Iolo said, “What?”
“Before Madlen arrived at the chapel where Gryff’s body lay,” Gareth said, “Gryff had a small purse at his waist. After she left, it was gone.”
Iolo’s cheeks grew ruddy, his initial surprise turning to anger. He glared at his niece. “Is this true?”
Madlen gaped at the men, all of whom were looking at her. Tears were still wet on her cheeks but no new ones fell. Her hand went to her heart, and her breathing quickened. “I don’t-I don’t know—”
Rhun made a gesture to indicate that he would like to come around the table and enter the tent. “If I may?”
Iolo shrugged. “Of course, my lord.” His voice was calm again, and Gareth might have thought him composed except for the way one hand fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. Soon he might wear a hole in the fabric. Then Iolo saw Gareth looking, and he hurriedly clasped his hands behind his back.
Meanwhile, Rhun entered the tent. Madlen hid her face in her apron, as if that would somehow stop her from having to answer any more questions.
Rhun crouched before her. “Madlen.”
As with Hywel, Madlen couldn’t ignore the prince. The tears for Gryff may well have been genuine, but she didn’t seem to be able to resist the attentions of a handsome man, and today she’d been graced by two powerful and charismatic princes.
Gareth looked down at the picture he’d sketched. In life, Gryff may well have been handsome too. And in fact, if he were handsome, that would explain a great deal—in particular, how he could win a place beside Iolo when he seemed to lack any of the skills required, and win Madlen’s heart, she who was beautiful, wealthy, and more well-bred than he appeared to be.
“Madlen,” Rhun said, “I imagine you want us to discover the circumstances surrounding your husband’s death?”
After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.
“We’d like to know why Gryff was at the millpond, if he was with someone at the time, and how it was that he ended up in it. Don’t you want to know that too?” Rhun said.
Madlen nodded again.
“So, we need you to show us the purse you took from Gryff’s body this morning and tell us why you took it.” Rhun was speaking to Madlen as if she were only a little older than Tangwen, each word simple and clear in its meaning. As with the earlier questioning of Iolo, Rhun’s instincts were good, and Gareth was glad he’d come along. His ability to woo women was an unexpected bonus.
Usually, everyone thought of Hywel as the brother who was able to turn the head of every woman he met. In fact, before his marriage, he had turned every woman’s head, whether he intended to or not, and coaxed any woman he wanted into his bed simply by smiling at them. Rhun had always had more restraint than Hywel, though Gareth was realizing only now that he had the same skill.
After another long pause, Madlen turned on her stool and felt inside a sewn leather bag set on the ground behind her. She pulled out the small leather purse Gareth had seen at Gryff’s waist earlier that afternoon and handed it to Rhun. “He owned very little, you know. I didn’t want to leave what he did have in the chapel overnight in case someone took it.”
Gareth thought Prior Pedr might have something to say about her distrust, but Rhun nodded. “I understand, Madlen, but you should have asked us first.” Rhun stood and handed the purse over the table of fabrics to Gareth, who took it.
Madlen’s face crumpled, threatening tears again. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Finally, in the first sign of sympathy he’d shown her, Iolo went to his niece and patted her on the shoulder. Rhun left the tent through the open flap, and Gareth untied the strings on the purse. The contents were unchanged from what Gwen had described, and despite Madlen’s concerns about theft, few would have bothered with what Gryff possessed.
Gareth showed the items to Rhun, whose upper lip lifted in something of a sneer. He opened his mouth to speak, glanced at Madlen and Iolo, and then closed it. Gareth nodded and said in an undertone, “We’ll speak of this later, my lord.” Then he tied up the purse again. “Thank you. She can keep this now if she wants.” He held the purse out to Iolo.
He took it, and the action seemed to decide something for him because he clenched it in one hand and lowered his voice so it wouldn’t carry. “Please forgive my niece. She isn’t herself.”
“We understand,” Gareth said. “Grief can do strange things to people.”
“We will take our leave,” Rhun said.
