmate. She told John that she has not yet seen the letter for herself, but she is sure it exists. She believes it to be a forgery, or at least pretends to believe that. I’d say John has good reason for concern. He has enough penance due for past sins without adding regicide to the list.”
“But what does Emma have to do with a Breton plot?”
“I do not know,” Durand admitted reluctantly. “All I’ve been able to get out of John is that he has sent an urgent message to his favorite spy, the Breton. But Emma’s part in this remains murky. With luck, I’ll have been able to find out more by the time you get back to Paris with Emma.”
Opening his mouth to protest, Justin realized that there was nothing he could say. As little as he liked the idea of being drawn into John’s web, he had no choice. He knew what his queen would want, what she always wanted—to save John from himself.
Durand had told Justin that Lady Petronilla had invited John to spend the night, for his lodgings with the Templars were outside the city gate, now shut until daybreak. Returning to the house, he felt like Daniel going into the lions’ den and wondered grimly if he’d emerge alive like Daniel or if the lions would have the mastery of him.
Claudine was not in the great hall, to his relief. But John was still there, with the Lady Petronilla fluttering about him flirtatiously. His attention was distracted, though, his thoughts obviously elsewhere, and when he noticed Justin, he jumped to his feet with betraying alacrity. Extricating himself from Petronilla’s orbit, he strode toward Justin, saying, “Follow me.”
He led Justin across the hall into the small oratory, the most private place he could find. As soon as he closed the door, he demanded, “Why did you come back?” eagerly enough to reveal how dismayed he’d been by Justin’s abrupt departure.
Justin shrugged. “After traveling all this way, I decided I wanted to hear the end of the story.”
“Then you agree to escort Emma to Paris?”
“Only if I know why you have such an urgent need to see her, my lord.”
“That is not your concern,” John said curtly, and Justin shrugged again.
“As you will, my lord,” he said, and turned toward the door.
John impatiently waved him back. “If you must know, I need to contact the Breton. I daresay you remember him from your foray into Wales. He has never been an easy man to find, and the messages I’ve left for him have gone unanswered. Emma
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