The Favored Son

by Sarah Woodbury

  Gareth rose to his feet. At one time, he would have felt intimidated by speaking before this august company, but not anymore. He knew these men now, and he’d been in similar positions before. He also had begun to realize that the sooner he laid these murders to rest, the sooner he could take his family home. Llelo was wounded, but he would heal better if he could see the mountains of Wales from his window.

  “If you will indulge me for a moment, I will begin at the beginning.” Gareth gestured to Prince Henry. “The prince asked me to come to Bristol because he feared that his uncle had been murdered, and the fears were only heightened by the additional deaths of Earl Robert’s maidservant and valet, a married couple. Within an hour of our arrival, we were faced with a fourth death, that of Sir Aubrey, Earl Robert’s steward. By this point, it seemed apparent to us that all four deaths not only must be related, but could not be accidental.”

  He took in a breath. “We were wrong on all counts.”

  A murmur swept around the room, and Gareth put up a hand. “That is not to say that murder has not been done, and I will get to that in a moment. Let me dispense first with these four: As you know, Earl Robert had been ill for many months. In light of the testimony of various witnesses who came forward during the course of this investigation, both Earl William and Prince Henry feel it safe to conclude that he died of natural causes.

  “The second death, that of the maidservant, was a surprise in that she was young. She was pregnant, however, and consultation with the castle midwife revealed that the pregnancy had not been going well.” He sighed. “It is not an unreasonable conclusion that she too died a natural death, even if a premature one.”

  He put out a hand and pointed to the door. “Which brings us to the third death, that of Earl Robert’s valet. He, as you must know by now, is not dead.”

  At a nod from Gareth, Evan opened the door and gestured the hapless Bernard into the room. He stood, hesitating on the threshold, until Gruffydd and Cadoc, who had hold of his upper arms, urged him inside. His hands weren’t tied, but with so many men in the room, nobody was concerned that he would get away. Unfortunately for him, admitting to treason was as likely to get him hanged as murder. Possibly more likely. Gareth wasn’t sure Bernard had figured this out yet. Mabs had tried to intervene on his behalf to her half-brother, but William’s face had remained stony, and Gareth was uncertain as to whether her attachment to Bernard made the earl more or less likely to hang him.

  Bernard was followed by Charles, who was staunchly maintaining his haughty demeanor.

  Gareth gestured expansively. “I give you Bernard, our wayward valet. By his own admission, he faked his own death to get away from his creditors. Charles, however, is a spy for William of Ypres.”

  Both William and Henry had known this, of course, and neither moved even an eyelash. The other lords in the room—Ranulf, the Clares, Cadwaladr too—surged to their feet in outrage.

  Prince Henry lifted his hand at the wrist. “Please be seated, everyone. Continue, Sir Gareth.”

  Gareth obliged: “Charles arrived in Bristol many years ago after Stephen’s failed attempt to take the castle by force, with the single goal of insinuating himself into the household. According to Bernard, Charles planned to open the castle to Stephen’s men on Christmas Day.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Charles’s nose was in the air. “Everything you’ve said is a lie.”

  “Rose and Aelfric are dead by your hand,” Gareth said. “You deny killing them?”

  “Of course I do.” He was standing before them with his arms bound behind his back, but with his legs spread so he looked like a man-at-arms at rest rather than a prisoner. His shoulders were straighter than Gareth had ever seen them, and he seemed to be wavering between maintaining his mild-mannered persona and defiance.

  Gareth turned to the surprised barons. “Charles was also working with the guard, Aelfric. Their goal at first was to collect information and perhaps make a little mischief while they were at it. We’ve noted the wards against evil spirits about the castle. Charles’s intent was to capitalize on the fear the deaths created and to make it worse. These last weeks, he and Aelfric have made little things go wrong, from soured milk to strangely clogged latrines to—” he canted his head, “—broken masonry.”

