Raoul stared for a long time at the hole in the ceiling of the cave. The light from it had grown dim, as if a fast-approaching storm had banished it.
Hugh grew impatient and began to plead again for release.
Raoul looked down at the knight. “There is something I have not mentioned to anyone,” he said, ignoring the new appeal. “I have decided to confide in you because someone must consider the implications and report them to my father. As you surely understand, I cannot do this.”
Hugh slid backward. The stones at his back were jagged. Were they sharp enough to cut his bonds?
Raoul saw his intent. “You cannot free yourself that way.” He lifted the sword.
The knight tensed for the blow.
“I shall not cut your throat. I’ll loosen your bonds but not cut them through. I must flee on your horse with enough time to avoid capture. As you noted, the tide will soon be in, but you can find safety on the ledges above if you climb high enough.”
Hugh swallowed the lump in his throat. “Quickly, then. What troubles you?”
“I have seen lights in this cove. A soldier noted them as well and told his sergeant. A party of men was sent out and returned without finding anything of note. Later, I heard the soldier claim the lights had been Satan’s liegemen, dancing in the storm winds with the souls of drowned sailors.”
“You think otherwise?”
“I have confessed my heresy and heard the Church’s argument from our dead priest. Despite doing penance, my heart remains certain that the Devil has no cause to lure our souls when he owns the world and all mortals on it.” He waited. “You do not gasp in horror?”
Hugh was disinclined to a lengthy theological debate. “Nay,” he replied. “But I am a soldier, not a priest.”
Raoul squatted close to Hugh and gestured toward the chests on the ledges above their heads. “The lights were not imps. They were torches, brought by smugglers who carried goods from boats and stored the treasure in those chests until the items could be hauled away. Valuable, some of it. I found a large gold cross dropped near one chest. Smuggling’s a fine trade, or so I hear.”
Hugh frowned. “How long has this been going on?”
“After my father’s return. I haven’t witnessed this often, but this is not the season for sailing small boats. The gales are fierce.”
“You think Baron Herbert might be involved?”
“I believe him to be innocent. He brought back much wealth from his time in Outremer. What need has he for smuggling and the dangers, especially in bad weather? Greed has never been one of his vices, and he will be horrified that such activity is taking place on his lands.”
“How did you discover this?” Hugh tossed his head toward the ledges.
“I was curious. Not many apparently know the place where we all once played.” His smile was thin. “The soldiers never thought of it, but a large rock now lies against the entry, hiding the entry from any casual observer.”
“Why not bring this knowledge to your father?”
“What reason did I have to think he would believe me? He has always greeted me with contempt.”
“Tell him now!”
“And hang for taking the chance? As I have already said, I have no good argument in my defense. Perhaps the perpetrator of these murders will be found some day and I can return, cleared of all guilt.”
A rattling of stones caught their attention.
Hugh grew numb with fear. Had the sea reached the cave entrance already?
Raoul spun around.
A high-pitched whine split the air.
The son cried out and fell. His sword flew out of his hand, landing far from Hugh.
A man chuckled. “How much better that this lying wretch be killed while attempting to flee.”
Sir Leonel emerged into the pale light, stepped over the body of Raoul, and grinned down at the vulnerable Hugh.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Thomas skidded and fell, sliding head first down the remaining path to the beach. Struggling to get on his feet, he felt the damp soaking through his robes. Had he ever been this covered with mud, even as a boy? He shivered.
His teeth chattering with the cold, he looked around. The cutting salt mist twisted like a spiteful imp, driving the chill deeper into his bones. He squinted to see more clearly, but it was a noise that caught his attention. He looked back toward the cliff.
A dark-colored mare was tethered to a piece of driftwood. The sea lapped close to her hooves, and her brown eyes betrayed enough white to suggest she was not pleased with her situation. Another horse of light coat was on higher ground, close to the cliffs. Less concerned with the hissing surf, this beast snuffled at the ground in search of edible grass.
Taking pity on the nervous mare, Thomas approached her with soft words and a gentle touch. Calmer, she let him lead her to the high rocky ground where he loosely wrapped the reins around a dead branch. “If the sea comes too close, you can still escape,” he whispered and was rewarded with a nudge of her nose.
From the vantage point of this greater elevation, he could now see two sets of footprints in the sand. The deeper one surely belonged to Leonel, who must have just passed through, but the fainter set could mark anyone’s path. Hugh or Raoul might be the most likely guesses, but other tracks, closer to the water, could have been washed away by the incoming tide. Who knows how many men have come here, Thomas thought. If others had, where did they all go?
Returning to the lower beach, he followed the clear footprints as far as he could. When the impressionable sand gave way to gravel, less battered by the sea and nearer the cliff, the tracks disappeared. Protecting his eyes from the salt spray, he gazed ahead and saw that the beach quickly narrowed around the curve that formed the remainder of the cove. He watched the waves exploding against the precipice and knew that no man would have recently traveled that route.
Thomas next scrutinized the nearest cliff. The rock face was wet, and there were no visible toeholds that might help a man climb that steep and dangerous ascent. Even if there had been, only fools or the desperate would try to do so on such a day.
Contrary to legends, he knew that men did not just disappear into the ground and asked himself if there was a cave, hidden from view. Slowly turning, he searched for evidence of one close by.
Stones, hammered loose over time by winds, had tumbled to the beach, shattering as they hit the earth. Although a few of the rock piles were high, Thomas saw no evidence of a hiding place. But nearer the precipice, he did notice an outcropping of crumbling rock that might once have been a bridge to the island. A fractured boulder rested against the spot where the ledge was still joined to the cliff.
The placement was odd, he thought. The rock was broken, but the only other stone large enough to have once been part of it lay some distance away. Considering size and weight, such large fragments should have remained closer together. As he hurried toward the leaning boulder, he saw what appeared to be a well-trodden path through the rubble. Others had been there before him.
Soon he saw a small gap between stone and cliff face. This might be a cave entrance. Cautiously, he edged closer. There was a narrow space, just wide enough for a man.
He slipped through.
Until his eyes grew used to the diminished light, it was unsafe to go farther. He stopped, pressed his back against the rock wall, and shut his eyes. As the pounding of the surf faded, he began to hear other sounds.
Did a man just laugh?
Thomas opened his eyes, extended his hand, and crept along the solid rock until he felt nothing. Hoping he had only reached the end of the narrow entrance and that some deep chasm did not lie at his feet, he cautiously reached out with hand and foot. The ground was solid, and the rock against his back sheered off to the right.