Chapter Twenty-Eight
At that first feast, Gwen scared her captors when she threw up everything she’d tried to eat. She should have known better than to consume anything more than broth after her illness on the ship, but nobody had suggested it. She’d eaten until she was full, and then thrown off the grasping hands of her guards in order to lose it all in the grass outside the hall. She’d been given leave to go to bed after that, and slept all of the next day and night. Two days in Dublin, nearly a week since she’d been at Aber. How many more before they could return home?
Gwen sat on her pallet combing her hair with her fingers. She’d slept near the main hall in a small hut, which comprised the women’s guest quarters. She was glad the Danes were civilized enough not to make her sleep in the hall. She wished she had other clothes to put on, but so far none had been forthcoming.
A young woman appeared in the doorway of the otherwise deserted room, blinking in the transition from sunshine to the darkness within the hut. “Godfrid says to come out now.”
Gwen looked up at her as she stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Excuse me?”
“Come out now,” the girl repeated. Then she added, “Godfrid says.”
“Thank you.” From the girl’s accent, Gwen didn’t think she knew much more Welsh than that. Gwen pulled on her boots, straightened her filthy dress, and followed the girl outside.
“Food and drink,” Godfrid said without preamble.
“No, how are you?; no, I’m sorry this has been so rotten?” Gwen tossed the conversation back at him. “No, I’m sorry to have taken you away from your home?”
Godfrid coughed and gave Gwen a quick bow. “How are you, Gwen?”
“Filthy and hungry, thank you for asking,” she said. “What’s to become of me?”
Godfrid allowed the smile that was in his eyes to show on his lips. “Food first.”
“Godfri—” Gwen swallowed the rest of the name at Godfrid’s quizzical look. This was a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Just as with the girl, who ran off at a gesture from him. Gwen bit her lip and looked down at her scuffed boots.
“This way.” Godfrid headed back to the hall.
Two dozen other people—men, women, and children—gathered for the meal. Gwen would have liked to sit with a family, to remind herself that she had a father and brother back in Wales—and a man who just might love her—but Godfrid nudged her towards an empty table and sat across from her.
A different girl, this one with a collar around her neck indicating her slave status, laid a full cup of beer and a bowl with the needed broth inside it.
“Eat,” Godfrid said.
“Thank you,” Gwen said to the girl, who didn’t meet her eyes. Gwen took one sip, hesitated, and then took another. The broth warmed her stomach and, for the first time in a week, she didn’t feel ill.
“Wait.” Godfrid put a finger on the rim of the bowl and forced Gwen to set it down.
“It’s all right,” Gwen said. “I won’t eat too much this time.”
Godfrid nodded. He turned sideways on the bench, leaned against the pillar that buttressed it, and crossed his arms. “Cadwaladr is not here.”
Gwen looked at him over the top of the bowl, and then gave a quick glance around the room. “Where’s he gone?”
“To Ottar,” Godfrid said.
“And that upsets you?”
Looking even more pensive, he drummed his fingers on the table. “A company of Ottar’s men went to Wales ten days ago and have not returned.”
“Oh.” Gwen took another sip of her soup and then swallowed hard, feeling a bit sick again.
Godfrid caught the nuance beneath that short utterance. “You know of it?”
“Yes,” Gwen said. “It’s why Cadwaladr is here. I suppose it’s not surprising you don’t know the whole story, given what followed.”
“Tell me.” Godfrid swung his legs down from the bench, braced his elbows on the table, and hunched over them. “I must know.” His blue eyes glared at her beneath his bushy blond brows.
Gwen sighed, not feeling like she had a choice but to tell him the whole story. “Cadwaladr hired your people—or rather Ottar’s people—to murder the King of Deheubarth, a man named Anarawd. Anarawd was to marry Owain Gwynedd’s daughter—Hywel’s sister—and was on his way to the wedding when he was murdered.”
“Ho.” Godfrid pushed off his elbows and gazed at Gwen with a stunned expression. He tsked through his teeth. “That is a tale.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Why did Cadwaladr do this?”
“I couldn’t tell you why,” Gwen said, “except that he saw an advantage in it for himself.”
“If the money was good, such a proposition would tempt Ottar, though I find it distasteful myself,” Godfrid said. “What went wrong?”
“They killed Anarawd and all his men, as Cadwaladr intended, but later they attacked the company bringing King Anarawd and his dead companions to Caerhun for burial.” Gwen shrugged. “They underestimated their opponents.”
“You mean Ottar’s men are all dead,” Godfrid said.
Gwen nodded. “Owain Gwynedd is very angry. He didn’t take kindly to Anarawd’s death and even less to Danish mercenaries being hired to see to it.”
“I see,” Godfrid said, and Gwen knew he really did see. On one hand, Godfrid may have participated in any number of similar acts, but as a prince himself, he understood that King Owain couldn’t condone what his brother had done under any circumstances. “And what will Owain Gwynedd do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Gwen said. “Cadwaladr abducted me from Aber before the King knew that Cadwaladr was behind Anarawd’s death.”
“And now he does know,” said Godfrid. “I overheard the conversation between Cadwaladr and Prince Hywel.”
“I imagine so.”
