Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Penman (best ebook reader android TXT) 📗

Philip? We both know he has no hope of ever defeating Richard on the field."He was as angry as Eleanor had ever seen him, too angry for either artifice or discretion. His was not a defense calculated to endear, and would have found little favor with Richard. But there was an iceblooded, unsparing honesty to it that was, to Eleanor, more persuasive than any indignant avowals of good faith. It was the very amorality of John's argument that carried so much conviction. "You're saying, then, that Philip was merely seeking to stir up trouble between you and Richard?""And succeeding, from the sound of it. Know you where Richard is now? Will Ifind him still at Castle Gaillard?"Eleanor no longer doubted. There could be no better indication of John's innocence than this, that he would willingly seek Richard out. When he was in the wrong, the last thing he ever wanted was to face his accusers, to confront those he'd betrayed.Eleanor's relief was inexpressible. Her easy acceptance of John's guilt had been prompted as much by fear as by her son's dismal record of broken faith and betrayals, the fear that she had misjudged him, after a'l/ that he was not the pragmatist she'd thought him to be. Had he indeed been intriguing withPhilip, that would mean to Eleanor that his judgment was fatally and unforgivably flawed, flawed enough to taint any claim he might have had to the crown. That was a conclusion she sr|rank from, for it would signify the end of all her hopes for an Angevin

96dynasty, and that was the dream which had somehow sustained her even when she'd had nothing else to hold on to.She sat down abruptly in a cushioned chair. "Thank God," she said simply, with enough feeling to soothe John's sense of injury."But of course I do accept your apologies, Mother," he said, very dryly.Righteous indignation was not an emotion indigenous to his temperamental terrain; he had too much irony in his makeup to be able to cultivate moral outrage, and now that he no longer feared being called to account for a sin that truly was not his, he was beginning to see the perverse humor in his predicament. " 'Be not righteous overmuch,'" he quoted, and grinned. "But how can I help it? After all, how often have I been able to expose my conscience to your exacting eye . . . and lived to tell the tale?"Eleanor could not help herself, had to smile, too. "By what strange alchemy do you manage to make your vices sound so much like virtues?" She shook her head, gestured toward the table. "Fetch me pen and parchment. Better that I be the one to assure Richard of your innocence."THE ancient river port of Rennes was the capital of Brittany. It was, as well, the favorite residence of Arthur, the young Duke who bore the name of a fabledCeltic King and never doubted that one day he, too, would be a King.The April wind had suddenly shifted and servants were hastening to shutter the windows on the leeward side of the great hall. A juggler was making a manful attempt to entertain, but only Arthur was finding his antics amusing; the adults were far more interested in speculating upon the provocative presence of the man seated at Arthur's right. John had arrived in Rennes at dusk the preceding day, bearing lavish gifts for his "dear nephew" and "sweet sister-by-marriage." While all agreed that he must have an ulterior motive in mind, none could agree upon what it was, and after twenty-four hours of unbridled conjecture, rumors were rampant, the Breton court was in turmoil, and John was enjoying himself immensely.Growing bored now with the amateurish efforts of Arthur's juggler, John appropriated a ruby ring from the prettiest of the women. Showing off the sleight of hand that never failed to delight his daughter, Joanna, he soon had an appreciative audience, and when he at last pretended to find the ring in the girl's bodice, she blushed midst all the laughter, but then slanted him a long-lashed look of unmistakable invitation."I want to learn how to do that trick, would have you teach me."

97ft r a nudge from his mother, Arthur grudgingly added, "If you will, "jt would give me great pleasure to lesson you, lad," John said1 asantly- "On the morrow, shall we say?" Knowing that Arthur was a t pical twelve-year-old in that what he wanted, he wanted at once.Arthur was not that much older than John's son Richard, but the two cousins had nothing whatsoever in common beyond a blood bond, gichard was an unusually introspective youngster, conscientious and cautious, but quietly stubborn, too; John was fond of his youngest son, but he never knew what Richard was thinking. Arthur was Richard's opposite in all particulars. Boisterous, cocky, imperious as only a cherished only son can be, Arthur was not accustomed to sharing the limelight, and he'd taken John's unexpected arrival with exceedingly poor grace. He could not comprehend why he must welcome his only rival for the Angevin crown, and at first he'd not even made a pretense of civility. But the ruder he was, the more courteous John became, indulgently affectionate, playful, answering insult with an exaggerated solicitude that stopped just short of parody. Arthur was spoiled, but by no means stupid, and he was not long in realizing that John was getting much the best of these exchanges. He was too young, however, to understand that he was, in effect, making a fool of himself. Now he opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and lapsed into a sulky silence.But John had lost all interest in baiting the boy. A woman was approaching the dais. Making a graceful curtsy before Arthur, she then curtsied to John. She had utterly compelling eyes the shade of purest sapphire; she looked briefly into his face, and turned away. John waited a discreet interval, announced he was retiring for the night,