“Do you think—” Gareth hesitated, biting his lip.
“Do I think what?” Hywel said.
“He may have known the village children thought the house was haunted,” Gareth said. “He probably knew that Cadwaladr met his women there. Perhaps he hoped that if Tegwen was found, suspicion would fall naturally on Prince Cadwaladr. I myself assumed it when we found the body.”
“What is the word for such a man?” Godfrid said. “Devious, I think you would say.”
“One never knows what a man can do when he’s desperate,” Gareth said, “as surely as Bran must have been desperate having killed his wife.”
“My lord Hywel, your father will be pleased you solved her murder, if not Bran’s, in time to lay her to rest,” Godfrid said.
“I’ll tell you what I’m glad about,” Gareth said. “I’m glad that I’m not bringing your lifeless body into Aber, my lord.”
Hywel waved off Gareth’s concern. “The archer’s aim was poor.”
Gareth shook his head. “Why now? Why take a shot at you? Bran killed Tegwen. What are we missing that has put you in an archer’s sights?”
“You do have a second murder, that of Bran himself,” Godfrid said.
Gareth clenched the reins tightly and then forced himself to relax. “I would not have said we were getting close to identifying him.”
“And yet, if this ambush is related, our murderer must not agree,” Hywel said.
“He has stayed hidden for three years,” Gareth said. “What has made him lose his grip?”
Nobody had an answer to that.
“Are you going to tell your father about Tegwen’s accusation against Bran?” Gareth said.
“I will have to,” Hywel said.
“If I may suggest, my lord,” Gareth said, “it would be better if only your father knows what we know. We have inadvertently flushed out another wrongdoer. We want to keep him guessing.”
“I agree,” Hywel said.
They had finally come off the beach path to the main road that ran past Aber. Torches shone from the gatehouse where a crowd had gathered, forming up on either side of the road to the castle, and Meilyr’s drum pounded out a solemn rhythm.
“Tegwen’s funeral is about to start.” Godfrid bowed. “I am sorry for your loss, my prince.”
Hywel nodded absently and dismounted at the crossroads where the track that ran down from the castle met the main road. Gareth waved at the men to dismount and then went to help Dafydd off his horse himself. Dafydd’s wound had turned out to be less serious than it could have been because his boiled leather armor had stopped most of the arrow’s force. The point had penetrated the muscle of his upper arm, however, and he needed proper treatment before the wound suppurated. Directing another man-at-arms to give him support, Gareth sent Dafydd into the castle by a back pathway that led to the postern gate.
The rest of the men picketed their horses in the grass beside the road. Dewi had been walking with his hands tied in front of him on a lead behind one of the horses, and Evan pulled him off the track behind the other men, keeping one hand on the rope. Dewi hadn’t tried to run away, but Tegwen’s funeral would present him with the best opportunity, with his guards more focused on the procession than on him.
It wasn’t long before Tegwen’s coffin passed their position, with Gruffydd, Sioned, and King Owain following immediately behind the pallbearers. Hywel moved towards Rhun, who nodded his head almost imperceptibly in greeting. Mari, who walked next to Rhun, shot her husband a glare and lifted her chin. Gareth couldn’t help smiling at his prince’s discomfort, confident that he knew what that was about. Gwen walked with Gwalchmai, Llelo, and Dai further back in the procession. At their approach, Evan nudged Gareth’s arm. “Go on.”
Gareth didn’t need a second urging. He took Gwen’s hand, and they walked across the bridge that spanned the Aber River to the burial ground of many of Aber’s royal family, located to the south of the village. An ancient chapel and hedge surrounded the circular site. By the time the people had filled in every available space to listen to the words of Aber’s priest, it was nearly dark. As they lowered Tegwen into the ground and Hywel opened his mouth to sing his paean to her, the rain finally stopped. To the west, the clouds lifted long enough to reveal the sun setting in a fiery ball.
As the last note faded, the congregants murmured their approval. Then, at a nod from his father, Hywel launched into the Latin benediction, one everyone in the audience knew well. It soared above their heads, Gwalchmai’s soprano acting as counterpoint to Hywel’s tenor.
