Gwen bobbed her head. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Now Lena’s smile widened further. “I know who you are. You are the wife of Gareth, Prince Godfrid’s friend.”
“I am.”
Lena looked from one woman to the other. “Does that mean ... you are here about the death of that priest yesterday? I thought he took his own life?”
After Cait translated, Gwen ground her teeth. “May I ask who told her that?”
Cait then asked the question for her.
“Iona. I don’t know who she heard it from, one of her men, I think.”
“Her men?” Cait asked.
Lena gave Cait a sideways glance. “Now she is free, she has many suitors, and she is taking her time choosing among them.”
“Did you ever encounter Harald?”
Lena shook her head. “No. We live our own lives down here.”
She meant on the north side of town near the dock gate, which Cait understood because she’d lived here too. Being a slave was an entirely separate existence, in large part because a slave didn’t have leave to wander Dublin. At the same time, if a dockman appeared in one of the wealthier sections of the city, near Godfrid’s house, for example, or the palace, he would be looked at hard by everyone he encountered. It didn’t mean he couldn’t go there, but he might be asked his intentions more than once.
“Which church do you attend?” Gwen asked.
After Cait translated, Lena said, “St. Mary’s parish church, here at the docks. Father Bertold understands us.”
Dublin had a dozen parish churches, most of which were small, serving parishioners living in a handful of streets each. Cait could see from Gwen’s face it wasn’t what she was used to either, but city living was odder to her even than to Cait, who had lived in Dublin since the spring.
Cait nudged Gwen’s elbow. “Show her the wooden coin.”
Gwen drew it out and held it on her palm so Lena could see it. By the look of awareness that crossed Lena’s face, she knew what it was before either Cait or Gwen could ask, “Do you know what this is for?”
“Where did you get that?”
Cait was pleased they’d come to the right place for answers. “From Harald’s room.”
“The monk had it?” The surprise in Lena’s voice was impossible to mistake.
“Does it lead to a brothel?” Gwen asked.
Cait translated, causing Lena to blink. “Is that what you think? No.” She shook her head vehemently. “A brothel is no place for a monk either, but that isn’t what this is for.”
“Then what?” Cait said.
Lena looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Cait and Gwen waited, though Cait couldn’t think what could be so momentous that Lena would be this reluctant to tell them. Finally, when Lena couldn’t avoid their stares any longer, she sighed. “I know you are aware that some young men are troubled by Dublin’s submission to Leinster.”
Cait nodded. She did. Of course she did.
“When times are hard, people long for the old ways, before—” Lena made a helpless gesture with one floured hand.
“Before slavery was abolished in Dublin?” Cait said.
Lena scoffed. “They would like to go back to those old ways too, but that is not what I meant or their main concern. They want to bring back the glory days of old. They want to go a Viking.”
Those hadn’t been glory days for Cait’s people—nor Gwen’s and Lena’s for that matter—but she didn’t say so. She could feel Gwen listening and watching intently, but she didn’t interrupt, understanding, Cait hoped, that Cait would explain everything when Lena was done speaking.
“How does that relate to this wooden token?”
Lena chewed on her tongue for another moment before finally capitulating. “It gains entry to the fighting ring.”
Chapter Seventeen
Day Two
Gwen
Gwen’s Danish was rudimentary, but she had learned some basic words and phrases by now and caught the last thing Lena said. “Fighting ring? What on earth is a fighting ring?”
Cait was already asking Lena the very same thing, and received a long explanation, which Gwen did not interrupt. She watched Lena’s face, however, and it was obvious she knew what she was talking about.
When Lena wound down, Cait turned to Gwen and explained: “It’s a gathering of men who practice their warrior skills together. She first heard of it six months ago. Admission is by wooden coin.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Why couldn’t they meet openly? Why the coin?”
Cait spoke to Lena again and received a short reply.
“She doesn’t know for certain. They change the location of their meetings often, moving around the city and the surrounding countryside. She thinks they aspire to turn themselves into an elite group, like the Dragons.”
Gwen could have told them there wasn’t ever going to be anyone like the Dragons, but that would have been rude and unhelpful. “Does she know where the next meeting is? Or when?”
“She does not.”
“How does she know about all this?”
When Cait asked that question, Lena shrugged. “We may no longer be slaves, but we hear things. People talk in front of us.”
“Or we listen in doorways.” This was said in Welsh, by a woman who swept aside the curtain that blocked the far doorway to the pantry. She was close to fifty in age, buxom but not unfit, with a halo of red curly hair she didn’t appear to be trying to tame, beyond a headband to hold the bulk of it back from her face. She set the wrapped block of butter she was carrying on the table.
“Iona!” Cait greeted the woman with a huge smile and then spoke in Danish, since she herself had no Welsh to reply to Iona’s initial greeting.
Iona gave Cait a beatific smile and approached and curtseyed low, also speaking in Danish, but this time something Gwen could understand. “It is wonderful to see you, my lady.”
Cait scoffed, indicating this was an old jest between them. “It’s nice to see you too.”
Iona laughed. “You look lovely.”
