Dragon's Lair (24 page)

Roll smirked again. "And that Welsh prince would have moved heaven and earth to bring your killer to justice... right? I'd wager you'd have been buried and forgotten in the time it took to dig your grave. I expect that de Caldecott was shrewd enough to pick the right poison, too. The man did seem to have a knack for killing. He'd not have wanted you to collapse at his feet, foaming at the mouth. Even Davydd would have been hard-pressed to ignore that. So that lets out some of the more popular poisons like hemlock, monkshood, henbane, or mandragora. De Caldecott would want something that would act fast, but not too fast."

"You are remarkably well informed about poisons," Justin said slowly. "I cannot help wondering how you came by all this knowledge."

"Are you not curious about de Caldecott's poison of choice? I figured he could have used saffron or cock's spur. I'd wager he went with nightshade, though. Not only would it take several hours to sicken you, you'd not have a prayer in Hell of recovery. With nightshade death is certain... and none too pleasant."

He looked as if he expected Justin to ask for the gruesome details of a nightshade poisoning. Justin did not want to know. What if Roll had not intervened? Would a sip or two of de Caldecott's poisoned wine have been enough to kill? He would not have drunk any more than that, but would even a mouthful have been too much? Rolf could probably tell him, but that, too, he preferred not to know.

"I owe you," he said tersely, aware of how ungracious that sounded. It was the best, though, that he could do. "How did you get rid of the wine? Are you sure that there was no way de Caldecott could have taken it by mistake?"

It was the first time that he'd seen Rolf look amused. "Did I poison him? If I did, I'd hardly admit it to you, would I? I took the wine out to the bailey with the idea of testing it on one of the dogs. Mead would have been sweet enough to tempt them. But they just sniffed at the wine, so I have no proof that it was poisoned. Nor does it matter now. De Caldecott is beyond the reach of earthly justice."

Justin had a fondness for dogs and he was looking at Rolf with such antipathy that the other man noticed. "What... " Getting no answer, he swung up into the saddle. "You do know that de Caldecott was not stabbed to death?"

"Yes," Justin said grimly. "I know."

Chapter 15

August 1193

Rhuddlan Castle, Wales

THE DAY AFTER THOMAS DE CALDECOTT'S DEATH, IT rained. The sky darkened and a stinging salt wind blew off the ocean, ripping leaves from trees in a barren, bleak foretaste of winter. Justin had spent the morning doing what little he could to console Angharad. Her grief alarmed him; it was so intense, so overwhelming. It troubled him that the object of her love had been so unworthy of it, but he thought it would not help her to know that. Nor was she likely to believe him. Without more proof, Justin doubted that anyone would.

He was dripping wet and disheartened by the time he returned to the great hall. He was drying off by the open hearth when the door opened and the Lady Emma entered. Davydd at once hastened down the steps of the dais and hurried to her, helping her with her mantle and escorting her toward the hearth with what Justin felt was exaggerated gallantry. She let Davydd settle her in a chair comfortably close to the flames, and Justin's ears pricked up. He did not expect to overhear anything of significance. Accustomed to living their lives on center stage, the Welsh prince and his consort were unlikely to be careless enough to choose a public forum for private discussion. But he was curious to watch them interact, for their marriage remained a mystery to him.

This was Emma's first appearance since she'd fainted in the chapel, and Davydd was fussing over her so ostentatiously that he put Justin in mind of a brood hen with a prize chick. She was well, Emma insisted, although she proclaimed her health in such a languid, breathy voice that Justin could not blame Davydd for harboring doubts. It was to be expected that she'd still be disquieted by the experience, Davydd declared. Women of gentle birth were not meant by the Almighty to look upon scenes of bloodshed and gore.

Justin fought back laughter. He wondered if Davydd really believed that or if he was merely affecting a chivalric pose. The women in Justin's life bore little resemblance to the docile and frail females exalted as models of ideal womanhood. Queen Eleanor had accompanied her first husband on crusade and instigated a rebellion against her second. Claudine had amused herself by spying for the queen's youngest son. Nell had been widowed before she was twenty and was raising a daughter on her own whilst managing a kinsman's alehouse. Molly had been defying the odds and convention from birth. And he suspected that the Lady Emma was steel sheathed in silk, too. He found it intriguing that Davydd appeared protective of the silk, so oblivious of the steel.

