Dragon’s Lair: A Medieval Mystery
The long-awaited third novel in Sharon Kay Penman’s much-loved medieval mystery series.
Description
July 1193: Richard Lionheart, eldest and most favored son of Dowager Queen Eleanor of Aquitane, languishes in an Austrian dungeon, held for ransom by the Holy Roman Emperor. Lusting after the crown in England, his brother John plots with his country’s bitterest foe, King Philippe of France, to see to it Richard never leaves Austria alive. But the Queen has already begun to meet the ransom demands, and it is only a matter of time before the Austrians turn over their royal prisoner. And then one of the ransom payments vanishes in the fastnesses of Wales, itself wracked by rebellion and intrigue. Into this maelstrom, Eleanor sends her trusted man, Justin de Quincy — and murder soon follows.
First introduced in The Queen’s Man — an Edgar nominee for best first mystery — Justin de Quincy returns in what may well be Penman’s strongest mystery to date.
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
JULY 1193
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE
ENGLAND
The English king was dying. Despite the bone-biting chill of the dungeon, he was drenched in sweat and so gaunt and wasted that his brother barely recognized him. His skin was ashen, his eyes sunken, and his chest heaved with each rasping, shallow breath. Even the vivid reddish-gold hair was dulled, so matted and dirty that vermin were burrowing into the scalp once graced by a crown. Would their lady mother still be so eager to cradle that lice-ridden head to her breast?
As if sensing he was no longer alone, Richard struggled to rise up on an elbow, rheumy, bloodshot eyes blinking into the shadows. The voice that once could shout down the wind, that was heard from one corner of Christendom to the other even when he whispered, now emerged as a feeble croak. “John . . .?”
“Yes.” Stepping into the meager light of the lone candle, John savored the moment to come. Had Fortune’s Wheel ever spun so dizzily as this? The irony was exquisite, that the brother so scorned and belittled should be Richard’s only chance of salvation. “What would you, brother? You wish for a doctor? A priest? A king’s ransom?” The corner of John’s mouth curved, ever so slightly. “You need only ask, Richard. But ask you must.”
Richard stretched out a stranger’s hand, one that trembled as if he had the palsy, palm upward in the universal gesture of supplication. John reached for it reluctantly, for it would be like clasping hands with a corpse. Their fingers touched, then entwined. As John instinctively recoiled, Richard tightened his hold. There was surprising strength in this deathbed grip; to his alarm, John found he could not break free. Richard’s fingers were digging into his flesh, leaving talon-like imprints upon his skin. So close were they that John could smell on Richard’s breath the fetid stench of the grave, and his brother’s eyes were as grey as their sire’s, burning with fever and an inexplicable gleam of triumph.
“Rot in Hell, Little Brother,” Richard said, slowly and distinctly. “Rot in Hell!”
* * * * *
John jerked upright in the bed, so violently that his bedmate was jarred abruptly from sleep. Ursula felt a surge of drowsy annoyance, for this was not the first time that John had awakened her with one of his troubled dreams. She was not so naïve as to complain, though, indulging herself only with a soft, put-upon sigh and a pout safely hidden in the dark.
As the German dungeon receded before the reality of his bedchamber, John began to swear, angrily and profanely. Why had that accursed dream come back? It made no sense, for Richard was not being held in irons; last report had him being well treated now that negotiations had begun for his release. Nor would he ever be Richard’s deliverance, not in this life or the next. Each time he remembered Richard’s taunt, his blood grew hot and his nerves hummed with hate. Upon being warned that his brother was scheming to claim his crown, Richard had merely laughed. “My brother John,” he’d said, “is not the man to conquer a country if there is anyone to offer even feeble resistance.”
John cursed again, feeling such rage that he could almost choke upon it. Richard’s mockery trailed him like a ravenous wolf. It was always there, hungry yellow eyes aglow in the dark, awaiting its chance.
