Regardless, Evan leaned forward, deciding to take advantage of Barri’s casual dismissal of Meicol—and hoping he was drunk enough not to take offense—or not so drunk he would. “Meicol called you a traitor and a thief. Why?”
Barri scoffed. “I have no idea! As I said, I haven’t seen him. I haven’t spoken to him. Why don’t you believe me?”
Now it was Angharad’s turn to try a question, and it was a pointed one. “Was it because you fought for Lord Maurice?”
Barri’s face reddened and puffed up, like he was holding his breath and would soon explode. “I. Don’t. Know.”
Evan hastened to intervene. “So you can’t think of anything that would make him attack you?”
Instead of shouting or defending himself even more vociferously, Barri drank some more. He was already through three cups, each of which Angharad had calmly poured for him without comment. Evan wasn’t sure if Barri was stalling or looking to regain control. Then Barri put down his cup, burped, and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. “Not unless you include the incident with the rope swing.”
Evan sighed. “That was twenty years ago.”
“Some men hold a grudge.”
As Barri’s reaction to Alban had just indicated exactly that, Evan couldn’t disagree. And then Barri elaborated without Evan having to prompt him. “I saw Meicol only twice after that before this month: once in the infirmary before I left for Lord Maurice’s domain and then again in 1136—though that was only in passing.”
Those were the two times Evan had seen Meicol too. “You can’t blame him for being angry. You were the one who rigged the rope to fail.”
Barri crossed his arms defensively. “It was a jest.”
“A jest that nearly killed him.” Even after all these years, the memory of that day stood out in sharp relief in Evan’s mind. In the hot August sun, a crowd of young men—boys really, though they’d been men by law—had gone to the river to swim. The rope swing was a favorite plaything, and Meicol, at the time being bossy and bigger than everyone but Alban, browbeat the other boys into letting him swing first.
But that day, Barri, knowing Meicol’s habits, had all but severed the rope so it hung by a thread. It had been a move that, in retrospect, was just like Barri. He wasn’t the kind to take on a problem head on, but to look for a way to attack it sideways. True to form, Meicol had swung and then fallen prematurely—not into the pool for which he had been aiming, but onto rocks.
He’d broken two ribs and his arm, and King Gruffydd, Cadell’s father, had been angrier than Evan had ever seen him. Both boys had been sent away: Barri to Gruffydd’s sister’s household and Meicol to recuperate at one of Deheubarth’s more remote holdings. Furthermore, in the aftermath, the king had dispersed the group of young men-in-training, and Evan had asked Queen Gwenllian for reassignment to Gwynedd. It had been a transformative moment for Evan—to know what he wanted, to ask for it, and to have his wish granted. And he hadn’t looked back.
Because Evan had positioned himself against the wall, he could survey the whole of the great hall from where he sat, and thus he saw the moment John, Lord Maurice’s captain, returned to the room. He edged through the revelers, for all appearances heading towards Barri, so Evan stood to intercept him.
“Did he kill Meicol?” John pointed with his chin to Barri’s back.
“I dare not say one way or the other as of yet.” Evan glanced back to Angharad to make sure she was all right sitting with Barri alone, but all Barri was doing was staring into his cup while Angharad studied the top of his head. “But I saw the fight, and Barri shoved Meicol. That’s all.”
John nodded. “If you’re done questioning him, Lord Maurice asks that you release him into my custody.” He followed Evan’s gaze. Barri was now lying with his head on his arms. “Let him sleep it off.”
Evan canted his head. He didn’t know John at all. He was a Norman, so not part of the Dinefwr cohort, and they’d played very different roles in the battle against the Flemings. “Is he a good soldier?”
“Barri?” John sucked on his teeth. “Good enough. He puts his sword where I tell him.” Among the Normans that really could be good enough. Prince Hywel demanded more from the men in his teulu.
“But?” Evan let the question dangle.
John shrugged. “He’s not a leader of men.”
“Is he insubordinate?”
