Mathonwy nodded. “This is where we found the body. A beam had fallen on him, which is what lit his clothes and charred parts of his body.”
“But the fire couldn’t have started here,” Gwen said, not as a question. “In fact, it looks to me as if the fire came here later than to other parts of the barn.” She looked beyond the fallen walls to the trough in which Erik had been found. Ironically, it was untouched by the blaze.
Llelo came over to where Gwen stood and spoke in an undertone. “Da would have my head if he knew you were here without him.”
“He’ll have my head for bringing you too,” she said. “What did you see on the body?”
“He was stabbed in the back with a dagger.”
Gwen gave a tsk under her breath. “Erik was stabbed in the belly.”
“It could be that the same man killed them both.”
“The gash couldn’t have been made by the beam falling or other damage from the fire?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You can look for yourself, but the body is mostly intact.” He frowned. “Why would that be?”
“Bodies don’t burn that easily, not unless the fire is very hot.” Gwen tapped a finger to her chin as she thought. “If he was dead before the fire was set, then his death and the fire could be unrelated. Again, we’re looking at two different men with two different agendas.”
Llelo canted his head to one side. “Erik was murdered and left for the monks to find and then the body was stolen. If one person did all that, his actions make no sense. It could make sense if we have two different villains working separately.”
Gwen noted the we but didn’t comment on it. “And what does this have to do with the theft here or at Wrexham?” Gwen looked away, though her eyes weren’t really seeing the pasture beyond the lane. As at Shrewsbury, the situation had grown very complicated—until at the end it had all become very simple. “All we have to tie Erik’s murder to those crimes are the silver coins Gareth found.”
Mathonwy had stayed out of earshot while Llelo and Gwen talked, but now he lifted a hand to gain their attention. “Geoff is here, and it may be that he can tell us more.” Mathonwy signaled to a stocky man with a water bucket that he should come closer. “He’s an old friend of the abbot’s from his days in King Henry’s service. He came to St. Asaph when he discovered that the abbot was here. He owns the inn in the village now. Fire was his specialty.”
“What does that mean, fire was his specialty?” Gwen said.
“Starting them, controlling them, using them in war,” Mathonwy said with the tone of a man who’d seen its use in person. “I’ve heard him say that every fire speaks to him in its own language.”
Such knowledge could put Geoff on the top of the list of people who could have started the fire, but apparently Mathonwy didn’t agree.
“Yes, brother?” Geoff halted in front of them. He was at least twenty years older than Gwen, with a thick beard shot with gray and deep brown eyes that were almost black in the torch light.
Dai had moved off to survey the area around the barn, but Mathonwy introduced Llelo and Gwen. “Tell them what you told me about the fire.”
Geoff gave a sharp nod. Gwen recognized the kind of person he was from her many years of living in a royal court. Here was a man who was the backbone of any army—the common-born soldier who’d risen above his station to lead men.
“I haven’t been able to get very far inside yet,” Geoff said as a caveat, “but I can tell a few things already. Namely, the fire was set. If it was started by lightning, the roof would have gone up first.”
Gwen nodded. “As it was, it went last. I saw that when I was here earlier.”
“Right. My guess from the way the fire spread is that it started on the ground in the exact center of the building.”
“What about the body?” Llelo said.
Geoff shook his head. “That’s your business, not mine.”
“What can you tell us about how it burned?” Gwen said.
“Oh, that,” Geoff said as if a burned body was of minor interest compared to the real issue of the setting of the fire. He gestured to where the body lay, now thankfully under a piece of sacking Dai had salvaged. Leave it to him to always be thinking of how Gwen felt. “The fire was hot enough to singe off his hair and burn most of his clothes, but less so the flesh underneath. He wasn’t caught in the midst of it.”
“Would you say that he was dead before the beam came down?” Gwen said.
“If he was alive, why not call for help?” Mathonwy said. “You saw the state of the barn. He could have kicked his way out a side wall.”
“You have a point.” Gwen turned back to Geoff. “Would you say, then, that the point of the fire wasn’t to cover up his death?”
