The Fourth Horseman

by Sarah Woodbury

  He studied the boys. They were dressed in the plain undyed robes of their order, but they were too young to have taken vows. “Are you pledged as novices?”

  “Not yet,” Llelo said. “I will be twelve next week, and the monks say that I will be old enough then to choose this life and stay here forever.”

  “Is that what you want?” Gareth said.

  Both boys shook their heads vigorously. “No,” Dai said. “We have an uncle who runs sheep near Dolbadarn. He would take us in.”

  Dolbadarn Castle was in Gwynedd, not far from Aber Castle, the seat of King Owain. Gareth rubbed his chin and eyed the boys. Llelo shifted from foot to foot. “Are you sure, Llelo?” Gareth said. “I sense you’re keeping something back. Do you want to become a monk?”

  “No, sir!” Llelo said.

  Gareth nodded, convinced of that at least. “Will the friary be sorry to see you go?”

  The boys glanced at each other, both with the same sheepish expression on their faces. “I’d guess not,” Dai said.

  Gareth clapped a hand on each boy’s shoulder. “If you warn the master of novices that I am here, I will meet with him later. With his permission, I will take you with me when I leave the friary in an hour or so. You will be safe at Prince Hywel’s encampment until we can return to Wales.”

  The light in both boys’ eyes warmed Gareth’s heart, though he wondered what he was getting himself into, taking on two boys in the midst of an investigation. Yet he couldn’t turn them away.

  Then Llelo stepped closer, his expression more serious. “I don’t like the man you’re going to see. He leaves his quarters in the middle of the night and meets with strangers in the gardens.”

  Gareth’s brow furrowed. “What man—?”

  “Sir Gareth!” Amaury had returned.

  Gareth ruffled the hair on their heads, intending to imply comfort and discretion at the same time. “Off with you.”

  “Yes, my lord!” the boys said together.

  Gareth coughed a laugh and turned to face Amaury, who looked past him to the boys’ retreating backs. “An unexpected meeting with fellow countrymen,” Gareth said, by way of explanation.

  Amaury gestured towards the open doorway behind him and the passage beyond. “Please come.”

  Despite Llelo’s warning, Gareth still expected to find himself in the presence of the empress herself. Instead, Amaury ushered him into a room at the end of the corridor with a lone man sitting behind a table strewn with papers. Although the day was warm, a blazing fire burned in the grate. Smoke curled around the ceiling instead of out the vent behind him, and Gareth wished the window shutters were open so he could breathe. The air was dense, humid, and smoky.

  While Amaury closed the door and stood at attention against the wall to the right of the doorway, Gareth stepped closer to the table. The man’s face was gaunt and drawn, too white for someone who was experiencing good health. Gareth’s attitude of defiance faded, though he remained no less determined to find the truth.

  “My lord,” Gareth said in French. “It was my understanding that the empress asked to speak with me?”

  “I asked to speak with you.” The man made a fist to show Gareth the broad ruby ring he wore. “This means I speak for the empress.”

  Gareth glanced at the ring and then into the man’s face. “Yes, my lord.”

  The man leaned back, gripping both arms of his chair tightly. “Do you know who I am?”

  “No, my lord.” Gareth silently cursed Amaury for not giving him more information before he invited him to the friary. At the same time, if Amaury was following this man’s orders, Gareth could understand better why he’d lied. If Amaury hadn’t, Gareth might have balked long before he reached this room.

  “I am Philippe de Nantes.” The man said this as if it should mean something to Gareth. Gareth bowed his head, and Philippe smiled. “You have never heard of me?”

  “No, my lord.” Gareth felt more foolish with every moment that he stood before Philippe.

  “Excellent. That is the way I prefer it,” Philippe said. “Suffice it to say that I wear the empress’s ring, and thus, I assure you that I have her ear.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Gareth was willing to grant him that, for now.

  “Amaury tells me that Earl Robert has included you in the inquiries regarding the death of this Welshman, David, tossed over the battlement by the empress’s man, Alard.”

