“A lesser noblewoman,” Gareth said. “Her name was Rosalind, a widow.”
“What was her role here?” Gwen said.
Gareth gestured to Amaury, who was rubbing at his forehead as if he had a headache. “Her husband had been Earl Robert’s man, with a manor near Bristol. She came here with the earl’s court,” Amaury said.
“And why is she dead?” Gwen said.
Amaury shrugged. “I have no idea, except that she was a friend of Alard.”
“You mean his lover?” Gwen said.
Amaury tsked through his teeth. “That was the rumor.”
“So we don’t think that Alard would have been the one to kill her?” Gwen said.
“Not unless he returned to the castle since his escape,” Gareth said. “We’d already decided that he didn’t return to take David’s body or attack Prior Rhys. Are we ready to reevaluate that assumption now?”
Amaury looked over at him, interest in his eyes. “Her death is that recent?”
“She’s been dead an hour, maybe two,” Gareth said.
“You’re sure about the time?” Amaury said. “How can you possibly tell?”
“Even now, the body is warm and not stiff,” Gareth said.
“It would have been warm inside the cask,” Amaury said. “Could it have prevented the body from cooling?”
Gwen sniffed the air in the pantry. It wasn’t a nice smell, but the air wasn’t putrid either, such as a decomposing body in late spring might cause. “If anything, the temperature in the pantry might have made the body cool more quickly.” Gwen was surprised that Amaury didn’t know more about this, but then again, he probably hadn’t seen as many murdered people as Gareth had.
“The last I saw of Alard, he was falling from a rope into the river,” Gareth said. “Unless his friend found him dry clothes immediately and he was able to wander unremarked enough through the castle to meet with Rosalind and kill her, this death is not his fault.”
“I need to be sure of that before I speak to Earl Ranulf or Philippe,” Amaury said.
“I made copies of Alard’s image to pass among the servants. They should have been on the lookout for his face,” Gareth said. “One should never say ‘never’ I suppose, but I am confident enough in my supposition to tell this to my prince.”
Gwen glanced at the body, remembering another pantry in a different castle, before she and Gareth had found each other again. That time it had been her father who was accused of a crime he didn’t commit. “I don’t think that’s a reassuring thought. It means at the very least we have two killers: Alard and a second man.”
Amaury picked at his lower lip with his fingers. “Two killers.”
“Perhaps he left us something on the body that will identify him,” Gareth said. “I won’t know until I examine her more thoroughly. For now, I can tell you that it is very likely that she was put in the barrel shortly after her death.”
“How do you know that?” Amaury said.
“The blood has pooled in her feet and in her lower torso from how she was folded into the barrel,” Gareth said.
“We should begin by questioning the kitchen staff,” Gwen said. “We need to know who saw her last and when.”
Amaury nodded. “I’ve already set several of my men to that task.”
Gwen bit her lip. She’d forgotten for a moment that she and Gareth couldn’t conduct this investigation however they chose.
Gareth turned to her. “I can finish up here.”
“Gareth—”
“I have a different task for you, and one that might prove more entertaining than examining yet another dead body,” Gareth said, in Welsh, for Gwen’s ears alone.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I picked up two Welsh boys at the friary who hope to return with us to Wales.” Gareth pointed towards the kitchen, relating how he’d met them. “They’re being fed right now. Would you settle them at our camp?”
Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”
“Never.” Gareth reached for her hand. “It occurs to me, however, that our lords might wish to join you for a late afternoon ride. It is important for them to know that their people are well settled.”
“Yes, it is.” Gwen lowered her voice further. “You still fear for the princes?”
“Even more now than before. I don’t trust anyone here.” Gareth shot a look at Amaury, who was directing two men on how best to move Rosalind’s body to the chapel. “I need to make sure that they are not in any danger.”
“Before I go, I need to tell you what I’ve learned,” Gwen said. “Will you walk with me a moment?”