  “You’re saying that Sir Aubrey’s death really was an accident?” Even Cadwaladr was aghast at the villainy.

  Gareth frowned as he looked at Charles. “That was a piece of bad luck, wasn’t it?”

  “Why do you say bad luck, Gareth?” Ranulf said. “It paved the way for Charles to become steward.”

  Gareth’s past encounters with the Earl of Chester hadn’t always been pleasant, but he was an intelligent man, if amoral. “Charles didn’t want the job, and quite liked staying in Sir Aubrey’s shadow, especially as Aubrey’s mind wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. It was the perfect cover for him. That’s why he didn’t object to Lord Fitzharding’s assumption of responsibility for the castle. His intent was to be as plain as the day is long, competent but unassuming.

  “Sir Aubrey’s death also focused attention on the troubling atmosphere at Bristol and gave credence to the idea that a killer was loose in the castle. It was the last thing Charles wanted—and I believe he panicked. He killed his co-conspirators rather than risk them talking.”

  “Why did Charles ransack Aubrey’s rooms?” William said.

  Charles answered for himself with a sneer. “I didn’t.”

  Hamelin cleared his throat and put up a hand. “He’s right. That wasn’t Charles. I did it.”

  Even Gareth gaped at him, taken entirely by surprise. “Why?”

  “Because I asked him to.” Now everyone swung around to look at Prince Henry. “I had given to Sir Aubrey for safekeeping the messages we’d intercepted. I needed them in hand to prove my cousin had betrayed my mother and his father.” The young prince looked genuinely sheepish. “He didn’t find them, and I was wrong on all counts.” He stood and bowed to William. For a future king to bow to one of his earls was unheard of, and yet he did it. “Forgive me, cousin. I was lost in grief.”

  “It is forgiven and forgotten.” William stood and bowed back.

  Gareth shook his head in disbelief. “Thank you, my lord Hamelin, for clearing that up. I had assumed Charles realized his mistake and was looking for either the notes or the lists.”

  “What lists are these?” Ranulf said.

  Gareth explained again: “Since Earl Robert’s death, Sir Aubrey had been noting everyone who entered and left the castle. According to his granddaughter, Aubrey studied the lists all the time, as he was struggling with the acuity of his memory. In the days before he died, he became convinced that he was missing something important about them. She never figured out what was bothering him—and he didn’t either—or if he did, by morning he couldn’t remember it.”

  Henry scowled. “But now we know.”

  “The lists.” William was shaking his head. “You had your finger in every pie, Charles. How did I not see it?”

  “Nothing this Welshman—” of course Charles accompanied the word with another sneer, “—has said about me is true.”

  William looked down at his hands as they rested on the table near the relevant pieces of paper. He shoved them towards Charles. “Don’t lie to me anymore. You have literally been betrayed by your own hand.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Gwen

  Thankfully, Gwen hadn’t had to sew up Llelo’s wound, but she’d watched with an eagle eye as Denis had done it. If the healer hadn’t been English and living in Bristol, she might have suggested to Saran that she learn from him. Saran didn’t speak more than a few words of French or English, however, so perhaps it was never meant to be.

  Saran wouldn’t have liked to leave Wales either—or her new husband.

  Gwen herself, if she hadn’t been so concerned about Llelo, would have been riveted.

  Llelo had been dosed with poppy juic
e, and he woke to find Gwen and Dai on either side of him. Taran had nursed and was back at the priory with Angharad. Soon, Gwen would need to go to him and Tangwen, who’d been deprived of her mother far too much today.

  He blinked at Gwen. “Is it done?”

  “You will heal, God willing,” Denis said from behind her.

  Llelo coughed, and Dai helped him drink a sip of water. “I didn’t mean me. I meant the investigation. What did I miss?”

  Gwen narrowed her eyes at her son. “You want that now?”

  “Of course I want it now.”

  “You might as well give him what he wants.” Boots scraped on the threshold to the infirmary, and Gareth entered the room, followed by Hamelin.

