The Worthy Soldier

by Sarah Woodbury

  Llelo was seeing it with different eyes, however, and said, “If Meicol had to end up somewhere other than the castle, this is a pretty spot.”

  Gwen smiled at her son. Despite all he’d been through in his short life, she was glad he could still appreciate a bit of beauty. And he wasn’t wrong. Dappled sunshine shone through trees on a grassy meadow full of wildflowers. It was peaceful here, with birds singing, and the sound of the river running close by through the trees that lined the bank.

  Perhaps in a winter rainstorm it would be a somewhat less desirable location, given the danger of flooding, but the houses looked as if they’d been standing for half a century, and even in their present condition, might continue to do so for a good while longer.

  A well-worn path led from the track they’d come down to a walled garden on the far eastern side of the property. After dismounting, Gwen followed the path. Llelo’s long legs caught up in a few strides. “I’d always heard it said that poison is a woman’s weapon.”

  “Not in our experience.”

  Llelo put a hand on her arm, stopping her before they reached the garden door. “Really? What don’t I know?”

  Gwen studied him, a hair’s-breadth from telling him King Cadell had poisoned one of his spies at the eisteddfod in Aberystwyth last summer. Llelo didn’t know about it because he’d been in Gwynedd at that time.

  “Ask me again once we’re home.” She shook her head. “So many men know how to use a blade, and they’re bigger and stronger than women, so it’s natural to think a woman might resort to poison. But as a weapon, it works just as well for men when they want to be stealthy about it, and when they have time to plan.”

  The Dragons and Gareth spread out to secure the perimeter of the steading. Not that they expected the culprit to appear out of the woods unannounced, but knowing the terrain was the first step towards not being caught by surprise. Gareth had managed to persuade Richard to send most of his men back to the monastery. Acknowledging that taking an armed company through the countryside might not be the best way to catch a murderer, Richard himself had continued among the Dragons with only two retainers as support, rather than the twenty he’d brought to Alban’s house.

  The door into the garden had been left open, and, as Gwen took a step inside, the feeling of peacefulness Llelo had felt when they’d first arrived expanded. The garden appeared to be an island of order and tranquility in an otherwise unkempt property. In fact, its beauty and diversity rivaled any garden Gwen had ever seen, whether at a monastery or castle, no matter how rich.

  Flowers rioted in the corners and row after row of carefully tended vegetables covered an area forty feet long and more than half that wide. Trees had been cut down around the wall to provide maximum sun exposure. In particular, the northernmost wall, which inside the garden was south-facing, was in full sunlight so the least sturdy plants and tender herbs planted there could stay warm and grow. A small hut was built against the southern wall, where very little sun shone, and the door had been left open to the day’s warm air.

  It made her a bit unhappy that immediately after appreciating the peacefulness of the location, her next thought was that the poison could have come from here. If so, the hut should show evidence of its making, and she went straight towards it, skirting the many neatly tended beds. The inside of the hut, however, proved to be as neat as the garden, with rows of jars and vials, some of which were nearly identical to the one found in Meicol’s bag, though all of the ones before her were empty. While this appeared to be a perfect spot for the poison to have been made, the worktable had been wiped down, and no herbs hung from the ceiling. There was nothing about the hut to indicate it had been used recently.

  Relieved in a way, Gwen returned to the door and closed her eyes, breathing in the scents of mint and apple blossom, mixing with lavender and rose. She opened her eyes again at the tapping of a cane on the flagstone walkway. Old Nan was coming towards her, so Gwen went to intercept her so she wouldn’t have to come so far.

  Old Nan’s smile was beatific. Though her eyes were open, she was looking at a spot a foot to Gwen’s right. “So the young lady from Gwynedd has come to see my garden. Gwen, isn’t it?”

  “How could you possibly know it was me?” Gwen moved nearer, finding herself staring impolitely, though of course as Old Nan couldn’t see her, it was the one time it couldn’t matter.