When he finally fell asleep again, his dreams were still unsettled and he tossed and turned so restlessly that Ursula heaved another martyred sigh, putting as much space between them as the bed would allow. John stopped squirming once he rolled over onto his back, but then he began to snore and Ursula conceded defeat.
Sliding out of bed, she padded across the chamber and drained the last of the wine from John’s night flagon. A young squire slept soundly nearby, and she was tempted to fling the flagon into the floor rushes by his pallet, begrudging him the sleep that was denied her. She reconsidered, though, unwilling to risk waking John. She stubbed her toe getting back into bed and added yet another grievance to her ever-expanding hoard of wrongs.
Most men looked peaceful in their sleep and younger, too, unfettered by earthly cares. But not John. Studying him dispassionately, she decided he looked haunted, and older than his twenty and six years. She supposed most women would consider him hand-some, even if he was the dark one in a fair family, for he had his mother’s finely chiseled cheekbones and expressive mouth. His eyes were deep-set under black brows, fringed with surprisingly long lashes, and his hair was thick, as glossy as a raven’s wing. If she’d been inclined to entwine a strand around her fingers — which she wasn’t — she knew it would be clean and soft to the touch, for one of his quirks was an enjoyment of bathing. She had been taken aback at first, thinking it wasn’t quite manly, but she’d soon come to appreciate the benefits: he did not stink like the other men who’d shared her bed and her favors.
John had once told her that he liked to watch people unaware. Regarding him now as he slept, Ursula understood the appeal; there was a vulnerability about someone who did not know he was under observation. He’d stopped snoring, though, and she settled down beside him, closing her eyes and crossing her fingers. It was then that the pounding started, as loud as summer thunder, chasing away the mice scurrying about in the floor rushes and any hopes of sleep.
John sat up in alarm. “Holy Mother, what now?” Ursula just groaned and put her pillow over her head. The squire was sleepily stumbling toward the door. They could hear the murmur of voices and then the door was shoved back and Durand de Curzon pushed the squire aside, striding into the chamber.
John’s protest died in his throat, for Durand’s presence validated the intrusion. The tall, swaggering knight was one of the few men whom he trusted with some of his secrets. Durand was carrying a lantern and his face was partially illuminated by its swaying pale light. He looked as he always did: self-possessed, capable, and faintly sardonic. But John knew his demeanor would have been no different if he’d come to deliver word of Armageddon.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re in my chamber in the middle of the night, Durand, or must I guess?”
Durand shrugged off the sarcasm. “A messenger has ridden in, my lord, bearing a letter for you from the King of the French.”
John often received communications from the French king. They were allies of expediency, united in their shared loathing for his brother the Lionheart. It was from Philippe that John had first learned of Richard’s plight: captured by his enemies on his way home from Crusade and turned over to the dubious mercies of the Holy Roman Emperor. But he’d never gotten a message so urgent that it could not wait till daylight.
“I’ll see him,” he said tersely.
The man was already being ushered into the chamber. His travel-stained clothes told a tale of their own, as did his bleary eyes and the involuntary grunt he gave as he sank to his knees before the bed. He held out a parchment threaded through with cord and sealed with wax, but John’s gaze went first to his ring. It was a silver band gilded in gold leaf, set with a large amethyst cut into octagonal facets, corroboration that the courier did indeed come from Philippe, for royal signets could be forged but only John knew to look for the ring that had once encircled the French king’s own finger.
“Give me your lantern, Durand,” John said, reaching for the letter. As impatient as he was to read Philippe’s message, he still took the time to examine the seal, making sure that it had not been tampered with. Durand observed this with a flicker of grim humor, so sure had he been that John would do exactly that. He studied John as a Church scholar studied Holy Scriptures, for a misstep might well mean his doom.
