The two monks had disappeared into the stable immediately upon putting down the arms of the cart. They came back with a board on which to carry the dead man, which would provide a more dignified means to bring him into the chapel than to carry him sagging between them. Gareth and Prior Rhys helped them load the body onto it, with Sion carefully replacing the burlap sacks over his body. Then he went back to his watch while Rhun, Gareth, and the two monks each took a corner in order to move the body into the chapel. Prior Rhys walked at the front to lead the way.
The doors to the stone chapel had remained closed all day, keeping the natural coolness of the stones inside. The contrast between the heat outside and the darkened interior was so great Gareth shivered, feeling the sweat cool instantly on his skin. Prior Rhys directed them across the nave towards one of the side wings, through a small doorway, and into a vestibule that contained a small altar, two upright chairs, and a six-foot-long table. This was clearly where the dead usually resided until the burial ceremony. With a heave, they settled the dead man on the table, leaving him on the long board rather than shifting him off it.
“Thank you,” Prior Rhys said to the monks. Gareth had figured out by now that silence was considered a virtue in this monastery. The two monks hadn’t wasted a single word. Or spoken one, for that matter.
But still, he put out an arm to block their immediate departure. “I know that you heard and saw much today. If you have a need to speak of it, please talk to me, Prior Rhys, or your own prior. I would prefer that nothing of what we know or have surmised leaves this room to reach the murderer’s ears.”
“Do you hear that both of you?” Prior Rhys’s warning tone was like a father might use with a son.
The monks nodded.
“If you think of anything else that you haven’t told us, even a detail so small you think it couldn’t be important, I want to hear it,” Gareth said. “We don’t know this man’s name, and yet, we have to catch his killer.”
Both monks nodded again and left. Gareth turned back to Prior Rhys. “It only occurs to me now that I didn’t actually ask them if they knew the dead man.”
“I asked before I sent them to hunt through the underbrush. They claimed not to,” Prior Rhys said.
“Did they actually say that, or did they merely shake their heads?” Prince Rhun said.
Prior Rhys gave a short burst of laughter, which he stifled instantly. “The latter.”
Footfalls came from the nave of the church, and a moment later, the hosteler appeared with the prior of the monastery, Pedr. In looks, the prior was the complete opposite of Prior Rhys, who even in middle age was tall and well built, still with the bearing of the soldier he’d been. Pedr had a stooped, slightly rounded figure and had red hair going both gray and bald. From Gareth’s few interactions with him so far, however, his intellect was on a level with Rhys’s.
Pedr dismissed the hosteler immediately upon seeing the body, and bent his head in a bow to Prince Rhun. “My lord.”
Rhun nodded. “Prior.”
This little ritual was repeated with Prior Rhys, who returned the bow. “Prior Pedr.”
Gareth nodded too, though Prior Pedr hadn’t yet looked at him.
“I see we have lost a parishioner,” Pedr said.
“It appears so,” Prior Rhys said, “though we do not yet have a name for him.”
“Brother Adda says he was found in the millpond,” Pedr said.
Gareth inferred that Adda was the hosteler who’d just left. “Yes, but he didn’t drown.”
Pedr look quickly up at Gareth. “He didn’t?”
“Prior, what Sir Gareth means to say is that we believe the man to have been murdered before he was put into the millpond, but we would prefer that as few people as possible are aware of that,” Prior Rhys said. “So far we have kept it among us few, though the two monks whose help I enlisted to pull the body from the pond also know.”
Pedr stayed at the foot of the table, studying the dead man. “It goes without saying that you are sure of this or you wouldn’t have declared it, but I have to ask: you have no doubt that he was murdered?”
“He was stabbed with a knife to the chest.” Gareth reached for the man’s shirt. “If you would like to see—”
Pedr raised a hand. “I acknowledge your superior wisdom in this matter.” He took in a breath. “How long ago did he die?”
“Some twelve hours, give or take,” Gareth said. “It is my guess that he spent all that time after the moment of death in the water.”