It was completely dark by the time they made their way back into Aber Castle. With the cessation of the rain, temporary though it might be, candles and more torches had been lit all along the road to light their way—and Tegwen’s. Many common folk still believed in their heart of hearts that she needed guidance to her final rest in the next world, despite the exhortations of the Church to the contrary.
Gwen and Gareth held back to allow most of the crowd to leave them behind as he gave her a hurried summary of all that had happened in the last few hours. He’d tried to move out of earshot of Dai and Llelo, but as he finished his tale, Dai appeared at his right elbow. “You should know that Prince Cadwaladr met a man at Wena’s hut last night.”
Gareth came to a dead halt in the middle of the road. “You boys are going to be the death of me. How do you know that?”
“I saw him.” Dai hadn’t registered Gareth’s glare of disapproval.
Gwen put a hand on Gareth’s arm and gave him a quelling look. “What did the man Cadwaladr met look like? Could you see?”
“He was large, with yellow hair.” Dai gestured to Godfrid, who was fighting the current of people, coming towards them from wherever he’d been. “Like him.”
Once Godfrid reached them, Gareth steered the five of them to the edge of the road, out of the way of any passer-by.
“It’s my fault,” Llelo said. “I told Dai about going to the hut, and he insisted that he wouldn’t be scared. Gwalchmai and Iorwerth came too.”
Gareth studied Llelo’s downturned head. Like at Ceri’s hut, Llelo was refusing to look at him.
Gwen stepped in. “Let’s start again. The four of you followed Cadwaladr to Wena’s hut and saw him meet with a Dane there?”
“No,” Dai said, cheerfully oblivious to Gareth’s displeasure. “We didn’t follow him. He was already there when we arrived. The door was propped open and a lantern lit in the house. We sneaked up to see who had got there first and saw them talking.”
“Did they see you?” Gwen said.
Dai shook his head, though for the first time he looked uncertain.
“No, they didn’t,” Llelo said. “I’m sure of it. They were intent on each other.”
“Did you hear what they were talking about?” Gwen said.
“Something about a book,” Llelo said.
The three adults exchanged a quick glance. By now, everyone had passed them to return to the castle except for Godfrid’s Danes. With a wave of his hand, Godfrid dispersed his men in a defensive perimeter along the road. “What else did they say?” Godfrid said to Llelo.
“Nothing else. Prince Cadwaladr asked if the man had news of ‘the book’ and reminded him how important it was that he find it.”
“Did you recognize the man as one of Godfrid’s?” Gwen said. “We have been looking all day for one named Erik, who is half Welsh.”
Both boys shook their heads uncertainly.
“Without catching him, we won’t know if it was Erik,” Godfrid said. “It could have been one of Thorfin’s men.”
“Why would Cadwaladr want the Book of Kells?” Gwen said.
“For the same reason Thorfin did,” Gareth said. “The Earl of Pembroke would make a powerful ally. Thorfin wanted to use it to bring Gilbert de Clare to Ireland. What if Cadwaladr wants Clare’s help in gaining power?”
“In Ceredigion?” Gwen said.
“In Gwynedd,” Gareth said.
Gareth was really only thinking out loud, but as he spoke the words, a possible plot took shape in his head. There was nothing Cadwaladr wouldn’t do to advance his own position and no person he wouldn’t betray.
Godfrid put a hand on Llelo’s shoulder. The boy had been following the adults’ conversation with wary eyes. “What happened next?”
“Cadwaladr rode away, back to Aber, and the big man went off in the opposite direction. We didn’t want to get caught, and as it was very late, we returned to Aber too.”
Dai was bouncing up and down, as if anxious to speak. Gareth put a hand on top of his head to stop him from moving. “What is it?”
“There was one more thing,” he said. “I don’t think either of them knew where this book was.”
“Why do you say that?” Godfrid said.
“There was a great deal of cursing and kicking furniture,” Dai said. “It’s how King Owain behaves when he is angry.”