“I wouldn’t have him among my men if he were, though I’ve always had the sense he thinks he’s the smartest man in any room.” John scoffed. “He should know that honor is reserved for Prince Rhys, who really is.”
Evan couldn’t argue with that, and, not finding a reason to deny John’s request, which was really Lord Maurice’s, he gestured towards where Barri still sat. “He’s all yours.”
“Thank you.” John nodded, and Evan bent his head as a sign of respect for John’s station. As John went to collect Barri, Evan motioned that Angharad should come to him.
“Will you tell me the story of the rope?” she said as she reached him.
Angharad knew so much more about him than she had an hour ago that Evan saw no point in keeping this bit of history from her, so he told her.
“Nobody has ever spoken of this directly to me,” Angharad said, “but Meicol is not held in high regard.” She glanced back to where John was getting Barri to his feet. “Nor Barri, truth be told.” Then she fixed him with her gaze. “You, on the other hand …”
He blinked. “I can’t imagine why anyone would say two words about me.”
She laughed. “You sell yourself short. You’re one of the Dragons! I know what you did at Wiston.”
“Alban didn’t think much of it,” Evan said before he thought to stop himself.
“Alban thinks one man’s gain is another man’s loss, instead of knowing we all rise, or fall, together.”
Evan found himself admiring her precise assessment, which now that he’d heard it, exactly characterized why Alban hadn’t made a great leader of men.
He held out his arm again to the girl. “Shall we find Sir Gareth?”
She took his elbow. “I think we should.”
He didn’t know what her uncle would say about her walking beside him, but Angharad was clearly her own person and thought herself old enough to make her own decisions. He wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to continue in his company, but he certainly wasn’t going to send her away if she wasn’t ready to go.
They headed out the door into the courtyard. On the stairs down from the main doors, Angharad paused to take a breath. Evan stopped too, enjoying the cooler outside air, which felt good after the too-warm hall.
“Evan!”
At the woman’s voice, Evan’s eyes searched the courtyard but didn’t immediately alight on the woman who’d spoken, though somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he recognized the voice even if he couldn’t put a name to it. Then she passed through the light of one of the torches. Very conscious of Angharad still on his arm, Evan headed down the steps and across the courtyard to intercept her.
As she had in his youth, Caron still had the power to take his breath away, though perhaps less so than she might have if he hadn’t been standing with Angharad. Even as Caron approached middle age, her red-blonde hair and green eyes were stunning, and he found himself pausing as if he was still that boy of fifteen who hoped she could be his.
“It’s been so long! How are you?” Caron stopped in the act of reaching out to hug him, realizing at the last moment that his arm was linked with Angharad’s. She curtseyed instead. “My lady.”
Angharad smiled gently. “Caron.”
Evan cleared his throat awkwardly. “I am well. How is it with you?”
“I am well too.” She put a hand on her belly, which could mean only one thing. “Mostly.”
Evan laughed at himself under his breath. Caron belonged to Alban—for of course she’d married the golden boy—and always had. “When is the child due?”
“Late in the year.”
/> Evan indicated with his head that the three of them should move to one side, out of the direct path of the stairway. John was just coming out of the hall with Barri and two other men. They set off towards the stables. Maurice’s men, like Hywel’s, were not housed at the castle but in tents in a field at the base of the hill upon which the castle was built.
“Alban must be very proud,” Evan said. “How many children do you have?”
Caron simpered, and Evan’s emotions settled further. As a girl, she’d been a beauty, sought after by every man in the cantref, but she’d never been much of a thinker, unlike the other woman with him tonight, whose expression remained serene and her eyes thoughtful. Angharad seemed alert to every nuance of what was happening around her, and Evan hoped that later she’d tell him what she’d seen.
“It’s been fifteen years now since we married.” Caron rubbed her belly. “This will be our sixth. Our eldest two are already training to be men-at-arms.”
