Stalling for time, he signaled for more wine he prided himself upon his hospitality, so much so that men said none in the Marches set a finer table than His Grace, the Bishop of Chester. Coventry's worldly bishop had few peers when it came to conversational ambushes, laying his verbal snares so deftly that his quarry rarely sensed danger until it was too late.Īubrey had no intention, though, of falling heedlessly into the other bishop's trap. Coming from Hugh de Nonant, it was neither random nor innocent. Had the query been posed by one of his other guests, Aubrey would have taken it for natural curiosity. By December, other crusaders had begun to reach English ports. All of England - and indeed, most of Christendom - talked of little else this Christmastide, for more than two months had passed since the Lionheart had sailed from Acre. Throughout their meal, the sole topic had been King Richard's disappearance. Aubrey de Quincy was caught off balance and furious with himself for his negligence he ought to have expected this.
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