Remembering her manners, Cait gestured to Gwen and said something along the lines of, This is Gwen, wife to Sir Gareth the Welshman. We are investigating the death of that monk, Harald.
“I know.” Iona bobbed a genuine curtsey in Gwen’s direction and returned to Welsh, “You must forgive my manner. I was cruel to this child when I learned she had deceived us as to her identity. But she more than made up for it by doing what only she could.”
Gwen’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What could only Cait do?”
Iona looked from Gwen to Cait, her own expression puzzled, and said, “Doesn’t she know?”
Cait made a helpless gesture. “I-I don’t know.”
Iona turned back to Gwen. “It is our Caitriona who convinced the bishop and King Brodar to free all the slaves in Dublin.” She squeezed Cait’s hand affectionately. “She spoke for us when nobody else would.”
Gwen translated that into French for Cait, her head spinning at the three language conversation.
“My brother spoke for them too,” Cait said in French, obviously embarrassed to be singled out and praised. “As did Godfrid.” Then she repeated her words in Danish for Iona.
Iona nodded and then said to Gwen in Welsh, “That may be, but she was the first to say what nobody else would dare.” She scrunched some of her curls at the back of her head with a satisfied smile. “What do you want to know about the fighting ring?”
“Anything you can tell us.”
“I’ll say it first in Welsh and then in Danish, yes?”
“That would be helpful.”
Then Iona tipped her head to a table around which stools and benches had been set, and the three of them sat. Lena continued to work at her dough, while another worker was tasked with laying out mead, bread, and some of the butter Iona had brought.
Gwen put up a hand. “May I ask first how you know
about it?”
A saucy look crossed Iona’s face. “Earlier this summer, I had a lover who was injured during training. He told me what he’d been training for and took me to watch.”
“So men train, and then they fight?”
“They train on their own or in small groups. The fights occur every few weeks, on an irregular schedule the men are only told about a few days before.”
Iona was as good a witness as it was possible to find. “Please go on.”
“Maybe two years ago, before Cait’s time, there was an incident down at the docks. Two sailors got into a scrap at a tavern, which isn’t unusual, but one pulled his knife and killed the other. A foreman saw it happen and told the sheriff. That was Sheriff Holm’s first murder, I think, but since there were witnesses, the murderer was hanged, and that was the end of it.
“Except the foreman got to thinking that the sailor who’d been killed had failed to defend himself properly. These were sailors, who, in previous times, would have been the first on a beach to sack a village. I was captured by men such as they. But no longer. This younger generation has never been a Viking. The foreman decided he would teach them.”
“Is that foreman still the organizer?” Gwen asked.
“As far as I know. His name is Goff.”
“Why the coin?”
Iona raised her eyebrows. “Men like their secrets, don’t they?” She shrugged one shoulder. “From what I saw, it was well-intentioned. So this monk had a coin, eh?”
“From his bruises and old wounds, he was fighting,” Gwen said. “Have you been to a fight since that first one?”
“No.” Iona shrugged again and stood up, ready to get back to work. “Personally, I don’t see the appeal. Though—when my suitor went to sea he left me his wooden coin.” Her smile widened as she saw the surprise on Gwen’s face. “I still have it.”
The news of the door the coins opened was momentous enough for Cait and Gwen to thank Iona and Lena for their help and set off immediately for Godfrid’s house. Iona assured them she would repeat what she knew again to Gareth later if he needed to hear it directly from her—and would surrender the coin if they wanted it. She also wouldn’t speak of it to anyone else. Her comment as they departed was, “Who would I tell?”
Gwen didn’t want to tell Cait her business, but the fact that Iona had spoken so openly to them about the fighting ring in front of Lena and the two other servants in the kitchen indicated it was an open secret. Those in the upper echelons of Danish society were simply too far removed from the common folk to know what was really going on in Dublin.
As they left the warehouse district Cait stumped along, clearly in a bit of a pique. Gwen thought she knew what was wrong. “There’s no way you could have known about this.”
“Isn’t there? I was supposed to be keeping an ear to the ground about what was going on in Dublin.”
“You were supposed to be infiltrating Rikard’s organization, which you did. Even if you’d heard about a fighting ring, would you have thought anything of it?”
Cait’s eyes took on a faraway look, and she stopped her stomping walk. “I suppose not. And if I had heard about it, I wouldn’t have thought it was important. I might not even have known it wasn’t a long tradition.”
“We know about it now,” Gwen said soothingly. “And really, would Brodar or Godfrid have stopped them?”
“Godfrid would have kept an eye on them, but let them be.” She nodded sharply. “You’re right. If Harald died because of something that happened there, it couldn’t have been prevented by us.”
Chapter Eighteen
Day Two
Dai
Dai waved a hand at his mother and Cait, who were heading up the street as he, Cadoc, and Jon were heading down it. According to the blacksmith at the palace, the armorer’s shop was one street up and two over from the dock gate, putting it still a few blocks from where they were walking.
The sight of his mother coming towards him with Cait, however, had him wondering what other pieces of the puzzle they were missing. He’d been so focused on learning Danish and the task Jon had given him, he hadn’t given much thought to anything else. The two women could have gone to visit a seamstress, but given that Cait was a princess, and a seamstress would come to her, working on the investigation seemed more likely. Especially with his mother beside her.
