The Unexpected Ally

by Sarah Woodbury

  Hywel nodded his head, suddenly feeling far less righteous than he’d felt a moment ago—and maybe a little foolish. He’d questioned his father’s sanity and doubted his fitness to lead. But for all that his father had lain abed for the last four months, here he was speaking rationally. In fact, he was speaking like a king.

  “You are not wrong, but you know as well as I that running a kingdom means compromising sometimes. Alice’s father is dead, but when Cadwaladr married her, he married one of the most sought after women in England, if what a man values in a wife is the power and influence she can bring him.”

  “Which Cadwaladr does.”

  “Which Cadwaladr does,” Owain agreed. “May I remind you that her uncle is Ranulf, Earl of Chester, who is himself married to Robert of Gloucester’s daughter. In addition, Alice’s brother is the Earl of Hertford, another uncle is the Earl of Pembroke, and her brother-in-law is the Earl of Lincoln.”

  “You’re telling me that I was mistaken to think that Cadwaladr would hide in Ireland. He’d tried that already. Likely he’s hiding in an earl’s household.” Hywel ground his teeth at the thought of Cadwaladr cowering amongst his Norman relations.

  “You’re missing my point, son,” King Owain said. “I have to assume that Cadwaladr has leagued with Ranulf again or with one of these other barons. He would league with them even if he still held Ceredigion. I am far more concerned that if I were to deprive Cadwaladr of all of his lands, it means I would also deprive Alice, and that is an affront that her powerful family would not ignore. We already know that Ranulf of Chester has spent his entire adult life looking covetously at Wales. He would like nothing more than to use my supposed mistreatment of Cadwaladr—and by extension Alice—as an excuse to launch a war on Wales.”

  It took no stretch of the imagination at all to contemplate the enormous resources any of these lords could bring to bear on Gwynedd should they choose to. The fact that only Ranulf had posed a real threat up until now was in large part because all of England was caught up in the war between King Stephen and Empress Maud. At the same time, the war also provided the perfect opportunity to make incursions into Wales while the rest of England was distracted. Ranulf had already done so. Hywel’s father was right that these other Normans might need very little prompting to try it too.

  Hywel ran his hand through his hair. “I knew this of course. All politics are a family matter, whether here or in England. What is the war in England now but a fight between cousins?”

  Owain paused to study his son’s face, and his expression was so serious, Hywel feared what was coming … and for good reason since next his father added, “What’s happening in Ceredigion and Deheubarth is a family matter too—one in which the Earl of Pembroke plays a role. My sister married Cadell’s father and died defending Aberystwyth. We are bonded not only by blood ties but by blood spilled.”

  Hywel swallowed hard at the shift in their conversation. Both Cadell, King of Deheubarth and Clare, Earl of Pembroke, coveted Ceredigion, lands Owain had taken from Cadwaladr and given to Hywel. The fact that Cadell’s father had controlled Ceredigion before the war there ten years ago put Hywel’s rule in a precarious position. Hywel himself had left Aberystwyth at the end of the summer, called by his father to defend eastern Gwynedd from Ranulf of Chester.

  But with the events that followed—Rhun’s death and the taking of Mold among them—Hywel had not returned to Ceredigion. He’d even moved Mari and his sons north to Dolwyddelan Castle. Because of Rhun’s death, Hywel’s duties had changed, and he hadn’t known how long it would be until he could return.

  Unfortunately, such a long absence meant that Hywel had been required to choose a steward to defend his seat at Aberystwyth. After weighing his options carefully, he’d appointed a local nobleman, hoping that this man’s promotion would assuage any concerns the populace might have about how much Hywel cared for them. The new steward, Seisyll, was a capable man, but he wasn’t Hywel. While the people feared and distrusted northerners, they also would resent being neglected in favor of Hywel’s other holdings in Gwynedd.

  Hywel’s father saw the uncertainty in him and put out a hand. “I am concerned about Ceredigion but not your stewardship of it. If you have neglected the principality, it is because I have been selfish and kept you in the north too long. When this is over, you should go south again. In particular, you should make peace with King Cadell.”

