The village was composed mostly of fisher folk but had grown in recent years to include small craftsmen. It was a hub for the whole region, since Ceredigion had a smaller population and fewer villages as a whole compared to Gwynedd. The region around Aberystwyth was suitable for farming, so small crofts and homesteads dotted the landscape to the east of the road. To the southwest lay the escarpment upon which the castle had been built, adjacent to a second plateau upon which could be found the stones of an ancient fortress, which legend said dated back to a time before the Romans conquered Wales.
Once in Aberystwyth, Gareth led Evan and Rhodri to the village inn, which was also its tavern. After three years serving Prince Hywel on and off in Ceredigion, Gareth knew the proprietor well. The tavern was crowded—mostly with strangers here for the festival—but also with villagers who didn’t want to miss the excitement. The tavern was so packed with people that patrons had spilled out into the street.
“We need to keep an eye on this crowd in case someone gets out of hand and becomes more than Pawl can handle,” Rhodri said.
“I haven’t yet met a man Pawl can’t subdue, but he doesn’t often have to take on more than one.” Gareth eyed the cluster of people with a growing sense of alarm. There were still several hours until dusk. It was early for this kind of rowdiness.
“Pawl could be serving a particularly potent beer today,” Evan said. “He might do well to water it down some more.”
“We should speak with him,” Gareth said.
“Most of these folk should depart for the festival grounds soon,” Evan said. “The evening program starts shortly.”
Music was sacred in Wales. It would be a lost soul indeed who would miss the opportunity to hear Prince Hywel sing. Unfortunately, keeping everyone else safe meant that Gareth and many of his men might have to miss it. To have so many of the villagers absent from their homes made the village ripe for thievery.
“I hope you’re right,” Gareth said, “though I’m not sure how many still will be able to stand.”
Gareth, Evan, and Rhodri shouldered their way through the crowd. The instant he put a foot through the tavern door, the atmosphere of raucous revelry muted. Gareth didn’t have to actually hear the whispers that passed from man to man to know that they were warning each other that Prince Hywel’s men were now among them.
“I don’t know any of these people. How do they know who we are?” Rhodri said.
“It’s the way we carry ourselves, what we wear, and that sword at your waist,” Gareth said. “This happens to me all the time.”
Rhodri gave a grunt of surprise. When he was with his fellow soldiers, he could let his guard down in a place like this. Since becoming captain of Hywel’s guard, Gareth was never treated like one of the men anymore. And he supposed he didn’t often want to be.
With Rhodri and Evan in tow, Gareth approached the bar, edging between two customers, who melted away. Gareth didn’t necessarily believe that half the inhabitants of the tavern were criminals, but whenever he arrived at a place like this, his effect was to cause people to examine their consciences, and many didn’t like what they found. Or thought he wouldn’t like what they found. Lies, infidelity, and disputes between neighbors were part of a normal existence, whether in a castle or a village. For the most part, those crimes were of no concern to Gareth until they rose to a level that threatened the social order.
Theft and murder were another matter entirely, and there would be thefts before the festival had finished. He dearly hoped there wouldn’t be any more murders.
“I’m looking for Pawl,” Gareth said to the barkeep.
The man jerked his head. “In the back, my lord.”
Gareth gestured to Evan and Rhodri that they should follow him and went to the far doorway as directed. He knew from past visits that it led to storage areas, the stairs to the guest rooms on the floor above them, and out the back to the kitchen.
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times—” Pawl came out of a passage to the left, full of ire, but he pulled up at the sight of Gareth. “Oh.” He bowed. “I apologize, my lord. I thought you were someone else.”
“It is no matter,” Gareth said. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“No, no,” Pawl said. “It’s nothing that should concern you. Simply patrons tromping where they don’t belong.”
Gareth thought the ‘you’ to whom Pawl had been referring in ‘I’ve told you a hundred times’ was more specific than that, but since Gareth didn’t at the moment think it had anything to do with his investigation, he let it go. Regardless of what the customers in the tavern believed Gareth thought, people were entitled to their secrets. Most of the time.