“I would very much like to sit with you both, catch up on old times.” And as he spoke, Evan realized he didn’t have to fake his sincerity. While the memory of Alban’s rebuke at Wiston Castle was still fresh in his mind, he had been following orders—something Evan and his Dragons had expressly not done. It didn’t excuse the disrespect, but Alban wasn’t the golden boy anymore, for all Caron had implied it just now. Evan’s station was just as high as his.
Caron smiled. “I would like that. I will speak to Alban, and we’ll make sure it happens before you go.” She curtseyed again at Angharad. “You would be most welcome too, my lady.” She turned towards the steps and started up them.
Evan looked carefully at Angharad. “That is an invitation you are under no obligation to accept, my lady.”
“Call me Angharad, please, and I have every intention of accepting it.” She paused. “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in months, other than Prince Rhys, who speaks to me as if he’s actually interested in what I have to say. Is that a characteristic of all men from Gwynedd?”
“I-I don’t know.” Evan found himself stuttering. “Most of the women of my acquaintance speak their mind when it pleases them to do so.”
“I really must visit your country sooner rather than later.”
Bemused, Evan fought a smile as he directed their steps across the courtyard. He certainly wasn’t going to object to her company. They were almost to the barracks, the place to which Meicol’s body had been brought, and he stopped in the shadow of the porch, not ready to say goodbye to Angharad, but knowing it wasn’t appropriate for her to see Meicol’s body either.
But Angharad was frowning. “The more I consider that exchange you just had with Caron, the more confusing it seems.”
“How so?”
“You were friends twenty years ago, so Caron hailing you across the courtyard isn’t something to remark upon, especially since you hadn’t seen her since you left for Gwynedd. But it’s odd she chatted with you so happily.”
“Why would that be odd?” Evan puffed out his chest. “Am I not a brave and handsome fellow?”
Angharad patted his arm. “Of course you are, but how can she be so unconcerned with Meicol’s death so soon after it happened? Isn’t it strange she never mentioned it?”
“You are absolutely right, and I should have thought of that.” Evan gave himself a shake. “While Meicol was of a lower order and thus not someone Caron might have been close to, he has been a member of the garrison all these years. He didn’t serve directly under Alban, but they all must have rubbed shoulders often over the years.”
As he finished speaking, Llelo appeared at the entrance to the barracks, followed immediately by Gareth, who urged Llelo to continue towards Evan and Angharad. The rest of Gareth’s family followed hard on his heels.
“What’s going on?” Evan said, noting their tense looks.
“We may have been complacent in thinking Meicol was the only victim or even the intended target,” Gareth said.
“What do you mean target?” Evan stared at his friend. “So Meicol was murdered?”
Gwen motioned to the bag slung over Meilyr’s shoulder. “We found a sealed herbalist’s vial that we have reason to believe contains poison.”
Gareth was already two strides ahead of Evan, but he called over his shoulder. “We fear this one vial might not have been all there was and a second was discarded.”
“Why would someone do that?” Angharad asked as she hurried beside Evan, hastening to catch up with Gareth.
“Because it was empty,” Gareth said.
Chapter Seven
Hywel
“Catch him! He’s going over!” Hywel spoke at the same instant he sprang towards the falling man, one Cadfan, who also happened to be the captain of Cadell’s guard.
Then, all of a sudden, there were more sick people in the hall, holding their stomachs and vomiting, or simply moaning and calling for help. Those who weren’t unwell were looking around in shock at their friends and companions. Hywel hadn’t seen the entire series of events leading up to Meicol’s death, but it looked to be what had happened to him writ large.
From across the room, Gruffydd grabbed one of Cadell’s men around the middle as he toppled over. Hywel would have run to help too if the man right in front of him hadn’t at that moment vomited the entire contents of his stomach onto the floorboards. Grimacing, Hywel caught his shoulders before he fell and laid him down more gently, where he writhed in obvious pain.
Hywel turned to look at Cadell. “Don’t eat or drink anything more! We don’t know what could be tainted.”
Cadell had risen to his feet, gaping at the carnage before him, but at Hywel’s words, he swept his arm across the table, knocking all of the food and drink within four feet of him to the floor.