“Absolutely it wasn’t,” Geoff said. “Or if it was, the killer did a remarkably bad job of it.”
“How would you have done it if it were you?” Gwen said.
“I would have soaked the man’s clothes in oil to fuel the fire. The oil soaks into a man’s tissues, making the burn far worse than any other burn, even alcohol, though that works too. Then I would have piled hay all around him and lit it.” Geoff spoke very straightforwardly. Fire was his business.
Everyone nodded. No household could be run without oil, which had many uses, from lanterns to cooking to the production of soaps and lotions. Its flammable nature was a given, and anyone who worked in the kitchen had to be constantly aware of oil when it was heating. In addition, pouring oil, boiling or otherwise, on a castle’s attackers—and then lighting them up—was a standard tactic in sieges.
“Thank you, Geoff. If we need to speak to you more, will you be nearby?” Gwen said.
“At my inn.” He bowed. “My lady.”
Gwen let Mathonwy go too so he could arrange for the transport of the body to the room off the cloister where he could lie alongside Erik, and then she and Llelo walked slowly back to their horses.
“It’s too bad we didn’t inspect the barn fully when we were here earlier,” Llelo said. “I feel like that’s partly my fault. Da is tired and in pain, and—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Gwen said. “Too much has been happening too quickly for any of us to devote the time needed to each aspect of the investigation. At least Conall should still have the rope that measured the shoe size of the man in the loft. When we get the dead man to the chapel, I can compare it.”
“This dead man does have really big feet and hands,” Llelo said.
They had reached the horses. Gwen stopped before mounting, watching the monks move the body onto a board in preparation for putting it in the back of one of their carts. “Do you see that?”
Llelo frowned, unaware of what Gwen was talking about, but she moved to the monks and stopped them.
“Look at his hand.” She turned slightly to show Llelo the dead man’s left arm, which had fallen off the board and out from under the sheet.
Llelo, Dai, and Mathonwy, who’d been directing his fellow monks, all converged on her, and Mathonwy raised his torch so the light would shine on the man’s hand: the last finger on his left hand was missing its tip, while the rest of it was bent at a grotesque angle.
“So this is Erik’s murderer,” Llelo said.
Gwen shook her head in disbelief. “He may be that, but then who murdered him?”
Chapter Twenty-five
Gareth
“In the middle of the investigation at Shrewsbury, Gwen and I were on the verge of telling you that we could no longer do this job,” Gareth said to Hywel as they walked towards the chapter house.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hywel hesitated on the threshold, his eyes surveying the room in a quick glance that Gareth knew had taken in the position of all the major players.
“Neither of us can turn away. We resolved to be more detached instead.”
Hywel laughed out loud as if he didn’t have a care in the world and clapped Gareth on his good shoulder.
“I’d say this is a good day to start.”
The odd thing was that Gareth didn’t think Hywel’s amusement was feigned. He really was in high good humor, and the only explanation that made sense was that Rhodri’s public accusation of Gareth had exposed his enemy for who he was, and Hywel was looking forward to engaging Madog on his own terms. Of course, Madog had no idea that Hywel had already spoken to Rhodri—and maybe he wouldn’t have known to care if he did. According to Hywel, Rhodri believed every word he’d said, and Madog was counting on that sincerity to convince the room that King Owain was the real villain today.
The chapter house was nearly full already, with more men than earlier in the day. Likely, word had spread, not only of Rhodri’s capture and accusation against King Owain, which had happened this morning, but Gareth’s comedown was something men wanted to see. He had never intended to place himself above anyone else. He’d done his duty. He’d strived to be a good knight in all things. But sometimes people interpreted a man’s behavior as an indictment of their own.
Evan appeared on Gareth’s wounded side.
“This isn’t going to come to anything,” he said before Gareth could speak.
“You told me once that I could be found standing over a dead body with a bloody knife in my hand, and nobody would accuse me of the crime.”
Gareth meant to keep his tone light, as a jest, but Evan didn’t think it was funny. “I still believe it. We’ll see what kind of evidence they bring against you, besides the word of one man who helped sack a monastery.”