  Now that Gwen was getting a closer look in broad daylight, Old Nan wasn’t as old as all that—and certainly not the ancient crone her name implied. Though her hair was fully gray, with only a few strands of brown remaining, her forehead was relatively unlined, and her teeth were perfect. Her hands showed signs of age—no matter how many creams a woman used, the skin on her hands and neck always gave her age away—but Gwen still wouldn’t have put Nan as more than a few years past forty.

  Old Nan put her free hand to her ear. “I heard you come in.” She turned her head slightly. “I’m glad you find my home peaceful, young man.”

  Llelo’s face colored, but he bowed, even though Old Nan couldn’t see it. “Your garden is beautiful too.”

  By the same instinct that had caused Llelo to bow, Gwen put up a hand, though she immediately brought it down again. “I am here with my husband at the request of King Cadell.”

  “Who?”

  No response could have been more puzzling. “King Cadell? The King of Deheubarth?”

  “Oh. Him.” The woman jerked her head, her eyes even less focused than before. “The second son.” She grunted and turned away, tapping back to a stool set against the south facing wall by a large patch of newly turned earth prepared for planting. She sat, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall, allowing the sun to shine fully on her face. “I miss King Gruffydd. Now there was a man.”

  King Gruffydd had died ten years ago, so Gwen tried to revise her estimate of the woman’s age, but she still found herself thinking the woman was far too young for senility. Perhaps the blindness was due less to age than a blow to her head, which had also affected her memory.

  By now, Gareth had arrived at Gwen’s side. “Madam, we’re wondering if you would speak to us of a man named Meicol. We understand he lived here.” He’d come into the garden holding the sketch he’d drawn of the dead man, but at the sight of Old Nan, he folded it carefully and put it away in his coat.

  Old Nan’s face fell, and she spoke through sudden tears. “He was a wonderful boy. So helpful around here.” She wiped at her cheeks with the back of one hand. “He really is gone? The messenger didn’t lie?”

  Gwen moved to her and took her hand. “I’m sorry. He is.”

  Old Nan shook her head. “I was hoping when I woke this morning that I’d dreamt it. King Gruffydd is still alive to me sometimes. Why not Meicol?”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I will miss him.”

  Gwen looked helplessly at Gareth, and then brought the old woman into her arms and let her sob on her shoulder. Old Nan gripped Gwen hard, and Gwen could feel the muscles in her arms and back, evidence of her work in the garden.

  Finally her sobs began to wind down. “He wasn’t the only one who died last night, was he?”

  “No,” Gwen said. “I am not from here, so I don’t know all the names.”

  “The king lives?”

  “He does.”

  Old Nan nodded to herself.

  Llelo had started to move along the garden paths, peering at one plant or another. “Did Meicol do all this?”

  Old Nan managed a small smile. “Much of it. I also have a neighbor boy who does much of the heavy work, but I tend the flowers, of course. You don’t have to see well to know what they need.”

  “I will take you at your word,” Gareth said. “Which house was Meicol’s?”

  “The one in the back.”

  “For how long was he here?” Gwen said.

  “A few years. Back then, I could see more than I do now.” Nan gave a low laugh. “I could move better than I do now.”<
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  “Do you mind if we take a look around?” Gwen said.

  “Of course not, though I don’t know why you’d want to, unless—” For the first time, the woman’s expression grew concerned. “Why are you here specifically about Meicol? Many died last night, you said.”

  “He was the first.” Gwen squeezed Old Nan’s hand, and finally the woman directed her gaze into Gwen’s face.

  “You are lovely, my dear.” She reached up and traced Gwen’s cheek with her hand. “I can’t see much, but I can see enough to know that.”

  “You know flowers, Nan,” Gareth said. “Do you know anything that might help us find who did this?”

  Old Nan blinked. “Did this? What do you mean?”

  Gwen bent further so she could look into Old Nan’s eyes. “Didn’t you hear how they died?”

  Old Nan frowned. “Tainted meat, wasn’t it? Or milk?” Her eyes narrowed. “I never liked Grygg’s chowder.”

