He found the other man in the stables, making ready to saddle his horse. Rolf was positioning a sweat cloth on the gelding's back and continued with his task even as Justin approached. "I ought to be able to get to Basingwerk Abbey by dusk," he said, reaching for the saddle at his feet. "What… no cheering? I thought you'd be gladdened to see the last of me."
"You're right. I do want to see the last of you. But there is something else I want to see first — that dagger of yours."
Rolf paused, briefly, before adjusting the saddle girths. "And if I do not want to show it to you?"
"Then we have a problem."
Roll paused again, giving Justin an inscrutable glance over his shoulder. "Well, if it means that much to you…" Opening his mantle, he turned so that Justin could see the leather sheath and dagger hilt, "I usually do not draw it unless I plan to use it," he said, "but I suppose I can make an exception for you."
Sliding the dagger from its sheath, he offered it, hilt first, to Justin, and then fastened the crupper to the saddle cantle. "Did you truly think I'd be stupid enough to knife a man and then leave it in his body? Especially a costly dagger like this one?"
Justin handed the dagger back without comment and watched as Rolf tied his saddlebag to the crupper. "So Thomas de Caldecott dies and you ride off."
"What other reason do I have to stay? The pleasure of your company?" Rolf smiled coldly. "Of course you might well have another mortal enemy lurking in the shadows, mayhap two or three. Somehow, I doubt you lack for enemies. But now that de Caldecott is on his way to Hell, you're on your own."
"If you were here to watch my back, why did you not tell me?"
"I'm sure you'd have been overjoyed to have me as an ally," Roll jeered. "Anyway, I was not watching you. I was here to watch de Caldecott, and he made it insultingly easy. Lords like him always do."
Justin could not muster up even a whit of gratitude. Furious with himself for not guessing the truth sooner, he shook his head in disgust. "I ought to have known that this was Bennet or Molly's doing." Leaving unsaid the one reason why he hadn't reached that conclusion: because Rolf was too unsavory to connect to his friends. "How much did your help cost them?" he demanded, determined that they'd not deplete their meager savings on his behalf.
"Nothing." Justin looked so skeptical that Rolf added grudgingly, "I owed Molly a debt. Now I do not."
It was obvious to Justin that Rolf was not going to give him any answers, and he was not sure they were answers he would want. "There is no reason, then, to delay your departure, is there?"
"You're welcome," Roll said sardonically. Picking up the reins, he began leading his horse toward the stable door. He'd been saving his best shot for last and delivered it now. "One more thing. It might interest you to know that de Caldecott tried to kill you last night."
"How?"
"Poison."
"No," Justin said. "He had no opportunity to poison me. We shared a drink, but we took them from a lad toting a platter of wine and mead cups — " He stopped, for Rolf was smiling, a thin, knowing smile that was full of mockery.
"Yes, de Caldecott had a friendly chat with that very lad earlier in the evening. From what I could overhear, he spun a story about his English friend — that would be you — not liking mead. After getting a coin, the boy was happy to saunter over once the two of you were sitting in the window seat, enabling de Caldecott to pick out two cups, apparently at random. Do I need to tell you that those two cups were ones he provided, supposedly filled with your favorite wine?"
He looked so smug that Justin fought back an urge to hit him. "I did not drink his wine," he said. "I poured most of it into floor rushes."
Roll smirked. "By then it was as pure as mother's milk."
Justin stared at him, "You got the dogs to fighting."
Roll nodded complacently. "Whilst the beasts were fighting over that bone, I replaced your cup with one of my own. Simple, fast, effective. A pity I could not just have switched the cups; that would have been a joke worthy of the Devil himself. But de Caldecott had taken care to make sure there'd be no confusion. You may not remember, but your cup was wooden, his made of horn."
Justin did remember. "I find it hard to believe he'd be that desperate," he said, trying to convince himself more than Rolf. "If I died of a sudden, there would have been questions and suspicions for certes."
Roll smirked again. "And that Welsh prince would have moved heaven and earth to bring your killer to justice… right? I'd wager you'd have been buried and forgotten in the time it took to dig your grave. I expect that de Caldecott was shrewd enough to pick the right poison, too. The man did seem to have a knack for killing. He'd not have wanted you to collapse at his feet, foaming at the mouth. Even Davydd would have been hard-pressed to ignore that. So that lets out some of the more popular poisons like hemlock, monkshood, henbane, or mandragora. De Caldecott would want something that would act fast, but not too fast."
"You are remarkably well informed about poisons," Justin said slowly. "I cannot help wondering how you came by all this knowledge."
"Are you not curious about de Caldecott's poison of choice? I figured he could have used saffron or cock's spur. I'd wager he went with nightshade, though. Not only would it take several hours to sicken you, you'd not have a prayer in Hell of recovery. With nightshade death is certain… and none too pleasant."
He looked as if he expected Justin to ask for the gruesome details of a nightshade poisoning. Justin did not want to know. What if Roll had not intervened? Would a sip or two of de Caldecott's poisoned wine have been enough to kill? He would not have drunk any more than that, but would even a mouthful have been too much? Rolf could probably tell him, but that, too, he preferred not to know.
"I owe you," he said tersely, aware of how ungracious that sounded. It was the best, though, that he could do. "How did you get rid of the wine? Are you sure that there was no way de Caldecott could have taken it by mistake?"
It was the first time that he'd seen Rolf look amused. "Did I poison him? If I did, I'd hardly admit it to you, would I? I took the wine out to the bailey with the idea of testing it on one of the dogs. Mead would have been sweet enough to tempt them. But they just sniffed at the wine, so I have no proof that it was poisoned. Nor does it matter now. De Caldecott is beyond the reach of earthly justice."
Justin had a fondness for dogs and he was looking at Rolf with such antipathy that the other man noticed. "What… " Getting no answer, he swung up into the saddle. "You do know that de Caldecott was not stabbed to death?"
"Yes," Justin said grimly. "I know."
Chapter 15
August 1193
Rhuddlan Castle, Wales
The day after Thomas de Caldecott's death, it rained. The sky darkened and a stinging salt wind blew off the ocean, ripping leaves from trees in a barren, bleak foretaste of winter. Justin had spent the morning doing what little he could to console Angharad. Her grief alarmed him; it was so intense, so overwhelming. It troubled him that the object of her love had been so unworthy of it, but he thought it would not help her to know that. Nor was she likely to believe him. Without more proof, Justin doubted that anyone would.
He was dripping wet and disheartened by the time he returned to the great hall. He was drying off by the open hearth when the door opened and the Lady Emma entered. Davydd at once hastened down the steps of the dais and hurried to her, helping her with her mantle and escorting her toward the hearth with what Justin felt was exaggerated gallantry. She let Davydd settle her in a chair comfortably close to the flames, and Justin's ears pricked up. He did not expect to overhear anything of significance. Accustomed to living their lives on center stage, the Welsh prince and his consort were unlikely to be careless enough to choose a public forum for private discussion. But he was curious to watch them interact, for their marriage remained a mystery to him.