Hywel’s eyes widened. “That I hadn’t heard.”
“I’m not saying Ranulf might not have done so,” King Owain said, “but we all know that he has had his eye on our eastern border for years.”
“It worries me too,” Rhun said.
“Ranulf will turn against Wales,” King Owain said, “thinking to appease Stephen. He will want to make the king think he has taken a step back from the war with Empress Maud.”
“A step back is not a retreat,” Hywel said. “The Earl of Chester is still one of the most powerful barons in England. There’s a reason King Stephen hasn’t deprived him of his earldom.”
“Because he can’t.” King Owain clapped his second son on the back. “But this is a conversation for a long evening over warm mead. Today is about Ceredigion. To have the pleasure of hearing the voice of my son, the finest poet Wales has ever produced, is something I’ve been looking forward to for many months.”
Hywel looked modestly down at his feet, but not before Rhun caught a glance from him that their father didn’t see. Hywel’s eyes had snapped with pleasure. “Don’t let Meilyr hear you say that.”
“Meilyr will be pleased too,” King Owain said. “You were his student once, as much as Gwalchmai is now.”
Rhun glanced behind them. The bulk of King Owain’s party had crossed the river and was wending its way towards the field where they would pitch their tents. The three of them had been walking slowly and had almost reached the central pavilion. Throughout their conversation, many of the onlookers who’d come to see King Owain arrive had remained to watch, some perhaps in hopes of gaining an audience with the King of Gwynedd, however brief.
“Gwalchmai and Meilyr have come too, have they not?” Rhun said.
“They would not have missed this for all the gold in Winchester.” King Owain looked at Hywel. “It was wise of you not to compete with the other bards. You are a prince and the Lord of Ceredigion. You stand apart, and yet your voice rules over all others. As does your sword.”
“Thank you, Father,” Hywel said.
Then King Owain buffeted the shoulders of both his sons together. “After today, all will know that Gwynedd leads Wales not only in might but in music as well.” Then he rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gwen
“Has anyone so far considered where Gryff might have found the money to buy Carys that cross?” Mari said.
Gwen’s friend had miraculously risen from her bed to attend the evening’s entertainments. Although pale, she was holding herself well, and the two women walked together towards the high table. Dressed in a tunic of deep green, Hywel stood to one side. He caught sight of his wife, and his eyes lit to see Mari coming towards him. The two nannies followed, carrying Tangwen and Gruffydd, who was asleep.
“It is something to consider,” Gwen said. “Gareth is working on it, I know.”
The festival had already heard singing from dozens of bards. They included performers at all levels, from men who wandered the length and breadth of Wales, as she had once done with her father, to official court bards. Her father was among the latter again, as he’d been when Gwen was a child. Her chest swelled with pride to see Gwalchmai and her father tuning their instruments a few feet from where Hywel stood. While this was his night, it was also Gwynedd’s. Meilyr would play to accompany Hywel’s voice, and Gwalchmai would join him in song near the end.
The splendor and wealth of Ceredigion and Gwynedd was on display tonight, and the two women were dressed in their finest garments, as was every person in the pavilion. Food and drink were being served, though not in quantity. The purpose of tonight was not feasting but music, following the saying that was common among them: ‘Food is for the stomach, music for the soul.’
“Hywel is so very pleased with how the festival is turning out, but I hope he isn’t too nervous to sing,” Mari said.
Gwen hurried a few steps to catch up with her friend. “Hywel hasn’t been nervous about singing since he was twelve years old.”
“Hmmm,” Mari said. “He has just learned to hide it better.”
Gwen smiled, accepting her friend’s knowledge of Hywel’s thoughts without feeling hurt. Gwen and Hywel had never returned to the close relationship they’d had as children—it would have been impossible to have done so unless they themselves had married. As a young man, Hywel would have hidden his fears from her, just as every man worked to keep his fears hidden lest they make him vulnerable to the barbs of an enemy.