“Does it seem to you that Hywel will come to Ireland, to rescue you from his uncle?” Godfrid said. “He came to Aberffraw for you.”
“He did. But that was his own country. Hywel won’t know what bargain Cadwaladr has made with Ottar or your father. Or even if it’s with them at all. Ireland is a big country. Besides, we don’t have ships like yours.”
“Where does Cadwaladr rule in Wales?”
“Ceredigion,” Gwen said. “Lands that Owain gave him.”
“So Hywel might think he took you there?”
“It’s likely,” Gwen said. “Hywel’s responsibility will be to secure those lands for his father and root out any who remain loyal to Cadwaladr, not to chase after me.”
Godfrid held Gwen’s eyes, his gaze steady.
Gwen held her breath, not sure what he was seeing. And then…
“You don’t love him,” Godfrid said.
Gwen looked away, unable to lie that well. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand.”
“Ah, but I do.” Godfrid pointed a finger at her. “Not only do you not love him, but you are not his lover either.”
Gwen blinked. “I—” Her mind worked furiously to think of how to answer without giving the game away. “Yes, I am.”
Now, Godfrid laughed. “You are a very bad liar.” He leaned back from the table, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. “I am right. You thought you could pretend that Cadwaladr spoke the truth as long as nobody asked you about Hywel directly. Nobody has asked you directly before this.”
“No—” Gwen said.
Godfrid wagged a finger in her face. “I watch my men when they lie. You lied to me now. You are not his lover, and you don’t carry his child.” He peered at her. “You don’t carry any child. That you’ve been sick from the voyage gives cover to your lie.”
“I never lied,” Gwen said. “I never said anything to Cadwaladr about this at all. I just didn’t deny what he so firmly believed. Besides, he stole me from Aber, and once he’d done that, he would have killed me if he knew the truth.”
Godfrid folded his arms across his chest, still looking satisfied. “You survived.”
&nb
sp; Gwen straightened in her seat, relieved that he wasn’t angry. “I did.”
“And what about everything else?” he said. “Is that untrue also? What do you do in Wales when you are not captured by princes?”
“I am a bard’s daughter,” Gwen said. “I told you the truth about that. And I may not be Hywel’s lover, but I do know him well. My father was his tutor, and we are of an age.” She smiled. “We learned our Latin together.”
“So that is why he came for you,” Godfrid said.
Gwen tipped her head to acknowledge the possible truth in his words. “Perhaps. But while I may not be his lover, I am his spy.”
Godfrid gazed at her for a count of five and then threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed throughout the hall. Several of the other diners looked at him, but then turned away, smiling themselves. They were probably used to his laughter.
“Now that you tell me, I find I am not surprised,” Godfrid said, sobering. “There’s a story here you must tell me someday.”
“Someday.” Gwen paused and then dared ask, “When did you first suspect that something was wrong with Cadwaladr’s assumptions?”
“On the battlements at Aberffraw, I noted your shock when Cadwaladr told Prince Hywel you carried his child,” Godfrid said. “Hywel himself couldn’t hide his surprise, but I assumed that your reaction and his was a response to Cadwaladr’s unveiling, not that it wasn’t true. Later, I thought back to the scene and realized that you were as surprised as Hywel. And also that you were not attached to him in that way.”
“We were that obvious?” Gwen said. “I need to work on my lying.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Godfrid barked a laugh again but turned serious almost instantly. “Remember, I don’t speak your language as well as I would like. I’ve learned to watch your faces.”
“Does anyone else know, do you think?” Gwen said.
“Not Cadwaladr anyway.”
“That’s a relief,” Gwen said. “What will you do now? Will you tell your father or Ottar? The longer I stay here the more obvious it will become that all is not as Cadwaladr believes.”
Godfrid tapped a finger on his upper lip. “I will not reveal your secret. It pleases me to keep it.” He paused. “But I don’t see how Cadwaladr could not learn of it eventually. He has spies everywhere too.”
“I will pretend as long as I can,” Gwen said.
“Cadwaladr thinks only of himself,” Godfrid said. “That makes him dangerous. He will become even more so if he learns of the deception.”
“I can’t avoid his company,” Gwen said. “I am a prisoner here—whether yours or his—does it really matter?”
Godfrid pushed back from the table, preparing to stand. “I am offended.”
Gwen bit her lip. She closed her eyes, marshalling her thoughts. “I need to go home,” she said, even as she gagged at the idea of the voyage across the sea and what it would do to her. “You need to let me go home.”
“I would let you,” he said. “But I have no plans to return to Wales. It may be that you will have to wait for Cadwaladr.”
Gwen rubbed her face with both hands, repulsed by the idea but with no counter to it. “If I must, I must.”
“What if I said you did not have to?” Godfrid put his hands flat on the table and leaned his weight on them. “What if I set you free, but then you stayed in Dublin. With me.”
Gwen dropped her hands. Godfrid was looking at her as if she was the only person in the room. When she didn’t answer, he touched her chin with one finger. “Think on it.”
He straightened, the reckless grin again on his lips, and his eyes alight. Stunned, she watched him greet several men on his way down the central aisle. Then, with only one look back and an insouciant wave, so reminiscent of Hywel, he was gone.
The Good Knight Page 30