Chapter Thirty-One
Gareth didn’t see Gwen again until they were loading the boats for the voyage to Wales. The martial nature of the expedition was immediately obvious. The Danes took on supplies, although by Gareth’s estimate, only food for the journey and the initial day or two in Wales. Either the Danes were assuming this would be over quickly, or that they could plunder the countryside. As it was late August, the pickings would be easy.
“You will sail with me,” Godfrid said to Gareth, as they heaved crates and satchels into the ship, to be stored in the prow or stern.
Danish ships had no below-decks, since their keels were so shallow. It allowed them to pull right up to a beach and push off just as easily, but meant that pillaging—or foraging, as Godfrid preferred to call it—was a way of life. Two dozen men settled easily into their rowing positions. As this was a fighting ship, even though it was large enough to cross the Irish Sea, there was no space for men who couldn’t do double-duty. Or triple. Warriors rowed as easily as slaves, and it kept them busy through the long days and nights of travel.
Godfrid stood on the edge of the dock and gazed out to sea, his eyes tracing the clouds that were rarely absent, even in August.
“What is it?” Gareth stepped forward to look with him.
“Rain and a little wind,” Godfrid said. “Nothing with which to concern yourself.”
Gareth’s thoughts went to Gwen and her fragile stomach, and his own clenched. Many Welsh were fishermen, but he was not, and though he’d travelled to Ireland and back twice now, he’d not fallen in love with sea journeys as some did. Perhaps if Gareth had spent his life on the sea as Godfrid had, he’d be as familiar with its moods as he was with the mountains of Snowdonia. There, he could find a trail or track a deer across woods, moor, and fields. Here, all he saw was water.
Gareth had been given no chance to speak to Gwen, though he’d tried. He’d caught a glimpse of her a moment ago, standing in the prow of Cadwaladr’s ship. She’d looked over and lifted a hand to him, though she didn’t smile, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her.
“She’s all right. I made sure of it.” Godfrid grunted as he set down the last sack and shot him a glance from under his bushy eyebrows. “She sleeps in a room with Ottar’s women. No one has touched her.”
Gareth nodded his thanks. Fear for her had sickened him throughout the last two days. He’d had to force back thoughts of storming into Ottar’s hall and demanding her return. But Gwen herself would have been angry at him for that—for calling attention to himself and putting himself at risk over nothing. For what she might call nothing. To Gareth’s mind it was nothing short of torture.
Godfrid raised his fist and the ship got underway. As when they’d sailed west, the men rowed until they reached more open sea, and then hoisted the sail. Their ship was one among eight, nearly two hundred and fifty men in all, bought with Cadwaladr’s promise of money.
“Has he paid anyone any gold yet?” Gareth asked Godfrid. He was watching Gwen, three boats over, and noted the moment she sank to her knees by the rail. She faced away from him, probably on purpose.
“Brodar took gold from Aberystwyth before it burned,” Godfrid said. “Cadwaladr promised us two thousand marks this time, but according to Brodar, the five hundred he took from the castle was all Cadwaladr had.”
“The men who attacked Anarawd’s company carried no gold either,” Gareth said. “Cadwaladr must not have paid them yet.”
“As he has not paid us.” Godfrid eyed Gwen’s boat. Cadwaladr stood proudly at the helm.
“He will double-cross you too, if it suits him,” Gareth said.
“We won’t let him.”
Gareth shrugged. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop him, especially since he appears to have Ottar’s trust.”
“Let’s just say that my father is not Ottar. I spoke to him of Cadwaladr’s treachery, of the murder and Owain Gwynedd’s reaction.” Godfrid glanced at Gareth. “What troubled my father the most was the sloppiness of Cadwaladr’s plans. He is more unreliable than we’d thought.”
“I’ve been doing some thinking myself these last few days,” Gareth said. “About that murder and the aftermath.”