Gwen had looked into that dark pit herself. Fear was the demon inside all men. To allow it to rise to the surface turned men into animals. A man might fear battle, or poverty, or humiliation as in the case of Hywel tonight, but what woman hadn’t lain awake in the darkness, worrying for her man or child? At times Gwen couldn’t do otherwise and remain a woman.
King Owain of Gwynedd and King Cadell of Deheubarth sat side by side at the high table. Rhun sat at his father’s right hand. Cadell didn’t have a son, so his left was taken up by his two brothers, Maredudd and Rhys, who’d arrived for the festival shortly after King Owain. Madog, the king of Powys, had not come, which surprised no one. With the Earl of Chester free again, his kingdom might soon come under renewed pressure from the Normans, who had already carved out large pieces of it for themselves. Whether a particular castle was Welsh or Norman varied from year to year in a constant back and forth for power and land.
Cadwaladr, King Owain’s brother, sat at the end of the table, facing down it. Gwen had noted this new habit of his: to keep himself apart rather than assert his rights as a prince of Gwynedd. And in a way, sitting at the end of the table implied that he’d carved out a dominion of his own.
“I see Gareth,” Mari said as Gwen escorted her around the back of the high table to her seat. “Later, you must tell me everything he discovered today.”
“Of course I will.” Gwen smiled at her friend. “Enjoy the music.”
Mari chose a seat at the end of the table. It was not an indication of low rank. As Hywel’s wife, she was the hostess of the festival. Rather, it was a practical matter of being able to depart the pavilion quickly in case her stomach rebelled against her. It also put her closer to where Hywel stood.
As Gwen headed towards an open side of the pavilion, she neared her father and brother. She hadn’t had a chance to greet them properly yet, and even now she only gave them each a peck on the cheek. “You will do wonderfully.”
Gwalchmai’s face was flushed, and he was sweating in his fine wool tunic. He closed his eyes and took in a long breath, holding it for a moment before easing it out.
Meilyr shot his son a worried look. “Place your faith in your training.”
“Yes, Father.” Gwalchmai’s gaze became focused on a point somewhere in the distance. “You needn’t worry about me.”
Gwen gave him half a hug, bent over with one arm around his shoulders. When he stood he was taller than she was by several inches. Another month and he might be taller than his father.
“You should be up here too, girl,” Meilyr said, ever gruff, but Gwen knew that he meant it.
“Not tonight,” Gwen said. “The three of you will do Gwynedd proud.”
Gareth was standing off to one side, keeping Prince Hywel and the whole of the pavilion under his watchful eye. She hadn’t seen him since they’d eaten together in the early afternoon. As Gwen moved towards him, he took a step back, fading into the darkness outside the tent at her approach. Her heart sped up, not only at the sight of him but because she guessed that he had something important to tell her.
Everybody who could cram into the pavilion had already arrived, and the rest of the festival-goers were spread out around it, seated on blankets in the grass. As Gwen left the pavilion, Hywel raised a hand to gain everyone’s attention. Such was the expectation and excitement among the onlookers that silence immediately descended upon the crowd.
Gwen clasped Gareth’s hand and turned to look back, s
haring the anticipation and delight that was infecting everyone. Some might have expected Hywel to take this moment to welcome his guests, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t say anything, just opened his mouth and released his gorgeous voice. As Gwen’s father had proclaimed more times than Gwen could count, a voice like Hywel’s came along once in a generation.
Gareth drew Gwen closer, his arm around her shoulders, listening as Hywel warmed to his song. This particular saga told of battle, triumph, and grief, and was one that she and everyone in the pavilion knew by heart, though none could ever regret hearing it again.
As Hywel began the third verse, Gareth gently turned Gwen away from the music, and they threaded their way among the onlookers until they reached the far edge of the crowd. Hywel’s voice soared towards the stars that winked above them. Gwen didn’t want to stop listening to the singing, but Gareth clearly thought what he had to say was important enough that she needed to hear it now, rather than wait until the evening’s music was over.
“This sounds like bad news,” she said.
“We uncovered some disconcerting information today,” Gareth said and then told her about his conversation with the inn keeper and the disappearance of Gryff’s rucksack.
