Justin shook his head. "Not unless their ship is still at Chester." He was stunned by the wanton violence of these killings. "How does a man murder with such ease? How could he hold life so cheaply?"
"Killing," Llewelyn said, "can become a habit. From what you've told me, this Thomas de Caldecott had plenty of practice at it."
"Six that we know of, and with a little luck, he'd have added two more to that count," Justin said, thinking of a drunken stroll through deserted streets, a blazing Chester warehouse.
"A man so quick to kill most likely left a trail of bodies behind him. Who knows how many he'd gotten away with. If not for you, Iestyn, none would have known of these murders, either." Llewelyn forced his gaze away from the remains of de Caldecott's last victims, sketching a quick cross on the autumn air. "So now what?"
"I would that I knew," Justin admitted, for the mine shaft had yielded only the bodies of the slain sailors; they'd found no evidence whatsoever of the missing woolsacks.
As disconsolate as if he'd deliberately led them astray, Edern scuffed his boot in the brown, trampled grass. "I do not understand," he muttered, "It has to be here, it just has to!"
The farrier's son had kept at a respectful distance, watching wide-eyed but saying little. Now he cleared his throat hesitantly. "Are you…" He swallowed, then mumbled shyly, "Are you not going to search the other shaft?"
The words had no sooner left his mouth than he found himself surrounded by men. Did Edern not remember, he asked timidly. There was a second shaft, sloping in at an angle. "We guessed that it once led to the other shaft. Of course it is all blocked up now, a tunnel leading nowhere…" He was talking too much, he knew, but he couldn't seem to rein in his runaway tongue, and he was thankful when Llewelyn cut into his nervous ramblings with a curt command to "Show us!"
The opening was overgrown with brambles and knee-high bracken, and Justin caught his breath at the sight of them, for branches were broken and the ferns flattened down in places, as if something heavy had been dragged through them. "It is here," Gwion said, sounding more confident now, and pulling aside some of the underbrush, he revealed a tunnel entrance.
It was just as the farrier's son had said. What had once been a connecting passage to the main mine shaft was little more than a cave, too low for a tall man to walk upright, the walls shrouded in moss, lichen, and cobwebs, the ground littered with the skeletal remains of prey devoured to the very bone, the air stale and musty. Where Roman slaves had once labored in the earth's bowels, foxes and weasels now made their dens. Justin's boot crunched upon the spine of a small animal, and he was grateful that at least the Flemish sailors had been spared this much; no beasts had been able to feast upon their flesh. Stooping, he moved farther into the tunnel and found his way blocked by an obstacle covered by a large canvas tarp. Llewelyn joined him and together they lifted the tarp, ex posing the most beautiful sight that had ever filled Justin's eyes, several padlocked coffers and sack after sack of the fine Cistercian wool meant to ransom a king.
The next discovery puzzled them alclass="underline" three saddles, half-hidden by the tarp. Saddles were expensive and these seemed intact, in decent condition. Justin was the first to understand their significance. "We are looking at the last stitch in de Caldecott's shroud. These were the sailors' saddles, discarded after he'd let their horses go."
Llewelyn was quick to comprehend. "Of course! What other reason could there be for casting them aside like that?"
The loose cart horses had been Justin's first indication that he was dealing with more than an ordinary robbery. Once his suspicions settled upon de Caldecott, those pieces of the puzzle had come together. How could one man have handled seven animals? He'd had no choice but to set them free. Until this moment, though, that had been a theory. Now it was fact.
"What did he care about cart horses and hired nags? He had his eye upon a much grander prize." And as he gazed down at the saddles of the murdered sailors, Justin felt a hot surge of outrage that the knight had been spared so much in dying as he had, escaping exposure, disgrace, and the gallows.
~*~
Llewelyn's men were still celebrating the successful conclusion of their hunt, eager to shake off the pall cast by the discovery of the dead bodies. When Llewelyn glanced around, though, he no longer saw Justin. After several moments of searching, he found the young Englishman in the tunnel, kneeling down beside a flickering lantern. "Come see this," he said, glancing over his shoulder, "What does this look like to you?"
Llewelyn examined the object in Justin's hand, a rock splattered with a dark stain. "Blood?"
"I think so, too. There is more of it over there, and if you look closely, you can see dried smears on several of the woolsacks. I think this is where the killings began. My guess is that after the woolsacks were moved into the tunnel de Caldecott stabbed one of the men in here, then called out for the others. As the second one entered, he was slain at once. I think the third sailor tried to run and was chased down and caught. The bodies were too rotted to tell me much about wounds, but the back of one man's tunic was soaked with blood."
"May God assoil them," Llewelyn said softly, for he could not help pitying the dead sailors, who'd gotten so much more than they'd bargained for. "Let's talk outside," he said and backed to ward the entrance. Justin followed, and they stood in silence for several moments as they stretched their cramped muscles.
"So," Llewelyn said at last, "I suppose this is when you start wondering if it was wise to wager upon my honor,"
"I never wagered upon your honor, Llewelyn. I wagered upon your common sense."
The Welshman cocked a quizzical brow. "Would you care to elaborate upon that?"
"Simply put, it is in your best interests to cooperate with the English Crown. I'm not saying you'd not be tempted by those coffers and woolsacks. What man would not, myself included. But you are no outlaw. You are a prince, my lord Llewelyn, a prince in exile at the moment but a prince all the same. And when the day comes that you rule Gwynedd, you will need cordial relations with your liege lord, the English king. At the very least, you do not want to give the English any reason to intervene upon Davydd's behalf. And if they blamed you for the loss of King Richard's ransom, that would be one very persuasive reason." Justin paused, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "Need I continue?"
"Well, you did leave out the most interesting part of the story… where you inform the English queen of Davydd's treachery and my invaluable help."
"Jesu forfend that I should forget that," Justin agreed, and Llewelyn began to laugh.
"I know you claim your parents were English born and bred, but you are too clever not to have some Welsh blood," he said lightly, but Justin got the sense that Llewelyn had been testing him again and that once again he had passed the test,
~*~
Just sent an urgent message to the Earl of Chester with one of Llewelyn's men, with a second message to his father in case the earl had not yet returned to Chester. He then set up camp by the old Roman mine, for he had no intention of letting the woolsacks out of his sight. It was not as uncomfortable as he'd feared, for autumn was still fighting a rear-guard action against winter at the lower elevations. Llewelyn provided men to safeguard the ransom, and stopped by himself on the second day to see how Justin was faring.
~*~
White, fleecy clouds were blowing in from the coast, and Justin had been keeping a wary eye upon the increasingly overcast sky. Reaching over to offer a swig from his wineskin, Llewelyn insisted, "There'll be no rain for another day, mayhap two, Iestyn, not with the wind coming from the north."