Gareth sensed her presence and put out a hand to keep her back. He looked ready for anything, balancing evenly on his feet with his hands loose at his sides.
With a sigh, Iolo scrubbed at his short black hair with both hands, rubbed at his slightly protruding belly, and hitched up his breeches. He was stalling, but eventually he lifted his head and looked directly into Gareth’s face. “It was all Madlen’s idea. I didn’t even know she had told you she was Gryff’s wife until you came to the booth to question us.”
And then he sprang sideways to race away into the darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
Gareth
Cursing, Gareth ran after Iolo.
The merchant had something of a belly, but he was fueled by fear and the knowledge that whatever Madlen had or had not done, he would be blamed.
And rightfully so.
Madlen had lied about her relationship with Gryff, but Iolo had supported her lie. And the moment he was caught, he betrayed her to save himself. Gareth’s respect for Iolo—never high to begin with—had fallen through the floor.
Gareth thought back to when he and Rhun had questioned Iolo the first time at his booth on the day Gryff had died. When Gareth had relayed the news of Gryff’s death and asked to speak to Madlen as his wife, Iolo had given him a blank stare. Despite the fact that Gareth was currently leaping over lines and weaving between tents chasing after the man, he believed Iolo may actually have been telling the truth when he pointed to that moment as his first indication of Madlen’s lie. The question now—or one of them—was why Madlen had lied. The more pressing issue was why Iolo had chosen this moment to run.
The merchant puffed ahead of Gareth, heading for the exit to the market grounds, but Gareth’s long legs carried him at speed down the aisles after him. Twenty paces from where Goch stood guard, Gareth threw himself forward, grasped Iolo around the shoulders, and brought him to the ground.
When they hit the grass, both men whuffed as the air left their lungs. Gareth was fitter and stronger, however, and Iolo, who was pinned to the ground beneath him, could do nothing to rise.
“I’m here, my lord.” Goch left his post to give aid.
Chasing after Tangwen all day kept Gwen fit enough not to have fallen far behind either.
Gareth raised himself up enough to put his knee into the small of Iolo’s back. He grabbed each of Iolo’s wrists, pulling them down and behind him. Gareth accepted a length of rope from Goch with which to tie Iolo’s hands. “Why did you run?”
Iolo didn’t answer, so Gareth hauled him to his feet and handed him to Goch. “Take him to the castle. He can cool his heels beside Alun for a while until he decides to talk.”
“What about my stall? My goods—”
“You should have thought of that before you ran,” Gareth said. “Where’s Madlen?”
“She couldn’t bear to stay,” Iolo said, suddenly talkative where before he’d hemmed and hawed. Having one’s hands tied behind one’s back could do that to a man. “Today broke her heart, working without Gryff, so I sent her to my cousin’s house. She lives nearby.”
Gwen stepped closer to look into Iolo’s face. “You did what?”
Even with his hands tied behind his back, Iolo shrugged, giving off an air of surprising nonchalance, given his flight of a moment ago. There were too many contradictions here, and Gareth was having a hard time figuring out which Iolo he was talking to at any given moment: the affable merchant, the clever strategist, or the loving uncle.
“Where?” Gareth said.
Iolo’s face went utterly blank, much like it had during that first interview, and Gareth prepared himself to hear a lie—or something Iolo didn’t want to tell him. “Uh … she went to Borth.”
“And what was your plan? You decided to pack up your stall and leave Aberystwyth?” Gareth said. “You would do that without selling all your goods?”
Iolo shook his head. “Without Gryff or Madlen—”
Gareth gave a tsk of disgust. “You’re trying to tell me that Madlen is so distraught at Gryff’s death that she had to be sent away, but that doesn’t explain why she lied about being married to him.”
“She loved him. She wanted to be married to him.”
“Not according to Pawl, the inn keeper,” Gareth said.
Iolo made a what do I know? motion with his head and upper body. “That’s what she told me. I can’t help what other people think.”
“How could Madlen think Gryff’s real wife wouldn’t find out?” Gwen said.
