“You hit the post with your head and you might have broken your ribs! That man should be put in irons!”
Angharad’s ire on his behalf warmed Rhun’s heart, but he squeezed her hands and smiled, trying to assuage her concern. He looked past her to the fight, which was ongoing. Iolo shouted, “Madlen! Madlen!”
Angharad tried to prevent him from returning to the fray, slipping her hand into his to draw his attention back to her. Rhun brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I’m well, Angharad. Truly.”
Madlen stood up. “Ha!” Her fist was clenched in triumph around something small attached to a jewelry chain.
The other woman screamed. By now Rhun could make a good guess as to her identity. Iolo pulled Madlen back, stepping in front of her and glaring at the big man, who helped the woman on the ground to her feet.
Once upright, however, the unknown woman launched herself at Madlen again. “It’s mine! You can’t have it. Gryff gave it to me!”
Rhun decided it was time to reassert his authority. He put his left hand on the hilt of his sword and strode forward. “Enough!”
The barking tone was one he used to speak to his men. Usually he saved it for the heat of battle, the times he needed to call ‘to me!’ and had to be heard above the clash of swords and screams of men and horses. Rarely had he used it to call, ‘retreat!’, though the one time he’d done so had saved the bulk of his men and enabled them to live to fight another day.
Regardless, his order had the desired effect among these less well-armed combatants. Rhun shouldered his way back through the cluster of onlookers to where the two women had frozen in mid-fight, breathing hard and glowering at each other. Three soldiers had also finally appeared, drawn by the ruckus the women were creating. Rhun was happy to see that one of them was his own captain, Gruffydd.
Rhun stepped between the two women and held out his hand, palm flat, to Madlen. “Give it to me.”
Madlen was flushed red with temper and heat. “No!”
Rhun didn’t ask again, just kept his hand out. It occurred to him that she might be too fired up to recognize him from when he’d questioned her with Gareth.
“Madlen!” Iolo whipped his hat off his head and hustled towards Rhun with bowed head. “Please forgive her, my lord. She is distraught with grief and doesn’t know what she is doing.”
“Be that as it may,” Rhun said, “I want what she has in her hand.”
“It belongs to Carys!” the big man said.
Rhun turned his head slowly to look at him, hardly able to believe the man still hadn’t realized who he was. But at Rhun’s look, the big man’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes widened, and suddenly instead of glaring at Rhun he took a step back. “I’m-I’m—” He was prevented from fleeing by the appearance of two of Hywel’s men, who buttressed him on either side. The woman he protected, who had to be Carys, clutched her brother’s elbow and looked scared.
“I will deal with you two later. Now—” Rhun turned back to Madlen, his hand still out, “—what is in your hand?”
“It’s mine.” Madlen was still breathing rapidly, her eyes wild with defiance and anger, but under Rhun’s calm gaze, she finally blinked and faltered. As Iolo whispered urgently in her ear, the fire left her. Nervous now, as perhaps the realization of the spectacle she’d created occurred to her, she opened her fist and draped what she’d been holding into Rhun’s hand. It turned out to be a gold cross on a chain. “Gryff never should have given it to her!”
“No, it’s mine—” Carys made a motion as if to dart forward, but the big man—Alun—caught her arm and jerked her back, cutting off her words in mid-breath.
Rhun closed his hand over the cross. With a nod from Gruffydd, the soldiers began to disperse the crowd that had gathered, leaving Iolo and Madlen standing to Rhun’s right, and Carys and Alun standing three paces away to Rhun’s left.
Rhun studied each person in turn. Alun and Iolo stood rock steady, staring at a point somewhere near Rhun’s right shoulder. The two women shifted from foot to foot in uncertainty. “Carys and Alun, I assume,” Rhun said, looking at the second pair.
“Yes, my lord,” Alun said.
“So you know who I am now?” Rhun said.
“Yes, my lord.” Alun swallowed hard. “I’m sorry—”
Rhun held up a hand, cutting the big man off. “We will discuss your transgressions later. For now, I am interested in why you allowed your sister to come within fifty paces of Iolo’s stall and Madlen.”