  “I have already made overtures in that regard, my lord,” Hywel said, feeling suddenly as if he needed to speak formally. “We are making plans to—ah—encroach on Wiston Castle.”

  King Owain released a disdainful laugh. “Walter the Fleming’s possession.”

  The Normans, in their relentless quest to defeat the southern Welsh, had brought in a host of settlers from Flanders, assigning them Welsh lands and dislocating the local people. The lord who ruled the Flemish knew absolutely that these settlers would never side with the native Welsh and, surrounded by strangers as they were, would fight to the death to keep what they’d been given. As a strong fighting force, they had so far been impossible to dislodge.

  The conversation about Cadwaladr had taken them nearly to the forward sentries of the encampment, which lay less than a mile to the southeast of the monastery. With Madog of Powys setting up his own encampment in the nearby fields, the men of Gwynedd had decided to keep their distance, lest fighting break out among the common men. If they were going to war, it wouldn’t be by accident.

  “Now, I have questions for you, which you have very successfully managed to divert me from for almost the whole of this journey.” King Owain waggled his finger at his son. “But they will have to wait.” Then King Owain turned in the saddle and waved an arm at Taran, his closest friend and the steward of Aber Castle. “I’m not surprised that Madog agreed to this peace conference, since he is clearly in the wrong, but I suspect treachery too. He should never have tried to murder you, and the only reason he did so is because he thought he could get away with it. I want to know why he thought he could before I walk into that chapter house tomorrow.”

  Taran urged his horse closer. He’d been riding behind the king and to his right during Hywel’s conversation with his father, giving them the space and privacy they needed to talk, father to son. That Taran had left Aber testified to the breach that had opened up between Hywel’s father and Cristina, Hywel’s stepmother, and Hywel wondered again what had finally broken her and the king apart. That was a question Hywel didn’t yet dare ask of his father.

  When Taran came abreast, Owain said, “I will hear what Madog has to say, for Susanna’s sake, if for no other reason.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Taran said.

  Susanna was Hywel’s aunt, his father’s sister—and also Madog’s wife. Hywel had given Madog the benefit of the doubt too because of her, and it had almost cost him his life. At the same time, it was she who’d saved him at Dinas Bran, so he didn’t object to his father’s decree.

  As they approached the encampment, located in the curve of the river Clwyd to the southeast of St. Asaph, a shout rose up from the watchers, and then Cynan, Hywel’s younger brother, came to greet them, buttressed by Cadifor, Hywel’s foster father, and two of Cadifor’s sons.

  “We are prepared, sir,” Cynan said without preamble, “ready to march today, if you wish.”

  “What do the scouts report?” King Owain dropped to the ground in a smooth motion. Hywel had feared that his father had neglected his health in the months since Rhun’s death, but now that he was looking at him objectively, his father was slimmer than he had been last autumn and certainly appeared fitter than when Hywel had last seen him.

  “King Madog should be here soon, if he isn’t already at the monastery.” Cynan held the bridle of Hywel’s horse, and he dismounted too. “He rides with his teulu and a small army, but he has left the bulk of his men at home to defend Powys.”

  “He really might not want a war today,” Hywel said.

  Cadifor folded his arms across
his chest and contemplated his foster son. “Then he shouldn’t have tried to kill you, should he?”

  “Madog has always been ready and willing to fight us,” Cynan said. “Why sue for peace? It’s unprecedented.”

  Hywel pursed his lips. “We need more information than we have now. It could be that he’s feeling pressure from somewhere else that has nothing to do with us. How far have your scouts ranged east into England, Cynan?”

  Cynan gave Hywel a blank look before answering, “Not far, my prince. I didn’t want Ranulf of Chester to think we were encroaching on his holdings.”

  Hywel pursed his lips at Cynan’s use of his title, but it was how Cynan would have spoken to Rhun at times.

  “Has there been some new development in the war between Stephen and Maud?” Taran urged his horse a few steps forward and dismounted too. “Last we heard, King Stephen had engaged Earl Ranulf in the east.”