As John frowned over the letter, Durand sauntered over to the table, found flint and tinder and struck sparks until he was able to ignite the wick of a large wax candle. When John raised his head to demand more light, Durand was already there, holding out the candlestick. He took the opportunity to appraise John’s bedmate at close range, his gaze moving appreciatively over the voluptuous curves so inadequately draped in a thin, linen sheet.
Ursula was well aware of his intimate scrutiny but she made no attempt to cover her-self, regarding him with an indifference that pricked his pride. Durand could not make up his mind about Ursula. Was it that she was too jaded to care about anything but her own comfort, disenchanted and distrustful? Or was it merely that she was dull-witted, a woman blessed with such a lush, desirable body that the Almighty had decided she had no need for brains, too?
Durand had flirted with her occasionally, if only to alleviate the boredom when they were trapped at the siege of Windsor Castle, but to no avail, and he’d soon decided that she was a selfish bitch and likely dumb as a post. Not that he would have lain with her even if she’d been panting for it. He’d long ago concluded that John’s sense of possession was even stronger than his sense of entitlement. Still, the risk had its own appeal, separate and apart from Ursula’s carnal charms. He’d learned at an early age that danger could be as seductive as any whore. Irked by Ursula’s blank, impassive gaze, he stripped her with his eyes, slowly and deliberately. By God, she was ripe. Would it truly matter if her head was filled with sawdust? All cats were grey in the dark.
Belatedly becoming aware of John’s utter silence, he glanced toward the younger man and all lustful thoughts were banished at the sight of John’s ashen face. Durand held no high opinion of Queen Eleanor’s youngest son. He thought John was too clever by half and as contrary and unpredictable as the winds in Wales. But he did not doubt John’s courage; treason was not for the faint of heart. So he was startled now to see John so obviously shaken. What dire news was in the French king’s letter?
“My lord? You look like a man who’s just heard that there was hemlock in his wine. What is amiss?”
John continued to stare down at the letter. A muscle was twitching faintly in his cheek and the hand resting on his knee had clenched into a fist. Just when Durand decided that he was not going to respond, he glanced up, eyes glittering and opaque. “Read it for yourself.”
Many men would not have been able to meet that challenge, but Durand was literate in both French and Latin. As he approached the bed, John thrust the letter at him like a knife. He did not flinch, taking the parchment in one hand and holding the candlestick in the other, then stepping back so he could read it.
The French king’s seal had been broken when John unthreaded the cord and unfolded the letter. There was no salutation, no signature, just seven words scrawled across the middle of the page, written in such haste that the ink had bled before it dried, blotted so carelessly that a smudged fingerprint could be seen.
“Look to yourself for the Devil is loosed.”
Copyright©Sharon Kay Penman
Reading Group Guide
1. Discuss the pros and cons of being “the Queen’s man.”
2. In the beginning of the novel, Justin is momentarily taken aback by Eleanor’s command that he seek his much-loathed father’s assistance, but then he sees the truth. What is that truth?
3. Justin is aptly described as “a natural lone wolf, not happy hunting with the pack.” Do you think this wolf will ever form his own pack?
4. Has Justin met the right woman yet? If not, will he ever?
5. If you could plot Justin’s future, what would it look like?
6. What do you think would have happened in the chapel if Durand had not been interrupted?
7. Justin recalls being punished as a child for sneaking food to Bennet and Molly. Why was his kindness met with hostility and condemnation from the society around him?
8. Molly helps Justin see his father in a whole new light. Has anyone ever helped you in this way?
9. Justin worries about Piers and his reaction to Molly and Justin’s relationship. Do you think his worries are warranted?
10. Justin tells a bereft Angharad that “love can change; it can even die.” Discuss the vagaries of love.
11. When is virtue not a virtue?
12. What do you think of Emma’s use of her feminine wiles to accrue and wield power?
13. What does Emma mean when she tells John that “a widow’s lot is better than a wife’s more often than not”?
14. What do you think Davydd would do if he learned of Emma’s treachery?
15. John and Emma are kin, but their true bond is their thirst for revenge. Discuss how bitterness has crippled them and imperiled those around them.
