Sharon Kay Penman - Cruel as the Grave

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" ALSO BY SHARON KAY PENMAN

The Sunne in Splendour

Here Be Dragons

Falls the Shadow

The Reckoning

When Christ and His Saints Slept The Queen's Man

CRUEL

AS THE

GRAVE

CRUEL

AS THE

GRAVE

A Medieval Mystery

SHARON KAY

PENMAN

Ballantine Books

NEW YORK

Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized If this

book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as

"unsold or destroyed" and neither the author nor the publisher may

have received payment for it

A Ballanhne Book Published by The Ballantme Publishing Group

Ballanhne Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc

Conventions Published in the United States by The Ballantme Publishing

Group, a division of Random House, Inc, New York, and distributed in

Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto

Ballantme and the Ballantme colophon are registered trademarks and

Ballantme Reader's Circle and the Ballantme Reader's Circle

colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc

www randomhouse com/BB/

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 99-90618

ISBN 0-345-43422-6

This edition published by arrangement with Henry Holt and Company, Inc

Manufactured m the United States of America

Cover design and by Barbara Leff

Cover art Two scenes from the life of Richard I, taken from Effigies

regium Anglme, c 14th century British Library, London,

UK/Bndgeman Art Library, London/New York

Book design by Lucy Albanese

First Ballantme Edition October 1999

10 9876543

TO MOLLY FRIEDRICH

Jealousy is cruel as the grave.

Song of Solomon 8:6-7

TOWER OF LONDON ENGLAND

April 1193

li 'J^JI They were intimate enemies, bound by blood. Here in liV^lH the

torchlit splendor of the Chapel of St John the lukJJI Evangelist, they'd

fought yet another of their battles. As always, there was no winner. They'd

inflicted wounds that would be slow to heal, and that, too, was familiar.

Nothing had changed, nothing had been resolved. But never had the stakes been

so high. It shimmered in the shadows between them, the ultimate icon of power:

England's royal crown.

Few knew better than Eleanor of Aquitaine how seductive that power could be.

In her youth, she'd wed the French king, then left him for the man who would

become King of England. That passionate, turbulent marriage of love and hate

was part of her distant, eventful past; if Henry's unquiet ghost still stalked

the realm of marital memory, she alone knew it. Now in her seventy-first year,

she was England's revered Dowager Queen,

Sharon Kay Penman

rising above the ruins of her life like a castle impervious to assault. If her

fabled beauty had faded, her wit had not, and her will was as finely honed as

the sword of her most celebrated son, Richard Lionheart, the crusader king

languishing in a German prison. But she was much more than Richard's mother,

his invincible ally: She was his only hope.

The torches sputtered in their wall sconces, sending up wavering fingers of

flame. The silence grew louder by the moment, thudding in her ears like an

army's drumbeat. She watched as he paced, this youngest of her eaglets. John,

Count of Mortain and Earl of Gloucester, would-be king. He seethed with barely

suppressed fury, giving off almost as much heat as those erratic torches. His

spurs struck white sparks against the tiled floor, and the swirl of his mantle

gave her a glimpse of the sword at his hip. This might be her last chance to

reach him, to avert calamity. What could she say that he would heed? What

threat was likely to work? What promise?

"I will not allow you to steal Richard's crown," she said tautly. "Understand

that if you understand nothing else, John. As long as I have breath in my

body, I will oppose you in this. As will the justiciars."

"You think so?" he scoffed. "They held fast today, but who knows what may

happen on the morrow? They might well decide that England would be better

served by a living king than a dead one!"

"Richard is not dead."

"How can you be so sure of that, Madame? Have you secondsight? Or is this

merely a doting mother's lapse into maudlin sentimentality?"

Beneath his savage sarcasm, she caught echoes of an emotion he would never

acknowledge: a jealousy more bitter than gall. "Bring us back incontrovertible

proof of Richard's death," she said, "and we will then consider your claim to

the throne."

CRUEL AS THE GRAVE

John's eyes showed sudden glints of green. "You mean you would weigh my claim

against Arthur's, do you not?"

"Richard named his nephew as his heir. I did not," she said pointedly. "Must I

remind you that you are my son, flesh of my flesh? Why would I not want the

kingship for you?"

"That is a question I've often asked myself."

"If you'd have me say it, listen, then. I want you to be king. Not Arthuryou."

He could not hide a flicker of surprise. "You almost sound as if you mean

that."

"I do, John," she said. "I swear by all the saints that I do."

For a moment, he hesitated, and she thought she'd gotten to him.

"But not whilst Brother Richard lives?"

"No," she said, very evenly, "not whilst Richard lives."

The silence that followed seemed endless to her. She'd always found it

difficult to read his thoughts, could never see into his soul. He was a

stranger in so many ways, this son so unlike Richard. His eyes locked upon

hers, with a hawk's unblinking intensity. Whatever he'd been seeking, he did

not find, though, for his mouth twisted into a sardonic, mirthless smile.

"Alas," he said, "I've never been one for waiting."

Justin de Quincy paused in the doorway of the queen's great hall. Never had he

seen so many highborn lords at one time, barons of the realm and princes of

the Church and all of the justiciars: Walter de Coutances, Archbishop of

Rouen; William Marshal; Geoffrey Fitz Peter; William Brewer; and Hugh Bardolf.

These were men of rank and privilege, milling about now like so many lost

sheep, agitated and uneasy. What was amiss?

William Longsword was standing a few feet away and Justin headed in his

direction. He felt an instinctive sense of kinship to

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"ALSOBYSHARONKAYPENMANTheSunneinSplendourHereBeDragonsFallstheShadowTheReckoningWhenChristandHisSaintsSleptTheQueen'sManCRUELASTHEGRAVECRUELASTHEGRAVEAMedievalMysterymSHARONKAYPENMANBallantineBooksNEWYORKSaleofthisbookwithoutafrontcovermaybeunauthorizedIfthisbookiscoverless,itmayhavebeenreportedtoth...

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