“I have little experience with murder, but I have been made aware of some of the activities Prince Hywel requires of you. Do you need—” the prior’s lips curled in distaste, “—to look him over?”
“If I may.” Although Gareth would have preferred a private room in which to examine the body, if he could keep onlookers out, he could do his work just as well in here. Unlike some who had accused him of profaning the dead, he didn’t believe that searching through a murdered man’s clothes or examining his body somehow defiled him or was a crime against God. Quite the opposite, he believed it would be the far greater crime to let a murderer walk free.
In this instance, Gareth didn’t think that the prior was so much squeamish as personally offended that any man would murder another. Still, Gareth was glad that he was going to be allowed to work, though it might be that he already knew most of what the body could tell him. “I realize that we must bury him quickly, and I would do what needs to be done now and then leave him in peace.”
Pedr gave a jerky nod. “I can give you until tomorrow morning. I’m afraid that doesn’t give you much time.” Then Pedr looked at Prior Rhys. “If you would walk with me, I know the abbot would appreciate a more detailed explanation of what has happened here. I would be most grateful for it as well.”
“Of course.” Prior Rhys followed Pedr out the door and departed, though not before he raised his eyebrows at Gareth behind Pedr’s back in a quick glance of helplessness and amusement.
Gareth was grateful that Rhys was available to act as go-between for the investigation and the abbot. The last time Gareth had been inside an abbot’s office, he’d been in the company of a murderer and a traitor, though he hadn’t known it at the time.
With the departure of the two priors, Prince Rhun and Gareth were left alone with the body—though once again, it was only for a few heartbeats. More footfalls came from the nave, and this time, it was Prince Hywel who entered the vestibule, accompanied by a young woman.
Slender, of short stature but with a bearing that spoke of privilege, the woman wore a dark brown headdress, which covered all of her hair, and a matching wool dress of a fine weave. She clutched a handkerchief in one hand and dabbed at her eyes with it.
At the sight of the body on the table, she halted abruptly. As she stared at it, the hand holding the handkerchief dropped, revealing her face: clear, pale skin set off by red lips and dark eyes, brows, and lashes, and an upturned nose. In short, she had the most even features Gareth had ever seen on anyone, man or woman, and was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. But then her face crumpled, she gave a sobbing gasp, ran towards the dead man, and threw herself across his body. “Gryff! Oh Gryff!”
Gareth looked at his lord, one of the most handsome men in Gwynedd himself (according to Gwen), with deep blue eyes and a voice that could charm any woman who looked at him. At the moment, his face was showing an expression closer to impatience than sympathy. Prince Rhun moved to his brother’s side. “Who’s this?”
“I met her at the gatehouse. She claimed to have heard in the village that a body had been found in the millpond. She feared it was her husband and—” Hywel gestured towards the woman still prostrated over the body, “—it seems she was right.”
“At least we now have his name.” Gareth observed the woman impartially. Instead of abating, her sobs rose in volume. He frowned, deciding that the woman wasn’t doing Gryff or herself any good from that position. Gareth gently peeled her off Gryff’s body and made
her take a few steps back from it. The woman’s eyes streamed with tears, but the sobbing reverted to occasional hiccupping gasps.
Gareth patted her back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The woman didn’t seem to hear him, just continued to sob. Then she gave another gasp, said, “I can’t bear it!” and then turned on her heel as if preparing to leave.
Hywel was planted in the doorway, however, and she pulled up at the sight of him.
“Please—” she began.
“We really do need to ask you a few questions before you go,” he said.
The woman looked at the floor. “If I must.”
Hywel took the woman’s elbow and guided her to one of the nearby chairs. She sat, and Hywel pulled the second chair close. “I’m sorry you have lost your husband, but I have a few questions before I can leave you to mourn him in peace. Please tell us your name.”
“I am Madlen. His name is Gryff.” She sobbed into her cloth anew, though even as she did so, her eyes flicked to the prince’s face. “Was Gryff.”