Iolo bowed. Gareth and Rhun departed, though Gareth glanced back as they were leaving and caught a glimpse of the blond man who’d been speaking to Iolo earlier. He approached Iolo’s stall, as if he’d been waiting for Gareth and Rhun to leave, but when Iolo looked up, he frowned, clearly not happy to see him. Gareth stopped before he turned the corner, his hand going to Rhun’s arm. “Wait, my lord.”
Gareth peered through the crowd, but a half-dozen people filled the aisle, blocking his view of the stall. He took a step to one side, hoping to get a better view, but the blond man had already gone.
“What is it, Gareth?”
“Nothing, apparently.” Gareth shook himself and continued walking towards the entrance to the fair. “What were you going to say about the purse, my lord?”
“Its contents hardly could be viewed as worth stealing, no matter how poor the thief.”
“I thought the same,” Gareth said.
“Something isn’t right. I’d like to know what.” Rhun wrinkled up his nose as though he’d caught a whiff of a foul substance.
Gareth gave a laugh. “You sound like Hywel.”
“Good. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rhun gave Gareth a quick smile.
“Do you have any other thoughts about the interview?” Gareth said.
“I have many, but only one that might be important.” Rhun said. “Did you notice that Iolo isn’t doing much grieving?”
Chapter Nine
Gwen
When the two priors reached Gwen, she asked the young monk, Fychan, to tell them what he knew of Gryff and this other wife. Elspeth came out of the guesthouse at the tail end of Fychan’s explanation, her eyes widening even at the little bit she heard. Gwen moved closer to Elspeth, passing Tangwen off to her as she did so.
“What’s going on?” Elspeth had changed into a thin blue dress, which matched the color of her eyes, and a clean white overtunic. Fortunately, it wasn’t as hot on the cobbles as it had been earlier, especially in the long shadow cast by the guesthouse across the monastery courtyard.
“It has to do with the dead man,” Gwen said. “I’d prefer Tangwen stayed well out of it.”
“Gryff had two wives?” Elspeth said. “Can a man do that?”
Gwen laughed. “No, he can’t. Don’t worry. Gareth and I will get to the bottom of whatever is going on here.”
Elspeth nodded, her eyes still wide. “I’ll take Tangwen to dinner, shall I?”
“I would be grateful,” Gwen said.
Then Elspeth showed a toothy grin—one that Gwen hoped she wasn’t turning on any of the monks lest it tempt them to forsake their vows—and said, “I want to hear about it afterwards.”
Gwen shook her head. “Only if Gareth agrees.”
Elspeth pouted, and Gwen reminded herself to speak to Gareth before the girl turned her wiles on him. He would resist them, but it would be easier to do so if he knew in advance that Elspeth was going to direct them at him.
Gwen returned to the two priors and Fychan, and the four of them trooped back into the chapel so Fychan could give Gryff’s face more than a passing glance. Before they reached him, Gwen put out a warning hand. “This won’t be easy to see.”
The boy sighed. “I’ve seen dead people before. I saw Gryff’s body before.”
No child reached the age of fourteen without encountering a dead loved one, whether parent, grandparent, sibling, or friend, so Gwen let him go. As Fychan approached the head of the table, Prior Rhys peeled back the cloth that covered Gryff’s face.
Fychan nodded. “I swear it’s him.”
“Thank you, Fychan,” Gwen said.
“Who’s ‘him’?”
Relief swept through Gwen to hear Gareth’s voice, and she intercepted him a foot from the table on which Gryff’s body lay. He’d come through the doorway of the chapel alone, and Gwen asked, “Where is Prince Rhun?”
“He went back to the castle to speak to Hywel and aid him in his time of need,” Gareth said.
Gwen smirked. Hywel was being run off his feet, even with a competent steward and many underlings to serve him. He wanted the festival to be perfect. More to the point, he wanted his father to be proud of him. Sometimes it was hard for a son to see what was in his father’s eyes when he looked at him. In Gwen’s opinion, too often he mistook concern for disappointment. Gwen listened to the tones in King Owain’s voice when he spoke of Hywel, and she knew, even if Hywel didn’t, that King Owain was already proud of his second son.