Accepting a wine cup, Emma took a small sip. "Have you made arrangements for Thomas's funeral?"

Davydd nodded. "I sent a messenger to Bishop Reiner at Llanelwy."

"Few men are fortunate enough to have their funeral Mass said in a cathedral church," Emma said. "But might not his family prefer that he be buried in England?"

Davydd shrugged. "It cannot be helped. By the time the storm passes and the roads dry out, Thomas's body would be too rank for transporting. Forgive me for being brutally blunt, my dear, but by then the stench would be too foul to endure."

Emma gave him an impatient, sidelong glance. "I know that, Davydd. Surely you have not forgotten the story of the burial of my brother Henry's great-grandfather, William, conqueror of the English?

Davydd assured her that he remembered, while the eavesdropping Justin prodded his memory. It took only a moment, for the account of William the Bastard's death and burial was too grisly to be forgotten. There'd been a delay in burying him, and when it was discovered that the stone coffin was too small for a man of William's bulk, an ill-advised attempt had been made to force the body into it, causing the decomposing corpse to break open, emitting such a noxious odor that the mourners had fled the church in horror.

This was the sort of gruesome story to lodge in the morbid imagination of young male students, and Justin was not surprised he recalled it so quickly. What did surprise him was that Emma would have chosen to mention it, for it hardly seemed like a suitable topic for a woman of such delicate sensibilities that the mere sight of a dead body would cause her to swoon. He decided that she could not resist any opportunity to brag about her family's lofty bloodlines, but as he continued to listen, he realized that Emma had something else in mind.

"Surely that sad occurrence argues for a quick burial, Emma. Llanelwy is but a few miles away and even if the rain continues, we can take the body there without great difficulty. De Caldecott's family will just have to accept the fact that we did the best we could under the circumstances."

"Well... there may be a way to satisfy his family without taking any risks. Bury his body at the cathedral of St Asaph in Llanelwy and deliver his heart to the earl at Chester so it may be buried at Caldecott."

"An excellent suggestion, my dear." Davydd sounded pleased, but Justin frowned, wondering why Thomas de Caldecott's burial should matter so much to Emma. She gave him the answer, though, with her next words.

"When you send men to the earl, I would like my man, Oliver, to accompany them. The last time I was in Chester, I ordered sarcenet silk, damask, and white kidskin gloves from France, and the mercer told me they ought to arrive by summer's end. Oliver is going to fetch them for me."

Justin's head came up sharply. Oliver looked to be in his sixth decade and had a limp that indicated he had a touch of the joint evil. This was not a man to send on a two-day ride for an ordinary errand.

~*~

Justin's arrival in Chester was not auspicious. The storm that had drenched Rhuddlan earlier in the week had moved east and was now buffeting the city with high winds and driving rain. Oliver balked at lodging with the others at the castle, insisting he preferred the guest hall at St Werburgh's, which meant that it would be more difficult for Justin to keep him under watch. And most troubling of all, Justin learned that the earl was gone from Chester, called away by the sudden illness of his youngest sister, Hawise. Justin had not realized how much he was counting upon Chester's aid until it was no longer available.

As soon as he could get away, he slipped out of the castle and went to make sure that Oliver had settled down for the evening at the abbey. He was convinced that Emma had sent her man to Chester to meet someone, which meant that he dared not let Oliver out of his sight for long. Since Oliver knew him and would be on the alert if he was up to no good, that was going to make surveillance no easy task.

~*~

Bennet instructed Berta to bring them cups and a flagon, then steered Justin toward a corner table, "So," he said, as soon as they were seated, "Rolf told us that your best suspect got himself killed. Where does that leave you?"

"Mired in the mud," Justin conceded, before giving his friend a quick, probing look. "I suppose I ought to thank you and Molly for Rolf... I think."

Bennet grinned. "Scary, isn't he?"

Justin heartily agreed. "Dare I ask how the man earns his livelihood?"

"I never asked, never wanted to know. He works occasionally for Piers, doing God knows what, and he disappears from Chester for weeks at a time, always comes back with plenty of money to spend on drink and whores and wagers."

"What did he tell you about de Caldecott's death?"

