The great hall remained nearly as full as it had been earlier that morning. Gwen didn’t see Mari at the high table and stopped, unsure where she should look for her friend. Mari hadn’t been sleeping in the room adjacent to Hywel’s office either. Then Gwen felt a hand on her arm.
“Lady Gwen?” It was Mari’s maid, Hafwen. “Princess Mari asked me to tell you that she has gone to lie down in the manor house. She requests that you attend to her later but that she needs to sleep now.”
Gwen nodded. With the enormous crowd of people coming into Aber, Mari and Hywel had already been planning to move from where they normally slept in the room adjacent to Hywel’s office to the manor house where they would be sharing a room with Gareth and Gwen. An entire family of King Owain’s relations who lived near Dolbadarn would be occupying Hywel’s usual chambers.
Stymied for the moment, Gwen hovered on the edges of the crowded room. King Owain was holding court on the dais for all the well-wishers who’d come for a feast but found themselves attending a funeral instead. He hadn’t summoned her to him as he’d said he would, but they’d both been so busy, he hadn’t had the chance. Gwen spared a thought for Tegwen’s body, lying now in the barracks, and decided she’d better stay in the hall rather than hide away there examining what was left of the princess. The conversation among the inhabitants of Aber consisted of nothing but talk of Tegwen. Gwen would start upon the task Hywel had given her: to listen to what people had to say.
The hated Cadwaladr sat at one end of the dais, basking in the attention of his followers. If anything, he was growing more handsome as he aged, and no hint of baldness had yet touched his head, unlike his elder brother, who was losing his blonde hair faster than it could gray. Even Cristina, for all her fiery will, couldn’t stop what nature had decreed. For once, Cadwaladr’s wife and children had accompanied him to Aber. Alice de Clare, daughter of a Norman, could have felt out of place in this very Welsh castle, but she sat beside her husband and ate her food, never a hair out of place, keeping one eagle eye on the active six-year-old Cadfan and the other on her one-year-old daughter, currently in the arms of her nanny.
Since Hywel had burned Aberystwyth and taken the lands for himself (at his father’s bidding), Cadwaladr and Alice had been living on Cadwaladr’s estate in Merionydd. Like Rhos, it was a cantref of Gwynedd. Its proximity to Aber gave them a much shorter distance to travel for the festival. With Alice sitting beside him, a maligned wife if there ever was one, Gwen felt a little bad about hating Cadwaladr as much as she did. She didn’t feel so badly, however, that she wasn’t looking forward to the moment Hywel held out the pendant coin to him and asked Cadwaladr where he’d been last night. That pleasure, however, had to be deferred until they knew more about the circumstances surrounding the disappearance, death, and reappearance of Tegwen.
A pity.
“I’ve been watching for you.” The voice came low in her ear. “What do you see? What are you looking for?”
Gwen turned her head, startled to find her queen, Cristina, at her side. Gwen glanced again towards King Owain, chastising herself for being so unaware that she hadn’t noticed her queen’s absence from the high table. “My lady, to what do I owe this honor?”
Cristina dismissed Gwen’s obeisance with a gesture. “I may sit where I like, with whom I like. Owain doesn’t like to trouble me with difficult issues these days, but I would like nothing more than to be distracted by this new intrigue. I assume you do not fear my involvement in this matter? You don’t think I had anything to do with Tegwen’s death or the discarding of her body on the beach?”
“Of course not, my lady.” Gwen meant what she said, for once. Cristina certainly wasn’t gallivanting about Gwynedd last night, hauling Tegwen’s body from wherever it had been hidden and leaving it on the beach in the small hours of the morning. “How are you feeling?”
“As well as could be expected for a woman about to deliver her first child,” Cristina said. “Your time will come.”
Gwen bowed her head in acknowledgement of their shared experience, interested that Cristina had even brought it up.
Cristina, however, was not to be distracted by the coming baby. “Do you think you can divert me from what I want to know like a hapless miscreant? I am not fooled by your innocent gaze, my dear.”
