“It’s not your fault, Dai,” Hywel said. “If a lord asks you for wine, you can hardly naysay him.”
“I don’t even remember him asking.” Dai snapped his fingers at a woman who was rolling out dough. “Did you see who it was?” he said.
This was a different woman from the serving girl they’d spoken to in the hall. She began to shake her head, and then stopped. “Wait a moment.” She brushed flour from her hands and came closer. “I didn’t think anything of it because he’s come through here asking for wine a dozen times in the last two days. I was so used to it, that I didn’t remember until now.”
“Who was it?” Hywel said, his voice low and urgent. “Can you describe him?”
The woman’s brow furrowed as she thought. “He told me his name … it’s right on the tip of my tongue … there are so many lords here. He was the only one who ever spoke to me as if he saw me.”
Dai’s forehead wrinkled as he thought. “Yes, yes. That’s right. I can’t keep track. We have two dozen barons in the castle just now. We’re all run off our feet.”
“I know,” Hywel said. “I’m sorry.”
Gwen decided to risk a suggestion. She didn’t want to prejudice the woman by giving her Tomos’ name, but they were getting nowhere. “Do you know where he was from?”
“Oh yes!” The woman brightened. “He complimented my pastries and said that if I ever tired of Aber, he could use me in the kitchens at Rhuddlan.”
Gwen and Hywel gazed at her. Neither spoke. It seemed incredible that the killer could be Tomos.
The baker misjudged their horror, thinking it directed at her. “I would never go, of course.”
Gwen put a hand on her arm. “Thank you. You’ve helped enormously.”
Hywel turned to Dai. “I believe the threat has passed for now, but no food or drink goes to the high table untested.”
“I swear it,” Dai said. “I will try everything myself.”
“And I will bring it,” Gwen said.
“We both will,” Hywel said. “And Rhun too. I may be a Prince of Wales, but I am my father’s son. Today, we will serve him.”
“It won’t matter, though,” Gwen said. “They are married; the papers are signed.”
“And Lord Tomos is gone,” Hywel said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gareth left Chester behind him, riding faster than was probably wise, given the darkness. At least it wasn’t raining. He wondered how Gwen was faring at Aber and wished that he had an easy way to communicate with her, to tell her all he knew. He’d missed talking to her all those months in Ceredigion. He resolved not to waste another day, once he returned to Aber.
But should he go to Rhuddlan before heading home to Aber? Gareth stewed about it all the way from Chester, past the Dyke, and during the long miles to St. Asaph. Lord Tomos’ treachery was no less than what Prince Cadwaladr had done last summer. He’d always been a staunch friend of the king, or so they had all thought. Gareth couldn’t accuse him of betrayal and murder without stone-hard evidence.
Did the rest of the answers lie at Rhuddlan, or at Aber? He had Pedr’s ring and his statement. Was that enough? Ultimately, Gareth decided he couldn’t decide tonight and would have to stop for his horse’s sake. From the location of the moon, Gareth guessed it was after midnight. No matter what decision he reached, he couldn’t ride to Aber tonight. Perhaps Prior Rhys could help him clarify what he should do.
The road had risen steadily before him as he’d left the coast, but began to head downhill again as he neared the monastery and the Clwyd River. Gareth turned toward the gate and woke its keeper, who was none too pleased to find himself upright and in the cold after midnight. Gareth got him to open the door, however, after a reluctant, “Oh, it’s you.”
“I’ll bed down in the stables with my horse,” Gareth said. “I don’t want to put you out further.”
“Prior Rhys would have my head if I let that happen.”
Without calling for another monk, the man let Gareth into the same warming room in which he’d sat the day before. Or was it two days ago? Having had far too little sleep in the last few days, Gareth was losing track. The fire warmed the room, and Gareth smiled to see two novices curled up on the floor. The dormitory must be very cold to have forced the young men in here.
The gatekeeper grunted and prodded one of them with his toe. “Up!”
The boy opened his eyes and popped to his feet, guilt written all over his face. “Brother Anselm!”