“As I said earlier, Madlen wasn’t thinking straight. She loved Gryff, and his death tore her apart,” Iolo said. “She wanted the respect and sympathy that comes with being a grieving widow, even if that role wasn’t rightfully hers.”
“Still, she allowed his real widow to believe that he had betrayed her,” Gwen said. “It seems extreme.”
Iolo sighed. “I know.”
Gwen, too, was looking at Iolo like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. He’d run rather than talk, but nothing he was saying now was worth running over.
“Why did you run?” Gareth asked again.
“I panicked.” Iolo looked down at his feet. “Gryff is dead. Madlen loved him but he’s dead. Why can’t you let the man rest in peace?” He kept his head bowed.
Gareth studied him. Maybe it was finally time to say a little more. “You must understand. Gryff’s death was not an accident.”
“What?” Iolo’s head came up, and his mouth dropped open. “Gryff killed himself after all?”
“No.” Gwen had her arms folded across her chest, and she was gazing at Iolo with an expression akin to hostility.
“Then what?” Iolo looked from Gwen to Gareth. The merchant had been doing a great deal of gaping during their conversation. “Don’t tell me that you suspect foul play?”
When Gareth neither confirmed nor denied it, Iolo’s jaw dropped further. “Surely not! Gryff was an innocent! Why would anyone want to harm him?”
Gwen raised one shoulder. “That’s what we are trying to find out.”
“Why do you think it might be murder?” Iolo said.
“We have our reasons,” Gareth said. “Thus I’m sure you can see how it would look if everyone associated with him departed before we discovered who killed him. The people of Aberystwyth don’t yet realize they have a murderer in their midst, but our investigation will begin to attract attention soon. You wouldn’t want Prince Hywel to arrest the wrong man, would you?”
Iolo swallowed hard, realizing full well that Gareth meant him. “How can you be sure Gryff was murdered? He was found in the millpond.”
“He was stabbed in the chest.” Gwen was giving no quarter.
Iolo rocked back on his heels. “You can tell that even after a day in the water?”
“Yes.” While Gareth hadn’t told any of his suspects about the stab wound, he agreed with Gwen that right now was as good a time as any to let the news out. “Such a wound is usually an indication of murder.”
Iolo looked suitably chastened and bowed his head again. “I had no idea. I understand your fervor now and apologize even more profoundly for obstructing your investigation in any way.”
“I appreciate your apology,” Gareth said, “but it doesn’t excuse your lies.”
Iolo fell to his knees before Gareth. “Please, I beg you. I will stay in Aberystwyth. I will help you in any way I can. Just allow me to return to my stall.”
Gareth rubbed his chin. He had only one cell at the castle into which he might put criminals, and that cell was already occupied by Alun. While it might be entertaining to put Alun and Iolo in together, it wasn’t ideal. “For now, I am confiscating your horse and cart. I suggest you ask at the monastery for a local boy who could help you sell your wares tomorrow. He might not be knowledgeable about cloth, but he could be an extra hand and give you the ability to leave your stall at times if you needed to.”
Iolo’s almost collapsed in relief. “Thank you, my l
ord. I will do that.”
Gareth gestured to Goch, who began to untie Iolo’s hands. Gwen’s face was a thundercloud, though she didn’t openly question Gareth’s decision to let Iolo go.
Iolo rubbed at his wrists, easing the place where the rope had rubbed.
Gareth turned away and put a gentle hand on Gwen’s shoulder, leaning in close to whisper into her ear. “Trust me.” Gwen subsided, and Gareth turned back to Iolo. “I have one more question. Gryff had very few possessions. We’re looking for his rucksack. Have you seen it?”
“N-no,” Iolo said. “Not since he died. In fact, I asked Pawl, the inn keeper, about it the other day. He said he’d put it away for Gryff’s wife to claim. Has it gone missing?”
“Yes,” Gareth said.
“Perhaps Carys claimed it,” Iolo said.
“Perhaps,” Gareth said.