Gareth felt a smirk forming on his lips. Hywel was so handsome and personable, he could charm a widow at her husband’s laying out.
“When did you last see your husband, madam?”
Madlen looked fully into Hywel’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yesterday evening. He had been working at our booth at the fair, which was open late, so I didn’t think anything of it when he hadn’t returned to our lodgings by the time I went to sleep.”
“And this morning?” Hywel said.
“He wasn’t next to me, but he often rises before I do. It was only after I went to our booth myself and spoke to my uncle that we realized something was amiss.” Madlen’s voice gained in strength the more she spoke, and her story became more coherent. “When I asked my uncle when he’d last seen him, he said he’d dismissed Gryff well before midnight and hadn’t seen him since then. I didn’t know what to do.”
She’d finally mastered her tears, which was all to the good as far as Gareth was concerned. When they’d arrived at the chapel with the body, he’d been almost at a loss as to where to begin the search for the man’s identity. The population of the region was growing with every hour as travelers continued to stream into Aberystwyth for the festival. Even with knowing Gryff’s name as they now did, sorting through the people to find the murderer was going to be difficult. It would have been far worse without his name, however, and Gareth was grateful to Madlen that she’d come forward so quickly.
“Who is your uncle?” Gareth said.
“Iolo. He has come to the festival to sell his cloth.”
“And your husband worked for him?” Gareth said.
“Yes.” The word came out a sob as Madlen fell apart again.
Like most types of traders, cloth merchants ran the gamut from very wealthy to little more than peddlers, moving from house to house and village to village, hawking their wares. Gareth had never heard of Iolo, but he was far less familiar with the people of southern Wales than those who lived in the north, and he’d had little interaction with merchants in his time here. Other than his wish to buy Gwen a new dress, he hadn’t had a need for fabric for new clothes this summer. He’d have to ask Gwen to have a look at Iolo’s wares, however. She would be able to tell him something of the quality and selection.
“We’ll have to speak to him,” Hywel said.
Madlen had gone back to her weeping, but at Hywel’s words, she looked up. “Why?”
“You’re husband died at the millpond. We’d like to know how that came about,” Hywel said.
“But—” Madlen broke off, looking from Hywel to Gareth and back again. Then she caught sight of Rhun standing in the darkness, out of the candlelight. Her eyes widened, but she said, “I was told he drowned.”
Rhun had been leaning against the wall throughout the interview, his arms folded across his chest, but now he stepped forward. “Madlen, allow me to find someone to escort you back to your uncle. Let the prince and Sir Gareth take care of Gryff.” He held out his elbow to her.
Madlen’s shoulders sagged, and she rose to her feet to take the prince’s arm. She and Prince Rhun disappeared back into the main part of the chapel.
Hywel raised his eyebrows at Gareth. “I can’t leave you alone for an hour without you stumbling across a murder?”
“Was it that obvious?” Gareth said. “I was hoping we were more subtle than that.”
“It was obvious only to me, I think,” Hywel said.
But Gareth was staring at Gryff’s body. Something about it had changed. He hesitated, deciding that he must be mistaken, but then he looked back and realized what he’d noticed. Gryff’s purse, which had been suspended from his belt earlier, was gone.
Chapter Six
Gwen
For all that Tangwen rarely slept, she was otherwise a fairly biddable child. Gwen had a moment’s pause at leaving her with Elspeth yet again, but her nanny promised to keep Tangwen from eating the rocks in the monastery garden and allow her to dig in the dirt with a wooden spoon on the edge of one of the gardens. Tangwen would come to dinner filthy from head to toe, but she’d be happy, which made the whole endeavor worthwhile.
When Gwen entered the courtyard, it was empty except for Prince Rhun, who was just entering the chapel through the front door. She followed him, and once inside the chapel, it didn’t take much looking to find Gareth. He was standing over the body as she knew he would be. She took in a breath at the sight of him. He’d cut his hair short again for summer and was clean-shaven. He was thirty years old now, seven years older than Gwen, and his broad shoulders bespoke a lifetime of soldiering. He was courageous, strong, and intelligent. Those blue eyes, which at the moment were studying the body before him, had seen right through many a suspect.
