This was the sort of gruesome story to lodge in the morbid imagination of young male students, and Justin was not surprised he recalled it so quickly. What did surprise him was that Emma would have chosen to mention it, for it hardly seemed like a suitable topic for a woman of such delicate sensibilities that the mere sight of a dead body would cause her to swoon. He decided that she could not resist any opportunity to brag about her family's lofty bloodlines, but as he continued to listen, he realized that Emma had something else in mind.
"Surely that sad occurrence argues for a quick burial, Emma. Llanelwy is but a few miles away and even if the rain continues, we can take the body there without great difficulty. De Caldecott's family will just have to accept the fact that we did the best we could under the circumstances."
"Well... there may be a way to satisfy his family without taking any risks. Bury his body at the cathedral of St Asaph in Llanelwy and deliver his heart to the earl at Chester so it may be buried at Caldecott."
"An excellent suggestion, my dear." Davydd sounded pleased, but Justin frowned, wondering why Thomas de Caldecott's burial should matter so much to Emma. She gave him the answer, though, with her next words.
"When you send men to the earl, I would like my man, Oliver, to accompany them. The last time I was in Chester, I ordered sarcenet silk, damask, and white kidskin gloves from France, and the mercer told me they ought to arrive by summer's end. Oliver is going to fetch them for me."
Justin's head came up sharply. Oliver looked to be in his sixth decade and had a limp that indicated he had a touch of the joint evil. This was not a man to send on a two-day ride for an ordinary errand.
~*~
Justin's arrival in Chester was not auspicious. The storm that had drenched Rhuddlan earlier in the week had moved east and was now buffeting the city with high winds and driving rain. Oliver balked at lodging with the others at the castle, insisting he preferred the guest hall at St Werburgh's, which meant that it would be more difficult for Justin to keep him under watch. And most troubling of all, Justin learned that the earl was gone from Chester, called away by the sudden illness of his youngest sister, Hawise. Justin had not realized how much he was counting upon Chester's aid until it was no longer available.
As soon as he could get away, he slipped out of the castle and went to make sure that Oliver had settled down for the evening at the abbey. He was convinced that Emma had sent her man to Chester to meet someone, which meant that he dared not let Oliver out of his sight for long. Since Oliver knew him and would be on the alert if he was up to no good, that was going to make surveillance no easy task.
~*~
Bennet instructed Berta to bring them cups and a flagon, then steered Justin toward a corner table, "So," he said, as soon as they were seated, "Rolf told us that your best suspect got himself killed. Where does that leave you?"
"Mired in the mud," Justin conceded, before giving his friend a quick, probing look. "I suppose I ought to thank you and Molly for Rolf... I think."
Bennet grinned. "Scary, isn't he?"
Justin heartily agreed. "Dare I ask how the man earns his livelihood?"
"I never asked, never wanted to know. He works occasionally for Piers, doing God knows what, and he disappears from Chester for weeks at a time, always comes back with plenty of money to spend on drink and whores and wagers."
"What did he tell you about de Caldecott's death?"
"That he'd been found dead in the castle chapel with a knife in his chest. Why... is there more to this tale than he let on?"
"No... apart from the fact that he was not killed in the chapel and he did not die from a dagger thrust," Justin took a swallow of wine, and then grimaced, both at the taste and his dubious prospects. "I think he was probably poisoned. I could find no other wounds on the body and I find it hard to believe that his heart just stopped beating of its own accord."
"What about the dagger? How can you be sure it did not kill him?"
"Because," Justin said, "there was no blood, no blood at all. The only way a man can be stabbed and not bleed is if he's already dead."
"This is beginning to sound very peculiar, even for Wales. Why stab a dead man?"
"For the same reason that his body was moved into the chapel: so Davydd could blame his nephew, Llewelyn, for the killing."
Bennet shook his head, marveling at the duplicity of the high born. "Moll told me about his grand scheme to steal the ransom and accuse he nephew. Has he gotten around to blaming Llewelyn for Chester's great fire and our last drought?"