A wary look came into Gareth’s eyes, but he followed Gwen back to the kitchen, to a corner by the door where they could converse with one another out of the way of the kitchen staff’s prying ears. In quick whispers, Gwen told Gareth of the discussion in Prior Rhys’s room, and then Gareth related his conversation with Philippe.
“How did this get so complicated so quickly?” Gwen said. “You didn’t tell Philippe about the emerald, did you?”
Gareth shook his head. “I couldn’t, not without Prince Hywel’s permission. And I wouldn’t have done so even with it, once I realized how much I distrusted the man. He’s the empress’s spy! In addition, if Alard has committed treason—or plans to—I don’t see how the gem fits into it. It was David who carried it, and Alard killed him. It’s the one thing that doesn’t make sense.”
“The one thing?” Gwen gave a laugh. “None of this makes sense.”
Gareth pulled on his upper lip. “Could it be that the gem was meant as payment from King Stephen to Alard for his service?”
“The only way the gem could be payment to Alard,” Gwen said, “is if David was bringing it to him, which makes David a traitor too.”
“That’s not what Philippe said.”
“Philippe may be lying about many things,” Gwen said. “Perhaps Alard is a traitor. I don’t care either way who wins the English crown. It means nothing to me, but I won’t condemn a man without evidence. Truthfully, we don’t even have evidence that Alard murdered David.”
Gareth’s brows came together. “Alard tossed him over the battlement.”
“That doesn’t mean he was the one who throttled him,” Gwen said. “Or stabbed him, for that matter.”
Gareth shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe. Maybe it’s better to believe nothing for now, until we can gather more information. All I have so far is three bodies, a spy ring, and a castle full of suspects.”
“We will figure it out,” Gwen said.
Gareth pulled Gwen to him for a quick hug. “We will. Now—off with you!”
Gareth headed back to the pantry, and Gwen threaded her way across the kitchen to where the two boys sat at a small table, stuffing their faces with fresh bread spread with butter and honey. One of them swiped at his mouth, leaving a smear of butter across his cheek.
Gwen planted herself in front of them. “I’m Gwen, Gareth’s wife.”
The smaller boy swallowed. “I’m Dai, Miss, and this is my brother, Llelo.”
“Gareth said you’d like to come with us to the princes’ camp.”
They both bobbed their heads fervently. Dai said, “Yes, please,” while Llelo rubbed at his buttered cheek, smearing it even more.
The boys reminded Gwen of her brother, Gwalchmai. They had the same dark hair and eyes—although her younger brother had rarely looked at her with as solemn an expression as Llelo wore now. As the eldest, Llelo would have felt responsible for his little brother and held the pair together when their father died, like Gwen had done with Gwalchmai at the death of their mother.
“If I bring you with me, you must do as you’re told,” Gwen said. “I expect none of the mischief I hear you inflicted on those poor monks.”
“Yes, Miss,” Dai said, his arm across Llelo’s shoulder, stretching so he could reach.
Without further ado, Gwen took the boys with her into
the great hall, looking for the princes, but when she saw no sign of them, she led the way upstairs to their room. They weren’t there either, though Llelo and Dai enjoyed examining the privy at the end of the corridor. The vent under the seat opened right into the river below them. Finally, Gwen found Hywel and Rhun in the bailey, accompanied by Evan and Gruffydd. The princes were conversing with Ranulf, so Gwen waited with the boys until Ranulf departed. Hywel beckoned Gwen closer.
“What have we here?”
“Two rapscallions,” Gwen said, “but they are Welsh rapscallions, and Gareth has taken them on as his responsibility for now.”
Hywel took Llelo’s chin in his hand. “Where’s your father?”
“Dead,” Llelo said.
“Where did Gareth find them?” Hywel said, glancing over at Gwen.
“At the friary,” Gwen said. “Given that we have custody of them, Gareth suggested that this would be a good time to ride to the camp. All of us together.”
“Where is Gareth?” Rhun said.
“He has another body to examine, a woman this time,” Gwen said and gave a brief summary of what she knew about it.
