"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 understand 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.
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?"