“What did you want to see me about? Is the crowd getting out of hand?” Pawl’s hands went to the cloth at his waist, working at it to dry his hands.
“Patrons have spilled into the street,” Rhodri said from beside Gareth. “Do you need assistance from the castle?”
“Not so far.” Pawl looked from Rhodri to Gareth, and then over their shoulders to Evan, who stood behind them. “Is that all?”
“No,” Gareth said. “I need to talk to you about Iolo, the cloth merchant. I understand he rents rooms from you when he comes through Aberystwyth.”
“That’s right,” Pawl said. “His are out back. I heard about Gryff. That’s too bad.”
When Pawl didn’t add the usual platitude about how Gryff was a good man or what a loss his death was, Gareth raised his eyebrows and said, “What have you heard about his death?”
“That he died in the millpond, though—” for a moment Pawl looked sideways at Gareth, “—maybe somebody put him there if you’re coming around asking questions about it?”
Gareth tsked his disgust. As an inn keeper, Pawl knew too much about people and their dishonorable motives to be fooled for long. “Maybe.”
“I can’t understand why anyone would do that,” Pawl said.
That was more like the response Gareth might have expected. “Did you like him?”
Pawl shrugged. “He was a pleasant enough fellow. He never gave any trouble, even when he was in his cups.” Then he grinned. “Though, let me tell you, that man could drink half my tavern and never show it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
That was what Alun had said. Iolo had declared the exact opposite. Gareth filed that piece of information away for future examination. “Did Gryff get along with Iolo all right?”
“Well enough.”
“Meaning?”
Pawl shrugged. “They didn’t argue openly, but they weren’t close. Iolo knew he’d hired someone who didn’t like to work, but he didn’t do anything about it either.”
“What about Madlen?” Gareth said.
“What about her?”
“Did they get along?”
“Ach. They hardly spoke most days,” Pawl said. “They had little use for one another as far I could tell.”
Gareth went very still. “How’s that?”
Pawl blinked. “How’s what?”
Gareth looked carefully at Pawl. “They were a couple. Married.”
Pawl’s brows drew together. “No, they weren’t. That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“He had a wife. Carys was her name. Who told you he was married to Madlen?”
Gareth didn’t answer. Madlen had lied about being married to Gryff, and Gareth’s brain had been working so slowly that he’d missed it. The brazenness of the lie left him both awed and angry.
“Gryff slept with the cart, had no possessions to speak of, just a rucksack. He never ate inside,” Pawl said when Gareth didn’t answer his question. “Iolo and Madlen treated him little better than a slave.”
“Do you have Gryff’s rucksack?” Evan said, speaking into the silence that Gareth, still trying to orient his thoughts, didn’t fill.
Pawl’s brow furrowed. “It’s odd you should ask that. Gryff left it with me on the afternoon he died. I put it in t
he back.” Pawl turned on his heel, and the three others followed him.
“Was it unusual for him to leave his pack with you?” Gareth said.
“He never had before.” Pawl took a candle from a ledge and lit it. They’d arrived at a narrow doorway with a curtain drawn across it. “In here—”
But as Pawl drew aside the curtain, he stopped dead, his mouth agape.
“What’s wrong?” Gareth looked over the inn keeper’s shoulder.
He was looking into a narrow storage room, with shelves built along both sides. There was barely enough room between the two walls for a man to turn around. Nothing looked amiss to Gareth, but Pawl was clearly flustered.
“This room has been searched,” Pawl said.
“How can you tell?” Gareth said.
“I can tell.” Pawl gestured to a blank spot on the bottom of one shelf. “And the pack is gone.”
“Are you sure?” Rhodri said from behind them, but Gareth made a swift downward motion with his hand to silence him.
Gareth had no difficulty taking Pawl at his word. The man ran an inn and tavern and rarely needed assistance in keeping his house in order. He obviously liked things well-ordered. “When did you last look in here?” Gareth said.
