“That is as I remember,” he whispered when he saw two thin trees with a narrow space between them. The branches of the two were intertwined, the one tree leaning against the other like a wounded soldier helped off the field by his comrade. Surely this was the way to the path that led down into the cove.
He urged his mount to pass through them.
When he found the path, he was surprised that it was still quite distinct. Twisting around in the saddle to look back along the length of the road, he decided that it had been used with some frequency. The earth was sodden, but deep ruts were visible, suggesting that heavy wagons had traveled this way. And quite recently, he thought. Some of the marks were clear despite the mud.
He rode on.
Within a few moments, he reached the crest of the cliff above the beach, and he directed his mare slowly down the treacherous incline. The trail seemed wider than he recalled, then concluded that his memory was in error.
Over time the earth may have slipped from the cliff, but that would have broken up the path, not widened it. And what reason would there have been to improve and maintain it? This track had only been a footpath in his youth, a means for young boys to reach the sandy beach for a swim in the heat of summer or the occasional fisherman who carried a small catch from his boat.
In spite of his cautious descent, Hugh quickly reached the cove. The tide had dragged the water back, forcing the sea to vent the full force of its wrath some distance away. Yet he knew just how close the foaming water came to where he was now standing.
There was good reason to call this cove Lucifer’s Cauldron, he thought. When the tides came in higher than usual, the churning sea could pull a man far from shore and roll him under until he drowned. If the tides were that high, and the sea pushed hard by storms, the water swept in with such rapidity that a man could misjudge both power and speed. At those times, men often failed to outrun Death.
He would not remain here for long.
Hugh dismounted and led his mare to a piece of large driftwood. There he secured the creature by her reins.
“Despite that look in your eye,” he said, stroking her wet mane, “you will be safe enough until I get back.”
Glaring at him, she lifted her tail.
He laughed and walked away, not bothering to check the earth for clues. If Raoul had come here before the last tide, there would be little hope of finding fresh footprints in the sand.
But there should be a large cave just ahead, he thought. As he recalled it, the entry was wide enough for a couple of men to walk through, although the inside was sufficiently vast to give shelter to many. In addition, there were outcroppings of rocks from the cave walls. These were large enough to allow many boys to hide, leap down, and frighten latecomers to the place. The memories might have raised a smile had he not been on such a grim errand.
Looking around, he failed to see that opening. Had he forgotten where the entry was? Then he saw a large boulder resting near the place where he thought the gap should be.
He glanced up at the sheer precipice above and wondered if a rock had tumbled down when the weather eroded the cliff, but the angle of the stone against the cave did not support the conclusion. He could not think of a reason why the boulder might have been dragged here to block the entrance, unless someone had concluded the cave was too dangerous for young boys who might be trapped by the tides. He doubted this. All the lads had known the infernal nature of Lucifer’s Cauldron well enough.
As he approached, he saw a small space between rock and cave, still wide enough for a man to walk through. The hair rose on the back of his neck. Had he finally found Raoul’s hiding place?
Now he cursed himself for not thinking about the darkness inside. With no dry torch or any means to light one, he might not be able to see without moving the stone. He estimated the weight and knew he could not shift it further without help.
Slowly, he stuck his head inside. A weak beam of light flowed down from a hole on the other side of the cave. That had not been there when he was a boy, but he was grateful for it now. If he shut his eyes and let them adjust to the dark, he might be able to see with the extra light. Closing them now to speed the process, he squeezed himself inside.
After a moment, he blinked and looked around. He could see shadows. Should he call out? He hesitated and fingered the hilt of his sword. If Raoul was a killer, he would have no reason not to add another to a list of those he had already murdered.
He held his breath and listened. Only the sound of the wind outside reached his ears. His back pressed to the cave wall, he crept farther inside.
Looking up, he saw the remembered stony ledges where he and the other boys used to play. If Raoul was anywhere, he would be high up there and away from the incoming tides.
Then something caught his attention, and he moved away from the rock to look more carefully at the higher ledges. If he were not mistaken, there was a chest up there. He squinted. Not just one, several.
He grabbed hold of an outcropping of rock and pulled himself up, inching his way from toehold to toehold toward the objects. Why would anyone store so many chests in such a place?
When he got to the first ledge, he heaved himself over the top and sat, catching his breath. Then he crawled over to one chest and lifted the lid. There was nothing inside. Another was equally empty. In a third, he found part of a gold necklace, caught in a rough corner.
Suddenly he knew why the storage places were here, and he muttered a loud curse on his blindness.
Smuggling.
With care, he descended to the cave floor. Now that his eyes were accustomed to the dim light, he checked the walls of the cave and noted the water marks. These chests were stored high enough to be safe from most tides.
“Cunning,” he said. “Bring the goods in by boat. Either there are pulleys stored where I did not see them or the men use ladders to haul the goods up there. And all is hidden and protected until someone can come to take it away for sale,” he muttered. “Who is benefiting from all this?”
A sharp object pricked his back. Moisture trickled down his ribs. From the pain, he knew he was bleeding.
“If you came seeking a killer, Sir Hugh, you should have worn chain mail.”
A hand slipped the knight’s dagger out of its sheath.
“Loosen your sword belt and drop it. If you try to turn around, I shall kill you.”
He may have been clever enough to find Raoul, Hugh thought, but he had been a fool to let himself be so easily captured.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thomas descended the stairs from the keep and entered the turmoil of the bailey grounds. The muck stank and the air bit at his flesh, but he was too distracted by his conversation with Prioress Eleanor to notice either. She had asked his advice, telling him of the talks she had had with Lady Margaret. Surely there was a significant detail in all they had seen and heard. Nothing came to mind, and he had been of little help to her.
“She likes you, Brother!”
Startled, Thomas spun around and found he was being scrutinized by large brown eyes framed with silken lashes. Their beauty was such that he could almost ignore the narrow face with long nose and big ears, the gangly body and spindly legs. He laughed. No matter that many disagreed with him, he had always been partial to goats.
The female goat sniffed tentatively at the sleeve of his robe.