Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Penman (best inspirational books txt) 📕

168Will had watched disapprovingly as de Braose insinuated his way j^ John's inner circle, becoming, in time, one of John's favorite carousine companions.He'd never lacked for confidenceas shy as a timber vvolf as scrupulous as aBarbary piratebut Will had noted an increasing familiarity in his friendship with John, a familiarity that Will found offensive, that seemed to go beyond their mutual pursuit of what de Braose jokingly called "the three aitches . .. hunting, hawking, and 'horing." A familiarity that Will had first noticed in the past year, in the weeks after John's Eastertide visit to Rouen.Will was not alone in his critical appraisal of the chess game's unhappy consequences. Joanna knew how her father hated to lose. Lord de Braose would revel in his victory, she knew, and Papa would be in il] humor for the rest of the night. It was not fair. Papa was so disquieted, much in need of distraction. Joanna thought it only just that he should be able to forget his troubles for a few hours. She knew suddenly what she must do, took a moment or so to nerve herself for it. Rising, she reached for a bowl of candied fruit, carried it across the chamber to John."Would you like a fig, Papa?" she asked, and then bumped into the trestle table, upsetting the chessmen and knocking the board onto the floor."Papa, I'm so sorry! I truly do not know how I could have been so clumsy.""Divine Providence?" John suggested, straight-faced, but his eyes were laughing."That is one explanation, I suppose," William de Braose said, favoring them both with a sour smile, and Joanna saw that he, too, knew her action had been deliberate. But John was looking at her with such amusement, such affectionate approval that nothing else mattered to her. She groped hastily for a topic of conversation likely to hold his interest, to exclude de Braose."Did you hear any uncommon appeals today, Papa?" she asked, knowing as soon as she spoke that her question was inspired, for John shared his father's fascination with the law. He genuinely enjoyed hearing court appeals, arguing points of law with his justices, issuing writs to right perceived wrongs, and he saw to it that the Exchequer published his itinerary weeks in advance so that petitioners might know where he'd be on a given day, so they could appeal to the royal court for justice denied in the shire courts."Indeed I did, Joanna. A youth not much older than you, calling himself Roger of Stainton. He'd been amusing himself by throwing stones across a stream. By ill luck, one struck a young girl. She died and he was sentenced to be hanged." |

169"Shall you pardon him, Papa7" Joanna asked, pleased when JohnJed"How could I not7 It was death by misadventure, a man should not r for that" John paused, looking up as an usher came into the han2 * ii'"1-J r 'o r chamber"Your Grace, a courier has just arrived from Fontevrault "John tensed, his good humor chilled into icy wanness He'd been , acjing this, his mother's reaction to the loss of Castle Gaillard, Richj's pride and joy, the castle he'd boasted he could hold even if the alls were made of butter John did not want to be reminded of this by Eleanor, even if she did not reproach him directly, he did not doubt her disappointment would echo between every line It was with considerable reluctance, then, that he said curtly, "Send him in "The monk was young and visibly ill at ease The black habit of the Benedictines camouflaged the grime of his journey, but the parchment he clutched was soiled from much handling, slashed and threaded through with a braided grey cord that might once have been white He knelt, thrust the letter at John as if he longed only to be rid of itJohn looked down at the wax sealing the cord ends, it was intact, but unfamiliar "This is not my mother's seal ""The letter is from the Abbess Matilda, Your Grace She bade me tell you " The monk swallowed, no longer meeting John's eyes "Your lady mother she is dead, my liege "John heard his daughter cry out, plaintively denying death with an indrawn breath that broke on a sob No one else spoke John found himself staring at the monk's clasped hands, they were rawboned, knuckles roughened, nails caked with dirt Never had he been so aware of detail, he saw a sheen on the man's habit, where kneeling had worn the material thin, saw the damp splotches under his armpits, the telltale signs of sweat, of fear But he felt nothing, only a stunned sense of disbeliefUtterly unnerved by John's silence, the monk squeezed his knees tightly together to stop his trembling, and stammered, "It it did happen on Thursday last, soon after Vespers But it may comfort you, my lord, to know that hers was a peaceful and Christian passing She died m God's grace, with our ladyAbbess and Abbot Luke of Torpenay at her bedside, he'd been with her when your brother King Richard u'ed, you may recall, and when she knew her end was nigh, she sent to St Mary's Abbey for him "Still John said nothing, and the monk drew several shallow breaths, Peaking now almost at random "It was your mother's wish that she be Uned atFontevrault with King Richard and your sister, the Lady

170Joanna. Our Abbess saw that it was done. I hope that meets with y0u approval, my liege ...""Did she leave any word . . . any message for me?""No, my lord."Another silence fell. John crumpled the letter, unread, let it droD into the rushes at his feet. The monk made an instinctive grab for it, then jerked his hand back as if burned. Will cleared his throat, seemed on the verge of speech. John forestalled him, said without any intonation