“Tell me.” Godfrid’s eyes flicked from one aspect of his domain to another in rapid movements—to the oarsmen, to the cargo, to his men working in the rigging of the ship—but he was listening.
“Anarawd left Dolwyddelan a day earlier than he’d originally planned,” Gareth said. “It wasn’t by design, but because he was impatient to reach Aber and his bride. As it turns out, Cadwaladr’s mercenaries were ready for him anyway. This you know.”
Godfrid nodded.
“Later, however, three more people died: a servant at Aber, a Dane, knifed and skewered through the belly in an abandoned fort not far from the ambush site, and a young stable boy at Dolwyddelan Castle.”
Now, Gareth had Godfrid’s full attention. “And Cadwaladr killed all these too? Or had them killed?”
“It’s hard to see that Cadwaladr was actually at the ambush, even if he paid for it. He’s never been fond of getting his hands dirty—but the others? I don’t know.” Gareth shook his head.
Godfrid sniffed. “Anarawd was dead. That was all that mattered. Cadwaladr should have been satisfied with that.”
“Cadwaladr has never been one for measured thinking,” Gareth said.
“Were you numbered among Owain Gwynedd’s men who killed the mercenaries?” Godfrid said.
“Yes,” Gareth said. “As was Gwen, though she was caught up in all this innocently enough, since her family was traveling the same road as Anarawd for the same reason—to attend the wedding. They were to provide the entertainment.”
“Huh,” was all Godfrid said.
“The stable boy and the servant are different matters. Their deaths were clearly designed to cover up wrongdoing: the servant because she was paid to poison me, and the stable boy because he was paid to sabotage Anarawd’s horse, whether to delay him until the mercenaries had readied their ambush, or to make him an easy target when they came upon him. But he nobbled the wrong horse.”
“And you know this—how?” Godfrid said.
“The horse he hurt belonged to Gwen’s father.”
“Why do you think this is something I should know?”
“Because you must understand that once Cadwaladr has what he wants, or feels close to getting it, it’s highly unlikely you will ever see your two thousand marks,” Gareth said. “What is the point of bringing you to Wales except to force King Owain to accept him back and restore his lands? And once he has done that, why should Cadwaladr pay you for your services? He won’t need you anymore, because he’ll be back in the king’s good graces.”
“He will pay us because we will ravage his lands if he doesn’t,” Godfrid said, a growl forming in his throat.
“But by doing so, you risk King Owain’s wrath and the full weight of his armies against you,” Gareth said. “I’m surprised your father didn’t think of this already.”
Godfrid let the silence drag out while he stared over the water, towards Wales, though they couldn’t yet see it. Finally, he nodded his head. “We did think of it. My father spoke with me before I left about the possibility of changing course, should it become necessary.”
“Changing course—you mean going back to Dublin? What about Gwen?”
“Not to Dublin, to Aber,” Godfrid said. “Through me, my father would have a word with your king.”
Gareth stared at him. “You would go against Ottar?”
“You object to the idea?” Godfrid said.
“Of course not.” Gareth adjusted his expression. “I’m delighted. King Owain has no wish to fight the combined might of the Kings of Dublin.”
Godfrid grunted and folded his arms across his chest. Gareth had told Prince Cadwaladr’s son, Cadfan, that politics were best left to others, but in this matter, it seemed Gareth himself couldn’t avoid them.
Th
ey’d left at dawn, in hopes of reaching Anglesey before nightfall on the second day out, given that the winds were from the west (thus behind them), unlike when they’d sailed west and had to tack against them the whole way to Ireland. High winds rocked them that first night, however, with rain and storm so severe it was only the direction of the wind that told them which way to sail. Godfrid claimed the storm was a blessing from God on his course of action.
Gareth couldn’t argue with that, since he didn’t want Godfrid to have second thoughts about betraying Cadwaladr, even if Gareth had to spend the entire time fearing for Gwen. But he would have done that anyway.
