The Favored Son

by Sarah Woodbury

  “You are not the only one who can investigate death.”

  Gareth glanced at Gwen, who was looking amused and alarmed at the same time. They’d often commented that investigating murder was like a disease—once you came down with the desire for knowledge, it was hard to throw it off.

  No—” Henry was still speaking, “—I have no doubt. This was murder.”

  From behind them, Llelo cleared his throat. “If I may ask a question, my lord?”

  Henry’s head swung towards the door. He’d forgotten Llelo’s existence. Gareth would make sure to compliment his son on his ability to blend into the background. It was a vital talent for men like them.

  The prince waved a hand. “Of course.”

  “You have men for this, men who are better situated to ask questions and explore possibilities without standing out as we do. If you were going to go against Earl William’s wishes anyway, why did you not ask any of them instead of sending for my parents?”

  “My uncle spoke to me many times about what happened at Newcastle-under-Lyme. He was ever observant and watched you closely throughout your visit and the subsequent investigation. He regretted that he had not taken the time to persuade you to stay in England and serve him.”

  Gareth blinked, not only at the fact that Earl Robert had spoken of the investigation many times, but at the unexpected accolade. Still, Gareth was glad Earl Robert hadn’t asked him for his service. He would have had to turn him down and risk offending him in the process. It would be a cold day indeed before Gareth and Gwen lived in England willingly and served a Norman lord. Though, as the thought passed through Gareth’s head, he immediately disciplined himself. To say never was to tempt fate, and they had come to Bristol when Henry had called—though their allegiance remained to Hywel.

  Henry continued, “One of his comments about that investigation was how important it was that you had no stake in the outcome. You stood outside any lord’s purview. I realized I needed that quality here as well.”

  In the silence that fell among them as they considered Henry’s words, Gareth could hear shouts and running feet in the corridor outside. Hearing it too, Henry rose to his feet once more and flicked his fingers in Llelo’s direction. Understanding the unspoken command, Llelo opened the door and poked his head into the corridor.

  An aged retainer was just reaching the door, and as Llelo pulled it wide, he stumbled into the room. “My lord, I have grave news.”

  Henry came around the table in order to approach the old man and catch his upper arms in each of his hands to steady him. “What is it, John?”

  “I can’t imagine how it happened. The castle is in fine repair—” He broke off, gasping a bit for air.

  Gareth was on his feet by now and came close as well. “What happened? Just say it.”

  “The steward, Sir Aubrey, was leaving the keep when one of the stones broke loose from the battlement and fell, striking him on the head. He lies dead on the ground in the inner ward.”

  Chapter Three

  Llelo

  This was more like it. Llelo had listened to everything Prince Henry had said to his parents with something akin to disbelief. If Earl Robert had been murdered, then it was astounding to Llelo that Henry had allowed three weeks to pass with no more action than finding out if Bernard could swim and summoning Llelo’s parents, regardless of William’s objections.

  In Llelo’s—admittedly not vast—experience, very few Norman barons managed to die peacefully in their beds, and Earl Robert had undoubtedly accumulated a hundred enemies, King Stephen among them, any one of whom might have wanted to end his life quickly. Never mind that the man had been at death’s door, if he thought someone had betrayed him, the traitor may have feared letting him live even a single hour longer.

  But was that traitor William, Earl Robert’s own son and heir? Llelo had never heard of William before a year ago, and he hadn’t heard good things about him since. If William knew his father was about to disinherit him, or that his father had discovered William’s plan to switch to King Stephen’s party, Llelo could see William stepping in and hurrying nature along. On the other hand, Ranulf of Chester, Robert’s son-in-law, was the devil incarnate. Why Earl Robert had given Ranulf his daughter was a question that would never be answered, but it implied to Llelo that Earl Robert put politics above all else. Perhaps he’d taught William to do the same.

