It occurred to Justin that Emma had just given herself an excellent motive for not wanting Thomas dead. He no longer doubted her. Knowing what he now did about Thomas de Caldecott, he knew, too, that the other man had been quite capable of taking such audacious measures to protect himself.
John had apparently come to the same conclusion. "He was a crafty whoreson, I'll give him that. But why did your man not tell this to the Breton in Chester? What… it somehow slipped his mind?"
"What would have been the point? The Breton could not have reached you ere you sailed for England. You'd likely have come in any event, since you've admitted you have other fish to fry here. Moreover, I have not given up. We can still recover the wool. De Caldecott was no Merlin, and it did not disappear in a puff of smoke. It is out there somewhere… waiting to be found."
"So is the Holy Grail, but I do not fancy my chances of finding it!"
"Come now, John, do not tell me that you never wager unless the odds are in your favor. I have brought a map of the area for you with the site of the ambush marked. If you put enough men to searching for the wool, they're likely to find it. Hire a Welshman who knows the lay of the land, do whatever you must."
"What if the search fails?"
"Well, you'll still be denying Richard the ransom, and is that not what you wanted? Of course you'd rather have the wool, too. But nothing matters more than keeping Richard captive in Germany, does it?"
The floor was wooden and the boards began to creak; it was easy for Justin to imagine John stalking about the chapel, pondering this setback. When he spoke again, Justin was surprised by the lack of anger in his voice; he'd not expected John to take a disappointment with such good grace.
"You are right, Aunt Emma. I'd burn every one of those woolsacks myself if that would prevent Richard's release. We'll wait a few weeks until all interest in the wool has died down, then I'll send men in to hunt for it. And I will not forget your help once I am king. On that you have my word."
"Many men would not put much faith in your word, John. But I do, for I know you, I know what matters to you and what does not. I think you will be a successful king, a better king than your vainglorious, battle-drunk brother. And now… I need an escort to Treffrynnon, for I am not about to walk back through those muddy woods and fields, not if I have to steal a horse."
"No need… I'll steal it for you," John offered. "We'll take a few of the grange horses, see you off in fine style."
"And return them to the grange afterward," she prompted, sounding so prim and proper that John laughed.
"God forbid that we steal from the good monks," he agreed cheerfully.
Justin held his breath, not exhaling until he heard the sound of the door opening and closing. Caught up in a surge of relief and triumph that was as intoxicating as any wine he'd ever drunk, he still waited several moments before risking a glimpse out into the chapel. Turning then toward the lay brothers, he said softly in Welsh, "They are gone, but we'd best stay where we are for now."
The darkness hid their faces; they were little more than indistinct shadows. One of them thanked him, though, murmuring "Diolch yn fawr" so politely that Justin had to smile, amused that men hiding in a church sacristy should be so meticulous about observing the proprieties. Common sense told him that it would be foolhardy to venture outside yet, but it would be hard to curb his impatience; his brain was racing as he sought to process all that he'd learned this night. The queen must be warned straightaway. He would have to leave Wales as soon as possible, for this information was too combustible to trust to a letter. He knew Eleanor would want no written trail of her son's latest sins. Once he'd reclaimed Copper at the other abbey grange, he would…
His musings were rudely interrupted by a sound that sent a chill up his spine: an opening door and raised voices. Men were entering the church. He tensed, his hand dropping again to the hilt of his sword, and then recoiled into the blackness of the sacristy, for John had come back.
The next voice he heard was as familiar to him as John's. "How much longer do you want to wait here, my lord? Are you not ready to return to the ship?"
"Soon, Durand, soon. You'll not be stranded here, I assure you. The rain has eased up but the wind is still high, and I'd rather not be bobbing about on the estuary in a small boat. One future English king drowned when the White Ship sank. I'd as soon not be the second."
Justin was not utterly surprised that Durand should be at Mostyn, too. He was John's veritable shadow, his access to the queen's son making him invaluable as Eleanor's spy. How much had Durand known of John's conspiracy with Emma? Justin did not share the queen's faith in her agent. He suspected that the other man shed his loyalties as easily as a snake shed its skin.
"I still do not see why you had Reynard escort the lady home from the grange and not me. I've a better sense of direction; Reynard has gotten lost on his way to the privy. And I could fend off outlaws in my sleep, whereas he'd bolt if he heard an owl hoot in the night."
"He is fond of you, too, Durand."
"I am not jesting, my lord. I truly wonder if she will be safe with him. Have they far to go?"
"Far enough," John said blandly. "Trust me, you'd have no chance of adding her to your conquests."
"Why not, my lord? Is she yours?"
John laughed. "Even I am not that depraved, Durand."
"What… is she a nun?" Durand sounded puzzled, and John laughed again. But his response was lost as more men entered the church. Justin could tell from their deferential tones that these were not knights like Durand; they showed none of his cockiness, the familiarity that danced right up to the border, yet somehow never crossed over into insolence or effrontery. It did not surprise Justin that John quieted them without raising his voice; men learned to obey quickly in John's service or they did not remain in his service.
Now that the storm had broken, John said, he would be re turning to the ship. Most would be going with him, but he wanted some of his men to remain behind and guard the grange, keeping the monks in the dorter until Reynard got back. "Since you felt slighted by my earlier choice, Durand, you'll be in command."
"How can I thank you, my lord?" Durand sounded disgruntled; he knew that John was having fun at his expense. "I ask only that you do not forget to send the boat back for us."
"No promises," John said dryly, and the scuffle of feet told Justin that they were moving toward the door.
"We need help here!"
The cry was quickly drowned out by the rising tide of other voices. Daring a peek through the cracked door, Justin saw two men stumbling into the church, one of them bleeding profusely from a gashed forehead. Confusion ensued, for they naturally suspected they were under attack. The alarm soon subsided, though, when it was revealed that the wounded man had split his head open by tripping over a rake,
Transformed in seconds from injured victim to laughingstock, the man was subjected to ridicule rather than sympathy. But because his blood was gushing out like a fountain, someone eventually halted the fun and suggested they get the poor sod a bandage. Justin still did not realize his danger, not until a voice volunteered that there were likely to be cloths stored in the sacristy. He slid back behind the door, his only option to pray that no one would bring a lantern in search of the church vestments and linens. That hope lasted as long as it took for a flaming light to pierce the darkness like a beacon.
"Christ's Blood!" The intruder sprang backward, and the next sound Justin heard was the metallic clink of a sword being drawn from its scabbard, "There are men hiding in here!"
The lay brothers were discovered first, driven at sword-point out into the chapel. But before Justin could dare to hope that he might escape notice, his hiding place behind the door was exposed and there was a sword pressing against his chest.