16. Two very different kinds of sibling relationships—Richard and John versus Bennet and Molly—are represented in this novel. Do they share any common ground?
17. How do you interpret John’s dream of his absent, imprisoned brother?
18. Eleanor’s assertion that “all the Welsh are inbred” is a perfect illustration of the prevailing English attitude toward the Welsh. What is the cost of England’s cultural and political myopia and imperialism?
19. Other than Justin, which character did you find most compelling? Least compelling?
20. Are you the kind of reader who must solve a mystery in advance or do you prefer to let it unfold before you?
21. What historical figure would make for an interesting addition to your group’s discussion of Dragon’s Lair?
22. How has the group discussion enriched your understanding of Dragon’s Lair?
23. What book is your group going to read next? Do you plan to read the next installment of Justin de Quincy’s adventures?
Interview with Sharon
Q: Like the rest of your fiction, this novel is set in medieval Europe. What drew you to this particular time and place? And what keeps you there?
Sharon Kay Penman: Well, I spent twelve years working on my first novel, The Sunne in Splendour, and by the time it was done, I was hopelessly hooked on the Middle Ages. It is very familiar terrain to me now, after setting nine books in that era, so each time I begin a new book, it is like coming home. That doesn’t mean I’d have wanted to live back then, though; I am much too fond of our century’s creature comforts!
Q: Who or what inspired the character of Justin?
SKP: Justin is not based upon any particular person; I never do that for purely fictional characters. He just “came” to me during some long walks in the woods with my dogs.
Q: Justin is such a lonely character. Does much of his loneliness stem from the fact that he is trapped between two worlds—that of the highborn and the lowborn?
SKP: Yes, I wanted a character who would have the perspective of an “outsider,” someone who did not quite belong in either of his worlds.
Q: What does Justin gain and lose because of his class “mobility”?
SKP: You might say that Justin is a social chameleon, that he is able to take on the coloration of his surroundings. He can maneuver in the shark-filled waters of the royal court, yet he is also capable of blending in at the corner tavern or alehouse, a very useful attribute for a spy. But he lives in a world in which people are defined by birth, a concept utterly alien to Americans. He is very drawn to Molly; there is a strong connection between them, one that is emotional as well as sexual. Yet it would be difficult, if not impossible, for them to have a future together. The flip side of this coin is that marriage to the Lady Claudine is also beyond his grasp.
Q: Justin does not let himself think too hard or long about whether or not Richard is worth the money, effort, and lives that his ransom costs. Is the price too high?
SKP: Knowing what I know about Richard’s kingship, I’d say the price was much too high. But I am looking at it from a modern perspective. In Justin’s world, few would even raise that question. One of the cornerstones of a class system is that all people are not created equal, and a consecrated, crowned king was at the very pinnacle of the social pyramid.
Q: Have we heard the last of Molly and Bennet?
SKP: Not at all! Molly and Bennet appear in the next mystery, and I expect them to be complicating Justin’s life for some time to come.
Q: Is Justin’s understanding of his father going to continue to evolve?
SKP: Of course. Theirs is an ongoing, evolving relationship, and there will be advances and retreats, backsliding and detours. It is not an easy road, but they are traveling it together, if not always willingly.
Q: Will we learn more about the identity of Justin’s mother?
SKP: Yes, eventually Justin and the readers will learn more about his mother. I don’t mean to sound cryptic or mysterious—well, I guess I do—but his father has good reason for wanting to keep her identity secret. And that is as much as I can say!
Q: Since Claudine is unwilling to consider marriage to Justin, what is going to happen to their child? SKP: You’ll have to keep reading the books to find out, won’t you? I will tell you that more about the baby will be revealed in the next mystery, Prince of Darkness.
