“Clearly, everything we’ve done so far is predictable, or we would have captured Alard by now.” Gareth rubbed at his forehead. “Let’s not overthink this or give the person behind whatever is happening too much credit. We need to continue as we’ve been, and let him catch up to us if he can.”
“You mean he’s not a sorcerer,” Gwen said. “He can’t see the future.”
“I wish I could,” Gareth said.
“I do worry about the princes,” Gwen said.
“They are guarded,” Gareth said, though even as he said it, he began to worry about them himself. Then he shook his head. He had to trust Hywel, just as he knew Hywel trusted him to do his job and do it right.
“I suppose for us to stand sentry outside their room wouldn’t help anyone, since Gruffydd is already doing it,” Gwen said.
“I fear for them, but then, I feared for them as soon as we left Wales. We should have turned around and gone home the moment David’s body hit the ground at your feet.”
“That was never going to happen,” Gwen said. “Never. And you know it. You and Hywel were not going to let this go.”
Gareth grunted his agreement. “We have spent too long poking our noses into other people’s business to stop now.”
“Just as long as nobody else knows about the emerald,” Gwen said, “I’m hoping we’ll be all right for now.”
“Our traitor seems to have extensive resources,” Gareth said, “but unless Prince Rhun told Earl Robert in my absence, the emerald’s existence remains the knowledge of you, me, Mari, and the princes.”
“Good,” Gwen said. “Earl Robert’s obligations are to his sister, and I certainly don’t trust her.”
Gareth took a deep breath. “Let’s find out what kind of man Alard really is.” He straightened and entered the clearing. Nobody stirred in the farmhouse. Gareth didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed. They reached the door, two inches thick and solid oak with heavy iron fittings. The farmhouse wasn’t as ramshackle as it had initially looked. Gareth pointed at the door and then put a finger to his lips.
Gwen nodded, and Gareth pushed on the door. It was unlatched and swung open on silent hinges.
Gareth stepped into the main room, Gwen following close behind him. He had drawn his belt knife rather than his sword because it was better for fighting in confined spaces. Two steps into the room, however, he relaxed.
“It’s empty,” Gwen said, disappointment in her voice.
Gareth looked around the room. “Who leaves two chairs and a table in an empty and unguarded house?” He stowed his knife. “I was hoping for more.”
“You were hoping someone would be here to greet us,” Gwen said. “Alard, as you suggested back at the camp?”
Gareth laughed under his breath. “I’m not ashamed to say that I assumed it. And at this point, any sign of him would have been better than no sign.” He went to a ladder that led up to a loft, which took up half the width of the main room. A single rail prevented someone from falling to the floor below. From a point halfway up the ladder, Gareth was tall enough to see into the whole loft. It was completely bare, without even a bed or blanket, just blank floorboards.
“It’s empty up here, too.” Gareth swept his fingers along the wooden planks and came up with a layer of dust. “Empty a long while.”
“Someone left us a lantern.” Gwen pointed to a side wall where it hung on a hook. She lifted it to examine the wick and showed it to Gareth, who’d come back down the ladder. “The farmhouse isn’t quite as abandoned as it looks if someone left a lantern full of oil and a freshly trimmed wick.”
“That’s more like it.” Gareth was back to wary, but more hopeful too. Whoever had left the lantern hadn’t chosen to occupy the house but had left it in good order. It might be deserted, with dust in the loft, but it hadn’t been allowed to fall into actual disrepair.
He could tell by how closely the wooden planks were fitted together that the place was well-built. That craftsmanship, along with the rudimentary fireplace that vented out the far wall, spoke of a degree of wealth unusual for English farmers. Someone had taken care to build a home that would stand for many years. Peasant huts in Wales had a dirt floor with a fire pit in the center and a hole in the ceiling to let out the smoke. Most Saxon peasants lived similarly.
Gareth knelt and put his cheek to the boards so his eyes could follow the line of the floor all the way to the door. His brow furrowed. “Someone has been here recently. The floor has been swept clean of footprints and dust.”
“Do you think that whoever was here last thought so far ahead that he didn’t want you—or anyone—to see where he walked in his own house?” Gwen said.
“These are spies, Gwen. They are trained to think many moves ahead and to go to seemingly unnecessary extremes as a matter of course.” Gareth got to his feet and stood in the center of the floor, gazing around the room. “He’s hidden something here, and his footprints would have revealed where it was.”
Gareth waved a hand, and they both began an inspection of the house, Gwen starting on the opposite side of the room from Gareth. When he reached the table, Gareth pulled it away from where it was positioned, slightly to the left of the center of the house, and studied the floor beneath where it had been, looking for a trap door.
Meanwhile, Gwen trailed her hand along the right-hand wall of the house. “Perhaps he’s hidden a treasure somewhere in the walls. It may be that one section is unusually thick, but we wouldn’t know it by looking from the inside.”
“If we find nothing in here, we’ll walk around the outside,” Gareth said.