Jon bent his head to Cait and chose to speak in French, for the benefit of everyone present. “Princess.”
“Hello, Jon. Where are you going?”
Even Dai’s French had improved so much, just today, that he didn’t have to think about what they said and translate into Welsh in his head.
“We are pursuing a line of inquiry, as I’ve heard Prince Hywel say,” Jon replied.
Dai looked at his mother. “Where have you been?”
“Doing the same.” She tipped her head. “Should we come along with you?”
Cadoc pursed his lips. “We are going to see a local armorer about Harald’s gear.”
Gwen made a rumbling sound in her throat that was incipient laughter. “Maybe Cait and I shouldn’t come then. I imagine having women along might make him less likely to talk to you three ruffians.” She grinned. “For our part, we just learned what door the coin opens.”
The five of them had formed a circle in the middle of the street. While Gwen explained what she and Cait had learned, Cait’s two guards loitered a few yards away, facing outward. Dai was impressed they knew their job well enough not to abandon their posts out of curiosity. If he had been the guard, he would have been aching to know what they were talking about.
“A fighting ring?” Jon’s tone was highly offended. “Why didn’t I know of it?”
“You’re too high ranking,” Gwen said. “This appears to be for younger, lower men.”
“I’d be interested to learn why Conall wasn’t aware of it when he was living at the docks,” Cait said.
“He’s Irish,” Dai suggested. “They might have worked hard to keep it from him.”
“The boy is right.” Cadoc put a hand briefly on top of Dai’s head, as was becoming a bit of a habit with everyone it seemed. Dai knew he meant to be avuncular and tried not to find it annoying.
Dai gestured to Cait’s guards. “What about Bern and Sitric?”
Everyone looked at the two guards. They were night and day different in coloring, with Bern blond and Sitric dark, but their build was almost identical: tall and burly. Dai felt like a little boy in comparison. But then, they were already grown men and warriors.
Jon gestured for the pair to come closer, though once there, Gwen urged everyone into the alley behind them. “We’re starting to be noticed.”
Once the others had followed, Jon, who was Bern and Sitric’s commander, put the question to them, in Danish, of course: “Tell me of this fighting ring that is accessed by this wooden coin.”
Bern’s reply was immediate, “What fighting ring?” but Sitric’s denial came just a little too late, and only after a blank look of surprise he couldn’t control crossed his face. He was a few years older than Dai and hadn’t mastered the impassive look most Danes affected when in public. Even Godfrid, who was so exuberant to his friends, had managed to keep his hatred of Ottar a secret for five years.
Dai wasn’t the only one who saw the hesitation in Sitric. Gwen moved closer, the wooden coin in the palm of her hand. “We have one, you see.”
She spoke in Danish too, and Dai found himself suddenly proud of his mother. Languages hadn’t always come easily to him either, and it had made him appreciate how they often didn’t for others. His mother already spoke Welsh, French, and English, as most of Hywel’s party did. Instead of being resentful that he wasn’t special, he found himself cheering her on.
Sitric stared at the coin for so long, Dai thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he cleared his throat. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. We all take an oath.”
“You took an oath to Godfrid,” Jon said.
“Thank you, my lady. I will—” he swallowed hard, “—I will speak to Prince Godfrid when he returns. I will understand if this means I can no longer be in your service.”
Jon made an ach sound at the back of his throat.
Cait glanced at him, and Jon knew what he’d done and bowed. “My pardon, my lady. I realize it isn’t up to me.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “None of that. You are a loyal companion and friend, Jon. As is Sitric. You have nothing to apologize for. We will all deal with this when Godfrid gets home. Gwen and I will wait for you at the house.” Cait tipped her head to Bern, who was glaring at his companion. Sitric, for his part, could only look at his feet. “Come.”
Gwen gave Dai a pat on the shoulder. “Hurry back!”
That left the three men alone again to walk the last hundred yards to the armorer’s workshop. As they approached, a Godfrid-sized man opened the door, ducked under the lintel, and departed, an axe resting on his shoulder.
Suddenly, Dai stopped and put the back of his hand to Cadoc’s chest. “Let me go in alone.”
Cadoc opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then a thoughtful look entered his eyes. Jon stopped too, his expression quizzical. “What are we doing?”
“You and I will loiter over here,” Cadoc said, “and then, after a bit, we’ll come in, arguing about axes or something equally Danish.”
“You don’t speak Danish,” Dai objected.
Cadoc laughed. “Then Jon can be haranguing me. Anything to disarm the proprietor and make him think you aren’t with us.”
Jon’s eyes turned thoughtful too, and while he considered the wisdom of Cadoc’s plan, Dai unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Cadoc, along with its accompanying knife. “I can’t look like who I really am.” He also took off his cloak that marked him as a nobleman’s son and the jacket he wore underneath. That left him in shirtsleeves and breeches. The cloth used to make them was of good quality, but not the best, and both were hand-me-downs from Llelo, so they were a little too big.
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