"That he'd been found dead in the castle chapel with a knife in his chest. Why... is there more to this tale than he let on?"

"No... apart from the fact that he was not killed in the chapel and he did not die from a dagger thrust," Justin took a swallow of wine, and then grimaced, both at the taste and his dubious prospects. "I think he was probably poisoned. I could find no other wounds on the body and I find it hard to believe that his heart just stopped beating of its own accord."

"What about the dagger? How can you be sure it did not kill him?"

"Because," Justin said, "there was no blood, no blood at all. The only way a man can be stabbed and not bleed is if he's already dead."

"This is beginning to sound very peculiar, even for Wales. Why stab a dead man?"

"For the same reason that his body was moved into the chapel: so Davydd could blame his nephew, Llewelyn, for the killing."

Bennet shook his head, marveling at the duplicity of the high born. "Moll told me about his grand scheme to steal the ransom and accuse he nephew. Has he gotten around to blaming Llewelyn for Chester's great fire and our last drought?"

"Not yet, but I'd not put it past him. As far as I can tell, Ben net, this is what happened. De Caldecott was poisoned in the great hall, a poison that did not take effect right away. He was crossing the bailey when it hit. I found the place where he collapsed. I think he became very ill very fast and died ere he could call out for help. Sometime later his body was discovered by someone, most likely a guard, who sought Davydd out straightaway."

"And Davydd saw another chance to put the blame on his favorite scapegoat," Bennet suggested dryly, and Justin nodded.

"He had the body moved into the closest building - the chapel - because the death scene would have given the lie to his claim that Thomas was stabbed, From the way the castle dogs were hovering around, I think Thomas vomited all over the ground ere he lost consciousness. Davydd's men did their best to tidy it up, but the dogs still caught the smell."

"So a dagger was found, and some poor sod was given the unholy task of stabbing a corpse. Think what an interesting confession he'll have to tell his priest! If you are right, Justin, it sounds very haphazard, like they were cobbling the pieces together they went along."

Justin nodded again. "It was hastily done and poorly done. Thomas died face down; I could tell by the color of his skin. But he was stabbed in the chest. I suppose Davydd assumed that none would dare to question his findings, and aside from me, he was right. I am sure the doctor saw the truth as soon as he examined the body. Was he likely to call his prince a liar, though? The same holds true for Davydd's men."

Bennet understood perfectly; he had far more experience than Justin in the inequities of power. "I need to ask you something, Justin. Have you gone to see Molly yet?"

"No, I came here straightaway. Why... nothing is wrong?"

"It depends upon who you ask. Piers is back in Chester. So I'd suggest you stay away from Moll's cottage. I'll arrange for you to meet her here."

Justin thought about that for a few moments. "Molly told me," he said, "that Piers is not jealous."

"As far as we know, he is not. But I think Molly does not fully comprehend how fiercely he guards his territory."

Justin did not like the sound of that, and he took advantage of this opportunity to discuss Molly's dangerous lover with her brother. Leaning forward, he said quietly, "There must be some thing we can do, Bennet, to untangle her from that man's web."

Bennet looked at him with the sorrowful sarcasm of one counseling a well-meaning but not overly bright friend, "You're right, Justy. Mayhap we ought to sit down and make the perils known to her. Why did I not think of that myself?"

Justin acknowledged the mockery with an abashed smile. He would have persevered, though, if a boy hadn't arrived then with the food Bennet had ordered from the cook shop. The food was not very good - a chicken pie that was greasy and too long out of the oven - but Justin had not eaten for hours, and he and Bennet finished it in record time. Only then did they return to the subject of murder.

"You've told me how Thomas de Caldecott died, and we both can guess why. But we have not talked yet about the most important question of all... who?"

"I would that I knew, Bennet," Justin said with a sigh. "Davydd has the best motive by far. If he found out that Thomas was the one responsible for the robbery, he'd have feared that his duplicity might be exposed if de Caldecott was caught. Not to mention he'd have a very valid reason for wanting revenge, which the Welsh take quite seriously. But for the life of me, I can not understand why he'd go about it like this. Davydd is one of the most vexing men I've ever met. He is not a total dolt, though, and only God's greatest fool would have poisoned de Caldecott and then made such a clumsy attempt to blame Llewelyn."