“My lord—” Iolo began.
At Rhun’s frown, he too subsided. “I have reconsidered. I will bring you before my brother, and you can tell your story to him. Come with me.” Rhun held out his elbow to Angharad, who took it. He set off without waiting to see if he would be obeyed.
Cowed, the four culprits followed him towards the market exit, herded forward by the soldiers and Gruffydd. As Rhun had hoped, they found Hywel in the pavilion where he’d left him several hours earlier. Hywel had always demanded perfection from everyone who worked for him, but his current state of frenzy had less to do with his natural proclivities than the fact that their father should be arriving at any moment.
Hywel noted Rhun’s approach and came over to the group before Rhun had to hail him. Looking past Rhun to the two angry couples and the guards beyond them, Hywel pressed his lips together for a moment, impatience flashing across his face. “What’s happened now?”
“There has been an incident that I believe requires your attention.” Rhun opened his hand to show Hywel the cross. “What we have here are two grieving widows, both of whom claim this cross belongs to them.”
Hywel picked up the chain upon which the cross was strung and held it up, uncoiling it from Rhun’s palm. “Carys was wearing it when she spoke to Gwen this morning,” Hywel said.
“Madlen claims the cross belonged to her grandmother, and that she gave it to Gryff as a token of her love for him. She says he had no right to pass it on to Carys.”
Rhun had examined the cross on the walk to the pavilion. As Gwen had indicated, an entwined ‘C’ and ‘G’ had been etched expertly into the center back where the four arms met.
Hywel looked over at Madlen. “What were your grandparents’ names?”
“Catrin and Gwion,” Madlen said without hesitation.
“Hmm.” Hywel glanced at his brother, half turning his back on Madlen and Iolo. “What do you make of this?”
“I don’t know,” Rhun said, keeping his voice low so only Hywel could hear him. “I dearly wish that Gryff hadn’t managed to get himself killed, because he could have cleared all this up with a few words.”
Hywel turned back to the women. “We have many questions about Gryff’s death and his relationship with the two of you. When we have a more complete picture, we will make a determination as to whom this cross belongs. Until then, Carys, you must stay far away from Madlen. We have buried your husband. Your children are fatherless. You should be thinking of them. And you—” he looked at Madlen, “—you feel yourself misused in that Gryff played you false. He was not the first man to do so, nor will he be the last. I suggest that before you tie yourself to a dreamer again, you meet his family first.”
Madlen and Iolo looked at the ground, indicating that—if not suitably chastened—they were at least willing to pretend they were listening to their lord. Hywel snorted his derision, motioning for everyone to take their leave. Iolo tugged on Madlen’s arm, urging her to come with him. She looked as if she was going to call for Hywel’s attention again, which would have been a mistake. But after another brief hesitation, she went with her uncle.
“Wait.” Rhun pointed at Carys and Alun before they could depart too. “I’m not finished with you two.” Gruffydd, Rhun’s captain, and the three soldiers still boxed the pair in. Rhun stepped up to the big man. “Did you hope I’d forgotten that you threw me across the fairgrounds?”
Hywel had moved away to return to what he’d been doing before but no
w hastened back to Rhun’s side. “What’s this?”
Alun pulled in his chin, looking as if he wanted to flee. “I didn’t mean—”
Rhun cut him off. “Don’t lie to me. You meant to get me out of the way, and you didn’t care who I was. You have a temper, Alun. Was it you who met your brother-in-law beside the millpond two nights ago and murdered him?”
“No!” Alun took a step back in his dismay, bumping into Gruffydd, who shoved him forward again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nobody ever said anything about murder!”
Carys fell to her knees in the short grass, her arms wrapped around her middle as if she might be sick right there and then.
Rhun eyed the big man, whose eyes had gone wide with shock. “You say you had nothing to do with Gryff’s death, and so far that’s what everyone’s been saying. But I tell you now that someone killed him. I have been wondering all day if that someone was you.”
Hywel stepped smoothly between them. “Perhaps a day or two in a cell up at the castle will jog his memory, brother?”