Pawl took in a breath through his nose, pressing his lips together as he thought. “It was sometime last night. I didn’t have a reason to enter here today before now. The night before, I always lay out everything I think I’ll need in the room adjacent to the common room.”
“So anyone could have taken it?” Rhodri said.
“Anyone who wouldn’t have looked out of place back here,” Pawl said.
“That means who, exactly?” Gareth said. “Paying guests and your employees? How many is that in all?”
“I employ five: two in the kitchen, one maid, and two in the bar, though the maid helps out in the common room when she’s done with her work back here.”
“And how many guests do you have this week?” Gareth said.
“We’re full up. Counting Iolo’s party of three—” Pawl made a rueful face, “—two now, I have four rooms upstairs, all full. So, twenty-two guests.”
Gareth nodded. That was as he expected. “Have either Madlen or Iolo asked about Gryff’s things?”
A wary look came into Pawl’s eyes. “Funny you should ask me that. Iolo wondered openly about the location of Gryff’s rucksack last night.”
“What did you tell him?” Gareth said.
“I told him I had it and was keeping it safe for his wife,” Pawl said.
“His wife, Carys?” Gareth said.
“Yes,” Pawl said. “I was glad to finally have met her when Gryff brought her by the other day.”
Gareth almost laughed. Yet another lie revealed, though this one told by Carys, not Madlen.
“What day was that?” Evan said.
“Come to think on it, it was the day Gryff died,” Pawl said.
“Do you remember the hour?” Gareth said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice and undoubtedly failing because Pawl swallowed hard before answering.
“Just after noon it was. I overhead him telling her that she needed to get back to Goginan. He practically pushed her out the door,” Pawl said.
“Did they meet with anyone else?” Gareth said.
“Not that I saw,” Pawl said. “It seemed to me that he hadn’t expected to see her here and was none too happy about it.”
“I would ask that you keep this information among the four of us for now.” Gareth hated to use up any favors, but now seemed as good a time as any. “We are trying to establish what Gryff did, where he went, and who he talked to on his last day alive.”
“So he was murdered,” Pawl said.
“Yes,” Gareth said, deciding he wouldn’t withhold that piece of information from the inn keeper, since he’d guessed it anyway.
“I will not speak of it, my lord.” Pawl wasn’t one to gossip, and like everyone else in Ceredigion, his wellbeing depended upon Hywel. “If you like, I’ll keep an ear out.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.” Gareth had clearly been remiss in not enlisting Pawl earlier. There couldn’t be many other men in all of Aberystwyth who knew more about its people than he did. “If you don’t mind, I’ll check back with you later tonight or tomorrow.”
“And we’ll send a man or two to keep an eye on your crowd,” Evan said. “It wouldn’t do for the party to get too out of hand.”
Pawl dipped his head. “Thank you. I should look into the potency of the beer. I might have made it a little strong today.”
“Maybe a little,” Gareth said.
He thanked Pawl and bid him goodbye. Once outside, Gareth was pleased to see that the crowd had, in fact, dispersed somewhat. The sun was heading down into the sea. So far the festival was a rollicking success (even if he hadn’t managed to participate in any of it) and people were making their way out of Aberystwyth along the road for the start of the evening program.
Gareth ran his hand through his hair. “This is mad. My head must be as thick as porridge for not seeing this sooner. Madlen made a fool of me.”
“Of all of us,” Rhodri said.
“You’ve been distracted by the festival,” Evan said.
Gareth rolled his eyes. “You’re being charitable.”
“It has only been a day since we discovered the body,” Rhodri said. “We’ve come a long way in a short time.”
That made Gareth feel a little better. “More lies unveiled anyway. Carys was here when she said she hadn’t been, and Madlen and Gryff weren’t married.”
“Both women had to know their lies would eventually trip them up,” Evan said.
“I can’t get my head around Madlen’s lie in particular,” Rhodri said. “Why would she tell you that she was married to Gryff? What could she possibly hope to gain from it?”
