“We’re working on the assumption that the attacker isn’t aware of that fact, until proven otherwise. That’s why we’ve not put word out in the town that the prince lies unconscious upstairs attended by your excellent healers. I’d request, for the time being, that you might respect our wishes in this matter.” The spymaster raises his brows as he looks at the marshal.
The marshal adjusts his belt, his hand straying to a sword hilt that is not there, as it so often does when he ponders the intrigues around him, then nods.
The inside of the Roaring Bull tavern, named after an exploit of the prince’s grandfather, was warm and busy.
“What will it be, Manfred?” The serving girl smiles.
“What you are offering, Daisy?” He winks at her lets his eyes hover up and down her body, slowing at her breasts.
“I’m having none of your sauce today. The only things on offer are food and drink. You’ll not be getting any of that neither if you don’t stop being rude.” She blushes.
“You’ve no idea of the delights you’re missing, my beautiful girl.”
“I’ve every idea of the delights I’m missing and, from what some of the other girls have said, it weren’t even that delightful.”
He laughs. “You girls and your gossip. I’ll have the mutton pie and an ale please.”
Her hips sway in his vision, and mind, as she walks towards the kitchens to get his food.
A sigh escapes his lips. “Oh I’d love to ride that young filly.”
He watches the other patrons, without making it obvious, as he waits.
A few of minutes later, she returns with his pie and ale, setting them on the table before him. “Anything else?”
“I’m sure this’ll do fine, Daisy. Nasty business last night wasn’t it?”
The girl looks round to make sure she’s not needed elsewhere.
“Very nasty. There’s them as says that the prince is dead.” Her voice drops to a hoarse whisper. “Killed by assassins, they say. Right here, at the end of the alley.”
“So I heard.” He replies, dropping to a similarly conspiratorial whisper. “I saw the blood on the snow and the guards are still poking around like they’ve lost something.”
“They’ve been around here all day, asking questions, stopping folks. It were busy this morning because most of ‘em came in for breakfast.”
“Did they say who they thought did it?” He leans even closer to the girl.
“They reckon there were a bunch of ‘em. Attacked ‘em from all directions and killed ‘em afore they even had a chance to fight back, so they say.”
“No!” He leans back quickly.
She bends down over the table, affording him a good look at her cleavage in the process, which he attempts to ignore. “They was asking about Mister Gracie as well. He were in here with the prince last night. They had a bit of a set to.”
“Really? Came to blows did it?”
“No, but they was shouting at each other and Mister Gracie stomped off without finishing his wine — not that he hadn’t had enough by that point. He was fully three sheets to the wind, as my old grandpa used to say.”
“Do they think he was part of the gang that did the attack?”
“I don’t know, but like I said, they was asking a lot of questions about him.” She looks round once more and then leans even closer in a conspiratorial manner. “Actually, I heard it weren’t no gang. One of the girls said she saw something funny before the guards got there.”
His face hardens as he leans in closer to her. “What kind of funny?”
“Apparently, her dad told her not to tell anyone, but she told my friend Maisie that there were only one man there. Don’t seem likely do it? I don’t see how one man could do all that, do you?”
“One man, taking down five, killing the prince? No, that doesn’t seem likely at all.” He looks around. “Which one’s Maisie? I don’t think I know her.”
“She don’t work here. She’s got a job with the weavers down the street.”
“Right. I thought I didn’t know a girl called Maisie. Not that I’d want to, obviously, when I already have a Daisy at my beck and call.”
She stands up straight and laughs. “I’m at no man’s beck and call and don’t you forget it. Now, I got things to get on with.”
She walks away, back to the kitchens, her hips swaying suggestively as she does so.
Normally he’d take the time to enjoy her display but right now he has more important things to take care of.
“What other materials did we find there?” The prince indicates the other items laid out upon the desk.
“These show that the one we knew as William Gracie wasn’t a follower of Christianity, as instigated by your dear father.”
“Really?” He asks. “He always seems to know a lot about it, and we’ve been to temple several times.”
“I expect that was to give cover to his true motives and beliefs. These point to his belief in the Elder Gods. The documents indicate that he’s communed with otherworldly spirits in the past months.”
The marshal leans forward to pick up some of the documents and examines them.
“I’d agree with that assessment. There are mentions here of several arcane rites practised by those followers who cling to these backwards beliefs. We’ve tolerated them until now and are trying to coexist with them, but if this points to a plot against the Crown then we may need to reassess that relationship.”
“Surely not!” Prince David responds. “Isn’t it all just harmless old herb lore, fairy stories and leaving offerings at sacred trees? Why would they plot against the Crown?” He points to other items on the table. “I at least recognise these place names and this crest here. I am fairly certain that if any plot exists it comes from the Scots.”
The Spymaster leans forward. “I concur, sire. There’s definite evidence of their involvement in this, from these papers.”
“I’m not claiming that this is an attack upon those loyal followers of the One God, but it does certainly seem to be an attack upon the stability of Gwynedd.” The marshal points to the papers.