  Grygg was the name of the head cook, now gravely ill himself. Gwen glanced at Gareth, uncertain as to whether or not they should tell Old Nan the truth. Gareth shrugged, and he was probably right that it could hardly matter, since the rest of the residents of Deheubarth either knew the truth or would by the end of the day. “It was poison, Old Nan.”

  The woman reared back. “You’re sure?”

  Gwen nodded, and then said, “Yes,” as an afterthought. She kept forgetting Old Nan was blind. “It was in the pie, which is why nobody fell ill until late in the meal.”

  Old Nan nodded. “I left right after I spoke with you.” She shook her head. “It was too stuffy in the hall, and the noise was overwhelming. I started walking down the hill, and then Alban and Caron came along and took me the rest of the way. Do you know what the poison was?”

  “No,” Gwen said. “Something that worked quickly.”

  “Monkshood?” Old Nan said.

  “Perhaps.”

  Gwen paused, studying the older woman. “You know your herbs.”

  “Naturally.” Old Nan gestured to her garden, implying it should have been obvious. “I know Grygg’s pie. He puts currants in it, which would have masked the taste and color of any poison.” She frowned as she looked at the ground, and Gwen waited, wondering if she was going to say more. Old Nan’s thoughts had matched theirs, and she hoped Nan might have more insight. After a moment, however, Old Nan seemed to realize that Gwen and Gareth were still watching her, and she waved a hand. “Go on into the house. Do what you must. Meicol is past caring.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gareth

  Though he’d been about to go anyway, since Old Nan’s last words had been a clear dismissal—as well as permission—Gareth turned at the sound of wheels rolling over dirt and stone. A woman pulling a handcart appeared in the pathway below the garden. She was completely focused on her feet and pulled the cart towards Meicol’s house without looking up or appearing to notice Gareth in the garden doorway a hundred feet away.

  The Dragons had staked out positions around the perimeter of the property, and they watched her with interest, but without moving to intercept her. Since Gareth had convinced Richard to leave the questioning of Old Nan to him and Gwen, he and his men had gone to water their horses at the river.

  Then, still without looking up, the woman left the cart a step from the threshold and entered Meicol’s house without knocking.

  Old Nan frowned and spoke from her spot against the wall. “Was that a cart?”

  Gareth turned to her. “Yes. A woman was pulling it. Do you know her?”

  “My guess is it’s Meleri. She is Meicol’s friend,” Nan said, her expression sour. “Was.”

  “You don’t like her?”

  Old Nan shrugged. “There’s nothing to like or not like. She’s simple.”

  Gareth turned back in time to see Meleri leave Meicol’s house and finally see the soldiers waiting for her. Even from this distance, he could see her shrink back against the house, cowering in fear. From beside Gareth, Gwen saw it too, and she immediately set off across the grassy expanse that made up the clearing in front of Nan’s house, heading towards the woman.

  Meanwhile, Gareth waved off his men. All soldiers had long experience with waiting, and nobody was sorry to have a moment to relax in the sun. Richard was just returning from the river, and his men stretched out on their backs on the grass too, their heads pillowed in a cloak or coat they didn’t need on such a fine day. Gareth would have liked to take a nap himself.

  “It’s all right,” Gwen said as she approached the woman.

  Gareth came closer as well, making less for the woman than for her cart, which she’d left by the front door, and when he reached it, he pulled back the hemp fabric covering the contents. Meleri possessed a pot and a pan, a fire starter kit, a blanket, a cloak and … a bound stack of paper that, as he flipped through it, proved to be a book of sketches.

  As he looked through it, Meleri stabbed out with her hand. “That’s mine! It’s wrong to take other people’s things or reveal their secrets.” The words came out strangely, as if she was quoting what someone else had said to her—and perhaps she was because Meleri’s eyes were wide and guileless.

  “I won’t hurt it.” Gareth showed her the way he was handling the pages gently.