"Not yet, but I'd not put it past him. As far as I can tell, Ben net, this is what happened. De Caldecott was poisoned in the great hall, a poison that did not take effect right away. He was crossing the bailey when it hit. I found the place where he collapsed. I think he became very ill very fast and died ere he could call out for help. Sometime later his body was discovered by someone, most likely a guard, who sought Davydd out straightaway."
"And Davydd saw another chance to put the blame on his favorite scapegoat," Bennet suggested dryly, and Justin nodded.
"He had the body moved into the closest building - the chapel - because the death scene would have given the lie to his claim that Thomas was stabbed, From the way the castle dogs were hovering around, I think Thomas vomited all over the ground ere he lost consciousness. Davydd's men did their best to tidy it up, but the dogs still caught the smell."
"So a dagger was found, and some poor sod was given the unholy task of stabbing a corpse. Think what an interesting confession he'll have to tell his priest! If you are right, Justin, it sounds very haphazard, like they were cobbling the pieces together they went along."
Justin nodded again. "It was hastily done and poorly done. Thomas died face down; I could tell by the color of his skin. But he was stabbed in the chest. I suppose Davydd assumed that none would dare to question his findings, and aside from me, he was right. I am sure the doctor saw the truth as soon as he examined the body. Was he likely to call his prince a liar, though? The same holds true for Davydd's men."
Bennet understood perfectly; he had far more experience than Justin in the inequities of power. "I need to ask you something, Justin. Have you gone to see Molly yet?"
"No, I came here straightaway. Why... nothing is wrong?"
"It depends upon who you ask. Piers is back in Chester. So I'd suggest you stay away from Moll's cottage. I'll arrange for you to meet her here."
Justin thought about that for a few moments. "Molly told me," he said, "that Piers is not jealous."
"As far as we know, he is not. But I think Molly does not fully comprehend how fiercely he guards his territory."
Justin did not like the sound of that, and he took advantage of this opportunity to discuss Molly's dangerous lover with her brother. Leaning forward, he said quietly, "There must be some thing we can do, Bennet, to untangle her from that man's web."
Bennet looked at him with the sorrowful sarcasm of one counseling a well-meaning but not overly bright friend, "You're right, Justy. Mayhap we ought to sit down and make the perils known to her. Why did I not think of that myself?"
Justin acknowledged the mockery with an abashed smile. He would have persevered, though, if a boy hadn't arrived then with the food Bennet had ordered from the cook shop. The food was not very good - a chicken pie that was greasy and too long out of the oven - but Justin had not eaten for hours, and he and Bennet finished it in record time. Only then did they return to the subject of murder.
"You've told me how Thomas de Caldecott died, and we both can guess why. But we have not talked yet about the most important question of all... who?"
"I would that I knew, Bennet," Justin said with a sigh. "Davydd has the best motive by far. If he found out that Thomas was the one responsible for the robbery, he'd have feared that his duplicity might be exposed if de Caldecott was caught. Not to mention he'd have a very valid reason for wanting revenge, which the Welsh take quite seriously. But for the life of me, I can not unders
tand why he'd go about it like this. Davydd is one of the most vexing men I've ever met. He is not a total dolt, though, and only God's greatest fool would have poisoned de Caldecott and then made such a clumsy attempt to blame Llewelyn."
"So we acquit your Welsh prince on the grounds that he is stupid but not quite stupid enough," Bennet said, sounding faintly amused. "Not exactly a ringing testimonial to his innocence, is it? But if Davydd is out, who is left?"
"His wife."
Bennet's eyes gleamed. "The lovely Lady Emma? This is getting interesting. Why do you suspect her?"
"Process of elimination," Justin said glumly. "I have three reasons to look more closely at Emma. First of all, I saw her trusted man, Oliver, quarreling with Thomas the day ere he died. Next, Emma fainted at the sight of his body, and it was no ladylike pretense.
III
i *
Lastly, she sent Oliver to Chester on an errand that posed a genuine hardship to a man of Oliver's years and health."
