tasted foul on his tongue. "I lost some men this morn because of Llewelyn. But the next time blood is shed in my domains, it will be Llewelyn's own, that I vow upon the sanctity of my soul. Go back to Chester and tell the earl that I need as many men as he can spare."
"I am sorry for the deaths of your men, my lord." Justin paused to draw a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm about to break over his head, "But I cannot oblige you in this matter. The Queen's Grace was very clear in her intent. My one and only mission is to recover the ransom, not to assist you in suppressing a rebellion."
"You dare to refuse me?" Davydd sounded incredulous. "I am seeking to recover the ransom, you fool! Since Llewelyn was the one who stole it, it makes sense that when we find him, we find the ransom." He was speaking now through gritted teeth, spacing the words out slowly and deliberately so that even a dolt like Justin could comprehend. "As long as this renegade is free to raid and plunder my lands, we have not a hope in Hell of retrieving the ransom."
"I am not convinced of that, my lord. I've yet to be shown any hard evidence that Llewelyn ab Iorwerth is to blame for the robbery. I know you are convinced that he is guilty. As are you, my lord," he said politely, glancing toward the glowering William Fitz Alan, "And I am not arguing for the man's innocence, I am saying simply that his guilt has not been proven, not yet, not to me. And until it is, I am not willing to ask the Earl of Chester for military aid."
"For the love of Christ!" Fitz Alan could hold his tongue no longer. "If Llewelyn was not the one who sprang that ambush, who did?"
"I cannot answer that, my lord, for the same reason that I cannot agree to Lord Davydd's demand. My investigation is not done, and until it is, I am not willing to pass any judgments."
Davydd's face was seared with heat. "I cannot believe that I am forced to argue what is obvious to all but the deranged, to all but you, de Quincy! You want proof? Will a dying declaration satisfy your delicate scruples? One of the men still lived when my scouts came upon the burning wagons. With his dying breath, Selwyn accused Llewelyn of ambushing them,"
Justin did not believe him, not for a moment. This "dying declaration" was much too convenient, as suspect as any confession coerced in the depths of a castle dungeon. "Why did you not tell me this before, my lord?" he said, striving not to sound as skeptical as he felt.
"I am telling you now," Davydd snapped. "Do you want to question the man who heard Selwyn's deathbed denunciation?"
Davydd flung down the challenge as if it were a gauntlet and was infuriated when Justin picked it up. "As a matter of fact, I would, my lord."
Davydd started to speak, coughed, cleared his throat, and then spat into the floor rushes, looking as if he wished he'd aimed at Justin's face, "I will see to it, then," he said, managing to make more like a threat than a promise.
~*~
By day's end, Justin had begun to feel like a leper. Word had gone out about his confrontation with the Welsh prince, and people were shunning him as if he might infect them with Davydd's ill will. Even Thomas and Angharad were keeping a discreet distance and despite his best efforts, their retreat hurt. Wherever he went, Justin found himself the cynosure of all eyes, attracting either scowls or pitying side-glances. When he'd had enough, he took himself off to the only place in the castle that offered even a modicum of privacy.
Caring for his stallion gave him some peace of mind, but all too soon there was nothing more to be done. The stables were empty, the grooms over in the great hall having their dinner. Justin had no appetite, although he wondered if he was truly not hungry or just reluctant to face a hall filled with disapproval and hostility. Sitting down in the straw, he leaned back against the wall, watching moodily as Copper munched a mouthful of hay.
His anger had burned long enough to lose
"I am sorry for the deaths of your men, my lord." Justin paused to draw a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm about to break over his head, "But I cannot oblige you in this matter. The Queen's Grace was very clear in her intent. My one and only mission is to recover the ransom, not to assist you in suppressing a rebellion."
"You dare to refuse me?" Davydd sounded incredulous. "I am seeking to recover the ransom, you fool! Since Llewelyn was the one who stole it, it makes sense that when we find him, we find the ransom." He was speaking now through gritted teeth, spacing the words out slowly and deliberately so that even a dolt like Justin could comprehend. "As long as this renegade is free to raid and plunder my lands, we have not a hope in Hell of retrieving the ransom."
"I am not convinced of that, my lord. I've yet to be shown any hard evidence that Llewelyn ab Iorwerth is to blame for the robbery. I know you are convinced that he is guilty. As are you, my lord," he said politely, glancing toward the glowering William Fitz Alan, "And I am not arguing for the man's innocence, I am saying simply that his guilt has not been proven, not yet, not to me. And until it is, I am not willing to ask the Earl of Chester for military aid."
"For the love of Christ!" Fitz Alan could hold his tongue no longer. "If Llewelyn was not the one who sprang that ambush, who did?"
"I cannot answer that, my lord, for the same reason that I cannot agree to Lord Davydd's demand. My investigation is not done, and until it is, I am not willing to pass any judgments."
Davydd's face was seared with heat. "I cannot believe that I am forced to argue what is obvious to all but the deranged, to all but you, de Quincy! You want proof? Will a dying declaration satisfy your delicate scruples? One of the men still lived when my scouts came upon the burning wagons. With his dying breath, Selwyn accused Llewelyn of ambushing them,"
Justin did not believe him, not for a moment. This "dying declaration" was much too convenient, as suspect as any confession coerced in the depths of a castle dungeon. "Why did you not tell me this before, my lord?" he said, striving not to sound as skeptical as he felt.
"I am telling you now," Davydd snapped. "Do you want to question the man who heard Selwyn's deathbed denunciation?"
Davydd flung down the challenge as if it were a gauntlet and was infuriated when Justin picked it up. "As a matter of fact, I would, my lord."
Davydd started to speak, coughed, cleared his throat, and then spat into the floor rushes, looking as if he wished he'd aimed at Justin's face, "I will see to it, then," he said, managing to make more like a threat than a promise.
~*~
By day's end, Justin had begun to feel like a leper. Word had gone out about his confrontation with the Welsh prince, and people were shunning him as if he might infect them with Davydd's ill will. Even Thomas and Angharad were keeping a discreet distance and despite his best efforts, their retreat hurt. Wherever he went, Justin found himself the cynosure of all eyes, attracting either scowls or pitying side-glances. When he'd had enough, he took himself off to the only place in the castle that offered even a modicum of privacy.
Caring for his stallion gave him some peace of mind, but all too soon there was nothing more to be done. The stables were empty, the grooms over in the great hall having their dinner. Justin had no appetite, although he wondered if he was truly not hungry or just reluctant to face a hall filled with disapproval and hostility. Sitting down in the straw, he leaned back against the wall, watching moodily as Copper munched a mouthful of hay.
His anger had burned long enough to lose
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