  Upon closer inspection, Meleri was sun-browned but not scrawny or underfed, and her face was clean. Her brown curly hair was untamed by any scarf or wimple and contained a substantial number of gray strands, but it was brushed and appeared to have been washed recently. She had white, straight teeth as well. Gareth himself had been taught to care for his teeth by the uncle who raised him, and it was the subject of a lecture he gave his men once a year—or whenever one of them fell victim to an abscess. Now, Gareth sucked on his teeth, regretting that, with the urgencies of the day, he’d neglected to partake of the vinegar and mint mouthwash he endeavored to use every morning.

  He had met people like Meleri over the years. Their bodies grew but their minds did not. Often, however, they had a single gift. Some could do sums; others could play an instrument with exquisite beauty. Meleri, it seemed, could draw.

  With gentle hands, Gwen took the book from him and indicated with a tip of her head that he should move a few paces away. “It’s all right, Meleri. We aren’t here to hurt you or take your things.”

  Then Gwen’s eyes went to the open page in front of her, and what she saw gave her as much pause as it had given Gareth. This particular sketch was of Old Nan. Gareth worked mostly in charcoal, conveying in a few strokes the likeness of a person. What Meleri had drawn, if this was indeed her doing, was a more complete picture, employing color and an instrument other than a simple piece of charcoal to show Nan seated on a bench underneath a trellis of red roses.

  “Did you draw this?” Gwen turned the book to show Meleri. “It’s beautiful.”

  Meleri smiled beatifically, apparently forgiving them their trespass.

  Gwen handed the book back to Gareth and spoke to Meleri as if she were a small child. “Why did you come here today?”

  “I was looking for Meicol.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was it before or after the battle against the Flemings?”

  Meleri’s brow furrowed. Gareth had seen such an expression on Tangwen’s face many times as she thought hard. “After.”

  “Come sit here.” Gwen moved Meleri out of the direct line of sight of the men on the green, going with her instead to a bench set against the side of Meicol’s house. Meleri was clearly was uncomfortable in the presence of so many people, and they didn’t want her to freeze up completely.

  “Where is he?” Meleri asked once she was seated.

  Gwen put a gentle had on her arm. “He’s dead, Meleri.”

  Meleri blinked her eyes rapidly. “He isn’t coming back?”

  Now Gwen put an arm around her shoulders. “We came here in hopes of finding some answers to what happened to him. You are the
first person to come to his house since he died. Can you tell us anything about who might have wanted to hurt him?”

  But Meleri wasn’t listening anymore. She had bent forward, and was rocking back and forth and weeping. Then Evan appeared at Gareth’s back. “I can tell you right now Meleri is no killer.”

  “You know her?”

  “Of course I know her.” Evan’s voice was a harsh whisper. “She grew up here, just like the rest of us. She’s Alban’s cousin.” Evan looked past Gareth to where Meleri sat. “If she was friends with Meicol, that was kind of him.”

  “That he’d befriend her surprises you?” Gareth said.

  “As you know, I didn’t like Meicol. Nobody did.”

  “Except, apparently, Old Nan and Meleri.”

  Evan gestured helplessly. “You see her. She’s always been like this. Trusting.”

  “Would you like to talk to her?”

  “I suppose I could. Perhaps she’ll remember me.” Evan found an overturned bucket near the woodpile and brought it over so he could sit on it in front of Meleri, though making sure not to get too close in case his proximity frightened her.

  Gwen, meanwhile, went to her saddle bag and took out a small loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth and a hunk of cheese half the size of her fist. She came back to where Meleri was sitting and placed them in Meleri’s lap. “Eat.”

  Meleri looked at the food for a heartbeat, and then her eyes went to Gareth’s face. The eagerness in her expression had his stomach clenching. She was asking his permission. He felt like he’d kicked the puppy they’d acquired to entertain Tangwen at Aberystwyth while they were away. “Go on.”

  Meleri set to the food with a will that Gareth had seen in few people outside one of his sons after they hadn’t eaten all day—or Rhodri, perhaps, one of the men in Hywel’s teulu, who still ate like a man twenty years younger. He wasn’t pleased to see the weeping rash on Meleri’s hands either, and he made a note to himself to speak to Saran about it. Some people got rashes in the spring when new flowers bloomed, and he’d always been thankful he wasn’t one of them.