The storm blew the boat off course—all of the boats, in fact—such that they lost track of the fleet in the night. Each captain put a lantern in the prow, but between the high waves and the wind, by midnight, Godfrid’s ship was alone in the Irish Sea.
At one point, Godfrid found Gareth cowering in the stern, trying to shield his face from the rain. “We’ll steer to the north and sail around Anglesey. God smiles upon us. He approves of this new plan.”
Gareth didn’t know about that. “And the other boats?”
“Cadwaladr’s intent was to land at Abermenai, at the mouth of the Menai Strait, on Anglesey.”
“He might have already reached shore, given these winds,” Gareth said.
“Or he too could have been blown off course,” Godfrid said. “His boat could be just on the other side of the next wave for all we know.”
“If we don’t want him to discover us, we should douse the lantern,” Gareth said.
Godfrid cursed, having forgotten it. He shouted to a man in the prow, who extinguished the light, plunging the boat into darkness.
Dear God. Keep Gwen safe.
The waves rolled on and, eventually, Gareth fell into a fitful sleep. The storm gradually spent itself, and by first light, Gareth woke to find that not only were none of the other boats in sight, but they were already skirting the northern tip of Anglesey.
The rain subsided to a drizzle and, tugging his sodden cloak closer, Gareth staggered to where Godfrid was addressing several of his men. He was speaking in Danish but turned as Gareth approached.
“At present rate, we’ll reach Aber before another two hours have passed,” Gareth said, by way of greeting.
“What will your king think when he sees a Danish ship riding up on his beach?” Godfrid said.
Gareth laughed, his dark mood lifting as they neared the Gwynedd shore. “He won’t be happy. But he should be wise enough not to shoot first and ask questions later.”
Godfrid guffawed and clapped Gareth on the back. “I like the way you think. I leave this in your hands.”
“At the very least, I should ride in the prow,” Gareth said. “If Hywel returned from Ceredigion in good order, he will know that I went to Dublin.”
“Prince Hywel will forgive you the impulse?” Godfrid said.
“I hope so,” Gareth said. It didn’t matter so much if Hywel forgave him or not at this point, unless it meant that Gareth was out on his ear again. For Gareth’s part, he knew going to Dublin had been the right decision, though that would be small comfort when his purse was empty.
Gareth watched the shoreline with some apprehension. The watchers on Aber’s battlements saw them coming long before they reached the shore. They had time to organize a company of men. One Danish ship wasn’t as much of a threat to Aber as many more would have been. It was only as they neared the beach that Gareth spared a thought for the uncertainty involved and that he hadn’t had time to think this through thoroughly before facing a potentially angry king.
The soldiers came on at a trot, and Gareth’s heart lifted to see Hywel’s banner streaming above the cavalry. It was Hywel himself, with two dozen men arrayed behind him. Exactly as Gareth had hoped.
While the others waited in the boat, which Godfrid deliberately did not beach, Gareth leapt out, soaking himself to his knees, and waded into shore.
“My lord.” Gareth bowed his head.
“I’m glad to see you in one piece, my friend,” Hywel said. “What have you brought us?”
With that, Gareth understood that it was going to be all right. This one sentence that acknowledged Gareth’s absence might be all Hywel ever said of Gareth’s decision to leave Wales without permission.
“Godfrid ap Torcall.” Gareth waved a hand behind him for Godfrid to come forward. Still, Godfrid didn’t beach the boat. He stepped over the rail as Gareth had and trudged the short distance to Prince Hywel’s stirrup.
He held out his hand in greeting, as one king’s son to another. “I am pleased to meet you, Hywel ap Owain Gwynedd. I bring you greetings from my father, King Torcall of Dublin.”
Hywel leaned down to clasp Godfrid’s forearm. “If you come in friendship, you are welcome.”
“I do,” Godfrid said. “May I invite my men ashore?”
“Certainly,” Hywel said. “You are my guests.”
“I believe your father will be interested in what I have to say.”
“I will take you to him,” Hywel said.