Bennet held his peace, but Justin saw his expression and sighed again. "I know what a thin gruel I've cooked up. There could be any number of innocent explanations for my suspicions. Moreover, I have no motive for her. Assuming she did ally herself with Thomas to steal the ransom, why? For the money? Not likely. To cause Davydd pain and trouble? I can safely say she loves him not. But his downfall would be hers, too, and what of their son? Unless... unless she hopes that Davydd would be deposed and her son put in his stead, with her as regent, of course. That seems a great risk to take, though, for she could not be sure it would happen that way. If Davydd were to lose his throne, her son would still have to fend off Llewelyn ab Iorwerth, and you can take it from me, Bennet, that one will not be easy to defeat."
"Motives are elusive, no easy quarry," Bennet said thoughtfully. "If it were up to me, I'd stay on the lady's trail. Who knows where that might lead?"
He was a loyal friend, refusing to voice the fear that had been shadowing Justin since his first glimpse of Thomas de Caldecott's body. What if Thomas had been working alone? If the only partner he'd had was the unfortunate Selwyn? That was a possibility Justin was not ready to acknowledge, for it would mean that the secret of the wool's whereabouts had died with Thomas and he would not be able to recover the ransom. He would fail his queen.
~*~
Justin ducked back into an alley, swearing under breath. For three days and nights he and Bennet had been shadowing Oliver each time he ventured from the abbey precincts. By now they knew what to expect. Oliver's destination would be the docks. He'd go into wharfside alehouses and taverns, having a drink in each one before moving on to the next.
Justin had been quick to read sinister significance into his actions, convinced that a meeting had been set up, mayhap weeks ago, and Oliver was taking Thomas's place, waiting to be contacted. They decided that Oliver was visiting more than one alehouse in a clumsy attempt to confuse anyone who might be following him, although they were not sure if Oliver was aware of their surveillance or was just being cautious. They'd taken care to keep their distance, benefiting from the continuing wet weather as men muffled up in hooded cloaks or mantles were not readily identifiable, and sending Bennet in to spy on Oliver in close quarters. Justin refused to entertain the thought that Oliver's evening excursions could be prompted by nothing more than an innocent fondness for English ale or bad wine, and if Bennet harbored any doubts, he'd so far kept them to himself.
On this damp September evening, Oliver had followed his usual routine. He'd already visited two alehouses, where he'd sat alone at a corner table; no one had approached him, Bennet reported, and after ordering one drink, he'd moved on. He was now entering the third alehouse, pausing suddenly to look over his shoulder. Justin and Bennet hastily faded back into the shadows. After a prudent interval, Bennet made ready to follow. Pulling his hood forward to hide most of his face, he reminded Justin of a turtle withdrawing into its shell, "The last time," he grumbled, "he did not even stay long enough for me to finish my ale." As he started across the street toward the alehouse, Justin stepped back into the alley, settling in for another irksome wait.
This wait was over almost before it began, for Bennet soon reemerged and hurried back to the alley. "He has company," he said, sounding out of breath. "He is sitting at a table with two other men."
"Why did you leave, then? I need you to see what happens next, Bennet!"
"I had no choice, Justin. I recognized one of the men - none other than our city sheriff, Will Gamberell!"
"Christ Jesus," Justin whispered. Could the sheriff be Oliver's contact? Or was this just a wretched coincidence? "You say there was a second man with Oliver. Can you describe him?"
"Not well," Bennet said dubiously. "As soon as I saw Gamberell, my one concern was getting out of there ere he noticed me. The other man... he was steering the serving wench over to their table, so I did not get a good look at his face. I could not even tell what color his hair was, for he had a hood on, a fancy one, too, not attached to his mantle, with a little cape over his shoulders. I suppose that is not much help?"
"No," Justin said ungraciously, but soon repented of his rudeness; he could scarcely blame Bennet for wanting to avoid an encounter with a sheriff who loved him not. "I'll have to go in," he said reluctantly, for he could not risk losing this chance to see Oliver's mystery partner, even if it meant revealing himself to be a spy.
That did not strike Bennet as a particularly good idea, but he had no other suggestions to offer, and he waved Justin on with forced cheer, wishing him luck and asking if he could bring back an ale. That got him a quick smile, and then Justin was gone, and Bennet leaned against the wall of the closest building, marveling at the madness of this entire enterprise of theirs; what did it matter to him, after all, if King Richard never set foot again on English soil?