Q: Notable among the many important and thought-provoking themes in this novel (which also appear in your other work) is your focus on the conflicts and differences between medieval English and Welsh culture and society. Would you talk about this tension and what you find so compelling about it?
SKP: This was a clash of cultures, a war of attrition between a predatory feudal society and a tribal Celtic one. When I moved to Wales more than twenty years ago and began to research Here Be Dragons, I was fascinated from the first by the Welsh medieval laws, by the discovery that women enjoyed a greater status in Wales than elsewhere in Europe. By our standards, Welshwomen were not that emancipated, but in comparison to their French and English sisters, they enjoyed a remarkable degree of freedom. A Welsh girl became her own mistress when she reached the age of puberty and could not be forced into marriage against her will. She was not automatically denied custody of her children if her husband died or the marriage ended, as was the case on the other side of the border. She could even end the marriage herself. And a woman who bore an infant out of wedlock had one great advantage over all of her sisters in Christendom: An illegitimate child acknowledged by the father had full rights of inheritance and was on equal footing with his or her siblings born in wedlock. Medieval Welsh law did not punish the child for the sins of the parents, an enlightened position that can be truly appreciated only when we consider how many centuries it would take to gain widespread acceptance elsewhere.
Q: You make clear the very real limitations women of all backgrounds faced in medieval Europe. How challenging is it to create plausible opportunities and interesting experiences for your female characters?
SKP: It is very challenging, truthfully. Women did not have as many options as men, and I need to reflect that reality in my mysteries. So whether I am writing of a woman of Claudine’s class or one of Molly’s, I try to stay true to the boundaries and constraints that each would have encountered. A woman of high birth was blessed with certain freedoms that Molly would never enjoy, among them the freedom from hunger or want. But Molly had freedoms that were denied to Claudine, such as the right to chart her own course and make a marriage of her choosing.
Q: Would you agree that Eleanor and Emma have a great deal in common?
SKP: Superficially, yes. They were strong-willed women, fortunate from birth, for both were said to be beautiful and both were born into families of privilege and power. Eleanor was the daughter and heiress of the Duke of Aquitaine, married at fifteen to the young King of France. She acquired that high rank through no actions of her own. But when she later became Queen of England, that was very much her own doing. One of the reasons why Eleanor continues to fascinate us so is because she did not always play by the rules of her world, rules that made it virtually impossible for a woman to exert much control over her own destiny. Eleanor dared to break these rules, and although she paid a high price for her willingness to rebel, I like to think that, on her deathbed at the advanced age of eighty-two, she had few regrets. Emma, of course, was never a great heiress like Eleanor; she was the illegitimate daughter of Count Geoffrey of Anjou and thus sister to England’s King Henry. Hers was the more traditional fate for women of the nobility, a political pawn wed to a Welsh prince because her brother the king decreed it. We know little of Emma’s external life, nothing whatsoever of her interior one. I suspect, though, that she had more regrets than Eleanor.
Q: Justin leaves Angharad mourning a man who never existed. Was this the kindest or wisest choice Justin could have made?
SKP: Under these particular circumstances, I think it was both a wise and a kind decision. But if Justin were forced to choose between the two, he would always err on the side of kindness.
Q: Which would upset John more: learning of Durand’s role as Eleanor’s spy or as his own protector?
SKP: Very interesting question. I think John would be most offended by the notion that Eleanor saw him as being in need of Durand’s protection. John’s jealousy of his brother Richard was a destructive force in his life. Putting it in modern terms, Richard was the Golden Son, the best beloved, and John was the afterthought, John Lackland, forever measuring himself against the Lionheart and forever coming up short.
Q: I would like to ask you a question you raise in your author’s note: What is the responsibility of the historical novelist?