Gwen was looking forward to the arrival of King Owain’s entourage for another reason: he would be bringing her father and brother. Gwalchmai would soon be fifteen. His voice had started changing within a few days of Tangwen’s birth. Her father had spent many months on pins and needles, terrified that it would change into a disappointing baritone, but the pure tenor that had emerged six months ago was all that anyone could have hoped for. As when Hywel’s voice had changed, Meilyr had continued to work with Gwalchmai daily, falling back on the long years of training to ease him through the worst of it.
Gwen put a hand on Gareth’s chest to stop him from moving and lowered her voice so as to avoid disturbing the conversation Fychan was having with the two priors. “First, did you discover anything interesting?” She wanted him to tell her his news first because the moment he found out about the two wives, that knowledge would drive out all other concerns.
Gareth raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I can’t say that I found out very much or am any closer to discovering who murdered Gryff. Rhun and I had a discussion with Iolo and Madlen, but it left me with more questions than answers. We can pick it apart later.” He pointed with his chin to Gryff. “What’s going on here?”
Prior Pedr overheard his question. He steepled his fingers in front of his lips, and said, “It seems that we have a slight wrinkle in our understanding of who Gryff was. Fychan here—” he gestured to the young monk, who turned bright red as everyone’s gaze fell on him, “—believes this Gryff to be the same as the one who married his cousin, a woman named Carys.”
There were few occasions that could flummox Gareth, but this appeared to be one of them. He looked at the body and then back to Fychan. Then he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to the boy. “When he was alive, did he look something like this?”
The boy stared at the paper. “Yes! Yes! That’s exactly him.”
Gwen never grew tired of watching Gareth’s skill with a piece of charcoal. He collected scraps of discarded paper and parchment wherever he could and would draw anything: her or Tangwen, his horse, a castle, or the sea outside their house on Anglesey. The looks of surprise on the faces of those who had never seen him draw before always warmed her heart. Too often people assumed they knew him. As with his ability to read, which wasn’t common in knights, he had hidden depths of which most people were unaware.
Prior Rhys was not among those who underestimated Gareth, however. He rubbed at his chin. “What do you want to do?”
“We have to find her,” Gareth said, “and bring her here if we can.”
Gwen looked at Fychan. “Do you know where she might be living?”
“Yes,” he said, but then he paused, looking back into Gryff’s face. “At least, I know where they used to live. It isn’t far, some five miles to the east, in the village of Goginan.”
Prior Pedr nodded. “I know of it.”
“Might I borrow Fychan, then?” Gareth said. “We have to pursue this matter of Gryff’s death beyond the usual, and if Carys can help—” He broke off, suddenly wary, and Gwen knew why. So far, the only people who knew that Gryff hadn’t drowned were Gwen and Gareth, Rhun and Hywel, and a small group of monks. If they expanded that circle beyond these few, they faced the real danger of all Aberystwyth knowing the truth by morning.
Prior Pedr seemed to understand what Gareth had been going to say without him saying it, because he nodded. “He must be buried tomorrow morning. Anything else would be unacceptable. You should go now.”
Nobody argued with that. By dawn, the man would have been dead for more than a full day. Another day of heat like they’d had today and nobody would be able to enter the chapel because of the stench. It would be bad enough by tomorrow morning.
“I will endeavor to return with her before the ceremony,” Gareth said. “If it’s only five miles to Goginan, we can reach it before full dark if we hurry.” They were two months past the solstice, but the sun still set well past dinnertime and many hours later than it would come December.
Prior Pedr gave a slight bow. “As you wish.”
Everyone but the two monks who’d been guarding the body before they entered—and who would continue to do so after they left—filed out of the chapel. Against all expectations, given where she’d just spent the last half hour, Gwen’s stomach growled. She was well on her way to having missed dinner. Gareth hadn’t eaten either, and he also looked with regret towards the dining hall. “I have an apple in my saddle bag. Perhaps this second widow will offer me some bread and cheese.”