Iolo hesitated and then made a swinging motion with his arm. “Well, I’ll be off then.” He hurried away without looking back.
Gareth pointed to Goch with his chin. “Find his horse and have one of the men bring it to the castle stables. I want his cart watched and if he goes to it, someone must inspect everything he puts in it or brings out.”
“Yes, my lord.” Goch frowned. “You’re really letting him go?”
“Of course not,” Gareth said. “We’re going to watch him closely. Tell the others on duty that I want to know everything he does, where he goes, and who he talks to. I’ll return to the castle and arrange for more men. We’ll need three on duty at any one time.”
Goch put his heels together and bowed. “It will be done.”
As Goch hurried after Iolo, Gwen took in a breath and let it out sharply. “You had me fooled too for a moment.”
“Really, Gwen, would I have let him go, just like that?” Gareth said.
“No.” She pursed her lips. “Do you think Iolo believes he’s walking free?”
“Not if he’s as smart as I think he is,” Gareth said.
“Did you believe anything he told you?” Gwen said.
“I think we need to reexamine everything that either Iolo or Madlen has said to us, from the first moment Madlen appeared at the chapel,” Gareth said. “Iolo appeared surprised to hear about the stab wound. If he was the murderer, you’d think he’d have been expecting it.”
“He was surprised that we knew about the stab wound,” Gwen said. “That isn’t the same thing.”
“I bow to your superior observational skills.” Gareth placed his arm around Gwen’s shoulders. They began walking back towards the festival pavilion.
“Will you go to Borth, then?” Gwen said.
“I’ll send someone to collect Madlen first thing in the morning,” Gareth said.
“The miller’s apprentice went to Borth, didn’t he?” Gwen said. “Is that too much of a coincidence?”
Gareth laughed. “With this investigation, I can’t tell what’s reasonable and what isn’t. For now, I intend to deliver you back to our daughter, and then I will have a chat with Alun.”
Chapter Nineteen
Gareth
Gareth was slightly disappointed that Gwen didn’t protest about him leaving her again, but he wasn’t surprised either. Before their marriage, music had been her life. Even now, nine times out of ten he would arrive home to find her soprano voice filling the house or wherever they were staying. He hoped Tangwen would someday share her gifts, and when they had a son, God would bless him with even half the voice Gwalchmai had been given.
Gareth was sorry to be missing the music too, but this murder was dogging him—less with the emotion of some of their previous investigations, but with its mundaneness. He couldn’t honestly say that he cared all that much about Gryff’s death. Gryff was one more dead man Gareth hadn’t known. His obligation was to Prince Hywel, who expected Gareth’s best no matter the investigation, and to himself. The circumstances around Gryff’s death nagged him. There was something more here—not only about Gryff the man but the reason for his murder—than met the eye, and Gareth needed to know what that was.
And while in the past he’d sometimes had too many suspects, today he didn’t have enough. Surely Iolo topped that list, but they still didn’t have a good motive for why he might kill his apprentice. Alun had been locked in his cell more to teach him a lesson than because Rhun—or anyone else—believed he’d murdered his brother-in-law. Gareth believed Alun could have. He had the strength for the deed. But especially now that it was clear Gryff hadn’t married Madlen, Alun didn’t have a motive that Gareth could discern. And more than anything else, that was what was troubling Gareth about the circumstances surrounding this death.
Still, at the very least, Gareth would be pleased to be able to tell Carys that her husband hadn’t betrayed her with another woman. Or, Gareth amended to himself, if he did, it wasn’t with Madlen.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Evan planted himself in front of Gareth.
“Did you think you could give us the slip?” Rhodri braced Gareth’s back as if Gareth were a criminal aiming to flee.
Gareth laughed and shook his head. “I assure you, that wasn’t my intent.”
“You questioned Iolo without us, with only Gwen for backup!” Evan said. “What were you thinking?”
Gareth held up both hands. “I apologize. I’m not used to needing a guard. I forgot.”
Rhodri tipped his chin to Evan. “He forgot.”