  Owain nodded. “I promised King Stephen I would send men to fight against Ranulf, but until now I perceived my obligation to counter Madog as the greater. Perhaps we should be warier about fighting too.”

  “You may have the right of it, Father,” Cynan said. “A messenger arrived today from my brother at Mold informing me that Stephen has released Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Hertford and nephew to Ranulf, whom he was holding hostage to Ranulf’s good behavior.” He gestured apologetically to the others in case he was telling them something they already knew. “His freedom was predicated on the surrendering of a number of his castles, which Hertford did. But when his other uncle, Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Pembroke, who up until now has been loyal to Stephen, asked that the castles be given to him in trust, Stephen refused. Now both Gilberts have sided with Ranulf against Stephen. The whole of the west now stands for Maud, with the lone exception of Shrewsbury.”

  Hywel and his father exchanged a significant glance. They’d been speaking about these three Norman earls, close relations of Cadwaladr’s wife, Alice, only moments ago.

  “If Chester, Hertford, and Pembroke are fighting Stephen, then their territories are fair game to an incursion by Powys,” Hywel said. “Madog knows that any war with us isn’t going to end well for him. He’d much rather take his chances with an undefended Chester.”

  “Plus, with Robert’s health failing, his son controls more and more of his domains,” Cynan said. “We don’t know if he will continue Robert’s staunch support for Maud beyond Robert’s death.”

  “The son is not the father.” King Owain tapped a finger to his lips. “Robert of Gloucester’s suffering through Ranulf’s many defections may be as great as my own dealings with Cadwaladr.”

  Nobody had a reply to that observation—all the more because it was true.

  “My lord.” Cynan bowed deeply to his father. “Your pavilion is prepared and a meal ready.”

  “Again. You have my thanks.” King Owain made a slight motion with his head in Taran’s direction. Taran was the one who’d make sure that everything really was prepared for the king’s arrival. The steward nodded, understanding that the thanks had been a dismissal. He departed with Cynan and the others, including Cadifor, who shot a look heavy with meaning at Hywel. Cadifor was a warrior and a straightforward thinker. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the need to negotiate or the strategy involved, but he didn’t like it, and Hywel expected to hear his foster father’s objections later. Rather than feeling caught between his two fathers, he felt comforted that both had his best interests at heart, even if their approach to caring for him differed.

  Thus, Owain was left alone again with Hywel, and Hywel marveled that his father was taking him into his confidence in this way. It wasn’t as if he never had, but for the first time since he’d become a man, Hywel felt like his father was consulting with him, not simply telling him what to do.

  “I assume Gareth is the one heading up the inquiry into Erik’s demise?” Owain said, coming back around to their first topic of conversation. Hywel was seeing only now that his father rarely forgot anything. Beneath his expansive gestures, his hearty laugh, and his fearsome temper lay the mind that had kept him on the throne of Gwynedd for the last ten years. Except for Cadwaladr, until Rhun’s death, no lord had challenged his fitness to stay there. Even more than a war, Hywel hoped this peace conference would show Gwynedd’s doubting barons that the Owain they’d followed all this time was back.

  “Yes.”

  King Owain nodded. “A good use of him, since he is injured. I imagine if he didn’t have an investigation to lead, he would be wanting to lead your teulu in this fight against Madog.”

  “He most definitely would. In fact, he would see it as his duty, and I would be hard pressed to dissuade him.”

  “Then it is good that we take the time to watch and wait. Madog isn’t going anywhere, and I intend to wrest concessions from him at this conference that will leave no doubt as to who got the better of the negotiations.” King Owain gave a sharp nod. “I’m counting on you to stand with me in this.”

  “Of course, Father. I have no problem biding my time and lulling Madog into a false sense of security.”

  Owain turned one more time to look at his son. “Do not think that a decision to accept Abbot Rhys’s overtures of peace is an indication that I feel Madog’s offense against you is unimportant.”

  “I know that.” Hywel canted his head as he studied his father. “I came here with you with fire in my heart against Madog. But perhaps this fight isn’t in our best interests any more than it is in Madog’s. While revenge would be sweet in the short term, I can see the benefit of watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.”