  Regardless, as investigators, they had a number of possibly insurmountable barriers to discovering the truth about Robert’s death, chief among them the fact that they’d arrived late to the investigation. As a result, though they had three unexplained deaths, there were neither bodies nor crime scenes to examine and no witnesses, since the maid and the valet were the witnesses to Earl Robert’s death, barring Prince Henry himself.

  But now—now they had a new death, and they would be able to survey it within moments of it happening. They’d have a body, a scene, witnesses, and most importantly, a motive, since if Llelo had understood Prince Henry correctly, the two traitorous messages had been in Sir Aubrey’s possession, and it had been his men who’d intercepted them. In other words, covering up wrongdoing was a genuine motive for murder, ripe for investigation, and was something his whole family knew how to handle.

  Llelo knew his place—he was his father’s advance man—so he strode purposefully after the aged messenger. Thus, he was the first to reach the inner ward where the steward had died, and he edged his way through the onlookers, telling people to keep back and clear the way for Gareth, Gwen, and Prince Henry. Initially, everyone was crowded very closely around the body, so it wasn’t until the last two people gave way that Llelo could see where Sir Aubrey lay on the paving stones of the courtyard.

  Instantly, Llelo’s confidence evaporated as he gagged and put the back of his hand to his mouth, in very real danger of losing his breakfast on the ground. But he swallowed hard instead and turned all the way around, masking his discomfort by continuing to encourage the closest watchers to move farther from the scene of the crime.

  Llelo’s father wasn’t fooled and put a hand on his shoulder. “If you must vomit, find a cleared space beyond the crowd. We don’t want to mar the scene.”

  “I’m sorry.” Llelo was embarrassed at his weakness and what undoubtedly was a greenish tinge to his face. “I’m managing.” He’d seen dead bodies before, many times, but what had happened to Sir Aubrey’s head had him swallowing down bile again, even though he was no longer looking at him. The man’s skull had been half caved in, the whole right side of his head sheared off by the weight of the stone that had fallen on him. Llelo had a genuine fear that he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes tonight—or ever again—without seeing it.

  “Truly you should feel no shame—and you’re doing better than some.” With a tip of his head, Gareth indicated Prince Henry, who’d come to a halt three feet from the body. He had his hand to his mouth too, and his face had gone past green to white.

  Gwen had also taken one look at the body and turned away, as Llelo had done, to face the crowd. Henry was taller than she by several inches, but she effectively blocked his vision. She kept her hand on the back of Taran’s head, to prevent him from seeing the body too, and was speaking quietly to the prince, words which Llelo wasn’t close enough to hear.

  Gareth’s hand was still on Llelo’s shoulder, and he shook him a little. “Clear out these spectators, will you?”

  “Yes, Father.” Llelo knew Gareth would never humiliate him, but he had an urgent need not to disappoint him either. It wasn’t even that he knew for certain Gareth would be disappointed if he vomited. It would affect Llelo’s image of himself. So, in as authoritative a voice as he could muster—and in his best French—Llelo said, “Move away! Move away! Go about your business!”

  People actually obeyed, and then the closest people quickened their steps even more when Prince Henry bent over and vomited on the stones of the courtyard. Fortunately, Gwen managed to move discreetly away in time to avoid gettin
g her boots splashed.

  Then a man dressed in a deep red tunic and black cloak raced towards them, fighting the departing onlookers before bursting through a gap. Lunging forward, he caught the prince around the waist. “Henry!”

  Henry threw out a hand, practically shoving the man away. “I’m fine, Roger! Leave me be.”

  Although there could be many Rogers in the castle, the man appeared a few years older than Llelo and was well dressed, indicating this might be a younger son of Earl Robert. From Gareth, who’d given everyone a lecture on the people they’d be meeting, Llelo knew that Roger FitzRobert was supposed to be a close companion of Henry. That also meant, since he was a younger son of a Norman magnate, he was destined for the Church.

  Now Roger straightened and glared at Llelo and Gwen. “And who might you be?”