“A likely story.” Evan fell in beside Gareth as they began walking up the road to the castle.
“I hear Iolo ran,” Rhodri said, settling into an easy stride on Gareth’s other side.
“Goch talks too much,” Gareth said.
“Just don’t do it again.” Rhodri had turned serious. “Prince Hywel would have our heads if something happened to you on our watch.”
“I apologize,” Gareth said. “I honestly didn’t sneak away on purpose. I just didn’t think about it.”
“Well, think next time.” Evan remained uncompromising.
The castle, when they reached it, was nearly deserted except for a small contingent of guards necessary to maintain a minimum of defenses. “My lord.” The guard at the gate saluted Gareth as he passed through it.
Rhodri stopped to speak to him while Evan and Gareth continued towards one of the far towers opposite the gatehouse. Both Cadwaladr and Cadell had brought more soldiers with them than the occasion warranted, but they weren’t enough to take Hywel’s castle if the gates were closed. For that they needed siege weapons or archers, such as Hywel had used to take it from Cadwaladr in the first place.
Like Hywel, Gareth both dreaded the day that Cadwaladr broke the final bonds that bound him to King Owain and hoped for it. Gareth was a soldier, and his gut told him that action was almost always better than inaction. Fortunately for Gwynedd, King Owain, for all his temper, had more patience than either Gareth or Hywel.
The fortress was built in wood with a stone foundation. Hywel had plans to build the whole of it in stone, as his father was doing at Aber, but he didn’t yet have the resources to do it. Alun’s prison consisted of a single cell at the base of the west tower, accessed by a door with iron bars at the bottom of a shallow set of stairs. It wasn’t a true basement, more like half of one, such that if the prisoner stood at the bars, he could be easily seen from almost anywhere in the courtyard. Another guard sat on a stool in the dirt outside the door, chewing on a piece of bread.
“All is well?” Gareth said.
“Yes, my lord.” The guard was one of Rhun’s, and Gareth didn’t know him well. Hywel’s men and Rhun’s men had spent most of the summer mixed among one another. Many of the older men had served King Owain before they served Hywel or Rhun, and those Gareth knew better. With the murder, on top of the additional duties required by the festival, everybody was being put to use this week.
Gareth motioned with his head towards the keep. “Take a walk, if you would. I’d like to speak to the prisoner.”
The guard got t
o his feet. “Thank you, my lord.”
Before he could leave, however, Gareth put out a hand. “Do you know where Alun’s sister, Carys, is?”
“I saw her in the hall before my duty started.” The guard rolled his shoulders and stretched after sitting for too long.
“If you see her again, send her to me.”
“Yes, my lord.” The guard bowed and departed.
Leaving Evan to watch his back, though that anyone would threaten him while inside Hywel’s own castle was unlikely, Gareth walked down the steps.
“Come to gloat?” Alun stuck his face up to the bars. The cell was cramped, with only six feet from floor to ceiling, so Alun couldn’t straighten up all the way. Gareth had seen cells only four feet in height, so in a way Hywel had been generous in the construction of this one.
“Is that any way to speak to your captor?” Gareth said. “If you give me the answers I seek, you may find yourself released.”
“You want my confession? You won’t get it no matter how long you leave me here. I had nothing to do with Gryff’s death.”
“But your behavior has not been that of an honest man,” Gareth said.
Alun sneered and turned his back on the door. “I have done nothing wrong.”
Gareth rested his forearm above the door and looked through the bars, hunching somewhat in order to do so, since, like Alun, he was over six feet. For the first time ever, Gareth was glad that the cell at Aber he’d once occupied had been at the back of the stables. “You assaulted a Prince of Gwynedd.”
“Ach.” Alun looked at Gareth over his shoulder, a sheepish expression on his face. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was concerned for Carys.”
“Who herself assaulted Madlen,” Gareth said.
“That woman is a witch!” Alun said. “Gryff may have been many things that I didn’t respect, but unfaithful had never been one of them until she came along!”
The Unlikely Spy Page 20