  “Why did Charles do it?” Llelo asked.

  “Fundamentally, he is loyal to his king. He had principles, misguided as we might think they are, and stuck to them doggedly.” Gareth gestured to Hamelin. “Means, motive, and opportunity, you said. He had all three, all this time.”

  “I don’t understand why he showed his hand when opening the castle to Stephen at the Christmas feast was his goal,” Llelo said. “He had only a month to wait!”

  “He overthought, as many villains do,” Gareth said. “He knew that we had been sent for, and he feared his best laid plans were going awry at the last moment. Truthfully, if he hadn’t murdered Aelfric and Rose, we might never have caught him, and he would have been able to wait us out.”

  “There were still the lists.” Gwen patted Llelo’s shin, fairly certain it was one place that didn’t hurt. “Well done, you, on that.”

  “It was Father who finally saw it,” Llelo pointed out.

  Hamelin shook his head. “You saved a man’s life. How did you know to do it?”

  “I didn’t.” Llelo gestured weakly to Gareth. “From the moment the manhunt started, we had been concerned that someone would kill Bernard before he could talk. So when Charles pulled out that knife, I had to stop him.”

  Gareth bent to kiss Llelo’s forehead. He seemed about to speak, but then he gripped his son’s upper arm—on his left side, opposite the wound—tightly. “The risk—”

  Gwen patted Llelo again. “We have talked, your father and I, about putting our family in danger. We have sworn not to, and yet here we’ve done it again.” She gestured to Dai. “You almost died last summer at Dinefwr, and now Llelo here. I don’t know—” she found herself swallowing back tears as well, but she managed to conclude, “what’s to be done.”

  Llelo was weak, but the growl in his throat was unmistakable. “You speak as if you did this to me. I chose to follow in your footsteps. And you could hardly be blamed for Dai being poisoned at an event where we thought we were at peace. These decisions are our own to make.”

  Gwen was rocked backwards slightly by Llelo’s adamancy. She couldn’t believe her son was comforting her instead of the other way around. “I’m your mother. I can’t—”

  Llelo put out a hand, first to her and then to Gareth, who still held him too. “I’m your son, but I’m also a man. You have to let me do what I must.”

  “He’s right, you know.” Gareth straightened and came around the bed to Gwen. “Come. Let’s leave these young people to reflect on their triumphs.”

  Hamelin took Gwen’s place at the edge of Llelo’s bed. Since it would be days before Llelo could travel, they were stuck at Bristol still—time enough to cement a friendship with Hamelin that Llelo would not regret in the future. Gwen herself had never imagined that she could be treated so well in an English castle. These English had turned out to be just people after all, with all the same fear, strife, love, and joy that she had. She would be sorry, if Gareth’s assessment turned out to be correct, to find her lord and her country once again on the opposite side of a conflict with the English. Sadly, with the way the war was going in England, it seemed inevitable.

  As they left the infirmary for the wall-walk of the outer ward, Gwen took Gareth’s hand. “You have pulled me away for a reason, haven’t you?”

  They were on the western side of the castle. It was raised up above the countryside, so they could see the River Severn from where they stood.

  “Other than because you were hovering over your grown-up son unnecessarily?” Gareth grimaced. “Cadwaladr.”

  Gwen hummed deep in her chest. “What don’t I know?”

  “The conference has concluded. Henry’s plan is to return to France to gather an army—and the support of his father—so he can take back England for his mother. Cadwaladr intends to go with him.”

  Gwen swallowed down a shocked what? “Why would Prince Henry allow it?”

  “Because while nobody trusts Cadwaladr, and none of the other barons want him in their court, he has pledged his life to Henry.”

  “He has no lands of his own outside of Wales. Why would Henry even want his allegiance?”

  “Because it’s either take him with him or cut him loose.”

  Gwen’s stomach sank into her boots. “At which point he would return to King Stephen.”

