keep to the coast road, we ought to reach Rhuddlan without spilling any blood. I imagine Llewelyn is too busy counting his ill-gotten gains to be harassing innocent English travelers."
"Are you so sure that Llewelyn is the culprit?" Justin asked, intrigued by the other man's matter-of-fact manner. Thomas's indictment was more convincing than the Earl of Chester's fiery denunciation because of its very lack of passion or choler.
"If you're asking if Llewelyn is the one who stole the ransom, there is no doubt of that. But there is blame enough to go around and I'd not want to cheat Davydd of his fair share."
"The earl also talked of Davydd's 'blunders.' What were they?"
"Ah... where to begin? I suppose you want me to confine myself to those specific blunders relating to the ransom. A pity, for I have heard tales about Davydd's misspent youth that would have you rolling on the floor with laugher. Ah, well…"
Thomas heaved a comic sigh. "The trouble began with Davydd's bright idea to lure outlaws and bandits and Llewelyn away with a second convoy. He insisted upon sending a large escort with heavily loaded wagons by an inland road, whilst the real ransom was taken along the coast. But that was only part of his grand scheme. He loaded the ransom onto two ancient wains, piled hay on top, and to make it look even more convincing, he only dispatched four men with the hay-wains."
"That was lunacy," Justin blurted out. "How could he be sure they would not steal the ransom? The fewer the men, the greater the risk that they could reach an understanding amongst themselves.''
"You'll get no argument from me, lad, But Davydd said he deliberately picked men without the ballocks or the brains to do more than follow orders. He chose a tough nut named Selwyn to give those orders. He'd been a member of the royal household for years, and Davydd swore he could be trusted. The others were downright pitiful: the lame, the halt, and the blind. A green lad of sixteen; he's the one left to die in the road. An aged grandfather, and a good-natured fool. Davydd thought that way no one would ever suspect these rickety hay-wains could be carrying anything but hay."
Justin shook his head slowly. "And did it never occur to Davydd that if his 'grand scheme' went wrong, these guards would have trouble fending off a dozen drunken monks?"
"Monks? You're too kind, Justin, my boy. That crew could have been overrun by nuns! But no, Davydd is not one for contingency planning. The Welsh rarely are."
"Llewelyn ab Iorwerth might disagree with you."
Thomas considered that and then conceded cheerfully, "I daresay he might. For certes, his plan went down as smoothly as the best-brewed ale. He pounced upon the hay-wains like a hawk upon a rabbit, took what he wanted, and left naught but bodies and the charred remains of the burned wains."
"He burned the wains? Why?"
Thomas gave Justin an approving smile, "A good question. He burned the hay-wains because he also burned the woolsacks."
Justin sat upright, nearly spilling his ale. "Christ Jesus, he burned the wool? Davydd said nary a word about that to the queen!"
"Naturally not, for he'd have to admit then that the bulk of the ransom was beyond recovery. Those hay-wains also held silver plate and jewelry and some fine pelts, but it was the Cistercian wool that was the real treasure. But woolsacks are heavier than lead, and Llewelyn apparently realized that he'd not be able to get the wool safely away in those decrepit carts without risking capture. So he took what he could carry off and burned the wool to deny it to Davydd and the English Crown."
Justin was still coming to terms with the realization that his mission had been doomed from the moment that those woolsacks went up in flames. "If he was clever enough to find out that the ransom was hidden in those hay-wains, I'd think he'd be clever enough to have some sturdy wagons on hand to haul the wool away."
"Ah, but it would have been no easy task to unload
"Are you so sure that Llewelyn is the culprit?" Justin asked, intrigued by the other man's matter-of-fact manner. Thomas's indictment was more convincing than the Earl of Chester's fiery denunciation because of its very lack of passion or choler.
"If you're asking if Llewelyn is the one who stole the ransom, there is no doubt of that. But there is blame enough to go around and I'd not want to cheat Davydd of his fair share."
"The earl also talked of Davydd's 'blunders.' What were they?"
"Ah... where to begin? I suppose you want me to confine myself to those specific blunders relating to the ransom. A pity, for I have heard tales about Davydd's misspent youth that would have you rolling on the floor with laugher. Ah, well…"
Thomas heaved a comic sigh. "The trouble began with Davydd's bright idea to lure outlaws and bandits and Llewelyn away with a second convoy. He insisted upon sending a large escort with heavily loaded wagons by an inland road, whilst the real ransom was taken along the coast. But that was only part of his grand scheme. He loaded the ransom onto two ancient wains, piled hay on top, and to make it look even more convincing, he only dispatched four men with the hay-wains."
"That was lunacy," Justin blurted out. "How could he be sure they would not steal the ransom? The fewer the men, the greater the risk that they could reach an understanding amongst themselves.''
"You'll get no argument from me, lad, But Davydd said he deliberately picked men without the ballocks or the brains to do more than follow orders. He chose a tough nut named Selwyn to give those orders. He'd been a member of the royal household for years, and Davydd swore he could be trusted. The others were downright pitiful: the lame, the halt, and the blind. A green lad of sixteen; he's the one left to die in the road. An aged grandfather, and a good-natured fool. Davydd thought that way no one would ever suspect these rickety hay-wains could be carrying anything but hay."
Justin shook his head slowly. "And did it never occur to Davydd that if his 'grand scheme' went wrong, these guards would have trouble fending off a dozen drunken monks?"
"Monks? You're too kind, Justin, my boy. That crew could have been overrun by nuns! But no, Davydd is not one for contingency planning. The Welsh rarely are."
"Llewelyn ab Iorwerth might disagree with you."
Thomas considered that and then conceded cheerfully, "I daresay he might. For certes, his plan went down as smoothly as the best-brewed ale. He pounced upon the hay-wains like a hawk upon a rabbit, took what he wanted, and left naught but bodies and the charred remains of the burned wains."
"He burned the wains? Why?"
Thomas gave Justin an approving smile, "A good question. He burned the hay-wains because he also burned the woolsacks."
Justin sat upright, nearly spilling his ale. "Christ Jesus, he burned the wool? Davydd said nary a word about that to the queen!"
"Naturally not, for he'd have to admit then that the bulk of the ransom was beyond recovery. Those hay-wains also held silver plate and jewelry and some fine pelts, but it was the Cistercian wool that was the real treasure. But woolsacks are heavier than lead, and Llewelyn apparently realized that he'd not be able to get the wool safely away in those decrepit carts without risking capture. So he took what he could carry off and burned the wool to deny it to Davydd and the English Crown."
Justin was still coming to terms with the realization that his mission had been doomed from the moment that those woolsacks went up in flames. "If he was clever enough to find out that the ransom was hidden in those hay-wains, I'd think he'd be clever enough to have some sturdy wagons on hand to haul the wool away."
"Ah, but it would have been no easy task to unload
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