Godfrid growled low in his throat. “If you’re right, that would be the best news I’ve heard all day.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Gwen
Hallowmas was upon them, and even with the intrigue swirling around Tegwen’s death, Gwen was having a difficult time thinking about anything but what the poor girl had looked like when Gwen had first seen her on the beach. Most years, Gwen looked forward to Hallowmas, the dancing and singing in particular, but tonight she felt distant from it.
The feasting was continuing in the great hall, but Gwen, who’d excused herself to use the latrine, didn’t return to it, standing instead in the shadow of the stone battlement. The air was damp with the threat of more rain, but she breathed deeply, glad to be away from the hall and the press of people. She was already tired of the smell of sweat and damp wool, and winter hadn’t even started.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of candles lit the courtyard of the castle. Some of Aber’s villagers had started to trickle away down the hill. Hallowmas was both a serious time and one of joyful celebration. Before midnight, the villagers would light a bonfire from which the hearth fires of every household would be relit. Sharing food was a way to welcome the souls of family members who’d died, so revelers would leave food on the doorsteps of every house.
She glanced towards the postern gate, which was open, providing easy passage to and from the house in which she and Gareth were staying. Several soldiers stood guarding the door, though they were drinking and eating, so she wasn’t sure how much attention they were paying to the people who came and went. With Tegwen laid to rest and her murderer known, King Owain had relaxed the discipline among the men for the evening.
“It makes me uncomfortable too,” Gareth whispered in her ear. “Especially since Evan reports that Wena’s hut is empty. He saw no sign that either Erik or Cadwaladr were ever there.”
Gwen turned to look up at him, her heart lifting as it always did when he was near. “What about the archer who shot at Hywel? A man was wounded and Hywel could have been killed! It’s as if the king doesn’t care.” She gestured to the crowd of people who were surging from the hall, laughing and talking with one another.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Gareth said, “but he prefers to blame masterless men for that act.”
“What masterless men?” Gwen said. “We don’t have masterless men this close to Aber.”
“Keep your voice down, Gwen.”
Gwen turned at Hywel’s command. He had Mari on his arm, and in the light of the torches, her face was the least pale Gwen had seen it in days. It looked as though she had forgiven Hywel for leaving without saying goodbye.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Gwen said. “I’m worried.”
Hywel tipped his head to indicate the guards. “Dearest Gwen, this inattention is by design. Those men are drinking well-watered mead.”
Gwen’s expression cleared. “That’s a relief.”
“We want to lull our murderer into a false sense of security,” Hywel said.
Gareth’s brow furrowed. “What are you planning, my lord?”
But Gwen understood. “You’re using yourself as bait! How on earth did you convince your father to let you do it?”
Hywel grinned. “He saw the wisdom of catching this murderer sooner rather than later.”
“I’ve already told him I don’t like it.” Mari squeezed Hywel around the waist with both arms. “I almost lost him already today.”
“I’ll be fine.” Hywel patted her arm, laughing over her head at Gareth and Gwen.
“It would be tempting fate to put yourself in harm’s way again,” Gwen said.
“I am no more at risk than I would be riding among my guard,” Hywel said. “We will have watchers through the night. Most of the villagers won’t sleep anyway, so they will think nothing of the activity of our men.”
Mari didn’t look convinced, but she released Hywel’s arm to take Gwen’s. “My husband was escorting me to bed, Gwen. Will you retire with me so we don’t have to be a party to their stupidity?”
“Of course.” If the revelers weren’t so loud and raucous, Gwen would have been asleep already.
Mari shot a glare over her shoulder. “He’s lucky he almost lost his life today or he’d be sleeping in the stables tonight.”
Hywel blew his wife a kiss.
Gwen nudged Mari’s shoulder. “He meant well, not waking you.”
“He won’t make that mistake again,” Mari said.
Gwen and Mari passed through the postern gate while Gareth and Hywel stopped to speak to those who guarded the door.
“Gareth will look after him,” Gwen said.
“He really is most incorrigible,” Mari said.
“That’s why you love him.”
