"How is your investigation progressing, Master de Quincy?"
So that was it. "Slowly, my lady."
"It grieves me to see my husband so heartsick. Is there no hope, then, for a quick resolution of this unfortunate matter?"
Justin met her gaze levelly. "No, my lady, I fear not."
"Do you think the ransom might not be recovered?"
He saw no reason not to be honest with her. "I regret to say, my lady, that may well be the outcome."
"May I ask you something in confidence, Master de Quincy?" Her eyes held his, just long enough. "Will you tell me the truth? If my husband fails to retrieve the ransom, will the queen be very wroth with him?"
"Yes, my lady," he said quietly, "she will." He waited, then, for her to argue for Llewelyn ab Iorwerth's guilt, as Davydd and Fitz Alan had been doing at every opportunity. She surprised him, though.
"I see," she murmured, and then, "That is as I feared." Her lashes veiled her eyes, and they walked the rest of the way with out talking. Upon reaching the keep, she roused herself to thank him again, although with none of her earlier appreciation. Justin gave the standard reply, that it was his honor, and set the birdcage upon a table for her. The bird inside was small and drab, unfamiliar, not at all like the usual tame magpies or popinjays. Seeing his curiosity, Emma smiled.
"I brought him out for some fresh air, a glimpse of the world denied him. No bird in Christendom has a sweeter song than the nightingale. It sings at night, not during the day; is that not odd?" Still smiling, she looked from the caged bird to Justin. "There are no nightingales in Wales," she said. "Did you know that?"
~*~
Justin was starting down the steps into the bailey when he heard his name. Angharad was hurrying to catch up. "Lady Emma thinks she left her dog's ball in the garden, so I generously offered to search for it," she said, with a grin. "I have a strong suspicion that I will find it in the herb bed, under the Saint-John's-wort."
Justin grinned back. "But you will not be able to find it right away."
"No… probably not. Is it not pitiful, Iestyn, that I must resort to such trickery to steal a few moments with Thomas?" She did not sound put-upon, though, but quite pleased with herself. "So… you got to see my lady in action this afternoon. You must be made of sterner stuff than most of your brethren. I've seen men melt like candle wax when she flutters her lashes."
Justin couldn't help laughing. "Well, I'm a little singed around the edges, no more than that. She wanted to ask me about the investigation and I confess that I could find no sinister intent in that."
"Sinister, no. Surprising, yes, for she rarely bothers with Davydd's doings. And did she try to convince you that Llewelyn ab Iorwerth is the Antichrist as Davydd claims?"
"No," Justin said, "she did not. I understand why Davydd would like to blame Llewelyn for this robbery, whether he is guilty or not. What better way to rid himself of a troublesome rival? But I did not expect him to demand that the Crown provide men-at-arms. I'd think that most Welsh princes would do all in their power to keep English soldiers out of Wales, not invite them in."
"There is no mystery to that. Davydd is losing this war with his nephew. He can send out patrols to hunt Llewelyn's men, but he'd have difficulty mustering up an army for a long campaign and that is what it would take. He ought to have quashed Llewelyn a few years back, when he was more of an irritant than a threat. Now… now it may be too late, for Llewelyn has been winning more than skirmishes. He has been winning the support of the people. Not that popular support counts for much on a battlefield. But it means that Llewelyn has eyes and ears everywhere, that he need not fear betrayal, that his men believe they will win."
Justin thought that was an astute appraisal of the military situation and assumed that she was giving voice to Thomas's opinions. But when he imagined his queen's caustic response to that, he smiled ruefully and offered up a mental apology to Eleanor and Angharad both. By then they'd reached the bailey and headed for the great hail by mutual consent.
Almost at once they ran into Thomas, who slid a proprietary arm around Angharad's waist and led Justin aside to tell him that Davydd was in a tearing rage for his men had gotten the worst of it in a skirmish with Llewelyn's men near Llanelwy. This setback was all the more disturbing to Davydd because the cathedral church of Llanelwy was only a few miles south of Rhuddlan, alarming evidence that Llewelyn was growing ever bolder.
"Where is de Caldecott?" Davydd raised his voice, and Thomas could no longer pretend he hadn't heard. With a resigned grimace, he moved toward the Welsh prince.
"I am here, my lord. How may I serve you?"
"I want you to leave for Chester straightaway, tell the earl that I need assistance in bringing this rebel hellspawn to a reckoning. I'll leave it to him to determine how many men to send, but tell him that the more he can spare, the faster we can recover the ransom for the English queen."
Thomas was silent for a moment. "I am sorry, my lord Davydd. The queen's letter to my lord earl made it clear that this is a Crown investigation. She did request the earl to provide men-at-arms if need be… if Master de Quincy asks for them. You're talking to the wrong man."
Davydd stared at him in disbelief, and then his rage erupted. "That is lunacy! You're telling me that the fate of Wales lies in the hands of a meager whelp like him?" He thrust an arm in Justin's direction as Justin struggled to maintain the pretense that he spoke no Welsh.
Thomas was not intimidated, "My lord prince, what would you have me say? I serve the Earl of Chester and the earl serves Her Grace', the queen."
Davydd's fury and frustration spilled over then in a torrent of invective, teaching Justin some new and choice Welsh curses. As Davydd stalked toward him, the other men moved aside, leaving Justin exposed to the Welsh prince's wrath. "Do you understand what happened this day?" Davydd demanded, dredging up his French as if the very words tasted foul on his tongue. "I lost some men this morn because of Llewelyn. But the next time blood is shed in my domains, it will be Llewelyn's own, that I vow upon the sanctity of my soul. Go back to Chester and tell the earl that I need as many men as he can spare."
"I am sorry for the deaths of your men, my lord." Justin paused to draw a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm about to break over his head, "But I cannot oblige you in this matter. The Queen's Grace was very clear in her intent. My one and only mission is to recover the ransom, not to assist you in suppressing a rebellion."
"You dare to refuse me?" Davydd sounded incredulous. "I am seeking to recover the ransom, you fool! Since Llewelyn was the one who stole it, it makes sense that when we find him, we find the ransom." He was speaking now through gritted teeth, spacing the words out slowly and deliberately so that even a dolt like Justin could comprehend. "As long as this renegade is free to raid and plunder my lands, we have not a hope in Hell of retrieving the ransom."
"I am not convinced of that, my lord. I've yet to be shown any hard evidence that Llewelyn ab Iorwerth is to blame for the robbery. I know you are convinced that he is guilty. As are you, my lord," he said politely, glancing toward the glowering William Fitz Alan, "And I am not arguing for the man's innocence, I am saying simply that his guilt has not been proven, not yet, not to me. And until it is, I am not willing to ask the Earl of Chester for military aid."
"For the love of Christ!" Fitz Alan could hold his tongue no longer. "If Llewelyn was not the one who sprang that ambush, who did?"
"I cannot answer that, my lord, for the same reason that I cannot agree to Lord Davydd's demand. My investigation is not done, and until it is, I am not willing to pass any judgments."