Hywel laughed. “That should keep him entertained.” He glanced at his brother, who nodded.
“The evening meal won’t occur until the sun sets. If we ride now, we can return before then,” Rhun said. “Earl Robert has promised us a place at the high table.”
The two princes went to mount their horses, but just as Hywel put his foot into his stirrup and was preparing to swing himself into the saddle, a man came through the front door to the keep. “My lords!” He hustled across the courtyard and arrived, breathless, at Hywel’s side. “My lords! Earl Robert asks that you attend him.”
Slowly, Hywel lowered himself back to the ground. He glanced at his brother, who stepped closer to the messenger.
“Did he say why?” Rhun said.
“He would like to speak with you about several matters that he did not have time to discuss earlier,” the messenger said.
“Can’t it wait?” Hywel said.
The messenger bowed. “I apologize, my lords. I have spoken only as I was bidden.”
Rhun studied the bowed head of the messenger and then nodded. “We will come.”
“Thank you, my lords.” The messenger clasped his hands together in front of him and waited.
Hywel sighed. “It seems we will not ride to the camp today.” He put an arm around Gwen’s shoulder and walked her to her horse. Hywel made a show of helping her mount, even as he spoke quickly to Evan and Gruffydd, who at his grave expression had clustered around him. “Evan, when you reach the camp, send two riders to my father immediately. Perhaps this is nothing; perhaps all is well. But I would have him on the alert to the fact that we may be prisoners in Earl Robert’s court.”
“It is a journey of several days, my lord,” Evan said.
“It is necessary.” Then Hywel turned to Gruffydd. “Let Evan escort Gwen and the boys to the camp. I need you to find Gareth and bring him to me. Tell him to leave the body for now.”
“Yes, my lord,” Gruffydd said.
Hywel patted Gwen’s leg. “I will speak to Gareth and then send him to the camp to be with you. You two are going to have to be my eyes and ears outside of Newcastle, now more than ever. You must find Alard. He is the key to understanding all of this.”
Gwen didn’t ask the prince how she was supposed to do that, just nodded.
“Evan, when you’ve accomplished your task, return to me here. At the very least, the evening meal should prove interesting.” Hywel strode away across the courtyard towards the keep with his brother at his side. With Evan riding with her, Gruffydd on a quest to find Gareth, and Prior Rhys incapacitated, the two princes were alone and without a guard. Gwen didn’t like to see that, even for a short while.
“I’ll bring more men back with me,” Evan said as Dai clambered up behind him and Llelo found a seat behind Gwen. “Each hour we’ve been in Newcastle has been worse than the one before.”
“That’s what Gareth said.”
Gwen had thought that leaving Newcastle would ease some of the tension in her shoulders, but as they rode towards the Welsh camp, her anxiety only increased. She hated leaving Gareth and the princes behind in enemy territory, surrounded by foreign soldiers and murderers. It felt as if her husband was more in harm’s way at Newcastle than when he fought in battle.
“They can take care of themselves,” Evan said, reading her thoughts.
“I know.” Gwen glanced at him. She did know it, but she couldn’t suppress the nausea she felt at leaving her husband behind. To distract herself, she reached behind her to pat Llelo’s leg to gain his attention. “How did you meet Gareth?”
“We saw him enter through the main gate,” Llelo said. “I knew he was Welsh the moment I saw him.”
“By his clothes, you mean?” Gwen said.
She sensed Llelo’s shrug. “Saxons hunch their shoulders and bob their heads as Normans pass. Gareth didn’t.”
Gwen smiled. Welsh prejudices against Saxons and Normans were as fixed as Saxon or Norman ones about them. “Gareth said that you told him of a meeting between that Norman lord, Philippe, and a stranger in the garden of the friary.”
“I did,” Llelo said.
“Do you know the name of the man he met?” Gwen said.
“It was one of the dead men.” Llelo snapped his fingers. “John.”
Overhearing, Evan swung his head around to look at Llelo. “How do you know that?”