“Perhaps she killed him,” Gareth said.
“Then I would have thought she would have stayed as far away from the body as possible,” Rhodri said. “Why call attention to herself?”
“Maybe she loved him. Maybe she wanted to be married to him so badly that she pretended it was true,” Evan said. “She got to play the grieving widow, and if not for that young monk, we never would have known differently.”
“On a more devious note,” Rhodri said, “playing the widow gave her access.”
Gareth raised his eyebrows. “You may have an answer there.”
“Access to what?” Evan scratched at his scruffy beard.
“To the body, certainly.” Gareth said. “To his purse, since we allowed her to keep it.”
Evan nodded. “And to the progress of the investigation.”
“Though she may have miscalculated there, since we might never have learned who he was at all if she hadn’t come forward,” Rhodri said.
“Everybody says Gryff was an affable dreamer,” Gareth said, “but it seems more and more clear that there was more to him than we’ve yet learned.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rhun
“You can’t have it! It’s mine!” A young woman Rhun didn’t recognize shrieked and spat at Madlen as the two women wrestled one another to the ground.
Madlen clawed back at her. “It belonged to my grandmother!”
Rhun didn’t understand how he’d managed to go from a pleasant afternoon strolling through the fair with Angharad to breaking up a fight between two women. He and Angharad had listened to a young man with a beautiful voice and no skill with his instrument (but still, one whom Rhun meant to point out to Hywel), purchased several honeyed treats, and up until now had avoided any unpleasantness. He hadn’t even seen the Danish spy, Erik, though Rhun was willing to admit that the search for him was a parallel motive to this excursion with Angharad.
Rhun elbowed his way through the onlookers who’d gathered in the aisle between the market stalls and put his arms around the unknown woman’s waist. He tugged hard, attempting to wrench her away from Madlen. Each woman clutched t
he shoulders and arms of the other, scrabbling with their legs for purchase on the hard ground.
“What’s going on here?” An enormous man pushed aside three passersby and grabbed the arm of the woman Rhun was trying to pry off Madlen. “Get away from her!” He shoved Rhun so hard with his other hand that Rhun was forced to release the woman and crashed into a nearby stall.
Unfortunately for the big man and the woman he thought he was protecting, Rhun’s loss of control gave Madlen the opportunity to pounce once again. While the big man was looking daggers at Rhun, Madlen assaulted the woman whose arm the man was holding, wrestled her away from him, and fell with her to the ground.
Rhun’s eyes were watering from the pain in his head where it had struck a tent pole, but he pushed to a sitting position and suppressed the accompanying moan.
The owner of the stall he’d wrecked—a merchant who’d set up his stall next to Iolo’s because he sold incidentals for sewing—bobbed up and down beside Rhun, nervously wringing his hands. He was bowing and apologizing profusely at the same time, though what had happened wasn’t at all his fault. Rhun allowed the man to help him up, trying to place his feet in such a way as not to further ruin the man’s goods, which were on the ground.
While Rhun was getting to his feet, the women continued to roll around on the ground. Now, however, Iolo arrived, and he and the big man waded into the fight together.
“My lord! My lord!” Angharad had been standing with her hand to her mouth, but now she hurried to him. Unlike the merchant who’d helped him up, she wasn’t averse to touching him, and she patted him down, feeling for obvious wounds and looking for blood. He’d seen Gwen do the same to Gareth a dozen times.
Out of deference to the warm weather, Rhun had worn only a leather vest as armor today rather than his full mail. With a murderer about and Rhun involved in the investigation, Hywel hadn’t wanted him to take the chance of going about without any protection at all. Fortunately, the air was cooler today than it had been yesterday, more like autumn than summer. It might even rain by tomorrow, though everyone in Aberystwyth from Hywel on down hoped that it wouldn’t.
Rhun caught Angharad’s hands. “I am unhurt, or at least not very hurt.”
The Unlikely Spy Page 17