And he was hers.
Gareth had removed the dead man’s shoes and bared him to the waist. His sopping clothes were piled under the table in a heap, which was just like a man to do. Although Rhun had arrived only moments before Gwen, by the time she reached the vestibule, he’d taken up a comfortable position in one corner, propped against the wall and out of Gareth’s way. Prince Hywel was there too, taking precious time away from coordinating his festival.
All three men looked up as she stepped into the little room. Gareth gave her a small smile, and the others acknowledged her presence with a raised hand or eyebrow (that was Hywel), but then they returned their attention to the body. While she wasn’t particularly sorry that she wasn’t examining the dead man herself, the looks of consternation on the men’s faces had her hesitating in the doorway. “What is it?”
“We had a visit from the dead man’s wife, Madlen,” Gareth said. “Prince Rhun has just returned from escorting her out of the monastery.”
“Oh good. Do we know his name now?” Gwen said.
“Gryff, apparently,” Hywel said.
“Then what’s the problem?” Gwen said.
“Madlen took the purse that was tied to his belt—and she did so secretly, making sure we didn’t see her do it,” Prince Rhun said.
Gwen looked to the dead man’s waist and saw that the prince was right. She had examined the contents of the purse right away, and they hadn’t told her anything. It was disconcerting to think that she might have missed something, or that Madlen valued the purse so highly as to steal it. “How did she manage to hide her actions from you?” Gwen made sure when she spoke that no tone of accusation crept into her voice. A mourning woman could be a daunting prospect for any man.
“She threw herself across him when she first arrived. Gareth had to pry her off him,” Rhun said.
Gwen’s brow furrowed. “She threw herself across him?”
Hywel turned to look at her. “That surprises you?”
“Well … yes,” Gwen said. “I mean, he spent the day in the water, so he’s soaking wet and smelling more than a little ripe.” She moved her hand to Gareth’s arm. “I love you very much, but I can’t see myself doing that.”
Hywel’s attention remained on Gwen. “You do have a curious way of looking at things.”
Gwen shrugged, not entirely sure what Hywel meant by that. It was his fault that she’d developed a suspicious mind, and suspicion was what she felt towards Madlen at present. “I didn’t see her, of course. I don’t mean to tell you your job.”
“She could have feared to leave it,” Rhun said. “A man of Gryff’s station wouldn’t have had much, but what he did have would have been all the more important.”
“I would agree, but did you see how well she was dressed?” Hywel said.
Gwen could tell from the look on Rhun’s face that he had—and that he was irritated with himself for not noticing earlier what was obvious to him now. From the sheepish expressions on the men’s faces, Gwen could tell that Madlen had made quite an impression on all of them. Gwen resolved to meet this woman as soon as possible and judge her for herself.
“So, you’re wondering how it was that Gryff could be so poorly dressed and his wife dressed so fine?” Gwen said. “Perhaps he was doing rough labor and wore his worst clothes, and she came to the chapel dressed in her finest.”
“Her uncle is a cloth merchant,” Hywel said. “Iolo is his name.”
“Gryff is no advertisement for his wares though, is he?” Gareth said. “Especially as a member of the family.”
“That’s something we should ask Madlen about,” Gwen said.
“In retrospect, one of many things we should have asked her about while she was here,” Gareth said.
“Did you tell her that Gryff was murdered?” Gwen said. “Did she notice the knife wound?”
“Not that she said, and we didn’t say,” Gareth said. “I think it’s good policy to continue as we’ve started and not tell anyone what we know.”
“I agree,” Gwen said. “As time goes on, people may well become suspicious that we are putting so much effort into finding out about a man who drowned, but it would be better if that particular rumor didn’t fly around immediately.”
“Madlen and her uncle will have to be treated carefully.” Gareth looked at his lord. “Shall we strike while the iron’s hot?”
The Unlikely Spy Page 5