SKP: I cannot answer for other historical novelists; I can only offer my own guidelines. In writing my historical novels, I have to rely upon my imagination to a great extent. I think of it as “filling in the blanks.” Medieval chroniclers could be callously indifferent to the needs of future novelists. But I think there is a great difference between filling in the blanks and distorting known facts. Whenever I’ve had to tamper with history for plot purposes, I make sure to mention that in my author’s note, and I try to keep such tampering to a bare minimum. I also attempt to keep my characters true to their historical counterparts. This is not always possible, of course. Sometimes all we know of a medieval man or woman are the stark, skeletal outlines of their lives, rather like the chalk drawing of the body at a crime scene. And some historical figures are so controversial—Richard III is a good example—that I feel comfortable drawing my own conclusions. But if I were to deviate dramatically from the traditional portrayal of a person who actually lived, I would feel honor-bound to explain to my readers in my author’s note why I chose this particular approach.
Q: Do you need to work from a detailed outline to ensure historical accuracy?
SKP: I use a detailed outline for the mysteries, but that is more to avoid any plot holes than to ensure historical accuracy. I use an outline for chapters in both the mysteries and my historical novels, in order to have a road map when I am beginning a book.
Q: Sharon, you were writing your first novel in your “spare” time while in law school when the only copy of your manuscript was stolen. What happened next?
SKP: The first manuscript for The Sunne in Splendour disappeared from my car when I was moving to an apartment during my years in law school. The car was crammed with the usual college student’s possessions, including a small television, but the only thing taken was a notebook containing my novel. At that point I’d been working on it for more than four years, and its loss was very traumatic for me. For the next six months, I would periodically ransack my apartment, deluding myself that I had somehow “missed” it during those other, futile searches, and I was unable to write again for the next five and a half years. I never learned what had happened to the manuscript. The most logical explanation is that one of the children playing in front of the apartment complex had wandered over to the car and snatched the notebook on impulse. It was either that or vengeful Tudor ghosts, and I find it hard to believe any of them were hovering over Lindenwold, New Jersey.
Q: What is the most notable book you have read recently?
SKP: I am currently reading a fascinating novel called Star of the Sea by Joseph O’Connor; it takes place in 1847, aboard a ship of Irish refugees who are fleeing the Great Hunger and seeking to start life anew in America. I haven’t finished it yet, but I can say for a certainty that the first two-thirds of the novel are utterly compelling so far.
Q: If you could create your own reading group composed of notable historical figures, whom would you include, and what would the group read?
SKP: My own reading group? I think I would want Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II in my group; they’d definitely liven up meetings. And Elizabeth Tudor and Cleopatra and Napoleon and Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain. I would also invite the Welsh poet-prince Hywel ab Owain, who did a star turn in my novel Time and Chance, and the tragic nine-day queen, Jane Grey. Now what would they read? I wouldn’t dare suggest my own books to such a high-powered group. I think we’d read one of Shakespeare’s plays, possibly Richard II or King Lear or, if they were in the mood for lighter fare, Much Ado About Nothing.
Q: If you could spend a day living the life of one of your characters in Dragon’s Lair, whose life would you choose?
SKP: I think I would like to follow in Llewelyn’s footsteps, for he was blessed with that rare combination of confidence, humor, and optimism tempered by reality, so I’d probably have the most fun living his life—although I’d rather not step into his shoes on a day when he was fighting a battle.
Q: Can you tell us anything about Justin’s next adventure?
SKP: Justin’s next adventure will be Prince of Darkness, which we hope to publish in early 2005. I am working on it now and am giving poor Justin a rough time. Due to circumstances beyond his control, he finds himself on the “pilgrimage to Hell and back,” as John wryly describes it, a journey made in the company of the three people he’d least like to be traveling with: his hostile ally, Durand de Curzon; his sometime love, the Lady Claudine; and his unforgiving adversary from Dragon’s Lair, the Lady Emma. It’s a journey that takes him from the streets of Paris to castles in Brittany and then to one of the most celebrated of medieval shrines, the island abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel.
Additional information
| paperback | Publisher: Ballantine Books |
|---|---|
| hardcover | Published October 2003 |
