Part 8 (1/2)
”It has even been whispered that if John ascends to the throne, he will be sufficiently indebted to the Baron de Gournay to appoint him chancellor, or marshal!”
”John Lackland does not bear up well under debts; he prefers to hire a.s.sa.s.sins to repay them. As for his ascending the throne-how do these whisperers of yours say he will overcome the annoying matter of Prince Arthur of Brittany?”
Servanne bit her lips, sensing yet another verbal trap looming before her like a snake pit. Of King Henry's five sons, only Richard-the eldest-and John, the youngest, were still alive. Geoffrey, next to youngest, had died several years ago, but had left as his heirs, a son and a daughter. Since he would have been in line to the throne after Richard, the right of succession would naturally pa.s.s to his son Arthur upon the king's death, and after him, his sister, Princess Eleanor.
The snakes in the pit writhed a little closer as Servanne offered lamely, ”But Arthur is only a child. Prince John would never-” She stopped again, catching the treasonous thought before it took on substance.
The Wolf held no such reservations.
”John would never kill his own nephew? My dear deluded lady: Prince John of the Soft Sword would kill his mother, his wife, his own children if he thought their removal would win him the crown of England. How long do you suppose Richard would have survived poison in his cup if he were not already h.e.l.l-bent on killing himself on the end of some infidel's sword?”
”I do not believe you,” she said without much conviction. ”Not about Prince Arthur, at any rate. And besides, he is quite safe with his grandmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, in Brittany. She She would never allow any harm to befall him, most decidedly not at the hand of her own son!” would never allow any harm to befall him, most decidedly not at the hand of her own son!”
The Wolf looked away, looked up at the slivered moon for a long moment, then looked back at Servanne. ”What if I were to tell you an attempt has already been made on the prince's life? What if I told you he and his sister were kidnapped from the dowager queen's castle at Mirebeau four months ago?”
”Kidnapped?”
”Stolen away in the middle of the night under the eyes and ears of a thousand of Eleanor's most trusted guards. It took a full week just to discover how the kidnapping was done-a rather cleverly executed gambit, I might add. Two men s.h.i.+nnied up the small tower that carries the castle wastes down into the moat. Someone should have smelled the pair about their task if nothing else, but alas, no one did, and the children were smuggled out the same way.
”Luckily,” he continued with a sigh, ”their escape from Brittany was not so well planned or executed, and Arthur was safely retrieved before he could be put on board a s.h.i.+p for England. One of the men involved in the kidnapping was taken alive and revealed quite an interesting tale to his, ah, inquisitor. The more questions that were asked, the more answers were received, and in the end, most of the pieces of the puzzle made sense once they were fit into place.”
”No! It makes no sense at all!” she cried. ”Why would anyone want to kidnap the prince? He is but a child.”
”A child first in line to the throne,” the Wolf reminded her. ”Keeping him prisoner, or better yet, bending his mind enough to eventually have him judged insane, or incompetent to rule ... John would be the natural choice to a.s.sume the throne in his stead.”
”You are forgetting the Princess Eleanor.”
”The sister of a mad prince? Hardly a likely candidate.”
”So you think John was behind it?”
”No one else would have half so much to gain.”
Thrust and counterthrust. Talking to him was like taking a lesson in swordplay.
”Has the queen challenged John with the accusation?” she asked.
”Challenge a ferret to explain the feathers stuck to his mouth? What good would come of it, especially when the chick came to no harm?”
Servanne's brows drew together in a frown. ”You speak with a great deal of liberty and familiarity. I hope ... I trust trust you are not daring to imply that you hold the queen's confidence?” you are not daring to imply that you hold the queen's confidence?”
”Me, my lady? By your own words a rogue and wolf's head?”
”A rogue most certainly,” she said carefully. ”But as I said before, no more born to the forest than I was. I may not know who who you are, sirrah, but I do know you are, sirrah, but I do know what what you are, and have known from the instant you stood your challenge to us on the road.” you are, and have known from the instant you stood your challenge to us on the road.”
”Have you now,” he mused, his eyes catching an eerie reflection from the moon. ”Suppose you tell me what you know ... or think you know.”
”Will you tell me if I am right?”
”That depends on how right you are.”
Parry, and thrust. Servanne accepted the challenge, however, knowing this was as close as she was likely to come to a confession, or an admission.
Mimicking his arrogant stance, she crossed her arms over her chest and slowly walked a half-circle around him, inspecting the powerful body with a detachment better suited to choosing livestock at a fair.
”Throughout most of my life I have watched knights training and fighting,” she began. ”I know the musculature of a well-practiced sword arm, and the look of limbs that are more accustomed to feeling horseflesh between them than soft deerhide. Your arms and shoulders have been thickened against the constant chafing of heavy chain-mail armour, and the scars I saw on your body this morning were not earned in a forest or on a farm, but on a battlefield, and in the tournament lists.”
He said nothing to either confirm or deny her observations, and Servanne continued even more boldly.
”You carry your years well,” she said, glancing speculatively up at the shadowed face. ”But there are more behind you, methinks, than ahead. Five and thirty, I should guess.”
”Too close by three to the grave,” he chided dryly, ”But commendable.”
”Take away at least twenty of those years for the time it took you to earn your spurs, and that leaves ... mmm ... twelve full of mysteries to solve. Too many, I think, for one quick judgment, but shall I pick one or two for consideration?”
”I confess, I am intrigued, madam. Pray go on.”
”Will you acknowledge your knighthood?”
”Will it change your opinion of me if I do?”
”Not one wit.”
”Then I acknowledge it,” he grinned, bowing to her cleverness.
”And yet,” she murmured, almost to herself, ”You are well schooled in the use of a bow-not a common weapon for a knight. In fact, I rather thought n.o.bles disdained any knowledge of archery beyond the value of entertainment.”
”The result of a physic's wisdom,” he conceded, shrugging his broad shoulders. ”He had some idea the drawing of a bowstring would quicker restore the strength to my arms while I recovered from my wounds.”
Servanne spared a thought for the incredible corded tautness of his muscles and applauded the physician's judgment.
”And your men? Were they all recovering from wounds as well?”
”Wounded vanity, perhaps. They are a compet.i.tive lot and would not see their captain with a skill better than they possessed.”
”Captain?” she asked, pouncing on the slip. ”Past rank, or present?”
The Wolf took too long to answer, which was all the answer Servanne required to feel a surge of triumph.
”That you have been on Crusade is scarcely worth the breath to debate, but I would hesitate to put forth the suggestion that any infidel could have wrought such damage as in the scars I saw today.”
”You question their skill as worthy opponents?”
”Oh, I have no doubt they are most worthy; both savage and dangerous, as well as fearsomely skilled fighters, else King Richard would have laid their army to dust years ago. But to fight you you, my lord wolf's head, they would have to have the added skill and knowledge of how to attack a man who favours the left hand. Most soldiers never encounter a left-handed opponent in a lifetime of battle and thus are rarely able to defend an attack, let alone overcome an enemy with your skill and strength. No. Whoever left his mark upon you knew exactly what he was doing. He knew where your weakest, most vulnerable points lay, and he struck at them with relentless accuracy. Moreover, he would have had to have been almost your equal in size and skill to have done as much damage as he did and live to walk away.”
The Wolf frowned with genuine curiosity. ”What the devil leads you to suppose he lived?”