“Gryff came searching for my brother on the afternoon he died.” A chill ran down Rhun’s spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze that swept through the field, rustling the flags and tents all around them. “He could have discovered something about Iolo’s activities that got him killed.”
“A motive, as you say, my lord,” Gruffydd said.
Having proposed marriage to Angharad and been accepted, Rhun had been unlikely to sleep either, but with something solid to do, he picked up the pace, heading towards the market fair. When they reached the place where the merchants’ carts were parked, he found guards on duty, Goch still among them. Watches in the middle of the night were usually dull, but Goch seemed alert enough. He stood with his hip propped against the side of the last cart on the end. At Rhun’s approach, he straightened. “My prince.”
“Which cart is Iolo’s?” Rhun said by way of a greeting.
“Third one from the end,” Goch said. “Some of the merchants have moved theirs around tonight, looking to bring them closer to their stalls to restock, but they’ve put them back.”
“Iolo has not come himself?” Rhun said.
“Not since Gareth let him go. He went straight to his stall and has not left it,” Goch said. “I have two men watching, and more are posted at both entrances to the market grounds. Sir Gareth was very specific in his orders. Iolo went in and has not come out.”
“Good,” Rhun said. “Let’s have a look at his cart.”
Goch raised his eyebrows, but then quickly rearranged his expression. Rhun thought he knew what that was about, and said, “I may not have the experience of some, but I am loath to wake my brother or Gareth, and this needs doing.”
“Yes, my lord,” Goch said with somewhat more enthusiasm.
Rhun didn’t often feel he had to justify his actions to his men. His authority in battle had been hard won (and was deserved, though he would never say it), but he had never been so actively involved in a murder investigation before. He could appreciate Goch’s skepticism, even as it annoyed him.
The cart had been built up on both sides in wood, almost like a little house. It had openings in the sides like a peddler’s wagon, for easier access to the wares, and an actual door at the back with hinges and a pin lock. Such locks were designed to stop sneak thieves, however, not determined princes, and Rhun broke the lock off with his belt knife, sparing Goch the duty. If this was a mistake, it was going to be Rhun’s mistake.
The door swung open, and the three men peered inside. Rhun could see almost nothing and snapped his finger for a torch. He wouldn’t take it inside the cart, but it could shed light on the interior if held at the door. When Goch returned with it, Rhun put a hand on Gruffydd’s shoulder to boost himself inside, hunching in the narrow space between the two heavily laden sets of shelves on either side. It was like being in a pantry, except it was in a cart.
Although most of the stacks were neatly ordered, reflecting what Rhun perceived to be Iolo’s character, some of the stacks of cloth had fallen off the shelves or had been tossed haphazardly on the floor, as if Iolo had left in haste. Gareth had implied as much earlier, since they’d caught Iolo trying to empty his stall so as to leave Aberystwyth.
Rhun pawed through the various woolens and bolts of brightly colored woven goods, finding nothing that struck him as out of the ordinary. He moved to the front of the cart, finding an open trunk in which was stacked more cloth. After a moment, Rhun realized that he was looking at actual clothing, which belonged to Iolo and Madlen personally. Feeling slightly sick at his intrusion, he searched through their belongings as quickly as he could. Other than an ornate looking glass, Rhun found nothing of particular value or which would implicate Iolo in spying.
“What is that, my lord?” Gruffydd said.
Rhun turned to show the mirror to Goch and Gruffydd.
“Odd that she didn’t take it with her,” Goch said.
Rhun hesitated, looking back into the trunk again. Two feet deep, it was full of clothing, and in fact, most of that clothing had to be Madlen’s. A tendril of concern curled in Rhun’s belly. “What if you’re right, Gruffydd? What if she didn’t go anywhere after all?”
“Then why did Iolo say she did—?” Goch broke off, and the men stared at each other. Spying was one thing. If Iolo had murdered Gryff that was another, but murdering his niece was something else entirely.
Gruffydd cleared his throat. “Surely not?”