Gwen looked down at the trencher she didn’t remember putting in front of her. Cristina wasn’t wrong that Gwen wanted to avoid answering her questions or giving her any substantive information, especially since Gwen hadn’t yet spoken more fully with King Owain. She thought quickly as to what she could say and opted for the essential truth, even if she couldn’t give Cristina all of it.
“The body is Tegwen’s, as you know, and we are just beginning our inquiry. I can tell you little, even if Prince Hywel hadn’t ordered me to say nothing to anyone other than the king.” Admittedly, Prince Hywel hadn’t said anything of the sort but only because he didn’t have to since Gwen already knew it.
Cristina leaned closer to Gwen, which wasn’t easy given the size of her belly. “I am your queen.”
“Please, Madame, I am well aware of that. Perhaps if you’d like to help us uncover the truth, you could tell me what you knew of Tegwen. I have learned already today that I knew her even less well than I thought I did.”
Cristina sat straighter, looking somewhat mollified. “She visited my father’s house in Powys, of course.”
Gwen nodded. “Mari said as much.”
“Her father died when she was twelve, and her mother was not well-born. Still, she was a princess, and my father insisted that I treat her as befitted her station. She was a sweet girl but malleable, and she fell in love with the wrong man.”
Gwen waited, but when Cristina didn’t continue, she made a small gesture with her hand that fell short of actually touching the queen’s arm. “It would be helpful to know the truth of who she was. It will come out eventually. You know how Prince Hywel gets with an investigation.”
“He worries at it like a dog with a bone and won’t let it go until he’s eaten the marrow. I know.” Cristina gazed towards the high table, where Cadwaladr remained in close conversation with Cristina’s own father, Goronwy. Gwen’s father, Meilyr, sat to one side of the dais with Gwalchmai, tuning their instruments in preparation for entertaining the assembled throng.
“It should be I who speaks to this.” King Owain sat heavily on the bench on the other side of Gwen. “I don’t know anything about the Dane whom we all thought Tegwen ran off with five years ago, but the man she would have married instead of Bran was a man-at-arms in my father’s company.”
Gwen gaped at the king. She didn’t know if she was more surprised to see him sitting on a bench like a commoner or that he was willing to tell her what he knew.
He wagged a finger at her. “I told you to come and find me.”
Gwen swallowed. “I am sorry for my lapse, my lord. With one thing and another, I hadn’t yet seen my chance.”
King Owain accepted her apology with a nod, and Gwen sensed that his chastisement had been no more than a formality. “I wasn’t king when she had to forsake her lover for Bran, but I played a part in the decision that she do so. I should have paid more attention to my brother’s only child, but I had children of my own and, upon Cadwallon’s death, a kingdom to manage for my father.”
“But it seems you can tell me something about this man Tegwen loved?” Gwen said.
“He was landless,” King Owain said, “with no hope of betterment and not brave, so unlikely to be knighted in battle. It was a hopeless match; everyone but Tegwen knew it at the time, even the man.”
“I guessed as much,” Gwen said and then paused, worrying that she’d been rude to the king by implying that he was telling her something she already knew. Gwen hurried on, “I’m sorry for speaking so directly, my lord, but we must find him.”
Cristina’s brow furrowed. “It was my understanding, my lord, that he went to Ceredigion with you after Tegwen and Bran married a
nd didn’t return.”
“He died?” Gwen said, looking from Cristina to the king.
King Owain kept his eyes on his wife. “You are correct that after Tegwen’s marriage to Bran, I made sure that her lover lived far from Rhos. I sent him south to Bala, and then he stayed in Ceredigion after our victory there.”
At the mention of Ceredigion, Gwen felt a prickling at the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her. She glanced towards the high table. Cadwaladr was openly glaring at the three of them. She looked away but not before King Owain had seen where her attention had gone. “Gwen,” he said, a warning in his voice. “What don’t I know?”
“I-I am not the one to discuss this matter with you,” Gwen said. “Hywel and Gareth are pursuing the man who brought Tegwen to the beach. I beg that you remain patient. I believe we will have a more complete tale to tell you upon their return.”
King Owain didn’t look satisfied with that answer. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
“No, my lord.”