Mari smiled, unable to stay angry. Gwen was glad to see her friend in a better mood and was about to say so when her attention was caught by a movement at the edge of the trees to the south of the castle. Two figures were standing face-to-face a hundred yards away. Both wore cloaks and were hard to see, since they were well out of the range of the torchlight and only stars shone down tonight.
Gwen watched them for a moment. It looked like they were arguing, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then one of the figures went down on one knee before falling to the ground. Gwen let out an involuntary gasp of air, causing Mari to swing around and look where Gwen was looking. Mari squeaked, and although she cut off the sound the moment she released it, the standing figure raised his head and looked towards Mari and Gwen.
Aber’s bonfire had just been lit in the courtyard, and its light, combined with the candle-filled turnips that lit the pathway to the house, meant that whoever it was could see the women more easily than they could see him.
The figure hesitated for a moment and then whirled around to disappear into the darkness of the woods beyond.
Gwen finally found her voice. “Gareth!”
Gareth and Hywel reached them in three strides. “What is it?” Gareth took Gwen’s arms and turned her so she had to look into his face. She wasn’t usually this frozen in the face of danger, but it had taken hardly more three or four breaths for the whole scene to start and finish. The man on the ground wasn’t moving, and Gwen feared that she’d just seen him murdered before her eyes.
Gwen didn’t have the words to explain; she pulled away from Gareth and lifted the hem of her skirts to run towards the fallen man.
The others ran after her, with Hywel and Gareth passing her once they realized where she was going. The man on the ground still hadn’t moved or made a noise, and both men were already crouched over the body by the time Gwen came huffing up, her hand to her belly. Mari had followed too; she leaned her shoulder into a nearby tree before bending over, her hands on her knees, to lose her dinner on the ground.
Gwen wiped Mari’s mouth with a cloth that she kept folded at her waist. Gwen felt like puking herself but was managing for the moment to control the instinct. “He’s dead?” she said to Gareth.
Hywel held up his palm. It was covered
in blood. “He took a knife between his ribs to his heart. Did you see where the killer went?”
Gwen gestured towards the woods. “That way. He could be anywhere.”
Hywel peered in the direction she’d pointed. “I can’t see a thing. He could be fifty feet away or five hundred.” He put his hand to the hilt of his sword and scanned the darkness under the trees.
Gareth flipped back the man’s hood, and then Gwen really did fear that she was going to lose her dinner. The dead man was Brychan, Tegwen’s lover.
Gareth grunted and then swept a hand across Brychan’s eyes to close them. “I feel like this is my fault, at least partly.”
“Gareth, no—” Gwen began.
Hywel turned to look down at Gareth. “Why is that?”
Gareth ripped open Brychan’s shirt. He hadn’t been wearing armor, just a coat and cloak against the night air. “If I hadn’t allowed other cares to divert me until this morning, we might have found him sooner, and he might still be alive.”
Hywel discarded Gareth’s claim with a wave of his hand. “You know as well as I do that Brychan’s death cannot be laid at your door.”
“The blade was thin.” Gareth wiped away the blood, which had stopped pulsing from the wound. “One thrust and he was dead. Gwen could have managed it.”
Hywel glanced to where Gwen still stood beside Mari, her arm across her friend’s shoulders. “Did you see who did it?”
Gwen shook her head. “Not more than his shape and not much of that.”
“Anything you can tell us would be helpful,” Hywel said.
“He was of average height, within an inch of Brychan. Slender, or at least not fat. Other than that, it was too dark.”
Hywel’s lips twisted in dismay. “Brychan must have seen, known, or done something that someone else feared.” He went to Mari, who put her face into his chest, not quite sobbing but breathing deeply to control her emotions. Gwen knew how Mari felt, though she was trying to be as calm as the men.
“Yes, but who feared it?” Gareth said.
Hywel looked at Gwen over the top of Mari’s head. “I thought at the time that Dewi was telling the truth about Tegwen’s death as far as he knew it, and given the corroborating evidence, I still believe it.” He indicated Brychan’s body with a tip of his head. “This is about something different.”
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