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking. Don’t deny it.” But then Rhun frowned and crouched even lower to look underneath the shelf to the left of the trunk. A strap stuck out from behind a stack of linen. Turning himself sideways so more of the torchlight could shine past him, Rhun reached for it and pulled it out. It was a crude rucksack, tied at the top with rope.
“Could that be Gryff’s?” Goch said.
“One can only hope,” Rhun said.
Rhun had cut the lock with nerves jangling, not so much regretting the commitment, but what he feared might be embarrassment when he discovered nothing. Now he climbed down from the cart, the rucksack over his shoulder, his anticipation rising. Gruffydd closed the door and rigged the pin lock so it closed, even if it would never lock again.
Rhun walked to an adjacent cart with an empty bed and set the bag in the back. While Goch brought the torch close, Rhun untied the strings and laid out its contents. They consisted of spare breeches and shirt, a spoon, and a small box which when opened proved to contain salt. It was a valuable spice but hardly worth killing over.
“Nothing.” Gruffydd picked through the few items himself.
“This has to be Gryff’s bag,” Goch said. “Iolo took it from the tavern.”
Rhun rubbed his chin and then dropped his hand with a sigh. “I have no doubt of that, though why we don’t know.” He gestured to the few possessions. “This is hardly worth stealing, much like Gryff’s purse.”
“My lord, should we question Iolo?” Gruffydd said.
“We should,” Rhun said, “but he is safe for now. It’s late, and that can wait until morning. Madlen’s whereabouts are of greater concern. We need to find her.”
“Sir Gareth was to send to Borth for her tomorrow. We’ll know more then,” Gruffydd said.
“I feel strongly that we don’t want to wait that long,” Rhun said.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gwen
Gwen lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, having woken before the dawn and been unable to go back to sleep. She’d been so tired after returning from the festival that she had fallen asleep right away, but now her mind spun. Her thoughts were focused less on what they’d learned from Iolo, and more on the danger Cadwaladr posed to Gareth. While not exactly dismissing her concerns, her husband had underplayed the threat as more of the same kind of peril he always faced.
But she’d seen the worry in Hywel’s eyes, even as he denied there was anything to worry about. And he’d ordered Rhodri and Evan to watch Gareth’s back. The prince’s actions belied his words. She was almost afraid to start the day.
Then she gasped and sat up. Maybe because her attention had strayed from the investigation, her mind had been free to work on its own. “The cross!”
Gwen had spoken too loudly, given the silence of the hour. Tangwen rolled over on her pallet, which lay beside Gwen and Gareth’s own. Elspeth lay beyond her. The girl slept on, and after a few heartbeats, Tangwen did too.
Gwen put out a hand to the space beside her, but Gareth had gone. Then a door banged below her. It was Gareth’s departure rather than her thought that had woken her. Either way, Gwen was awake now, and she scrambled out of bed and threw a dress over her shift. Gareth couldn’t be allowed to leave without hearing what she had to say.
Gwen clattered down the stairs and burst through the door that led to the courtyard. Gareth stood talking to Prior Rhys and Prince Hywel, and all three men held their horses’ reins. Evan and Rhodri stood nearby as they had all day yesterday. She hoped that some of them had
managed to sleep a little.
The sun had risen but wasn’t yet peeking over the trees that lined the road outside the monastery. The clouds of yesterday had dissipated without releasing their rain. It was going to be another hot day.
Gareth turned as she appeared, a smile on his face even though she was sure she presented a shocking sight, similar to yesterday when she’d confronted the two monks by the river: her hair was half undone, still in its night braid, and she had no shoes on her feet. She was glad the abbot hadn’t risen yet.
Then Gareth’s smile faltered. “What’s wrong? Is Tangwen—”
Like any parent, his thoughts had flown to fever and illness, which could come upon a child without notice. Gwen shook her head. “No, no. She’s fine. This is about the cross.”
“What about the cross?” Gareth said.
“If Madlen was never married to Gryff, and he didn’t love her, would she have given the cross to him no matter how much she loved him? And if she did, would he have accepted it only to turn around and give it to Carys?” Gwen gazed up at her husband.
