Free Prince of Darkness by Sharon Penman

lover?” she murmured, laughing up at him with such overdone innocence that Justin rapidly revised his travel plans. What difference could one more day make to John? Like as not, the Devil had been holding a space for him in Hell since he drew his first breath.

VI

January 1194
Ellesmere, England
    Justin’s first view of Ellesmere was an impressive one—a castle perched on a high ridge overlooking a placid lake. The scene was peaceful and pastoral, deceptively so, for this had been a Marcher lord’s stronghold, often caught up in the border wars with the Welsh and the skirmishes of that unhappy time known as The Anarchy, when the country had been convulsed by a power struggle so bloody that people had whispered that Christ and his saints must surely sleep. It was a Crown property by the reign of Henry II, who had given Ellesmere to Davydd ab Owain as part of Emma’s marriage portion, pleasing Davydd. Nothing would have pleased Emma, who’d been a most unwilling wife to the prince of Gwynedd.
    Justin prudently chose to scout out the lay of the land before riding into the castle bailey and putting himself in Emma’s power, and he halted in the village. Even the smallest hamlets usually had an alewife and Ellesmere’s was a stout, fair-haired widow with a booming laugh and shrewd blue eyes. Upon spying the telltale ale-stake, Justin had drawn rein in front of her cottage and purchased a tankard of well-brewed ale, a chunk of newly baked bread, and some casual gossip about the lady of the manor.
    Lady Emma was indeed in residence at the castle, the alewife affirmed, not surprising Justin with the slight emphasis she placed on Emma’s title; it had been his experience that other women did not like Emma much. If he wanted to see her ladyship, though, she continued, he’d best push on toward Shrewsbury, for that was where she was to be found, enriching the town merchants at her lord husband’s expense.
    Even though it meant another fifteen-mile ride, Justin was pleased to learn that Emma was in Shrewsbury. He’d spent the first eight years of his life in that river town and knew it almost as well as he did Chester. He did not really think Emma posed the same danger as her impulsive, vengeful husband—she was much more clever than Davydd—but it would not hurt to approach her on more neutral ground than her Ellesmere manor.
    Reaching Shrewsbury at dusk, he entered through the north gate. This was the only access by land, for Shrewsbury was situated in a horseshoe bend of the muddy River Severn, and it was securely guarded by a more formidable castle than Ellesmere, manned by Justin’s former lord and Shropshire’s sheriff, William Fitz Alan. Justin was not surprised to learn that Emma was not staying at the castle, for its accommodations were old-fashioned and Emma was particular about her comforts. Justin guessed that she’d be accepting the hospitality of Hugh de Lacy, the abbot of the prosperous Benedictine Abbey of St Peter and St Paul located on the outskirts of the town. Before he continued on to the abbey, he used his all-purpose letter from the queen—declaring him to be in her service—to secure lodgings at Shrewsbury Castle for himself and his gelding. Since he had no objection to spending John’s money, he bought a sturdy horn lantern and then headed out onto the Alms Vicus, Shrewsbury’s high street and major thoroughfare.
    By the time he’d reached the bottom of Gombestole Street, the savory aromas wafting from cook-shops reminded him that the supper hour was nigh. He resisted the temptation to stop, though, wanting to get his interview with Emma done as soon as possible. As he hastened down the steep hill of the street called The Wyle, he found his path blocked by people milling about in the road. Weaving among them, he soon saw the cause of the delay. A cart was stuck in the middle of the thoroughfare, its wheels mired in mud. The carter was in a fury, cursing and lashing at his horse, a scrawny