The interior of the alehouse was better lit than Justin had expected; each table held a large tallow candle or an oil lamp. It was more crowded, too, with more than a dozen men and several women sheltering from the rain at the end of a dreary, autumn day. Justin noticed the sheriff at once; there was a conspicuous space around the table where he was seated with several of his deputies or serjeants, a boundary line drawn between the law and the less lawful. But there was no sign of Oliver or his hooded companion, and Justin drew an alarmed breath. Where in blazes were they?
"Is there a rear door?" he demanded of the serving maid, and she looked at him incuriously, then nodded and pointed. In three strides, he crossed the chamber, barely missing a collision with a tipsy sailor who rebuked him in a foreign language that sounded vaguely Germanic. Jerking open the door, he found himself looking out into a small, dark, and very empty alley. There was no point in pursuit. His quarry was long gone.
He'd attracted the attention of the other alehouse customers, including the sheriff. "If it is not the queen's man," he said, sounding none-too-happy about it. "For someone looking for a ransom in Wales, you seem to spend an inordinate amount of time in Chester, de Quincy."
Having nothing left to lose, Justin bore down on the other man's table. "The men you were drinking with, you know where they've gone?"
Gamberell looked faintly surprised. "That old man and the coxcomb? No, why should I? I never laid eyes on either of them till tonight."
"I see. You always drink with men you do not know?"
"He does if they're buying," one of the serjeants volunteered with a cackle, which caught in his throat when the sheriff shot a withering glance his way.
"Whilst he was waiting for the old man, the younger one offered to buy me an ale," Gamberell said shortly. "What of it? How does this concern you?"
"I need to find them straightaway. What can you tell me about the younger man, the 'coxcomb'? Did he give you a name? Say anything that might enable me to seek him out? What did he look like?"
The sheriff glared at Justin, irritation giving way to outright antagonism. "I know nothing about the man. Nor would I tell you if I did. In Chester, we judge a
man by the company he keeps, and the company you've been keeping reeks to high heavens!"
~*~
On the next day, the waterlogged residents of Chester got a rain reprieve, their first glimpse of the sun in more than week. When Molly opened the door of the alehouse, she let in a blaze of light that did little to dispel the gloom that held the common room in thrall. Bennet and Justin acknowledged her entrance with such a lack of enthusiasm that she knew their news had to be bad. Hurrying over to their table, she pulled up a stool.
"Well? What happened last night? Did Oliver's phantom friend fail to turn up again?"
"He put in an appearance," Bennet said glumly, "but disappeared in a puff of smoke ere we could get a good look at him."
Molly was surprised, for she knew how good her brother was tracking without leaving telltale footprints. "He was lucky to lose you," she said. "But surely there will be other opportunities?"
Justin shook his head. "Oliver stopped by the castle this morn and asked when I'd be returning to Rhuddlan. He was done in Chester, he said, and hoped we could travel together for safety's sake. So smug he was, I wanted to hit him."
He told Molly, then, of the sheriff's unexpected involvement, and she fell silent for some moments, pondering this new development. "If we assume Gamberell was telling the truth," she said thoughtfully, "then we are left with an interesting question. Why did our phantom buy the sheriff a drink?"
"We've been thinking about that, too," Justin said. "We came up with three possibilities. One: Oliver somehow got a message to him that he was being followed and they made use of the sheriff as a distraction. Two: pure coincidence. Or three: that he was amusing himself by seeing how close he could come to the flame without getting burned."
"Three," Molly said promptly. "That seems the most likely and the most troubling. Some men lust after danger the way others do after whores. If the phantom is one of them, Justin, you'd best beware, for men like that are unpredictable and reckless."
Justin shrugged, irked by her continued use of the term "phantom," for that only stressed how easily Oliver's confederate had outwitted them last night. Bennet was not eager to dwell upon their failure, either, and diverted Molly's attention by revealing Justin's more immediate problem, that the Earl of Chester was still gone from the city.