“I think you’re right, brother. Everyone has lied to us,” Rhun said. “I think it’s time this one stopped, don’t you?”
Alun choked on his fear and fell to his knees beside his sister. “I haven’t lied! My lords, please! I don’t know anything about why Gryff died! You have to believe me!” His words appeared heartfelt.
“We really don’t.” Rhun gazed down at Alun but was spared any more of Alun’s denials by a trumpet blast that reverberated all around the festival grounds.
King Owain had arrived.
Hywel spun on his heel, his own eyes widening. Rhun put a hand on his brother’s arm. “This is going to go well. You have done brilliantly.” Rhun’s only goal now was to support his brother, and whatever Alun did or did not know had to be put aside. Rhun jerked his head at Gruffydd. “Put him in the cell.”
“Yes, my lord,” Gruffydd said.
Rhun looked down at Carys. “Given the circumstances, we still have questions for you too. I expect to be able to find you when I need to ask them.”
Carys’s eyes were wide. “My children—”
“I understand they are with Alun’s wife,” Rhun said.
Carys nodded.
“Then they should be fine to stay with her another day.” Rhun ignored Carys’s gasping protest and headed across the pavilion in Hywel’s wake, hastening to catch up.
By the time Rhun reached him, Hywel had come to a halt on the near side of the ford of the Ystwyth River and was smoothing his palms down the sides of his breeches. Though the late afternoon sun had finally fallen below the level of the escarpment to the west, Hywel was sweating at the knowledge that he was about to see his father. Rhun understood the pressure Hywel was under and, for possibly the first time ever, was grateful not to be in his brother’s shoes.
As the object of his father’s outsized expectations since birth, Rhun had learned to work around and with his father. Hywel, as the second son, had been spared many of those particular burdens, but he had carried other ones. Their father had given Hywel Ceredigion to see what kind of man he had become.
Rhun couldn’t blame Hywel for being nervous.
“I was a fool to think any of this was a good idea,” Hywel said. “I should have told my father from the start that I wasn’t ready to rule Ceredigion.”
“You were ready and the festival was a good idea,” Rhun said.
“You know very well how difficult this has been,” Hywel said.
“I do,” Rhun said. “You need to take a breath. Everything is prepared. Even the rain has held off. You will sing tonight, Father will weep, and when you are ready to show him all you have accomplished here, he will be pleased.”
Hywel shot him a startled look. “I have made mistakes—”
Rhun scoffed. “Do you think no ruler has ever made mistakes? You are here because our grandfather entrusted Ceredigion to Cadwaladr. Father knows the state the lordship was in when you took it over. Taran has visited here often enough to have given him a clear picture.”
“You comfort me.” Hywel returned his eyes to the front.
“Father was young once too,” Rhun said. “At your age, his father hadn’t yet laid the kind of responsibilities on him that he has given to you.”
The flag of Gwynedd had just appeared on the other side of the river, so Rhun didn’t say the rest of what he was thinking: their father’s brother, Cadwallon, had been killed nearly fifteen years before, when their father was in his thirties. It was Cadwallon who had been the eldest and the one upon whom all hopes for Gwynedd had rested. Owain had been trusted, but as a second son, not as much had been expected of him. While Rhun had hope that he would not share Cadwallon’s fate, he appreciated his father’s desire not to be unprepared for the unexpected.
If Rhun were to die, the future of Gwynedd would rest on Hywel’s shoulders. When and if that happened, Hywel needed to be ready. And if Rhun outlived his father and assumed the throne as he and everyone else planned, then Hywel would be just the right-hand man that Rhun needed to rule Gwynedd. Rhun had every intention of keeping his country as strong and united as his father had made it.
As their father prepared to cross the ford of the Ystwyth River, shallow thanks to the lack of recent rains, the two brothers walked forward. Rhun allowed Hywel to get a little ahead of him: this was his lordship, and Rhun was here for moral support only. He caught sight of Angharad out of the corner of his eye. She waved at him, and he fought a smile, though he’d forgotten about her briefly in his anxiety for Hywel.