King Madog clearly believed it. He was holding court in the main circle. The table that had been placed in the center for the morning conclave had been removed. Rhys stood beside Madog, listening gravely and nodding at everything he said. With the arrival of the main party from Gwynedd, Rhys turned his attention to the audience and lifted a hand, asking for quiet.
The kings arranged themselves in positions similar to where they’d sat that morning, but without the table between them. Gareth sat directly behind King Owain, buttressed on one side by Hywel and by Evan on the other. Again the conclave began with a song from Meilyr and Gwalchmai and then a prayer from Rhys.
Because the seats were full, the men who ranged behind Gareth, between him and the door, had to remain standing. One glance back showed Gareth that instead of standing to prevent him from leaving, they had arranged themselves such that the path was clear from him to the door. If at all possible, they were going to ensure his free flight if it became necessary.
He turned to face front just as Madog rose to his feet. “This assembly was witness to my accusation earlier against King Owain, and I repeat it again here.” He made an expansive gesture with both hands. “A fortnight ago, men paid by the King of Gwynedd did sack the monastery at Wrexham, stripping it of its wealth. I have a man in custody, who will testify not only that what I say is true, but that this man—” here he pointed a finger straight at Gareth, “—was the paymaster.”
A wave of chatter swept around the room. It was one thing to have Rhodri shout across the courtyard. It was another to accuse a man in open court—for that’s what the peace conference had turned into, just as Hywel had predicted.
Gareth gazed back at Madog as impassively as he could, but Hywel leaned into him and whispered, “Note how the real crime here, Madog’s attempted murder of me, has been completely eclipsed by your supposed crime. Even more, because you are accused, you are silenced in this court—even though it is you who uncovered his crimes. It’s clever, really. Cleverer than I would ever have given my uncle credit for.”
“Could be it wasn’t his idea.” Gareth’s eyes went to Queen Susanna, who was present today, the only woman in the room. But she was a queen, and as far as he could tell, nobody was questioning her right to be here.
Rhys again raised his hand to quiet the crowd, but before he could speak, Hywel rose to his feet and stepped forward into the silence. “Uncle, could you enlighten us as to when this meeting with Rhodri was supposed to have occurred?”
Rhys subsided, realizing perhaps that the conclave was out of his hands, but as it hadn’t yet turned violent, it could be left to the main protagonists: Hywel and Madog. Madog looked at Rhodri and nodded, so the younger man spoke for himself. “November.”
Hywel gave a sharp nod. “That would be before my brother, Rhun, was murdered by Prince Cadwaladr’s men?”
“Yes, my lord. A few weeks before.” Rhodri paled at the mention of Rhun, as he was meant to, and the murmuring in the crowd dissipated. Some might not have known the exact circumstances of how Rhun had died, but now everybody did, and it was a bold reminder on Hywel’s part of who was really the injured party here.
“Where was this meeting?”
“He found me in Corwen, my home.”
“And the sacking of Wrexham. When did that occur?”
“Just after St. Dafydd’s Day. Tuesday the fourth of March, it was.”
Gareth gave an internal grunt. On Tuesday the fourth, he hadn’t yet left Aber, as any man here could attest. If the sacking had been any later, it would have posed more of a problem, since Gareth had then traveled to Shrewsbury with his family at Prince Hywel’s behest. They’d arrived there only to become involved in another investigation. Even ten days after it happened, nobody in Shrewsbury had heard about the sacking. They’d had their own problems, of course, and an absent sheriff. Gareth assumed they knew about it by now.
“So he came to you in November, but you didn’t raid Wrexham until March? Why the delay?”
“Now see here!” Madog stepped between Hywel and Rhodri. “That’s enough questions.”
Rhys stepped forward himself, his hand out, and spoke mildly. “We need to ascertain the facts, and Prince Hywel is within his rights to question his captain’s accuser.”
Madog’s eyes narrowed, and Gareth sensed that it occurred to him only now that Rhys’s mildness of earlier was a permanent state, not an indication that he favored Madog’s position. Nevertheless, Madog subsided, and Rhys gestured to Hywel that he should continue.