“Get Sir Gareth, here, some food and a warm blanket. Then you can go back to sleep. In your own cot.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Thank you,” Gareth said. “I don’t want to trouble you further, but I really must speak to Prior Rhys.”
The gatekeeper stared at Gareth. “Now?”
“Yes.”
The gatekeeper grimaced, and then nodded. “Stay here.”
Gareth settled in front of the fire, thankful to be warm and indoors—and oddly alone. The other night, he’d slept in the guest dormitory with several other men: a merchant passing through with his family and two brothers mourning the loss of their mother, in whose name they’d donated a candlestick to the Abbey. Gareth couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a room entirely empty except for him. Had he ever?
After a half hour wait, Prior Rhys pushed open the door to the warming room. “So you have returned. Did you find the boy?”
“I did, Prior,” Gareth said. “As a result of my actions, Pedr was put from the city, but is otherwise unharmed. He is not to return to Wales, however. I’d appreciate it if you’d send me word at Aber if he appears in your Abbey again.”
“Of course,” Prior Rhys said, “though I am saddened by this turn of events.”
Gareth didn’t care to discuss them, though if anything he pitied the prior and his misplaced affection. “I’m sorry for rousing you, but …”
Prior Rhys studied him from under his bushy eyebrows. “I assume it is important or you would not have.”
“I have a question, and then a request.”
“Indeed.” Prior Rhys tucked his hands into the arms of his robe.
“It’s about the steward of Rhuddlan, Caradoc. You said he was a regular visitor to the Abbey. Why does he come here?”
“I’d like to say he comes for God, though I suspect it’s rather for the meal and the news we gather. Yet, he has come four times this month in a quest for medicine for one of his charges.”
“Medicine?” Gareth said. “What kind of medicine?”
“An old retainer who lives in Rhuddlan’s village is suffering from a wasting disease,” the prior said. “He has trouble sleeping. Our infirmary has a tincture that eases his pain.”
“The tincture isn’t … poppy juice?” Gareth said.
“Why, yes it is,” the prior said. “How did you know?”
“A good guess,” Gareth said, the grimness that had followed him these last days settling solidly onto his shoulders. “I don’t understand why Caradoc had to come four times, though. Didn’t you give him a bottle?”
“No, no,” the prior said. “It is far too dangerous a potion. My herbalist gives him two doses each time at most. No lay person should have access to more than that, even a man as responsible as Caradoc.”
Gareth scrubbed his face with both hands. “If I have this right, your healer gave Caradoc eight doses in all?”
“That sounds about right.”
“And when did this begin?” Gareth said.
The prior’s brow furrowed. He’d answered Gareth’s questions easily enough, but doubt was beginning to creep in. “In the beginning of November. What’s this all about?”
Gareth debated with himself as to what he should say, and then opted for the truth. “A quantity of poppy juice was used on several men at Aber. We have been searching for its source.”
“And you think it came from St. Asaph? But Caradoc has not left Rhuddlan. How would it get to—?” Prior Rhys broke off, and
then nodded. “It would have gone with Lord Tomos’ party. But surely you don’t suspect the man himself?”
Gareth merely looked at him steadily.
“I see.”
Gareth had no doubt that the prior saw far too much. “Thus, my request.”
“If I can in all conscience assist you, I will,” Prior Rhys said.
“You have already helped me considerably, and by extension, King Owain, but this is different. I need one of your laymen to ride west with a message,” Gareth said. “It is most urgent I get word of what I know to King Owain.”
“At once,” Prior Rhys said without hesitation. “Anything else?”
“I need tools with which to write.”
“Ah. A man of many talents,” the prior said. “If you wait here, I will send for what you need, and arrange for a rider.”
After a short wait, Gareth settled at a small table, ink and paper before him, wondering how to say what needed to be said. That Lord Tomos was behind the assassination and the murders, Gareth had no doubt. It had come to him on the road from Chester that he had everything at his fingertips now, except for the why of it. How long had Tomos’ resentment against King Owain festered? Years? Gareth suspected that Tomos’ treachery had been sparked the moment King Owain informed Tomos that he would be giving Rhuddlan to Cristina upon their marriage. In that instant, the king had found himself a deadly enemy.