  “Nobody doubts it. Ranulf, in particular, had a few choice words to say about our treacherous prince. They are relations by marriage, but there’s no love lost there.”

  “And still, as we know, Ranulf isn’t above using Cadwaladr.”

  “Which is why Ranulf chose to speak of his concerns only to me and Henry. Ranulf backed up Hamelin’s explanation of Cadwaladr’s treachery, by the way, and embellished upon it. We should have no fear that Henry will trust him, but—”

  Gwen sighed. “He is not above using him.”

  “I wish I could kill him.”

  “Honor is a pesky thing, my love.”

  Suddenly, Gareth laughed. “I can’t be sorry for it.” He lifted his chin to point back the way they’d come. “You only have to look at the men our sons have become.”

  The End

  Historical Background

  On October 31, 1147, Robert, Earl of Gloucester, died peacefully in his bed. With his death, Empress Maud’s chances of gaining the throne of England received a serious setback. Prince Henry was only fourteen, and since his invasion of England in the spring of 1147 had ended so miserably, it would be several more years before he could muster the support to try again. Maud left England in early 1148, never to return. We’ll get to that story in a later book ...

  Unfortunately, Bristol Castle no longer exists, other than a few ruins, which include the gate to the tunnel under the keep and the sally port into the dry moat by the town gate near St. Peter’s Church. Most of what remained after the medieval period was destroyed during the bombing in World War II.

  Robert of Gloucester was one of the most powerful men in England in his time. Certainly he was one of the richest. One of his longest-lasting legacies (other than my birth, as you shall see below) is the sponsorship of the work of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote The History of the Kings of Britain, which he dedicated to Robert in 1136.

  Geoffrey is the author who first placed Arthur in the line of British kings, and it is his stories that sparked the growth of Arthurian literature. “Such an action not only asserted the historicity of Arthur but also gave him an authoritative history which included many events familiar from later romance.” http://www.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/geoffrey.htm

  As a side note, the story of Sir Aubrey’s death is a case of truth being stranger than fiction. While Aubrey himself is fictional, his death is based on the actual death of a real person. While at Montgomery Castle, I noticed a plaque on the gatehouse wall describing the sudden death of a woman from a stone falling from the battlement. She had come to the castle seeking the return of a cooking pot someone in the kitchen had borrowed from her. Her death was deemed an accident. Sadly, Gareth and Gwen weren’t available to look into it.

  On a more personal note, before researching this book I had already discovered that I am a descendent of many medieval kings, including King Owain’s father, Gruffydd, through his daughter Gwenllian. Imagine my delight, then, to lea
rn that I am also descended from King Henry I of England through Robert of Gloucester himself. Robert’s illegitimate daughter, Mabel, known as Mabs in this book, married Gruffydd ab Ifor Bach, Lord of Senghenydd. I descend directly from one of their children. As my son is wont to say, how cool is that?

  ___________

  Thank you so much for continuing this journey to the Middle Ages with me! To sign up to be notified the moment the next Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery is available, please see the sidebar on my web page:

  http://www.sarahwoodbury.com/

  You can also connect with me on Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/sarahwoodburybooks

  Read on for the first chapter from the latest book in the After Cilmeri series, available at all retailers:

  https://www.books2read.com/shadesoftime

  Sample: Shades of Time

  19 March 1294

  After midnight

  Anna

  Anna pulled her thick cloak closer around herself, chilled to the bone by the damp air and fog that had enveloped her small company at this higher elevation. The fog also muffled the slight conversation among her companions, which included another midwife, Mair, and five men-at-arms.

  The torchlight barely penetrated five feet on any side, and Anna wished she had a torch—or better yet, a flashlight—of her own. She was glad her children weren’t here. Though she was only a few miles from home, it was one of those nights when danger lurked around every corner, and the hollow sound of the horses’ clopping hooves on the hard-packed dirt of the road forebode the arrival of the old Welsh gods.