Godfrid gestured to his crew and, with one stroke, the oarsman had them on the beach. Godfrid left two men to guard the ship and the rest paired off to march behind him. The mounted Welshmen surrounded them, but since Hywel himself had dismounted so as to continue on foot with Gareth and the Danes, Gareth hoped it didn’t make them feel that they were prisoners, any more than he’d felt like a prisoner in Dublin. Hywel had even allowed them to keep their weapons.
“Was your venture in Ceredigion successful?” Gareth asked his prince.
Hywel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “Successful enough. We will speak later.”
Gareth nodded, understanding that Hywel didn’t want to talk in front of Godfrid. “Yes, my lord.”
When they reached Aber, Godfrid looked with interest at the gates, their accompanying towers, and the work being done on the wall. “Stone, eh?” he said to Gareth in an aside.
“You may note that it doesn’t burn like wood,” Gareth said.
Godfrid barked a laugh. “You have the right of it.”
Then they were through the gate, across the courtyard, and into the great hall. Godfrid and Hywel, with Gareth a pace behind them, marched between the tables to where King Owain sat. He was arrayed as a king in preparation for greeting Godfrid.
The two princes came to a halt in front of King Owain’s seat, and both bowed lower than usual.
“Father.” Hywel moved to stand just to the right of the king’s throne. “May I present to you Godfrid ap Torcall, prince of Dublin.”
King Owain bowed slightly in greeting. “Welcome to Aber, Godfrid. I am always happy to greet a royal cousin at Aber.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Godfrid said. “I come to you with some urgency, with news that cannot wait.”
King Owain leaned forward. “I would hear it.” His glance took in the entire company of Danes—and Gareth—who also bowed his head in greeting.
“No doubt you have heard that your brother fled to Dublin, to my father’s seat, when he left Anglesey,” Godfrid said.
“That was my understanding,” King Owain said.
“He comes to Wales at the head of seven ships—eight if you count mine, which you shouldn’t. King Ottar himself commands one of the boats.”
“And what is his intent?” King Owain’s voice had not changed, but Gareth felt the temperature of the air drop.
If Godfrid noticed it, he didn’t alter his stance. “Far be it from me to convey any man’s true thoughts,” Godfrid said, adding a bardic flourish to his words, “but it is my understanding that Prince Cadwaladr hopes you will gaze on the fleet, see that he is a powerful lord in his own right, and reinstate his lands.”
“And he thinks that threatening me with two hundred Danes will make me bend?” King Owain pushed to his feet, his voice rising along with him.
Godfrid canted his
head in acknowledgement of the righteousness of King Owain’s anger. “Two hundred and fifty men, though fewer now that he doesn’t have mine at his back.”
“And why are you here?” King Owain said. “What do you hope to gain?”
“Cadwaladr promised King Ottar two thousand marks,” Godfrid said. “Gold is a pleasure, but my father and I seek a greater treasure—something that Cadwaladr cannot give us.”
King Owain studied the big Dane through several heartbeats before easing back into his chair. “Something from me,” he said, not as a question.
“We share blood,” Godfrid said. “Your father sought sanctuary with mine, and support when he needed it to regain the throne of Gwynedd. My father and I—and my brothers—ask the same of you when our time comes.”
“Against Ottar.”
Again, Godfrid tipped his head. “As you say, my lord.”
Owain tapped his finger on the arm of his chair as he thought. Then he nodded. “Where did Cadwaladr hope to land?”
Godfrid gestured to Gareth, who stepped forward to speak. “Abermenai, my lord. He must feel safe on Anglesey.”
Hywel directed his gaze at Gareth. “You believe what Godfrid says?”
“I do,” Gareth said. “He protected Gwen in Dublin, if that brings favor in your eyes. The only reason she didn’t return to Wales in Godfrid’s boat is that Cadwaladr wouldn’t let her. He kept her beside him for the return journey.”
“She was well when you saw her last?” Hywel said.