Tomos had a magic tongue. Gareth had noticed it from the very first time he’d met him, years ago. Having spoken to the boy, Pedr, Gareth sensed that it would have taken very little to turn Pedr’s disgruntlement into rage. Had Tomos also turned Enid’s mild dislike of Cristina into open scorn? For it had to have been he who convinced her to dose the men who guarded the assassin and Lord Goronwy. And then afterwards, when she’d done his bidding, he killed her.
In the end, Gareth didn’t have the skill to say all of this in a note. He could read well, but had never truly mastered the art of writing. Instead he scratched: Spoke to assassin, found ring and source of poppy juice. Suspect Tomos of Rhuddlan. He signed the note, affixed his seal to the outside, and gave it to the young man whom Prior Rhys had found to make the journey.
“Take this to Sir Madoc, the captain of the garrison at Caerhun, and from there he is to deliver it into the hands of Prince Hywel. If Prince Hywel cannot receive it, Gwen, my betrothed and the daughter of the court bard, may take it. Only if she too is absent should he give it to King Owain. I’ve written that on the outside.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Tell him that I will follow in the morning.” Gareth handed the messenger the ring. “And give that to him too.”
* * * * *
Morning came, and with it, Gareth found himself more at ease than he’d been for many days. He’d taken what precautions he could. He wasn’t looking forward to confronting Tomos at Aber, but nonetheless, looked to his duty. He took leave of the prior, mounted his horse, and turned its head towards home. When he reached the crossroads that could have taken him north to Rhuddlan, Gareth hesitated, but then passed it by. King Owain could send a company of his men, if needed. Gareth imagined that Rhuddlan’s accounts might take some looking into.
Gareth hadn’t gone more than two miles past the crossroads, however, when a group of riders swung around a curve in the road ahead of him. He’d heard the hooves, but the clear winter air had disguised their number. Tomos of Rhuddlan rode at their head.
Gareth gaped at him, his mind working furiously, but he managed to school his expression before Tomos approached closely enough to make it out.
“Praise be to God, you’re alive!” Tomos reined in at Gareth’s side. “Gwen will be so happy.”
“I hope so,” Gareth said.
“But what are you doing so far from Aber?” Tomos said.
Gareth tried to think of what to say that wouldn’t be an outright lie. He wasn’t a very good liar, and he knew that Tomos, as an excellent one, might see right through it. “Pursuing an inquiry for Prince Hywel.”
“That’s just as well!” Tomos said. “I have just come from Aber. After you left, Prince Cadwaladr fled the castle, and then yesterday evening, I received word that he’d sequestered himself at Rhuddlan.”
“Really?” Gareth cursed himself for his stupidity. That Tomos would leave Aber before the king’s wedding hadn’t occurred to him.
“Since you are here, you must come with me to Rhuddlan and confront him,” Tomos said.
While they’d been speaking, Tomos’ men had encircled Gareth, boxing him in. Before Gareth could protest, one of them caught Dewi’s bridle and turned his head to the east. He shouldn’t have done it. Gareth had been wavering, wondering if he’d gotten it all wrong, but that small act was not that of an innocent man.
“Of course.” Gareth thanked the saints that he’d sent Pedr’s ring on to Aber. Perhaps Tomos wouldn’t search him, but he had to be wary. Tomos couldn’t know what Gareth knew, nor guess that he wouldn’t easily accept Cadwaladr as the culprit, no matter how much he hated him. Someday Cadwaladr would slip again and Gareth hoped to see him finally pay for his crimes. But it was Tomos that Gareth was worried about today.
Chapter Twenty-Five
To his credit, King Owain had given Cristina the wedding night she deserved, but by late afternoon the next day, he left his bride asleep in their room so that he could expend his rage on his sons. He stormed around the hall, gesticulating and cursing to Rhun and Hywel (though not at them)—and anyone else who had the fortitude to withstand it, including Gwen. After every circuit of the room, he’d stop in front of her, put a hand on her shoulder to look into her eyes, and then storm off again.