“So Madlen and Gryff weren’t married.” Gwen shook her head. “Should we detain her, Gareth?”
“I’m thinking about it,” Gareth said. “Rhun tells me that he has Alun locked up at the castle. I haven’t had a chance to speak to either him or Carys yet, but they’ve been telling lies too.”
“Iolo and Madlen have no ties here. They could have very easily run—far more easily than Alun or Carys could,” Gwen said.
“That was one reason I believed Alun and Carys had nothing to do with Gryff’s death. After I returned from Aberystwyth, I went by Iolo’s booth but like everyone else they had closed it down in preparation for tonight’s music. I sent Rhodri back to the inn to see if they’d cleaned out their things, but he has just returned to tell me that they haven’t. Still, nobody has seen them.”
“The only reason for them to leave now instead of yesterday after the murder was because someone told them you’d visited the inn.”
“That was my thought too,” Gareth said. “Their informant could be any one of dozens of people who were at the tavern when we visited it. The news could even have been innocently given.”
“The inn keeper could have told them,” Gwen said.
“I don’t see Pawl’s hand in this. At least, he promised not to speak of it,” Gareth said. “He was very upset at the disappearance of Gryff’s rucksack.”
“If Iolo and Madlen left Aberystwyth, they could be miles away by now in any direction,” Gwen said. “Have you spoken to Prince Hywel about any of this?”
“Not yet,” Gareth said. “Tonight was too important to him to distract him with something I mean to deal with myself. I did, however, tell the men to be on the lookout for them.”
“Is Iolo’s cart still here?” Gwen said.
Gareth made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. “Why do I never think of these things? It wasn’t at the tavern, of that I can be sure.”
“Let’s go to the market fair and see if it’s gone,” Gwen said. “All that Iolo and Madlen own is either in that booth or in that cart. Without Gryff to watch over it anymore, one of them must be doing it.”
“Is Tangwen all right?” Gareth peered past Gwen towards the pavilion.
“She’s with Elspeth.” Gwen could just make out the girl sitting with Tangwen in her lap. Gratifyingly, the baby loved music as much as the rest of her family did.
Gareth smiled when he spied his daughter. “Neither of them will miss us. We can go.”
To Gwen’s regret, the clarity of the music lessened as they navigated among the tents between the main pavilion and the market fair. Still, holding Gareth’s hand in the darkness, Gwen wasn’t completely let down. She felt like she was sixteen again. In those days, she’d managed to walk off with Gareth illicitly only once, and they’d been caught almost immediately by a nosy matron who’d shooed them back to the great hall. That had been here at Aberystwyth, though in the old castle that Hywel had burned to the ground three years ago.
Gwen mentioned the memory to Gareth, who laughed before pulling her behind a tent with him. Wrapping her in his arms, he kissed her until she was breathless. “We haven’t spent as much time alone together recently as I like.”
“We haven’t spent any time alone together.” But then Gwen pushed at his chest, putting some space between them. “We have a task, Gareth.”
He grumbled, “It would be more fun to forget about it,” but he took her hand again and stepped out from behind the tent. Ahead of them lay the long line of carts, dozens of them, which belonged to the traders and merchants who’d come for the fair. Many carts were empty but others were simply battened down. No merchants sat among them. It appeared that all of them were taking advantage of Hywel’s assurance that they would be well guarded.
“Do you know which one is theirs?” Gwen said.
Gareth shook his head. “They all look the same to me.” He waved a hand to two of his men who were passing by on patrol. “All is quiet?”
“Yes, my lord,” they said together.
“Have you seen any sign of Iolo, the cloth merchant?” Gwen said.
“No, my lady.”
“Do you know which cart is his?” Gwen said.
One of the guards pointed with his spear towards a cart halfway along one of the rows. It stood a little apart from the others, as if someone had pulled it forward out of line to better access what was inside. “That one, I believe.”
Gwen would have tried to peer inside, but the cart had wooden sides and a rear door that locked. “At least we know he hasn’t left.”