Gareth took both of Gwen’s arms in his, holding her. “No, she wouldn’t have.”
“And if Madlen didn’t give the cross to Gryff as she said, and Gryff didn’t find it as he told Carys, how did he acquire it?” Gwen said. “Did he steal it like Carys thought? And if so, from whom?”
Hywel picked at his lower lip. “From the one who killed him.”
“Madlen came to the chapel feigning that she was Gryff’s wife, with the purpose of stealing his purse,” Gareth said. “She could have been hoping the cross was in it.”
“Except it wasn’t, because he’d already given it to Carys,” Gwen said. “Which makes the cross Madlen’s to begin with.”
“What is so important about the cross that Madlen pretended to be Gryff’s wife to get it back?” Hywel said.
“I think I can answer that.” Rhun’s voice carried to them as he, Gruffydd, and Goch appeared from underneath the gatehouse archway, having dismounted before the gate rather than wake the house with the clatter of hooves on the cobbles. Everyone turned to him.
“You look like you’ve been to hell and back,” Hywel said, amusement in his voice, perhaps still half-drunk from last night’s performance. “Have you even slept?”
“No,” Rhun said, “and it’s a good thing we didn’t.”
“Where have you been?” Hywel said.
“Borth,” Rhun said. “Looking for Madlen.”
Gareth raised his eyebrows. “You saved me the trip, my lord, but there was no need—”
“There was every need. Angharad told me last night that her uncle had placed a spy among us. I told her we knew it already. But then she named him. It’s Iolo.”
Rhun paused for his words to sink in.
“Iolo is spying for Cadell,” Hywel said, not as a question.
Rhun smirked and then said, “What if Gryff carried messages for him? We know he was good at it. Even Alun said so.”
“But what does this have to do with the cross?” Prior Rhys said.
“Gryff could have discovered the truth behind what he was doing for Iolo,” Gwen said. “Everything that has happened since has been to protect that secret.”
“I still don’t understand,” Prior Rhys said.
Gwen took in a breath. “The letters ‘C’ and ‘G’ were etched on the back of the cross that Prince Rhun took from Madlen and Carys yesterday. Carys said the letters represented ‘Carys’ and ‘Gryff’ because that is what Gryff told her. Madlen claimed they were the names of her grandparents, but if Iolo really spies for Cadell, then they more likely stand for Cadell ap Gruffydd.”
“Gryff took the cross as proof of Iolo’s spying and gave it to Alun to give to Carys for safekeeping,” Gareth said.
Prior Rhys ran a hand through his very short hair. “So if Iolo is Cadell’s spy, and Gryff discovered what he was up to and objected, that would be grounds for murder.”
“Yes, it would,” Hywel said.
“Gryff must have been terrified when Carys appeared in Aberystwyth wearing it,” Gwen said. “No wonder he sent her away so quickly.”
“He came looking for me shortly after that.” Hywel said. “Do we think he decided to tell me what he knew?”
“That makes sense to me,” Gareth said. “What did you find in Borth, my lord?”
“Not Madlen,” Prince Rhun said. “If we think Iolo killed Gryff because he threatened to expose him, what might he have done to Madlen?”
“I need to get to the market grounds now.” Gareth pulled Gwen to him in a brief hug and kissed the top of her head. Then he mounted beside Evan and Rhodri. “We’ll start with his booth.” They turned their horses’ heads and were away.
Hywel turned back to the others. “What are we missing? Is it really that simple? When has a merchant’s spying been worth killing over? You spied for me, Gwen, and I don’t see any of the lords whose castles you frequented clamoring for your head. We all take it as a given that any stranger in our midst isn’t to be trusted. That doesn’t mean we don’t provide hospitality. We just keep our secrets the best we can.”
“There’s another element to it,” Prince Rhun said. “Angharad told me that Iolo passed messages from Cadell to Cadwaladr through that half-Dane, Erik.”
The others gaped at Rhun, and Hywel said, “Cadell was working with Cadwaladr?”
“She says they plotted Anarawd’s death together,” Prince Rhun said.