Hywel raised his eyebrows at Rhodri, and for the first time, Rhodri hesitated. “I don’t know the reason for the delay. It wasn’t supposed to be that long. He just wanted my agreement to do it at first, and he told me that he’d be in touch as to when I was to go to Wrexham.”
“What did you think when you didn’t hear from him again?”
Rhodri shrugged. “His money was good, and if what I was paid to do never came about, it was no loss to me. But then I got a message that it was time.”
“What do you mean a message? You can read?”
“No!” Rhodri scoffed. “He paid one of the village boys to tell me. I never saw him myself.”
“You never saw him again?”
“Not until after the raid.”
“When and where did you meet?”
“Our final payment was on the fifteenth, the Ides of March, back in Corwen.”
Gareth eased out a sigh that he tried not to show. On the Ides of March, he’d been in Shrewsbury within moments of being captured by a very different band of ruffians. The next day had been Sunday, and Gwalchmai had sung at mass in the church of the Abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul. They’d left Shrewsbury on Sunday evening, the sixteenth, ridden three days to Aber, taking the path through the mountains to avoid Powys. Upon their arrival at Aber on Wednesday afternoon, King Owain had been ready to ride, and they’d left with him, reaching St. Asaph’s just past midnight on Friday morning. And here it was Saturday again. No wonder Gareth was exhausted.
“And it was Gareth who met you?”
Rhodri hesitated again. “Yes.”
Hywel’s eyes narrowed. “You saw his face?”
Rhodri seemed to think better of his assertion. “I thought it was him. He wore a cloak and hardly spoke, but he knew all about what we’d done. He said to meet him here, at St. Asaph, and he would have another job for me.”
“Just you?”
“Yes.” Rhodri stu
ck out his chin, back to defiance.
“What about the other men he hired? Where are they?”
“I don’t know!” Rhodri said, as if it was obvious. “We scattered.”
“Had you known them before?”
“N-n-no. We met at an abandoned farmhouse outside Wrexham a few days before the raid. Everything we needed was there when we arrived.”
“Including the surcoats with the crest of Gwynedd?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the treasure?”
Rhodri looked down at his feet, and somehow Gareth knew exactly what was coming. “I spent my share.”
The man was a naïve fool and an idiot. A criminal too, with no sense of right and wrong—or of self-preservation, apparently.
Madog intervened again. “Surely, that’s enough to know that Rhodri speaks the truth. Gareth paid him and other men to sack Wrexham. What more do we need to learn, and why isn’t that man in chains already? Arrest him!”
Madog’s men surged towards Gareth, and an equal number of men from Gwynedd were there to meet them. It was a good thing that nobody had been allowed a sword because there would have been bloodshed.
King Owain still hadn’t moved or spoken, and neither had Gareth. Hywel and Evan stepped in front of him, but again, it was Rhys who raised a hand and diffused the moment. “Sir Gareth is here of his own accord, and the case has not yet been proven, not to my satisfaction, not on the statement of one man who happens to be a thief. Do you have more of these men to bring forward?”
“I call Brother Deiniol and Brother Lwc of Wrexham, whom my men found in neighboring cells next to Rhodri. Apparently, men of Gwynedd put them there!”
That sent the room into an uproar again, but Hywel threw back his head and laughed. It was such an incongruous thing to do that some of the righteousness on Madog’s face disappeared, to be replaced by suspicion.
Hywel waved a hand. “By all means, let’s hear them.”
In due course, Deiniol and Lwc were paraded before the conclave and each told the story of the sack of Wrexham in his own words, though they made no mention of the theft from St. Asaph and their role in them, and nobody from Gwynedd interrupted. During Lwc’s testimony, Hywel did take a moment to step near to Rhys and whisper a lengthy passage in his ear, after which Rhys nodded. Once both prisoners had finished their statements, Rhys made sure they stayed sitting in the front row of benches, well-guarded and with no possibility of escape.
The Unexpected Ally Page 20