Gareth jerked his head towards the market fairgrounds, indicating they should keep looking. Thirty yards on, they met a third guard, who turned out to be Goch, a trusted soldier. He’d been patrolling between the carts and the fair itself. Gareth asked him about Iolo and Madlen and at last received a positive response.
“Iolo was just here.” Frowning, Goch turned on his heel to look back towards the market grounds. “I think he was walking in that direction the last time I saw him.” Goch pointed towards the silent booths. “He’s come by twice already, each time with arms heavily laden.”
“Do you mean to say that he was carrying his goods from his booth to the cart, not the other way around?” Gwen said.
“That’s what it looked like to me,” Goch said. “He appeared to be in a hurry.”
“He’s taking advantage of our attention to the music to pack up.” Gareth said with a growl. “I’m glad we thought to check on him.”
“If he hasn’t come back this way, we can still stop him,” Gwen said. “What about Madlen?”
“I haven’t seen the girl at all,” Goch said.
Gwen looked at Gareth. “I wonder where she went? If she knows that you talked to the inn keeper, she has to be afraid of what you discovered.”
“Iolo seems to be.” Gareth pointed a finger at Iolo’s cart. “Don’t let him leave, Goch!”
“My lord, I won’t.”
Gwen and Gareth hurried down the row of deserted booths. The music from the festival pavilion came more clearly here. A drumbeat resounded among the tents, the low bass carrying through the darkness more easily than the higher tones of Meilyr’s lyre or Hywel’s voice.
“If he’s leaving in the middle of the festival,” Gwen said, “he’s sacrificing an opportunity for sales.”
“Better to lose a few pennies than his livelihood entirely,” Gareth said. “Or his life.”
“With this, I can’t see any way that he isn’t involved in Gryff’s death.” Gwen glanced at her husband. His eyes glinted from the light of a torch smoking nearby. Fire was an ever present danger, so torches were posted only on the ends of the rows. “Certainly he’s complicit in Madlen’s lies.”
“I think it’s time we ask
ed him,” Gareth said.
They turned the corner and spied the merchant backing out of his stall with his arms full of fabric. Gareth was upon him in two strides, catching Iolo by the back of his collar. “There you are.”
“My lord! My lord! I have done nothing!”
“You’re doing something now,” Gareth said.
Iolo set the cloth on the table upon which his wares were displayed during the day, and then Gareth turned him around to face him, his fists catching the lapels of Iolo’s coat.
“Why did you lie to me?” Gareth said.
“I didn’t! I didn’t! What did I lie about?”
“See, now this is the problem.” Gareth unclenched his fists, straightening Iolo’s collar and jacket with a few swipes of his hands across the man’s shoulders. “You’re lying to me again. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I—”
Gareth cut him off with a glare. “I spoke today to Pawl, the inn keeper, which I suspect you already knew, or else you wouldn’t be trying to leave in such a hurry.”
Gwen couldn’t tell in the torchlight if Iolo’s face paled, but his mouth turned down at the same time that his hands started working together in front of him. “Why should I care if you spoke to Pawl?”
Gwen couldn’t believe that Iolo was still trying to brazen out his deceit.
Gareth tsked through his teeth. “Pawl says that he met Carys on the day Gryff died. Gryff introduced her as his wife and at no time would Pawl have said that Gryff and Madlen were married. You lied to me. Worse, you lied to Prince Rhun and indirectly to Prince Hywel. Tell me why I shouldn’t arrest you right now for obstructing my investigation into Gryff’s death?”
Iolo stuttered a reply that was hardly more than gibberish, and then managed to say, “I’m sorry, my lord. You have my deepest apologies. It was not I who lied, or at least not at first. And it certainly wasn’t my idea.”
“Explain,” Gareth said.
The merchant looked down at his toes as if he might find an answer to his difficulties there. Either that or he intended to lie again and was afraid to look Gareth in the eyes when he did it. Gwen stepped closer, hoping that by watching him carefully, she would be able to tell the difference.
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