“The evidence lying here implicates an outside state, and the followers of the old ways. I realise it’s far too early to begin drawing conclusions from so little information, but it’s something that should be considered.”
“How is this an attack upon the stability of Gwynedd?” The captain asks.
The Spymaster indicates to the Marshal that he’ll answer this question.
“The simple answer is, captain, that the state depends upon its leader to run smoothly and if he is eliminated then turmoil might ensue. That would allow those who use subterfuge, and intrigue, to influence the area to their benefit.”
The captain groans before responding.
“To be honest, and you may hate me for saying it, but the little experience I’ve had with politics and intrigue have led me to believe that a good war has them beat any day of the week.”
He shakes his head. “All this skulking around feels dirty and underhanded to me, I’d rather we just lined the troops up and fought it out.”
The Spymaster laughs. “Yes, captain, if only it could be that simple. I don’t think there was ever a time when it was as cut and dried as you wish it to be. Even wars usually come about because of underhandedness and lies.”
The captain remains silent and purses his lips.
“I’m afraid that he’s most definitely correct.” The marshal speaks. “I’ve experienced several campaigns over the years, guarding the temples and the followers of our God and I’d say that in every case it was down to machinations behind the scenes, rather than obvious threats.”
“However, I don’t think this threat is aimed at the temple.” The spymaster taps the parchments.
“Many who live among us still follow the old ways because, to be honest, there’s no law that requires them to do otherwise. They’re good, honest, hard-working people and the backbone of the trade for this region.”
He pauses for a moment and examines the other papers on the desk, particularly those with the seals from the Scottish Lord of the Isles. “If any conspiracy is afoot I’d have to say, marshal, that I’m more inclined to suspect our neighbours and their yearnings for a better bite of the trade market.”
The prince smiles. “My father’s renowned for saying that in the end it always comes down to who has the gold, who wants the gold, and what they are willing to do to get their hands on the gold.”
“You speak truly, your grace.” The marshal says. “There seems to be no limit to the evil that men will do in their search for wealth, and the greed that drives it.”
“I would assume then, from these talks of conspiracies and gold and stability and power, that we don’t think he was working alone in this matter?” Captain Yovvan asks.
“Oh, most certainly not.” The Spymaster points at the evidence.
“This type of attack took planning. Those involved were quick, clinical and brutal. The scene indicates that only one of our prince’s bodyguards managed to draw his weapon before all four of them were cut down. That speaks of organisation, and organisation requires plotting.”
“Will you be able to discern any more from these items?” The Prince Regent asks pointing at the remaining papers on the desk.
“I’ll study them carefully, sire, and inform you of anything I may learn from them. I’ve already put word out to our contacts throughout Gwynedd to listen for any rumours about this incident, or its aftermath, and to report them immediately.”
“And what of you, marshal?” The prince asks. “Could you perhaps provide a similar service through your contacts? I’m guessing that they’re many, since you spoke of campaigns in the plural.”
“Naturally, sire, we’ll be happy to help. Your family have always been staunch supporters of the church. I’ll send messengers outlining what we’ve discussed here and ask them to report back to me with anything they may overhear.”
“I thank you all, gentlemen. This is a nasty business and seeing my brother lying in his bed like that is quite upsetting. We’ve spent our whole lives together and I hope that we’ll have more years to share yet.” He turns to the spymaster. “Mister Bracken, how long until we should meet again? Tomorrow afternoon perhaps?”
“I think that would be a good time to discuss progress, your grace.”
The marshal nods. “If I have anything of interest, I’ll report it to you then.”
“I’ve increased the patrols in the town, as you requested, your grace.” Captain Yovvan rises to his feet. “By your leave, I’ll see to the night-time assignments. I’ve pulled in the reserves to handle the town and brought the most loyal guards within the castle walls to safeguard your brother.”
“I would expect no less of you, John.” The prince also rises.
“Other than informing the Lady Bronwyn of what we’ve found, there seems to be little more we can do here for now, gentlemen. Until we meet again, may Iesu light your paths.”
“You’re sure about this?” The robed figure is shocked.
“Yes, sire. I spoke with the girl Maisie, casually, she confirmed that her friend had told her this. I drew her out by telling her of a fake friend of my own who had supposedly seen something suspicious. It’s not hard to manipulate these weak-minded peasants.”
His master looks thoughtful. “This is very serious. We have to ensure that word of this doesn’t get back to the castle. Is it common gossip yet?”
“Not that I know of. As far as I can see it’s just a few of the girls on that street have heard the story and all of them heard it from Maisie.”
“Our friend’s never been seen before. I hope he’s not losing his touch. I’ll have to organise a meeting with the Capo. We can nip this in the bud before it goes any further.”
The servant girl enters to find the Lady Bronwyn sitting on the edge of her husband’s sickbed, brushing hair from his face, her eyes red rimmed and puffy.
Brother Michael glances over at her, then returns to his book.
“The Prince Regent wishes to speak with you, my lady.”
Bronwyn sniffs and turns to look at Lindy. “He knows where I am.”
“I am sorry, Lady Bronwyn, but he says he has items to discuss with you. More evidence about the plot against our prince.”