“Yes, as far I know. A storm broke apart our fleet in the night.”
Hywel grimaced. “She gets very seasick.”
“She does. It was good luck for us, however, since it meant that by dawn, we sailed alone.” Gareth found his shoulders tensing at what she’d endured at sea—and might be enduring now. He forced his mind away, finding the thought of her among the Danes without a protector unbearable.
King Owain stepped off the dais. “I want my teulu assembled and ready to ride to Abermenai within the hour.” He spun on his heel to look at his steward, Taran, a man who’d also served Owain’s father. “When does the tide turn?”
“Noon today,” Taran said. “We must hurry if we want to cross the sands before then.”
King Owain swung back to the crowd of men before him. “You heard him! Move! We will provision ourselves at Aberffraw.” Then King Owain put out a hand to Godfrid. “Thank you for your warning. If we hurry—and our luck continues—we can beat them to the shore. Your crossing was quicker than I’ve ever heard a ship—even a Danish one—make the journey.”
“Prince Godfrid kept the sail up,” Gareth said, unable to keep the glint of amusement out of his eye that perhaps only Hywel and Godfrid caught. “About killed us.”
King Owain strode to the door of the hall and looked out. A light breeze blew, and the sun was halfway up in the beautifully clear sky. “If they survived, they should have clear sailing for the rest of the day. Would they still make for Abermenai, even if they were blown off course and lost time?”
“I don’t know.” Godfrid came to stand beside the king. “I expect so, provided most of the ships survived the crossing.”
“Anglesey is familiar territory to Cadwaladr,” Hywel said, “more so than Ceredigion. Home, if you will.”
“He’ll come, then. We’ll have to risk it.” King Owain directed his attention to Godfrid again. “Thank you for your warning, but what of you? Shall you remain among us, or maintain a façade for King Ottar that you support him? It isn’t too late to rejoin your fleet.”
Godfrid studied his men, all of whom stared back at him impassively. He waved his hand, and they broke ranks to huddle around him, speaking rapidly in Danish. Gareth, meanwhile, left the hall at a run to saddle Braith, though not before embracing Evan, who stopped him in the middle of the courtyard. He’d been among the men who’d come to the shore with Hywel, but Gareth hadn’t had the opportunity to greet him before this.
“I never thought I would see you again,” Evan said. “I assumed they’d toss you into the water when you were halfway out to sea.”
“Truly?” Gareth said. “You thought I couldn’t survive a trip to Dublin?” When Evan just smiled, Gareth added, “Besides, Brodar gave me his word. As odd as it sounds, a Dane has honor. It’s just that sometimes that means something different to him than it does to us.”
Evan clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll never doubt you again.”
Reunited with a saddled and nominally provisioned Braith, Gareth rode out of the castle with forty men before an hour had passed. They had so few because Hywel had left many in Ceredigion to clean up after Cadwaladr and maintain a presence there for a time. Even though Hywel had counseled against it, King Owain had given the rest leave to visit their homes, thinking Cadwaladr wouldn’t return so quickly.
Godfrid and his men trotted quickly behind them, making for Aber beach where they’d left their boat. Godfrid had decided that open warfare was not in his best interest, not yet. He would return to his fleet, circling far around Anglesey instead of sailing down the Menai Strait, so as to disguise the true direction from which he was coming.
“I should be returning with you,” Gareth said.
Godfrid shook his head vigorously. “You are a warrior. If it comes to battle, your life would be forfeit. You will do better with your own people.”
Gareth ground his teeth but had to give way before the determined Dane. “Please tell Gwen that I love her. Tell her it was better not to come myself this time.”
“I will tell everyone but her that you drowned in the night, that you were a foolish sailor. You stood up when you shouldn’t have, and we lost you overboard.”
Gareth laughed despite himself, and waved the Danish prince—and unexpected friend—away. He had a feeling they would meet again before this was over.
The Good Knight Page 33