Then King Owain’s horse picked its way through the water, came up the low bank, and halted five paces from where Hywel stood alone in the middle of the path. King Owain dismounted. Leaving his horse with a member of his guard, he walked to stand in front of Hywel.
“Sire.” Hywel bowed, but when he straightened, King Owain stepped forward and wrapped him up in a bear hug, going so far as to lift Hywel’s feet off the ground.
“Good to see you, son!”
Hywel managed to grunt an acknowledgement of the greeting, although from past experience Rhun knew their father had squeezed all the air from Hywel’s lungs.
King Owain dropped him to the ground and released him, but only so he could hammer him on the back. “This festival is the talk of Wales.” King Owain spread his arms wide. “It is quite an accomplishment, son.”
“Thank you, Father.” Hywel bowed again. “I hope it lives up to expectations.”
“I have no doubt,” King Owain said.
Rhun could hear the heartiness in his father’s voice, and even if the king was putting on a show of a sort, his pride in his son was genuine. Rhun gazed around at the brightly colored flags and jubilant crowd, trying to see it anew with his father’s eyes. Rhun felt a rush of pride rise in his own chest at what Hywel had accomplished.
“I trust the journey was uneventful?” Hywel said.
“In the extreme,” King Owain said.
“So—slow, I take it?” Hywel said.
“We’re two days late.” Then King Owain looked to where Rhun waited. Moving past Hywel, King Owain shook Rhun’s forearm and then pulled him closer for a brief hug, taking the opportunity to speak to him in a low voice that didn’t carry, “I’m glad to see you well, son.”
“And you, sir,” Rhun said.
His father released him to turn back to Hywel, who gestured that they should begin walking towards the main pavilion. Rhun took a moment to direct King Owain’s captain to the field that had been saved for them, where they should pitch their tents, and then he hurried after his brother and father.
Rhun knew why his father had greeted him less exuberantly than he had Hywel. It wasn’t because his father loved him less. It was because Hywel had needed that greeting, not only for himself but so his people could see how much his father favored him. Rhun didn’t need that kind of attention.
He didn’t know why the relationship between Hywel and his father had always be
en more fragile than Rhun’s own. He and his father might look alike, but they were miles apart in temperament, unlike King Owain and Hywel. Certainly Hywel’s dedication to winning women’s hearts had come from their father. But as long as Rhun could remember, King Owain had looked upon Rhun himself with favor. He might have been found wanting a time or two, but Rhun couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t tried to follow his father’s example and been rewarded for the effort.
“How fares Gwynedd?” Rhun fell into step beside his father.
“All is quiet in Gwynedd itself,” King Owain said, “but I bring news from the east that will interest you.”
Rhun felt the corners of his mouth turn down. News from the east was almost never good.
“Ranulf?” Hywel said.
“Ranulf,” King Owain agreed. “Word has reached me that King Stephen has released the Earl of Chester from his prison.”
“When?” Hywel said.
“Ten days ago now,” King Owain said.
“What was the promised price?” Rhun said. “It must have cost all Ranulf had.”
“Most of what he cared about, anyway,” King Owain said. “Ranulf is required to relinquish all royal lands and holdings, including Lincoln Castle. He must give hostages and swear never to act against the king again.”
Rhun nodded. “To Ranulf and the king, the only real matter of importance is Lincoln Castle. This is the only way he could compel Ranulf to release it.”
“Stephen’s other choice was more bloodshed,” King Owain said.
“Along with failure and humiliation,” Rhun said. “The king tried twice to take the castle and failed. He needed to find another way.”
Hywel laughed sardonically. “If Stephen believes any oath Ranulf swears, he is a fool. The king might get his castle, but Ranulf will turn on him before the year is out.”
“Before the week is out,” Rhun said. “But my concern is more that he will turn against us.”
King Owain nodded. “Ranulf was imprisoned in part because Stephen’s other barons mistrusted his motives, thinking he intended to lure Stephen into a campaign against Gwynedd, with the intent to ambush the king instead.”
The Unlikely Spy Page 18