  King Owain guffawed. “You are learning, my son.” Then he sobered. “And then we will strike.” Owain clapped one fist into the palm of the other hand. “Never say that Gwynedd doesn’t finish what it starts. I swear to you now that one way or another, we will bring Madog to heel. He may not want to fight me, but that does not mean his treachery will go unanswered.”

  Chapter Nine

  Gareth

  “What’s your opinion of coincidences?” Conall climbed down the ladder and moved to stand beside Gareth to look down with him at the coins as they lay in the mud. “It seems strangely coincidental that Erik is killed on the very day we arrive at St. Asaph.”

  Gareth scoffed. “They happen, but I don’t trust them.”

  “Nor do I.” Conall gazed around the paddock, his eyes searching. “If I had been more mindful of them in Shrewsbury, I might not have been captured.” He glanced at Gareth out of the corner of his eye. “But then, we would not have met, and I am wondering more and more if what we might see as a chance meeting was destined from the start.”

  Gareth grunted. “It is at times hard to discern the difference between coincidence, chance, and destiny.”

  Conall turned to look directly at Gareth. “I attribute the fact that I live to your stubborn refusal to accept coincidence. If I haven’t thanked you properly for my life, I apologize. Words are inadequate to convey what I owe you.”

  Gareth made a dismissive motion with his hand, but Conall wasn’t done.

  “If you need anything of me, you have only to ask.”

  Gareth swallowed hard, realizing that Conall’s reasons for staying in Wales might have more to do with the life debt he felt he owed Gareth than curiosity or possible diplomacy with Gwynedd. In retrospect, that Conall was too injured for a sea journey was a rather feeble excuse for not returning to Ireland. “I understand the debt you feel you owe me,” he found himself saying, matching Conall’s grave tone, “and I understand why you feel it, but I did my duty. Finding you in that mill was coincidental.”

  “You were at the mill because you believed the villains had made it their hideout.”

  “True—”

  “The debt remains,” Conall said. “As you said a moment ago, it is hard to discern at the time when it is destiny sitting on your right shoulder rather than chance.”

  Gareth held out a hand to Conall and met
his eyes. Among the Irish and Welsh, a life debt was never to be taken lightly by either party. Conall might think he owed Gareth his life, and Gareth couldn’t deny the truth of it, but saving a man’s life incurred a responsibility in the other direction too. A connection had been formed between the two men, and Gareth now had a responsibility for the life Conall led from this point on. All of this Conall knew without either of them needing to articulate it, and he grasped Gareth’s forearm and shook.

  But then Gareth grinned. “We are both alive, and that’s what matters. Work beside me for long, and you may find any debt paid off very quickly.”

  Conall smiled with his eyes and shook his head. “I’m beginning to understand why that might be. You could no more turn away when you are needed than you could stop breathing.”

  “I’m thinking I could say the same about you.”

  Conall opened his mouth, prepared to protest, but Gareth forestalled him with another laugh. He moved his right hand to Conall’s left shoulder and shook him a little, careful not to hurt him. “Friends.”

  Conall canted his head thoughtfully, but he put an even more gentle hand on Gareth’s left shoulder. “Friends.”

  Satisfied that the exchange had cleared the air between them, Gareth released Conall and gestured to the coins. “I don’t know about you, but I find it very hard to believe that finding silver coins in the mud near where the body of a servant to a prince of Wales was found is a matter of chance.” He finally bent to pluck the coins from the mud. Straightening, he rubbed the dirt off with his thumb and turned one over in order to peer at the faded lettering and image. “This is seventy years old, issued under King William.” He held it out to Conall.

  Conall gingerly took the coin. “It’s a long way from home.”

  Gareth waggled his head back and forth. “Maybe. Few Welsh kings have issued coins. If a Welshman is to have one, it is likely to be English in origin.”

  The rain hadn’t at all lessened, but the pounding of hooves of a horse ridden hard along the track to the barn could be easily heard, coming from the south, the direction in which the monastery lay. Gareth didn’t actually say what now? because it seemed a pointless question, and a moment later, a young monk reined in near the fence. “My lords! My lords! I have a summons from the abbot!”