King Owain rose to his feet, reaching for Cristina’s hand, which she took. “I have duties to attend to. Much can change about a man in nine years, especially if those years are hard ones. I suggest you speak to Brychan over there.” He indicated a swarthy man on the opposite side of the hall from them. “He should have an interesting tale to tell you.”
Gwen glanced over to the man and then quickly up at the king. “Him? Are you saying—”
Cristina’s eyes lit as she studied the soldier. He sat alone at the end of a table, shoveling food into his mouth. She leaned down and put her lips to Gwen’s ear. The glee in her voice was unmistakable. “He’s telling you that Brychan was Tegwen’s lover. Aren’t you lucky that so many lords have come to Aber for Calan Gaeaf and brought their men with them?”
Gwen’s breath caught in her throat, two unspoken thoughts filling her head: A shocked, really? And a more triumphant, finally!
This was a piece of the puzzle Gwen had been looking for since she’d spoken with Mari, who hadn’t known the man’s name. Gwen wasn’t sure that Cristina had known it either until this moment.
“If you have any kind of trouble with him, I will require him to speak to you, but I would prefer not to involve myself in this if it isn’t necessary,” King Owain said. “I admit that sometimes my presence can appear … heavy-handed.”
That was quite an admission coming from the king, for all that he was absolutely correct. It would be far better for Gwen to try to speak to Brychan first, alone, and without undue pressure from his superiors. Being cornered by King Owain might close the man’s lips over all but the most basic information.
Cristina and King Owain were already walking away, and Gwen didn’t feel she could run after them to ask for a little more to go on or even an introduction. She was going to have to feel her way with Brychan and hope that he would find her less intimidating than talking to Gareth or Hywel.
Gwen continued to be amazed at the way interesting pieces of news could come from such unexpected places. It seemed obvious to Gwen now that while Cristina had sought her out to gossip about Tegwen, she’d been as surprised as Gwen at King Owain’s subsequent forthrightness. Gwen watched Cristina smile up at her husband, her expression genuinely joyful. The woman was a potent mix of contradictions. It was Gwen’s experience that Cristina never did anything without a reason—and one that ultimately benefited her. Gwen reminded herself to remain wary of what the benefit might be this time. She hoped that it was only that Cristina liked mischief and to stir up trouble for her own amusement. If that was all this was, it would be a blessing.
Meanwhile, Brychan drank deeply from the cup in front of him and rose to his feet, kicking back the bench as he did so such that the couple on the opposite end of the bench were jerked back from the table; they glared at him, but he ignored them and strode towards the door. Gwen followed him from the hall in hopes of catching him before he reached wherever he intended to go. She didn’t want to ambush him from outside the latrines if she didn’t have to. As she passed through the door to the hall, Brychan was already halfway across the courtyard, heading for the barracks.
Gwen hurried to catch up. “Brychan!”
She put a hand on her belly to stop it from jostling as she hustled down the steps towards him. Though it was just noon, already two servants were trimming the ends of the torches that were set into sconces by the door to the great hall and by the gatehouse, in preparation for lighting the moment it grew dark. One of them raised his eyebrows at Gwen, and she gave him a quick smile. She knew him, as she knew most everyone who worked at Aber. Suddenly, she wondered how many had known Brychan and Tegwen nine years ago when they’d fallen in love and how she might get them to speak to her about it now.
Fortunately, Brychan stopped and turned at Gwen’s call. He was close to the barracks, standing in the full sunlight, which continued to shine down on them and which allowed Gwen to get a good first look at his face. When King Owain had pointed him out to her, she’d seen only his profile and hadn’t recognized him as someone she knew. Now, she realized that she’d seen him before: he’d been among the men in Cadwaladr’s company during the time that Gareth had served him and Gwen’s father had sung at Cadwaladr’s court at Aberystwyth. Brychan had left Cadwaladr’s retinue shortly after Cadwaladr had dismissed Gareth from his service.