  Gareth nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  Philippe poured wine into a cup and took a long sip. From the way he held the carafe, Gareth judged it to be almost empty. “Alard is a dangerous man,” Philippe said.

  Gareth felt like saying that under the right circumstances, any man was dangerous, but he held his tongue. Philippe’s illness meant that he spoke slowly, forming each sentence carefully. Gareth didn’t want to interrupt.

  “Alard has been a friend—to all of us,” Philippe said. Out of the corner of his eye, Gareth could see Amaury nod his agreement.

  “So I understand, my lord,” Gareth said.

  Philippe kept his eyes fixed on Gareth’s face. “I know that Amaury has told you of the empress’s name for her most loyal servants.”

  “The four horsemen,” Gareth said.

  Philippe licked his lips. They were cracked and looked painful. “What he has not told you is that they served the empress under my direction.”

  Finally, Gareth was getting somewhere. “You are the empress’s spymaster.”

  Philippe allowed himself a snort of laughter. “So, you do understand.” Without waiting for an answer, he added, “Then you should also understand that it would be better for you to return to your encampment and leave this investigation to me and my men.”

  So that’s what this was all about. “I don’t know that I can. Earl Robert himself spoke to me about seeking the truth.”

  Philippe’s jaw clenched once and then relaxed. He reached out for his goblet of wine and drank again.

  Gareth couldn’t tell if he was stalling because he didn’t want to answer Gareth or if he merely was thirsty.

  “He doesn’t know that I have arrived.”

  “Surely he has spies, too,” Gareth said. “He will know soon.”

  “Will you tell him?” Philippe said.

  “My lord, please understand that I must answer whatever questions he asks.” Gareth didn’t want to anger the empress’s chief spy, but he couldn’t lie to Earl Robert.

  “You cannot be bought, is that it?” Philippe said. “You are above such things?”

  Gareth’s eyes narrowed. The conversation had strayed far from David’s murder, and Gareth was getting lost. “I fear I cannot help you, my lord. I ask that you allow me to return to Newcastle.”

  “Alard is a traitor!” Philippe’s sudden passion brought him half out of his chair, but then he calmed and slowly settled down into it again. “He murdered David, did he not?”

  “Perhaps it was David who had switched sides,” Gareth said.

  Philippe scoffed. “You are naïve.”

  Gareth flushed. “So I have been told more than once. Still, Alard is a traitor to whom? The empress?” Ranulf had said the same as Philippe, but as far as Gareth knew, Alard was only accused of killing two of his fellow horsemen. That was a crime, certainly, but it wasn’t treason.

  “I tell you this so you will understand my position,” Philippe said. “It has been discovered that Alard has plotted against the life of the empress’s son, Prince Henry.”

  Amaury took one step forward, tension in every limb. “I didn’t believe it when the messenger said that. I don’t believe it now.”

  Phillipe ignored Amaury, still speaking to Gareth. “Last week, we intercepted a messenger sent to Alard from William of Ypres, King Stephen’s most trusted confidant. The messenger had been instructed to tell Alard that payment for the murder of Prince Henry was on its way.”

  “Why would you believe anyone sent by William of Ypres?” Amaury said.

  “You were the o
ne who interrogated him,” Philippe said, “and yet you don’t trust your own results?”

  Gareth looked from Amaury to Phillipe. Amaury’s duties for Empress Maud were clearly more extensive than Amaury had led Gareth to believe. “Even if this is so, isn’t Prince Henry in France with his father?” Gareth said. “Surely Alard is no threat as long as Henry remains in France and Alard stays here.”

  Philippe’s right shoulder hitched up and dropped in a half-shrug. “You are quite wrong. Prince Henry has been living at Robert of Gloucester’s stronghold in Bristol since the Christmas feast and is journeying to Newcastle even now. He should arrive in three days’ time.”

  Gareth leaned forward, going so far as to put both fists on the edge of Philippe’s table. “The empress allowed Henry to come to England? Why? Surely he can learn the art of war just as well in Normandy as here. What is he … all of twelve years old?”