“He was a Saxon, right?” Dai said, joining the conversation. “When he met with Philippe, he pushed back his hood and we saw his yellow hair and beard.”
“I believe you saw Philippe meet with a Saxon, but how do you know he’s the same one who is now dead?” Gwen said.
“Earlier in the day, he came to the friary, asking to see Philippe,” Dai said. “We overheard his conversation with the gatekeeper.”
“And then we heard about it again while we waited for Sir Gareth to finish his meeting with Philippe,” Llelo said. “One of the monks who likes to gossip told the gatekeeper that John was dead and that he was the same John who’d come by earlier.”
God bless curious boys. “Did you overhear what John and Philippe discussed?” Gwen said.
“Not everything.” Dai glanced at Llelo, who nodded his encouragement. “Just something about keeping an eye on someone John knew, his brother, I think.”
“Did you get a name?” Gwen said.
“He called him Alard,” Dai said.
Chapter Thirteen
Gareth
It was very late by the time Gareth found his bed. Gwen lay in his arms but was having as much difficulty sleeping as he was.
“What are you thinking?” he said.
Gwen turned slightly and lifted her head so she could look at him, though her face was shadowed. He could make out little more than her shape in the dark because the only light in the tent came from the firelight and torches outside.
They were lucky to have their own tent. Most of their companions slept outside on the ground, grouped around the campfires that would burn all night. The princes had brought four cartloads of goods into England, but only half a dozen tents. The rest of the space in the carts had been taken up by provisions.
Hywel and Rhun’s tent was empty, as was the one for Prior Rhys, since the young monk, Tomos, who’d accompanied the prior on the journey, had gone to the castle to wait on him.
“I’ve been thinking about what we’ve so far failed to understand,” Gwen said.
“That would be just about everything, wouldn’t it?” Gareth found the end of Gwen’s night braid and tugged on it.
“Well, yes. But it’s more than that. It’s Mari’s involvement, honestly, that has me flummoxed.”
“Why?” Gareth said.
“You don’t find it odd that Prior Rhys reported to Mari’s father when he worked for Empress Maud?” Gwen said.
Gareth shrugged. �
�Every man, other than the king himself, serves a man of greater rank, and from what I know of Rhys on our short acquaintance, he was very good at his job.”
“But Mari’s father—”
“All men have pasts; you know that.” Gareth hugged Gwen close. “Rhys escaped to the monastery when his work sickened him beyond endurance. Given what I know of the man, I can believe that series of events.”
“I don’t disagree,” Gwen said.
“So what bothers you about his story?” Gareth said.
“I want to know what happened that drove him away. He never said, and when I asked, he took the conversation in a different direction. He spoke of Alard and the other horsemen as his brothers. You didn’t hear him, but the decision to leave was a hard one. The monastery didn’t call him. Something changed in his life to drive him toward it.”
Gareth surveyed the ceiling of their tent. “Ralph’s death.”
“Certainly that was part of it, though that’s not exactly what he said.” Gwen pushed off Gareth’s chest to sit cross-legged on the pallet, a blanket around her shoulders. He couldn’t see her face properly, but he knew what she looked like: beautiful as always, and intent. He would have drawn her down to kiss her, but she would have wiggled away. His wife didn’t like to be distracted when she was thinking. “Could Prior Rhys have killed Ralph? Is that why he fled?”
“That would be awkward, if true.” Gareth ran both hands through his hair. Sleep had never been further off. “Prior Rhys was a warrior. He’d killed before. How much would it have bothered him to kill a man if he had a good reason?”
“What reason could that be?” Gwen said. “We’re talking about Mari’s father.”
“A man we’ve never met,” Gareth said. “How well did Mari even know him if he served the empress?”
“I’m going to pin her down about what she knows about him if it’s the last thing I do,” Gwen said.
“Let me talk to Prince Hywel first,” Gareth said. “Sometimes asking direct questions isn’t the best way.”
“It’s what I’m good at,” Gwen said.
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