As she’d been wallowing in her own misery at the time, she hadn’t cared enough about Brychan to learn why he’d left or where he’d gone. To leave a position with a prince unless forced out like Gareth was so rare for a lowly man-at-arms as to be unbelievable. Gwen wondered if loving Tegwen had something to do with his departure, and she hoped that Brychan would tell her if her guess was true. Since he was here at Aber now, he must serve a lord who tithed to King Owain, but that lord couldn’t have come often to Aber if up until a few moments ago Cristina thought Brychan was dead.
“Hello, Gwen. May I help you?” Brychan said.
Gwen halted a few paces from him, surprised that he knew her. She put a hand on her chest, trying to slow her breathing. “I was hoping to talk with you a moment.”
“Why is that?” Brychan’s expression became wary. “We haven’t spoken since Ceredigion.”
“Seeing you in the hall brought back memories to me of that time. You served Prince Cadwaladr during the year my father sang in his hall.”
“You do remember me, then?” Brychan gave a mocking laugh. “I can’t say I’m surprised it took you this long to notice me. I recognized you the moment I set foot in Aber. I hadn’t realized before yesterday that you’d returned to Gwynedd too.” The corners of his mouth turned down.
Gwen shifted from one foot to the other, more than a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “Yes, well …” She cleared her throat. “I was hoping you would answer a few questions about Tegwen.”
“So that’s it, is it?” Brychan took a step backwards, his eyes flicking from left to right as if he was looking for an escape route.
Gwen put out a hand to him. “Please believe me when I say that I mean you no harm. You must have heard that Tegwen’s body was left on the beach this morning. What you may not know is that she was murdered.”
Brychan had been retreating backwards and now froze, one foot on the bottom step to the barracks behind him. “You’re sure?”
Gwen nodded. “Prince Hywel has been charged with uncovering the truth of her death. You knew her well. The more we learn of her last days, the more likely it is that we will discover who killed her.”
Brychan scoffed. “I know how royalty think. The king doesn’t really want to know who killed his niece. He wants a scapegoat. If I speak to you, I’ll lose my position. Again.” He backed up the steps, his hand already reaching for the latch to the door that would allow him to enter the barracks. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Gwen scurried up the steps after him and reached for his arm to stop him from disappearing through the doorway. Speaking to a m
an who wasn’t her husband was tolerable in the castle’s courtyard or hall, but she couldn’t follow him into the barracks, even if Tegwen’s body was only a few feet away and could provide her an excuse to be there. She could feel the watching eyes of some of the men-at-arms on duty. She needed to stop him here. “You loved her.”
Brychan hesitated, halfway through the barracks’ door. “I was warned never to speak of it.”
“Who warned you?”
Brychan’s lips twisted.
“Was it Bran? Or King Owain? Please know that it was King Owain himself who pointed you out to me and suggested that I speak with you.”
Brychan stared past Gwen, one hand still on the latch. “I wasn’t there for her. She died, and I wasn’t there.” Then he surprised Gwen by crumpling up right there in a heap on the top step, folding himself in half with his knees up and his face in his hands.
Gwen wavered, uncertain what her response should be. She glanced around the courtyard as those same men-at-arms who’d been watching them with interest a moment ago looked hastily away. Brychan had come undone, and no man wanted to witness his undoing. Gwen was tempted to put a hand on Brychan’s shoulder and sit beside him, but his resentful attitude of earlier made her think that he might take offense.
Then Brychan spoke again, his voice choking with grief. “Tegwen is dead, and it’s my fault.”
Gwen moved down the steps, back to the dirt of the courtyard, in order to stand in front of him. She leaned forward to whisper to him, “How is it your fault?”
“She came to me and begged me to take her away from Gwynedd, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.” Brychan put his face back in his hands.
Brychan’s tears were making Gwen even more uncomfortable than his earlier frankness about the fact that she hadn’t noticed him. She wanted to get him out from under the eyes of everyone else in the courtyard but felt equally awkward about dragging him towards a more private location. Finally, she gave in to instinct and sat beside him on the step, turning resolutely away from the two men crossing the courtyard from the postern gate. They had been heading towards the barracks, but at the sight of Brychan’s tears and Gwen patting his shoulder, they abruptly changed direction. She felt like crying too, just witnessing Brychan’s despair.
The Fallen Princess Page 7