"Well, I do not." Thomas got slowly to his feet, stood for a moment staring down at Justin with an odd expression, one that put him in mind of the unblinking stare of a peregrine falcon, pitiless and predatory and impersonal. When he moved away, Justin let him get several feet before firing the last arrow in his quiver.
"Maes!" he called out, and saw Thomas stiffen, a reaction as involuntary as it was damning. The other man swung around and as their eyes met, Justin smiled, with no humor whatsoever. "This is something else I learned in Chester," he said, "An obliging wanton with a gift for languages told me that Maes is Flemish for Thomas."
The knight said nothing, nothing verbal. He simply turned and walked away. But he stayed in the hall for the rest of the evening, and whenever Justin glanced up, he found Thomas watching him. Justin would have insisted that he was unaffected by that malevolent gaze, and he'd have been lying. The knight was sitting in another window seat, paying little heed to Angharad, who'd joined him uninvited and was talking with a forced, frantic animation that was painful for Justin to see. Thomas was drinking heavily, but showed no ill effects from the wine, and Justin remembered his jovial boast, that he could drink anyone under the table. It was barely a month since they'd had that alehouse conversation, but it already seemed a lifetime ago to Justin.
He bedded down again in the great hall, taking care to spread his blankets in the midst of Davydd's sleeping soldiers. He did not think that Thomas would risk waking any of the other men, but sleep still eluded him for much of the night. Every noise seemed magnified, the snoring of his neighbors, the thudding of his own heart, the haunting cry of an owl on the scent of prey. He hastily blessed himself at that, for all knew the owl was a harbinger of death. Sometime before dawn, he finally slept.
He was awakened with a jolt, jerking upright with a ragged gasp. All around him, men were stirring, cursing, yawning. Justin sat up, staring like the others, at the youth in the doorway. He was young and scared, but he looked excited, too, to be the bearer of such news.
"They found a body in the chapel," he cried. "There has been murder done!
Chapter 14
August 1193
Rhuddlan Castle, Wales
Justin's first fear was an illogical dread that Rhun was the victim. His second fear was for Angharad. He was unprepared, therefore, when he burst into the chapel and found himself looking down at the body of Thomas de Caldecott. The knight lay on his back, arms outstretched in a pose oddly suggestive of the Crucifixion. His gaze was blind, the pupils so dilated that his eyes looked black, the corneas clouded and opaque. There was no blood that Justin could see, but the cause of death appeared obvious at first glance: there was a dagger hilt protruding from his chest.
Since entering the queen's service, Justin had learned much about dead bodies, too much for his liking. Kneeling beside Thomas, he touched the man's face with the back of his hand. The skin was cool. It was also dark, the shade of raw liver. Justin's eye brows shot upward. Mastering his distaste, he carefully lifted Thomas's head, just enough to see that the skin on the back of his neck was blanched of all color. The body was already stiffening, rigid and ungainly. Justin closed those flattened, staring eyes before making the sign of the cross over the corpse.
He already knew the body had been moved. One glance around chapel told him that wherever Thomas had died, it was not in God's House. He was studying the dagger hilt, leather bound in cord, when Davydd noticed his presence. "You!" Striding forward, he thrust his finger in Justin's face. "This is your fault. His blood on your hands!"
Justin was incredulous. "What… you think I killed him?"
Davydd's eyes narrowed, and for a chilling moment, Justin bought he was seriously considering such an accusation, wondering if he could get away with it. "No," he said, with pronounced reluctance. "I am saying that Thomas would not have died if you'd heeded me from the first."
By now Justin was on his feet. "I do not understand what you're talking about."
"That is the trouble, you've understood nothing! I told you that Llewelyn ab Iorwerth was the one who stole the ransom. If you'd done as I wanted and asked the Earl of Chester for his help, Llewelyn would be imprisoned or dead weeks ago. For certes, he would not have been able to murder Thomas!"
Justin could conceal neither his disbelief nor his scorn. "You expect us to believe that Llewelyn was skulking around your own stronghold in the dead of night?" Adding a prudent but unconvincing "my lord prince" as a sop to Davydd's vanity.
"He did not do the deed himself," Davydd said impatiently. "One of his henchmen did… and I know which one. A sullen cutthroat named Rhys ap Cadell." Pointing toward Thomas's body. "That is his dagger. Look how distinctive it is. I'd know it anywhere."
Justin did not bother to argue further; what would be the point? He waited until the priest approached Davydd, in great distress because the church had been contaminated by bloodshed and must be reconsecrated before Mass could be said there again. As soon as Davydd was occupied with his chaplain, Justin slipped out and went to look for the place where Thomas had really died.
The last time he'd seen Thomas, he'd been standing in the doorway of the great hall. Based upon what he'd observed about the body, the knight had been dead for nigh on eight hours. So he must have died soon after leaving the hall. Where would he have gone?
Glancing around the bailey, Justin saw several dogs hovering by the side of the smithy. He walked over, following a hunch more than logic. The dogs were nosing about the ground, licking the grass. As intently as Justin searched, he could find no traces of blood. He did notice an indentation in the earth, too oddly shaped to be a footprint. After a moment to reflect, he dropped to one knee, leaving an imprint similar to the first one. Whatever had happened to Thomas last night, it had happened here.
A small crowd had gathered by the chapel. In the brief time that Justin had been out in the bailey, another half dozen people joined their ranks. Their circle broke to admit a newcomer. At the sight of Angharad, Justin lunged to his feet. "Angharad, wait!"
He was too late. She was already in motion, running toward the chapel. She darted through the doorway, and then Justin heard her scream.
~*~
Angharad was huddled on the floor next to Thomas's body, sobbing so uncontrollably that she finally attracted Davydd's attention. Swinging around, he snapped, "Someone see to that woman!"
When one of his men moved toward her, Justin stepped in front of him. "Let her be," he said. "She needs to grieve."
The man backed away, raising his hands to show he was merely following his prince's bidding. Davydd scowled at Justin, welcoming an excuse to lose his temper. "Who are you to interfere with my orders?"
"Let me tend to her, then," Justin said tautly. Reaching down, he was attempting to get Angharad onto her feet when the door was pushed open and the Lady Emma entered the chapel.
"Davydd? What in the world has happened? The servants are babbling about a murder, but I…" Her words trailed off at the sight of the body. Justin was close enough to hear her gasp. The color drained from her face so suddenly that he instinctively took a quick step toward her. But her eyes were already rolling back in her head, and before he could reach her, she crumpled to the floor next to the corpse of Thomas de Caldecott.
~*~
Emma was the center of attention, being cosseted and attended to by her husband, his physician, his chaplain, and all of her handmaidens. It was left to Justin to do what he could for the anguished Angharad. Eventually he managed to get her away from her lover's body and back to Emma's chamber in the castle keep, where he pried the doctor from Emma's side long enough to give Angharad a mild sleeping draught. Then he went in search of Rolf.