Then the door to the hall swung wide, and Gareth, Evan, and Llelo leapt inside. At the sight of the chaos in the hall, Gareth, who was in the lead, broke into a run, ultimately skidding to a halt in front of Hywel. Such was his urgency that he actually grabbed Hywel by the upper arms so he could look him directly in the face. “Are you ill?”
“I’m fine.” Hywel lifted his right hand awkwardly, trying to appease Gareth while at the same time encouraging him to let go of him. “Though I believed Gruffydd’s strictures excessive, I obeyed them nonetheless. I drank only what we brought ourselves and ate only meat and bread.”
“Cadell himself is sick.” Gareth pointed to the high table, where Cadell was now bent over, a hand to his head.
Gareth’s hand briefly touched Hywel’s shoulder, in another rare gesture of familiarity from his captain. Even though he was not a member of the Dragons, Gareth had been one of the primary voices urging carefulness and caution in this rapprochement with Cadell and his half-Norman relations. To be constantly vigilant was exhausting but hard to argue against when anything untoward happened. Such as now.
“Others are still standing too,” Llelo said, “our men among them.”
Hywel glanced around the room. The boy was right. Along with Evan, who’d come in with Gareth and Llelo, Iago, Cadoc, Gruffydd, Aron, and Steffan were on their feet, giving aid to those who were ill. Others unaffected included Prince Rhys, Cadell’s brother.
But at the high table, William de Carew had his arms around his belly. Then he leaned to one side and vomited. Meanwhile, the man at Hywel’s feet moaned. “My mouth hurts.”
“We have very little time, my lord.” Saran bustled in, Gwen, Angharad, and Meilyr at her heels.
“Is there any treatment?” he said when she reached him. “So many are sick.”
“Unfortunately, by the time a person becomes sick, it can be too late because the poison moves through the stomach too quickly. Everyone needs to drink as much water as possible, however, and, if they can keep it down, eat whatever is left of the clam chowder.”
Hywel blinked at the oddly specific remedy. “Why?”
“Because it can help.” Saran started towards the high table. “Do we know what was poisoned?
”
Hywel stared after her. “No. It could be anything.”
“It happened awfully quickly to be anything,” Gwen said. “Besides, not everyone is affected.”
“Maybe that’s because they ate the clam chowder for dinner, and it diffused the poison.” That answer came from behind Hywel, and he turned to find Rhys, Cadell’s brother, staring at him, white-faced. “Like I did.”
Saran gave the boy a curt nod, and then her eyes went to William, who now had his head on the table. She waved a hand at Rhys. “Hurry.”
While Rhys knelt beside Pembroke’s castellan, Saran went to Cadell and tried to get him to sit up. He wasn’t dead yet and didn’t seem to be in as bad a way as some of the others in the hall, so maybe he’d imbibed less of whatever had caused this. Gareth, meanwhile, crouched to put two fingers to the neck of the man at Hywel’s feet and then shook his head.
“What was just served?” Gwen had taken a stewpot from one of the tables and began to move from person to person administering the chowder to whomever had the wherewithal to taste it.
“Dessert. A custard pie with currants.” Hywel sent Evan to assist her and then turned back to Gareth. “Was it poison that killed Meicol?”
“Hard to think otherwise now, though why he died an hour ago and everyone else is ill only now isn’t at all clear to me. We found an unexplained vial in his satchel, however, which could be the same poison.”
“A liquid?”
“Yes. It is an unusual enough concoction that Saran didn’t know immediately what it was, and the only way to know for sure is to test it on someone—or something. Meicol vomited, as these people are, and he had blisters inside his mouth, as it appears some of them do. We would have moved more quickly to warn you of the danger, but the vial was sealed, and it didn’t occur to me until later that it could have been one of several others.” Gareth ran a hand through his hair, his expression drawn and bleak. “Those few moments might have made a difference.”
The Worthy Soldier Page 6