Darkness came quickly, and the villagers soon retreated to their hearths. The priest withdrew to pass the night at a parishioner's house, and Emma's men-at-arms trudged down the valley toward the abbey guest house. Justin perked up with their departure, surprised that Emma would not have chosen to billet her men in the village. It seemed unlikely in the extreme that she would have put her men's comfort and the convenience of the villagers before her own safety… not unless she was expecting a guest and wanted no prying eyes.
The sky was mottled by lowering storm clouds, but Justin's eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he'd found a hiding place closer to the priest's lodgings, so he was reasonably confident that no one could approach the house without his noticing. Off in the distance, a dog barked and was answered with the haunting, lonely howl of a Welsh wolf. Trees rustled and whispered in harmony with the wind. Close at hand, Justin heard the squeak of a small animal that had just met a bloody death. He thought he could even hear the splashing of St Gwenfrewi's holy spring. The muted music of the abbey church bells drifted down the valley, ringing in Compline. Soon afterward, Justin caught a flash of light.
The light vanished as abruptly as it had appeared and he realized that a lantern's flame had been shielded. The door to the priest's house had creaked open and two mantled, hooded figures now crept stealthily out into the night. Once they'd crossed the churchyard and moved away from the village, the lantern glowed again. Rising soundlessly from his hiding place, Justin began to follow that faint, flickering light.
He assumed that Emma's ally would be close by and was puzzled when they left the pasture behind and entered the woods. Trailing after them at a safe distance, Justin discovered that there was a path winding its way among the trees. It was muddy, strewn with leaves and dead branches, and he had to watch his footing with every step he took. From somewhere up ahead, he heard a sudden cry, and he froze in his tracks.
"My lady, are you hurt?"
"No… I just twisted my ankle."
The voices carried back to Justin with startling clarity. None of this made sense to him. Why was Emma's partner not coming to her? Why were they not meeting near Treffynnon?
"Are you sure you can find the way, Oliver?"
"As long as we stay on the path, my lady, we'll not get lost. To make sure, I tied white strips of cloth to trees this afternoon. See… there is one now."
"How clever of you," Emma said, with more warmth than Justin had hitherto heard in her voice. "I do see it." Oliver explained that he'd return on the morrow and remove them, and Emma praised his resourcefulness again. "Oliver… what in the world are these cloths? They do not look like rags to me."
"I… er… appropriated one of Father Marcus's shirts. It was the only white cloth I could find."
"Well, we must be sure to leave money in repayment. We are not thieves, after all," Emma said, and then she laughed. This was a new Emma to Justin, one he suspected that few ever saw. She even sounded different; that little-girl breathiness was gone and her enunciation was crisp and confident, utterly devoid of coyness or coquetry.
"This is nothing you ought to be doing, my lady. I wish you'd agreed to let me serve as your messenger."
"So do I, Oliver," Emma said ruefully. "No… as unpleasant as this is, it could not be helped. Some news can only be delivered face-to-face."
Justin forgot to breathe, so intently was he waiting to hear her next words. But his hopes of a dramatic revelation came to naught. What he heard instead was an alarmed exclamation from Oliver. Justin halted abruptly, his pulse racing until he realized that they'd not discovered his presence. Oliver had stumbled, fallen to his knees, and Emma nearly lost her own balance when she tried to assist him. After that mishap, they continued on in silence, and Justin dropped back, deciding he could risk following from a safer distance.
The path zigzagged through the woods and, from time to time, Oliver's lantern was no longer in sight. Justin kept his eyes peeled for Oliver's white signals. He thought he had an idea where they were going. The lay brothers had told him about the other abbey granges, perhaps not wanting him to think that they were all as meager as theirs at Mertyn. The most prosperous was the one at Mostyn, ideally located on the River Dee estuary, which enabled the monks to ship their wool to Chester by water. Justin thought he remembered them telling him that Mostyn was about three miles from Basingwerk, and the pathway would be a natural route to and from the abbey. But why Mostyn? Justin still had so many questions. He could only hope that he'd finally find some of the answers this night.
When he eventually emerged from the woods, he saw that his hunch had been right; the Mostyn grange was their destination. He watched as Emma and Oliver disappeared through the gate way, and then cautiously approached the low stone wall that marked the boundary lines of the abbey farm. The night shrouded most of the buildings, but he knew what he'd have seen by light of day: accommodations for the lay brothers, sheepcotes, barns, possibly even a chapel. His nose wrinkled as the wind brought a rank smell his way; it seemed there was also a pigsty. Boosting himself up onto the wall, he hesitated only a moment before dropping down onto the soft earth on the other side.
The sheepcotes were empty, for the flock had not been brought in from their summer pastures yet. Justin darted from one to the other, using them as camouflage. Between the darkness and the distance, Justin could discern only shadowy figures, the silhouettes of buildings. He'd become so accustomed to the night blackness that he was almost blinded by a sudden flare of light as a door opened. Men were coming out, holding blazing torches. The leaping flames lit up a scene as remarkable as it was alarming. These were not monks moving to meet Emma. Nor were they lay brothers. These men were booted and armed, mantles drawn back to give easy access to sheathed swords. As unlikely as it seemed to Justin, it looked as if the abbey grange at Mostyn had been taken over by an army.
~*~
Justin had approached as close as he dared, taking cover behind the wooden chapel as he tried to make sense of the situation. The lay brothers were being held in their dotter, doubtless even more bewildered than he was by this unexpected turn of events. No outlaw band would raid an abbey grange, for what could they hope to get? So who were these men? And what was Emma's part in all this?
With the arrival of more men, he had a partial answer, for they were coming from the north, and they were not on horseback. There could only be one explanation: they were from a ship anchored out in the estuary. He was still mulling this over when he found himself in danger of discovery; several of the newcomers were approaching at an angle that would bring them much too close to his hiding place. He made the only move he could and ducked through the partially open door of the chapel.
He almost tripped over a pile of candles scattered all over the floor; it was easy to imagine one of the monks spilling them when confronted by armed intruders. Leaving the door ajar, he continued to keep watch. Emma was ringed by flaming torches, Oliver hovering protectively at her side, A few more lay brothers were being rounded up, herded into the dotter with the other captives. The rain had been falling sporadically since sundown, but now the clouds split, inundating Mostyn in a deluge of icy water. Several of the men were gesturing toward the dotter, but Emma shook her head and, to Justin's horror, pointed at the chapel.