  “He’s ten,” Philippe said, “but England is his birthright, for he will rule it after his mother; he had never seen it. The English will accept him better if they know him to be one of them.”

  The revelations just kept coming. Gareth felt like leaping across the table and shaking the man; he might have if Philippe hadn’t already been half in his grave—and if Gareth hadn’t been afraid that Philippe might direct his wrath towards him. Philippe could prove to be a dangerous enemy under the best of circumstances.

  “This is because the Londoners turned the empress away, isn’t it?” Gareth said. “She has realized too late that she cannot rule England without the goodwill of those she governs.”

  Phillip sniffed. “Prince Henry will make a great king.”

  Gareth shook his head at Maud’s arrogance. To have allowed the boy to sail for England in the middle of a war was madness.

  Amaury moved closer to Philippe’s table, his face pale. “How can you believe that Alard, the empress’s most faithful spy, has turned against her so completely that he seeks to murder her son? All reason argues against it.”

  Philippe glared at Amaury, who didn’t subside. Gareth, for his part, admired Amaury’s fortitude in standing up to Philippe and his continued loyalty to Alard.

  “You imply that King Stephen condones this plot,” Gareth said.

  “He does,” said Philippe.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot believe that.” Gareth was reeling inside but was trying to keep his tone reasonable. “Stephen would never condone such a plan. He’s honorable to a fault, which is one reason he hasn’t yet won this war. In addition, to allow a plot against Maud’s son to continue, Stephen would be asking for retribution against his own son, Eustace.”

  Philippe pursed his lips. “The loss of Prince Henry would establish Eustace’s claim to the throne upon his father’s death. There is nothing King Stephen wouldn’t do to accomplish that.”

  Gareth bit his lip and didn’t reply, even though he still thought Philippe was wrong. Philippe was either lying about King Stephen’s involvement or had been seriously misinformed.

  Amaury’s jaw remained clenched, and his back was poker straight. “My lord—”

  “Enough, Amaury. It is not your place to believe or disbelieve.” Philippe turned back to Gareth. “Alard has switched sides and is supporting Stephen. This truth is not open to further discussion.”

  Gareth took in a long breath, deciding to obey Philippe and ask a question of his own: “Tell me, my lord, did you send David to kill Alard?”

  Philippe’s taut expression didn’t change except for a further tightening around the eyes. “No.”

  Gareth blinked several times. He had genuinely expected Philippe to say ‘yes’.

  Philippe straightened in his chair. “You should understand now why David’s death is not within your purview, Sir Gareth. Leave it alone.”

  Gareth understood no such thing. After this conversation, he was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of David’s death. “I can do nothing without the approval of my lord.”

  Philippe snorted his disgust. “You hide behind your prince?”

  Gareth wasn’t going to be taken in by that gambit. “We are both here out of loyalty to our masters.”

  Gareth knew the Normans didn’t want a Welsh knight poking around Newcastle, but he had absolutely no intention of leaving this to Empress Maud’s spymaster. He eyed Philippe carefully. Gareth had seen Alard throw David over the battlement, but since that moment, all of his information had come from Norman mouths. When dealing with a murderer, he’d learned to trust only what he saw with his own eyes.

  Hywel could lie so well that Gareth would never have known the truth about King Anarawd’s murder if Hywel hadn’t told Gwen of it. How much more easily could Philippe, who lived and breathed lies, deceive Gareth with a composed face? With each superior sniff, Philippe confirmed Gareth’s feeling that all was not well in Newcastle. This went far beyond Alard.

  “I have a great deal of experience in investigating murder,” Gareth said. “Surely you would do better to have my help.”

  Philippe’s eyes narrowed. “I have my own men who are skilled in dealing with circumstances such as this.”

  “Excuse me, my lord, but where are they?” Gareth said. “You haven’t had any success in containing your former man. He has murdered two men today, by my count, and so far you have no leads and have made no progress in finding him.”

  Gareth held his breath, thinking that he’d gone too far in challenging the old spy. It was Gwen who was better at asking questions of men that they didn’t want to answer.