Gwen looked up into Gareth’s face. The strong summer sun had bronzed his skin—where it had brought out the freckles across her cheeks. She stepped closer, putting both hands on his chest. “You take care.”
Gareth nodded. “I will. But I have some concern for you.” He swung around, spying Prior Rhys conversing with Pedr in the shade of the chapel. He lifted a hand to him. Rhys acknowledged his signal with a raised hand of his own, finished his conversation with Pedr, and came over to them.
“What can I do?” Prior Rhys said.
“I would ask for the loan of your horse for Fychan to ride,” Gareth said. “The monastery nags are too slow.”
“Done.”
With a wave of his hand, Rhys sent Fychan to the stable to retrieve the horse and then turned back to Gareth. “What else? I would be happy to come with you. The abbot has relieved me of all duties until this matter is resolved. He agrees that bringing Gryff’s murderer to justice takes priority over everything else.”
Gareth shook his head. “While I value your company and perhaps could use another pair of eyes, there’s a murderer on the loose. We have no leads to his identity, no notion as to his whereabouts, nor any clue as to why Gryff was murdered. Gwen, however, was one of the first to see the body, and I am concerned for her safety. She has already been hurt too many times. I won’t allow it to happen again.”
Prior Rhys frowned. “The monastery is not defensible. Nor is it meant to be. Perhaps she should move to the castle?”
If it had been only for herself, Gwen might have protested that she didn’t need anyone to watch over her. Two years ago, she would have asked to travel to Goginan with Gareth. But Tangwen’s birth had changed everything. As when she’d been pregnant, Gwen agreed that she must restrict her investigating to places closer to home. But moving to the castle wasn’t the answer either. “All the beds at the castle are full. I’d be sleeping with Tangwen on the floor of the hall. Surely sleeping among so many strangers cannot be safer than the guesthouse.”
Gareth rubbed at his forehead, studying her.
“It isn’t that I’m so brave,” Gwen said. “I would never do anything to endanger Tangwen. You know that.”
“I do,” Gareth said, “but too many times you have become the point of interest to a culprit who thinks you have learned something, or know something, and acts before he thinks things through.”
“These murderers have a habit of giving me too much credit,” Gwen said, trying to lighten the mood.
Prior Rhys cleared his throat. “I admit that I have failed you in the past, but if you entrust your wife and daughter to my keeping, I will see to their safety in your absence.”
Gareth let out a breath. “I confess that is as I hoped. And Newcastle wasn’t a failure. You had no idea of the threat we were facing. None of us did. But there are few arms I would trust more than yours.”
“I have only a knife,” Prior Rhys said.
“Are you telling me that wouldn’t be enough?” Gareth said.
The two men held each other’s gaze through several heartbeats. Prior Rhys had been a spy for Empress Maud before giving up that life for the Church. That didn’t mean he’d locked himself away from the world or forgotten all his skills.
“It will be enough,” Rhys said.
“I do feel better knowing you’re here, Prior Rhys,” Gwen said.
Prior Rhys bowed. “I’m glad to be of service.”
Gareth pulled Gwen to him and kissed her temple. “Kiss Tangwen for me and tell her I will see her tomorrow morning.”
“I will,” Gwen said.
Gareth reached into his pocket and pulled out the sketch of Gryff.
Gwen took it, her brow furrowed. “Don’t you need this?”
“I drew more.” He glanced up at the sky. The sun was heading into the sea. “It’s too late today to canvas the village or the festival grounds to discover Gryff’s movements on the day he died. We’ll start that tomorrow, but you could show the picture around the monastery if you get the chance.”
Gwen nodded.
Gareth put a hand to her cheek. “If Tangwen lets you, that is. If not, don’t worry about it. There is always tomorrow, and I will return with Carys and—hopefully—some answers.”
Prior Rhys caught Braith’s bridle as Gareth mounted, and Fychan pulled up beside him on Rhys’s horse. “I will send word of your absence to the castle,” Rhys said. “Prince Hywel might see fit to increase the guards around the monastery. His wife and son are here too, after all.”
The Unlikely Spy Page 9