“What has that boy been up to? Christ on the cross! He’s gotten himself into a pit of vipers and now we have to go in after him.” King Owain stabbed a finger at Hywel, who was so used to his father’s temper by now that he didn’t shrink under the force of King Owain’s glare.
“Gareth did only what we asked of him,” Hywel said.
“God damn it!” King Owain turned on Madoc, the captain of the garrison at Caerhun, who’d brought Gareth’s message to Aber personally. “You’re sure that Gareth was supposed to ride for Aber this morning?”
“Yes,” Madoc said. “It’s thirty miles and he could have dallied, but …”
“Gareth wouldn’t have dallied,” Hywel said. “He could have reached here by noon if he changed horses at Caerhun.”
“If his horse went lame …” Gwen said.
“It’s possible,” Hywel said. But Gwen heard doubt in his voice and her heart quailed.
“Are your men prepared, Madoc?” Rhun said.
“I warned them to be ready to march, if need be, my lord,” Madoc said. “Just give the word.”
“The word is given,” King Owain said.
Madoc pressed his heels together and turned away, but not before glancing at Hywel, who nodded. They’d see to it that they had enough men to threaten Rhuddlan.
King Owain turned on Gwen. “Explain to me how Tomos could have done any of this.”
“I know it’s hard to believ—
“He murdered two of my subjects!”
Gwen took a step backward, and King Owain threw out a hand to her. He took in a deep breath and added, “I am sorry. He has been a trusted compatriot and a good friend for many years and his treachery has taken me by surprise.”
“He had opportunity, Father. And he had motive, as difficult as it is to credit,” Hywel said.
King Owain’s outrage was palpable. “What motive? What would he gain by my death?”
“Lord Tomos didn’t want to kill you,” Gwen said. “He wanted to stop you from marrying Cristina.”
“What?” King Owain turned back to Gwen. “Why?”
“You were taking the estate of Rhuddlan away from him,” Gwen said.
King Owain hadn’t understood—really understood—until that moment. His face drained of all color and he took a step towards Gwen. “He murdered two people ove
r … over … a few parcels of land?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Gwen said, “but I imagine the Rhuddlan accounts are in disarray.”
All the heat left King Owain. He gazed at the fire for a long count of ten. “I had arranged to bestow Nefyn on him.” His bewilderment was plain.
“It may be that he’s been stealing from you for some time,” Hywel said.
“My lord,” Gwen said, “may I show you something?”
“Of course,” he said, “if it will help me understand.”
Gwen led the way to the small room in the barracks where Enid’s body lay beside Ieuan’s. It had been cold enough the last two days that the bodies hardly smelled.
Gwen picked up Enid’s wrist and showed the king the brand on her palm. “Do you see this symbol?”
Hywel took the ring that Madoc had brought from his scrip and handed it to his father. Carefully, the king pressed the signet to Enid’s palm. It was a perfect match.
King Owain bent his head. “I’ve seen this ring on Tomos’ finger many times. An ugly thing, I’ve always thought.”
Gwen shook her head in disgust. As was often the case, it was a matter of asking the right questions. Not that King Owain might have believed any of this of Tomos before today. He’d proved that with Cadwaladr, though his brother was much closer to him and his betrayal that much harder to encompass.
Then, King Owain’s eyes narrowed. “Tomos wasn’t wearing it the other day. I noted it specifically, to the point that yesterday, I asked him where it had got to.”
Gwen’s throat tightened. “And because you asked him an innocent question, Tomos fled, though not before making one last attempt to postpone the wedding. He thought we were closing in on him.”
“We were,” Hywel said, “but apparently not as quickly as Gareth was.”
King Owain handed the ring to his son. “We ride within the hour. I will sleep tonight at Caerhun and tomorrow I will honor the monks at St. Asaph with my presence.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the barracks. Cristina was about to hear some bad news.
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