  “Leave off, Roger,” Prince Henry said in an irritated voice. Llelo knew enough of pride, however, to recognize that he was angry at himself rather than at Roger. “You know I sent for them, your spies at the gate would have told you they’d arrived, and they are here at this moment at my request.”

  Entirely calm, Gareth stepped to Llelo’s side and spoke in an undertone in Welsh. “See what you can find up on that battlement, will you, son? We’ll be following the prince’s example in that it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

  “Yes, sir.” Llelo suppressed a grin and headed at a fast but controlled walk towards the only entrance to the keep. Three feet wide, remarkably small given the size of the building, and able to admit only one man at a time, the keep’s entrance had been designed as the last defense of the castle. If enemies breached both curtain walls, the defenders inside the keep could hold off any attack through this door indefinitely.

  Llelo could appreciate Bristol’s utter focus on security and attention to every detail, even if it meant many extra steps for everyone, depending on where in the castle a person intended to go. Llelo’s countrymen had built very few stone castles, and those King Owain owned were small. Generally, he governed from his llys, or palaces, of which he had twenty from Aberffraw to Denbigh. These were far more comfortable places to live, many built over older Roman sites. While the outer walls were often stone, they were filled with comfortable wooden buildings. Most were large enough to be small villages in and of themselves.

  Now that Llelo thought about it, in fact, though very different in practice, they were not dissimilar in concept from Bristol Castle. The castle and town occupied a narrow strip of higher ground between the rivers Avon and Frome. The latter had been partially diverted to form the moat, which protected the east side of the castle. The rest of the Frome flowed around the outside of the town walls, eventually meeting the River Avon to the west. Thus, castle and town were completely surrounded by water.

  The castle as a whole ran from northwest to southeast and consisted of three wards: a far outer ward to the southeast, containing a church, domestic quarters, and a great gate, which was the primary entrance; a second outer ward behind the first, with a second large gate facing slightly northwest that allowed access to the town of Bristol; and an inner ward inside that second ward, which was protected by an inner wall with its own towers, battlements, and gate house. The square keep was inside this inner ward, and it was here, between the keep and the inner curtain wall, where the body of Sir Aubrey lay.

  The space between the wall of the keep and the curtain wall was relatively narrow, perhaps only thirty yards wide, and contained no buildings. Important rooms like the treasury and chapel were in the keep, while the craft halls, laundry, stables, and blacksmith works were in one of the outer wards. As at Newcastle-under-Lyme, Llelo also understood that somewhere in the inner ward began a postern tunnel—one that he and Dai, if they had a moment, would very much like to explore.

  Behind him, he heard his father say, “My lord, I am Gareth ap Rhys, and this is my wife, Gwen.”

  Llelo’s smile grew broader as his father declined to embellish on his identity in any way. He didn’t mention the number of deaths he’d investigated, that he was the captain of Prince Hywel’s teulu, or that he had once saved Prince Henry’s life. He said his name, as if that was enough. Unfortunately, Llelo was too far away by now to hear Roger’s reply.

  As Llelo approached the stairs, he couldn’t help but glance up, fearing another stone might fall before he reached the safety of the porch. But he made it unharmed to the door at the top of the stairway. Once inside the building, found himself in an anteroom to the great hall. They’d come through here when they’d first approached the prince an hour ago and had departed by this door when they’d learned of Sir Aubrey’s death. This time, however, instead of walking straight ahead through the much larger double doors in front of him that would take him into the great hall, he took a right and headed towards the stairwell in the corner tower.

  Llelo was determined to make up for his earlier misplaced confidence. Even if nobody else was aware of the way he’d scoffed at Henry’s suspicions, longing for a real murder he could sink his teeth into, Llelo himself knew. He counted himself fortunate that he hadn’t spoken any of his thoughts out loud to his parents. Arrogance was unbecoming in anyone, but much worse in a man who quested for the truth.

  As he took the steps up the tower two at a time, he told himself he wouldn’t make that mistake again. His father trusted him—nothing could be clearer, given the tasks he’d set him just in the last few moments—and Llelo would do his level best to live up to Gareth’s expectations.