  Philippe didn’t seem to have enough blood left in him to darken his face, but his already pale lips pinched whiter. He’d opened his mouth to speak when a knock came at the door. Philippe tipped his head to Amaury, who went to it. “Yes?” Amaury said.

  A man spoke in French from the other side of the door. “I have news that Lord Philippe should hear.”

  Amaury glanced to Philippe, who nodded. Gareth moved aside, and the messenger came to a halt in front of Philippe’s table, put his heels together, and bowed.

  “What is it?” Philippe waved a hand.

  Gareth recognized the motion as the kind of expression Prince Hywel would use at times: yes, yes, thank you for your obeisance, but don’t waste my time. In Philippe’s case, he truly didn’t have any time to spare.

  “Earl Robert’s men have found another body, my lord.”

  Philippe didn’t respond at first, not even to straighten in his chair. He studied the messenger, who wilted under his gaze, and then moved his eyes to meet Gareth’s. “Another, did you say?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, not realizing he was being mocked. “That of a woman.”

  “Her name?” Amaury said.

  Although Philippe hadn’t moved, Gareth had the sense that he was dangerously close to ordering the messenger throttled for not spilling all of his information at once. Gareth would have thought that Philippe’s associates and servants should know better than to drag out the telling of anything of importance. Speed and efficiency were vital to a man who hadn’t long to live.

  “One named Rosalind, an older woman and a known companion to the renegade, Alard.”

  From Gareth’s right, Amaury made a disgusted noise in his throat, and Philippe nodded. “You will lead Sir Amaury to the scene.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the man bowed and beat a very fast retreat.

  Philippe gestured with one hand towards Amaury. “Go. See to it.” His words came out as an order but in a tone that was resigned. At the same time, Philippe didn’t reiterate that Gareth shouldn’t continue with the investigation at Amaury’s side. It was just as well, since Gareth had no intention of stopping.

  Gareth headed towards the door and had reached it when Philippe’s hacking cough stopped him. The old man tried to sip his wine, but his cough wouldn’t let him. Finally, he took a rasping breath, and Gareth said, “May I send the friary’s healer to assist you, my lord?”

  Philippe’s eyes went blank; then he shoo
k his head and gave a cynical laugh. “Tell Earl Robert that I have seen you.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gareth said.

  Philippe lifted his chin. “Amaury, one moment.”

  Gareth and Amaury exchanged a glance, and then Amaury moved around the table so Philippe could speak to him without having to raise his voice above a low whisper. From the doorway, Gareth strained to hear what they were saying, but he couldn’t make out anything more than a murmur, especially because they spoke in rapid French and Gareth wasn’t as fluent in the language as he would have liked. Gareth was quite sure, however, that Philippe’s exhortations included an order to keep an eye on Gareth.

  Then Amaury joined Gareth at the door, and they left the room together, heading back to the main courtyard. Before Gareth could excuse himself to retrieve the two boys, Amaury put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I assume you will ignore Philippe’s suggestion to return to your camp and cease your investigations.”

  “Yes.”

  Amaury nodded. “I am not sorry; I need your help, and I don’t trust Philippe.”

  “That makes two of us,” Gareth said.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gwen

  Gareth stood at the feet of the dead woman, his head bent, one arm folded across his chest and his hand to his chin. Gwen came up behind him, slipped an arm around his waist, and squeezed. Gareth started, but when he saw who it was, he smiled. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “The great hall is abuzz with rumor and gossip,” Gwen said. “Someone reported that a dead woman had been found in one of the pantries, stuffed inside an empty beer cask, and thus I knew where you’d be.”

  “How is Prior Rhys?” Gareth said.

  “Awake and talking,” Gwen said. “I will tell you later.”

  “Is someone with him?”

  “Mari said she’d stay with him for a while,” Gwen said. “Prince Hywel says he will see that they are both well protected.”

  Gareth nodded, back to studying the body. “Good.”

  Gwen half turned away, not wanting to look at the dead woman, who’d been strangled; the bruising was evident on her neck even from a few feet away. “Who is she?”