“If Gryff had proof, that would be something worth killing over,” Hywel said. “Both Cadell and Cadwaladr have worked very hard to keep that connection hidden. Cadell’s brothers would revolt if they knew.”
“That’s all very well and good,” Gwen said, “but why would Gryff have cared what Iolo was doing? By all accounts, he was a dreamer. He didn’t know one day from the next. What was it about Iolo’s work that caused him to go to such lengths to disrupt it?”
“He hated Cadwaladr,” Hywel said. “That’s what Alun told Gareth.”
Prince Rhun seemed about to say something, but then he looked down at his feet.
“What is it?” Hywel took a step towards his brother, a ‘v’ of concern between his brows.
“What if Angharad is in real danger from her uncle?” Rhun said.
“If you’re worried, go find her,” Hywel said, “but I don’t share your concern. Cadell knows of your interest in her, but like most men, he underestimates her intelligence. He doesn’t even know to fear what she knows. That’s why women make such good spies.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rhun said. “When we’re done here, I’m going to speak to Father about her hand. I would bring her back to Gwynedd with me.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. She hadn’t realized his relationship with Angharad had progressed that far. It seemed Rhun knew a thing or two about keeping a secret too.
The thought prompted her to put up a hand to the others. “Wait. Just wait. I’ve had an idea. Don’t go anywhere until I get back.” She ran towards the kitchen, knowing even as she did so that the monks who cooked in it would be less than happy to see her appear in the doorway.
When she reached it, however, she found Prince Hywel on her heels. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Gwen.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything because it’s probably nothing,” Gwen said, “but do you remember how Gryff fetched the gatekeeper’s dinner on the day he died?”
“Yes,” Hywel said. “So what?”
“Why did he do that?”
“Because he was Gryff,” Hywel said. “He was a dreamer, not unkind.”
“I think there was more to it. He was so anxious to find you that he trekked from Aberystwyth, to the castle, to here, but then he takes the time to carry the gatekeeper’s dinner to him? I don’t think so.”
Gwen stepped through the kitchen doorway to find the head cook three paces away, glaring at her, though his expression softened the instant he saw Hywel at her right shoulder.
�
��Please, brother,” Gwen said, “were you here when the dead man, Gryff, asked to bring Sion’s dinner to him the night before he died?”
“I was.”
“Did Gryff seem anxious to you at the time?” Gwen said.
“Did he seem anxious?” The cook scoffed. “His eyes flicked from one corner to the next as if he was trying to see the whole kitchen at once. If we had anything worth stealing in here besides food I would have taken him for a thief.”
“Could you tell us what he did while he was here?” Gwen said.
“He collected Sion’s dinner,” the cook said.
“What did he do while he waited for you to fix it?” Hywel said.
“Oh … well … I sent him to the pantry to fetch a tray on which to carry Sion’s dinner,” the cook said. “By the time he returned, I had it ladled out, and I sent him on his way.”
“May we have a look in the pantry?” Hywel said.
“Of course, my lord. It’s this way.”
The cook pointed them to a narrow doorway covered by a curtain. Hywel swept it aside, revealing a small room lined with shelves. It was full of dishware, not food.
“What are we looking for?” Hywel rubbed at his chin, scruffy this morning as he hadn’t taken the time to shave.
“Anything out of the ordinary or out of place.” Gwen began moving aside the plates and bowls and upturning pitchers to see if anything had been left inside them. “If Gryff left something here, it would have had to have been small—probably small enough to fit inside his purse.”
Hywel looked through the items on the other side of the pantry, and then they met in the middle, frustrated.
“You know, we should ask the cook—” Hywel began.
But then the man himself appeared in the doorway. He held out a signet ring. “Are you looking for this?”
Gwen put a hand to her heart. “Dear God.”
The cook dropped the ring into Hywel’s palm. Hywel’s hand shook slightly as he showed it to Gwen, and she felt the same shakiness inside her. Her heart started beating so hard it felt like it was about to explode out her ears.
The Unlikely Spy Page 22