  The top of the tower was many stories higher than the wall-walk, so Llelo arrested his journey at a doorway halfway up, coming out of the stairwell into a room set up as a comfortable place for men on watch to rest when they weren’t pacing along the wall-walk. A fireplace—not lit this morning—was set into one wall, and benches and tables took up the center of the room. Hooks, from which hung extra blankets and cloaks, had been hammered into the walls. Oddly, a dish containing what looked to be herbs sat in the middle of the table, smoking gently. Llelo leaned in to sniff at it and came away with the impression it was rosemary.

  He would have asked why a dish of herbs was burning in the center of the table, but the guardroom was empty, so he had no one to question.

  Before he could move to the doorway that would take him to the wall-walk from which the stone had fallen, footsteps pounded on the stairs and someone shouted from below, “Wait! Welshman, wait!”

  The cry could be meant only for him, so he swung around. A man a few years older than he popped out of the same stairwell Llelo had just come up.

  “The battlement is this way.” The man strode past Llelo without introducing himself. His accent indicated he was Norman, though he looked Irish, with red hair, brighter than Henry’s, and a face awash in freckles. In fact, he appeared to be a much younger version of Gareth’s friend, Conall, who served the King of Leinster, to the point that he could have been Conall’s son.

  Llelo had no reason not to follow this newcomer, who led him out onto what was effectively the roof of the keep. The man picked up the pace until they both were running along the wall-walk, which had been built around the inside of the keep’s battlement. Even more than when he’d been down in the hall, the castle reminded Llelo of Newcastle-under-Lyme, which made sense as Earl Robert had built both.

  They came to a halt, neither of them breathing hard, halfway along the walkway. While the messenger had called the fallen item a stone, it was more accurately the top half of a merlon, which was the characteristic tooth in the gap-toothed appearance of a castle battlement.

  Llelo grasped a nearby merlon, which appeared to be solid, and peered gingerly through the adjacent crenel. It was only the top of the adjacent merlon that had fallen—one stone really, though a large one, perhaps two feet by a foot and half. But since one piece had come down, there was good reason to be concerned that the rest of the wall might come down too. Below him, a group of people, his father among them, stood around the body.

  Llelo waved
a hand, catching the attention of Gwen, who stood a few feet away from the huddled men. Taran’s little head was bobbing around. Some babies’ heads still flopped to the side at this age, but Taran had been able to hold his head up almost from birth.

  Llelo made a second shooing motion with his hand to indicate that his mother should take a few steps back, and called down to her in Welsh, “Can you move the body? It’s still directly under the wall and more stones could come down at any moment!”

  He feared that he was too high up—sixty feet or more—for his words to be heard clearly, but she nodded and spoke to the others. They each glanced up in turn to the battlement before nodding too and following Llelo’s suggestion.

  Gareth personally urged away a group of five well-dressed men, including Prince Henry and Roger, even going so far as to take the prince’s elbow in order to move him out of danger. Then four guards arrived carrying a stretcher between them. As Llelo watched, each man took a limb, hefted Aubrey’s body onto the conveyance, and carried him into the middle of the courtyard, another twenty feet away from the keep. That they didn’t remove him from the area entirely told Llelo that his father felt he had more to see first. Several other men had acquired sawhorses from the craftworks and set up a barrier so nobody would walk where Aubrey had died.

  Llelo’s companion, who hadn’t said anything beyond those first few words, was studying the damaged merlon. The stone had come off cleanly, with no jagged edges, and the man traced a finger along the break. “What say you ... accident or murder?”

  Llelo blinked, surprised the man was speaking so forthrightly, but he answered in the same tone. “So you know of the prince’s suspicions?”

  The man barked a laugh. “Everyone knows of Prince Henry’s suspicions. He will think it murder, and it’s easy to see why, given all that has happened this past month. Sir Aubrey is dead! This is now the fourth death at Bristol Castle in as many weeks, the third since Earl Robert died.”