“Can’t he understand that I don’t wish to leave my husband’s side?” Her tone is angry.
The servant girl stands silently, offering no answer, her head bowed.
Bronwyn regards her and takes a breath.
“I am sorry, Lindy, I know none of this is your doing. My poor Llewellyn, lying here. I keep hoping that his eyelids will flicker, and he’ll wake up. I just want to be here when that happens.”
Brother Michael rises and bows to her. “I’ll be here with him, my lady, and should there be any sign of him regaining consciousness I’ll send someone running to fetch you. He’s in my care now, you have nothing to fear.”
“I pray that you’re correct, good brother.” She stands. “Come then, Lindy, let’s go see what they’ve found.”
“My dear Bronwyn.” David rises and meets her at the door.
“Come inside sit down and we shall discuss this. I hope you don’t mind, I asked Elena to join us because I didn’t want this to feel so formal. We’re all friends here.”
She nods and moves to the chair indicated. Lindy bustles around at the side table and in no time at all hot steaming wine appears before them.
Bronwyn smiles weakly. “You and your drinks, David.”
“Even in sad times such as this, it’s the mark of a civilised society.” His finger touches the cup. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, dear sister.”
“What news? Have the healers told you something which they haven’t told me.” She begins to sob. “Is Llewellyn going to die? I can’t bear to be without him.”
Elena rises and rushes to her side. “No. Not at all. It’s nothing like that. It’s about who attacked him.”
“Really? I’m so afraid. I just want him to be well again.”
Elena kneels by the side of the chair and pulls her close, cradling her head against her shoulder. “He’s getting the best care. You know this.”
“I just want to be with him.” Her tears flow as her voice cracks.
“You’ve been so strong, and I know you won’t fail him. David just wants to tell you what they’ve found out since it concerns someone we thought was a friend.”
She sits more upright and turns to look at David, her cheeks wet with tears. “Is it William? Did you find him?”
“No, no one has seen him yet.” He points to the items on his desk. “All of this was found by the captain and his men earlier today.”
She looks at the table and a small cry escapes her lips. “Llewellyn’s ring. You’ve found his ring. Where was it?”
“With all these other items, hidden in William’s home.”
She frowns, a little puzzled. “Why would he have Llewellyn’s ring?”
Elena strokes Bronwyn’s hair and holds her hand. “Because it seems he organised the attack.”
“No! Not William! He’s our friend. They used to go hunting all the time. They were at the tavern together last night, why would he wish to hurt Llewellyn?”
“It seems to be some kind of plot.” David points at all the documents and items on the table. “We had a meeting earlier and Charles Bracken thinks the blame for the whole thing lies with the Lord of the Isles.”
“But not William — he’s been here for years.”
“Look, Bronwyn, this brooch was found in Llewellyn’s hand, torn from the cloak. The cloak was found in William’s house, ripped where it was removed. There’s a coded message here. A black ribbon’s been attached to the ring like it was to be sent somewhere else and then all these other documents.” He slides them towards her so she can see the crests and seals upon them. “He appears to have had regular communications with our enemies.”
She
reaches up with her finger to dry her eyes and Elena passes her a handkerchief.
“Truly? All this is William’s?”
“All this and more. Did you know that he followed the old ways?”
“I hadn’t heard him say it.” She dabs her eyes. “Are you sure, David. He attended temple with Llewellyn and I several times.”
“Again, we have items that show he wasn’t a supporter of the temple.” He picks up the carved symbols and passes them to her. “Unless he was just a strange collector, these indicate that his allegiances lay elsewhere.”
“I can’t believe it. He’s not an evil man, or a country yokel to believe old superstitions. He always seemed educated.”
“I thought the same, dear sister, and always regarded the older beliefs as superstitions left over from less enlightened times, but we’re struggling to discover how he disappeared.”
“Disappeared? What do you mean?”
David takes a breath and looks down at his hands.
“The captain and his guards found him inside his house and spoke with him through the window and yet, once they gained access to the property, he was gone. There’s only one way in or out, and he didn’t use it. Our best men have spent the day looking for any hidden exit and have found none.”
“You think he somehow vanished in a puff of magic?” Bronwyn looks at him incredulously. “Like in a fairy story?”
“Truly I don’t know what to think.”
“Elena, tell him, the Old Religion is a bunch of superstitious nonsense. Remember when we met that mad old priest of theirs outside the town one day. He was wandering about the hillside, in the snow, in a robe and sandals carrying a wooden stick. I don’t think a single thing he said made sense.”
“I remember that.” Elena adds. “The guards wanted to arrest him for threatening behaviour because he was shouting something at Llewellyn. He was just a sad old man who appeared to have lost his mind.”
“Be that as it may, ladies, we’ve yet to find any other way out of the house. His escape seems impossible, and yet we don’t have him.”
Bronwyn takes a deep breath. “I still find it hard to believe that he’s tied up in all of this. He’s been a good friend to us for years, but I’m not stupid enough to ignore what you’ve found, dear Brother. I can only hope that there’s some other explanation for it.”
The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan) Page 9