"You're not the one sleeping at night in a mine shaft," Justin pointed out, "so you do not have as much at stake as I do if the weather turns foul."
Llewelyn started to make a jest about Englishmen melting in the rain like sugar lumps, but instead he tilted his head to the side, listening intently. "Someone is coming," he said. His guards were already on the alert, and within a few moments a horseman had ridden into view. "One of my scouts," Llewelyn informed Justin and summoned the man for his report.
"The Earl of Chester is approaching along the coast road, my lord, He brings a large armed force and several oxcarts. He is nigh on an hour away if he stays with the carts. But if he rides ahead, he'll be here in half that time."
Glancing over at Justin, Llewelyn said, "I'll let you be the one to welcome the earl to Wales."
Edern was already bringing up Llewelyn's stallion. No one appeared to be hurrying, but within moments, the men were all mounted, awaiting Llewelyn's orders. Reining in beside Justin, Llewelyn said, "If you ever need help recovering another king's ransom in Wales, let me know."
"I will," Justin said, "indeed I will."
"Go with God, English."
Llewelyn raised his hand in farewell before swinging his stallion toward the woods. Justin watched and then took several steps forward. "Go with God, my lord prince!" He could not be sure that Llewelyn had heard. He hoped so.
~*~
The woolsacks finally been loaded into the oxcarts; with his usual thoroughness, the earl had thought to bring a pulley and tackle. As he and Justin watched, the carts were covered in canvas tarps. Chester was taking no chances and had brought an escort formidable enough to ward off any outlaw band smaller than an army. Once all had been done to his satisfaction, he called for his own mount, then glanced inquiringly at Justin.
"We are ready to go. You are riding with us, are you not?"
"No, my lord, I am not. I must return to Rhuddlan Castle." Chester blinked in surprise. "That would not be the wisest move, de Quincy." When Justin agreed wryly that it probably was not, the earl made no further attempts to dissuade him. Beckoning to one of his knights, he conferred briefly with him, and then strode over to Justin.
"This is Sir Adam Fitz Walter. He will escort you to Rhuddlan and — I hope — discourage Davydd ab Owain from expressing his displeasure in a way he might later regret."
"Thank you, my lord."
Once Chester was comfortably in the saddle, he gave the signal to move out. But he'd gone only a few feet when he turned his stallion back toward Justin. "One day, de Quincy," he said, "you must tell me what really happened here."
"I will, my lord," Justin said, "… as soon as the Queen's Grace gives me permission to speak of these matters."
Chester regarded him with a faint smile, "I almost forgot. But you never forget, do you?"
"Forget what, my lord?"
"That you are, first and foremost, the queen's man."
"No, my lord earl," Justin said with quiet pride, "I never forget that."
~*~
Justin's return to Rhuddlan Castle evoked unpleasant echoes of his first trip into Wales with Thomas de Caldecott. Sir Adam Fitz Walter had known de Caldecott well, and he, too, was a talker, chatting away about the earl, camp-ball, the serving maid at the Bridge Street tavern, his Cheshire boyhood, and — to Justin's dismay — sharing fond memories of his friend, Thomas. Word of his death had brought grief to the city and the earl's household, Adam confided, for Thomas had more friends than a drunkard with money to spend. He doubted that there was a man ever born who'd not liked Thomas, he declared, and insisted upon entertaining Justin with stories of de Caldecott's past exploits, practical jokes, and easy conquests of the fairer sex.
"We could hardly believe it when we learned he'd sickened and died in Wales. At first, gossip had it that he'd been slain, and that stirred up a furor. But when the earl returned and read your letter, he said the Welsh had been mistaken, that Thomas had suffered a seizure after a night of heavy drinking." Adam gave Justin a side long, curious glance. "You were there with him, were you not?"
Justin was not surprised that Chester had concealed the truth about de Caldecott's guilt. It was easier that way, and kinder to the dead man's family. It would have been nigh well impossible for most people to reconcile the affable, engaging knight they'd known with the killer of six men. But it still troubled him that Thomas was escaping all earthly punishment for his sins, that so many heartfelt, deluded prayers would be said for the salvation of his soul.
He knew Adam was awaiting his response and said tersely, "I can tell you that he was found in the prince's chapel, not much more than that."
That grudgingly given sentence seemed to provide Adam with solace, though, for after some moments, he said, "At least he died in God's House. Do you know where he was buried? I'd like to visit his grave ere we return to Chester." He seemed embarrassed by his sentimentality and quickly made a joke about giving a promise to one of Thomas's light-o'-loves.
"He is buried in the cemetery of St Asaph's at Llanelwy." The irony of that was not lost upon Justin. He'd solved a crime, but none would be held accountable for it. Neither Davydd nor Emma would face charges. And there would not even be rumors about John's involvement. So why not a cathedral funeral for a killer?
~*~
Davydd half-rose from his seat on the dais, looking at Justin in disbelief. "You found the woolsacks? They've all been recovered?"
Adam was detecting strong undercurrents of tension in the hall. He did not understand it, but his mission was to back Justin up and so he stepped forward, saying loudly, "It is indeed true, my lord prince. By now the woolsacks are back in England and may even be on the way to London already."
Davydd expelled an audible breath, then went limp against the cushions of his chair. "God is good," he murmured in Welsh, and for a moment he was silent, reveling in his unexpected deliverance. Seated beside him upon the dais, Emma had yet to speak or move. Her court mask was back in place; her face could have been carved from ivory or ice, so impassive and enigmatic was her expression. But her hands had clenched upon the arms of her chair, tightly enough that her knuckles were rimmed in white, and this did not escape Justin's notice.
"This is indeed good news, and in truth, I'd despaired of ever hearing it from you, de Quincy." Davydd got to his feet, started down the steps of the dais. "Now that the recovery has been made, what of retribution? What does the queen mean to do about Llewelyn ab Iorwerth?"
"I expect," Justin said, "that she intends to thank him."
Davydd's jaw dropped. "Have you gone mad? 'Thank him'? For stealing the king's ransom?"
"No, for recovering it." Justin unsheathed a smile that never reached his eyes. "It seems, my lord, that you were wrong in your suspicions. Llewelyn played no part in the theft of the woolsacks. He told me that some weeks ago, and I believed him. Now the Earl of Chester does, too, and so will the Queen's Grace. I'd go so far as to say she'll be grateful to him for his help. You see, nothing matters more to her than retrieving the ransom… nothing." His voice had hardened and that last word was thrown out both as challenge and judgment.
Davydd's face flamed. Almost as quickly, though, the color ebbed, leaving him pale and shaken. Adam had sauntered over to Justin's side, followed by several of his men, figuring it couldn't hurt to give the Welsh prince a subtle reminder that Justin was under the Earl of Chester's protection. He need not have bothered, though. Davydd's eyes were blank and unfocused. He pushed past Justin and Adam without even a glance, as if they were not there. By the time he'd reached the door, he was almost running.
The silence in the hall was smothering. Glancing around, Justin saw that while much would remain unspoken at Davydd's court, it would not remain unknown. The Welsh prince's scheming was not as secret as he thought. In the utter stillness, Justin could hear Emma's voice again, dripping icicles and contempt, telling John that Davydd was "doomed." He waited until people began to stir, to whisper to one another, and then he walked over to the dais and paid his respects to the Lady Emma.