Gwen bent to the floor. “I think I’ve found something.”
Gareth reached her in three strides and crouched to look at what she showed him. An inch from the wall, the floor had been scratched. It looked as if someone had dug into the wood with a knife.
“Take a step back.” Gareth put a hand on Gwen’s shoulder, and they observed that portion of the floor together.
“You can see the join,” Gwen said. “It’s well done. Look—it follows the grain of the wood.”
“The planks are rough enough that you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking.” Gareth paused. “That’s good work, Gwen.”
Gwen smiled. “As you said, we’re dealing with spies, right? Too bad Hywel isn’t here. He would love this.” Taking out her belt knife, she slid it into the crack near the wall and worked the blade back and forth.
A small square of wood lifted up, revealing an iron ring underneath. Gareth found himself grinning as he reached for it. Before he could pull on it, however, Gwen stopped him with a hand to his arm. “What if this is its own trap?”
Gareth pulled back his hand. “You think a crossbow is set to fire at me the moment I pull on this?”
Gwen settled back on her heels. “No. That would be silly. Prior Rhys said they used this place.”
Gareth pulled on the ring. He couldn’t get it to budge.
“Wait,” Gwen said. “Maybe we have to pull up more of the flooring first.”
Gareth nodded and stuck the blade of his knife between what appeared to be two layers of flooring: a top layer, three feet on a side, hid a trap door built into the bottom layer underneath.
With the top panel set aside, Gareth again grasped the ring and pulled. Up came the trap door, and Gareth and Gwen inspected the dark space below them. Gareth got onto his knees and bent forward to stick his head into the hole. “I can’t see anything.”
“Now we know what the lantern is for,” Gwen said.
“And why there’s a ladder leading to an unused loft,” Gareth said.
While Gwen lit the lantern, Gareth lowered the ladder into the hole. The floor below had been dug deep and the top of the ladder barely reached the level of the upper floor. The pair exchanged a glance and Gareth shrugged. He stepped onto the first rung.
“Take it slowly,” Gwen said.
“I’ll be fine.”
Ten feet down, Gareth reached the c
ellar floor and looked upwards to Gwen, still framed in the square hole with the light coming in from the open door behind her. He gestured for her to climb down too. She handed him the lantern, and when she reached the ground, she gasped.
Gareth didn’t gasp, but he was no less surprised than Gwen. After he set the lantern on a narrow table, they both spun slowly around, taking in the shelves, crates, and trunks filled with an assortment of goods from clothing to weapons. “I know several lords who would be envious of what we’ve found here,” he said.
“Why did they dig the cellar so deep?” Gwen said. “With the river nearby, I would have thought they’d have hit water.”
Gareth put a hand to the dirt wall. His fingers came away dry. “Apparently they know something we don’t.”
Armor and weaponry, including bows, crossbows and axes, lined one wall. An entire barrelful of arrows rested in one corner. A single wooden chair sat at an angle in another. Gareth’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed the lantern and went to inspect the chair. The arms were worn in places, as if ropes had rubbed them, and the ground beneath the chair was discolored. He bent closer.
“Are those bloodstains?” Gwen pointed to the seat of the chair.
“I know why the ceiling is so high,” Gareth said.
“Why?” Gwen looked from the chair to him.
Gareth stretched, trying to touch the ceiling, but even jumping, he couldn’t reach it. “This is meant to be a place to question and hold prisoners, in addition to keeping supplies.”
Gwen shivered. “Just as long as we don’t get trapped down here.” She lifted up the lid of a nearby trunk and pulled out the robes of a priest. “Why would they have this—” And then she broke off and nodded. “Because they’re spies.”
“They’ve kept everything in excellent condition,” Gareth said.
“Before yesterday, three of the horsemen still lived,” Gwen said. “They must have used it often, and given that they left the door unlocked, had confidence that nobody but they would ever come here.”
“Or the door was left open as a trap for us,” Gareth said.
Gwen glanced at him. “What? How can you say that so calmly? Do you really think so?”
“I hope so.” Gareth smiled at Gwen’s stunned expression.
Then she frowned at him. “You could have told me what you were thinking.”
“I didn’t want to speak of it in case I was wrong.” Gareth looked around the room, struck by the order, the neatness. The men who spent time here had cared about their work.
“I feel like I’m prying. Alard isn’t here. We should go—” Gwen broke off.
“What—?” Gareth spun around. The bottom of the ladder was already five feet off the floor. Gareth leapt towards it, his fingers just brushing at the last rung before it was pulled out of reach.
Gareth looked upwards. Gwen moved to stand beside him, but Gareth put out his hand to keep her back. He pulled his sword from its sheath, though it would be of little use against the air between them and whoever had pulled up the ladder. Still, having it in his hand made him feel more confident.
Then Alard came to stand at the edge of the trap door and look down on them. He wore a wry smile and was as untouchable as when he’d hung from the rope above the Lyme Brook. He had his own lantern, and between the two, the farmhouse was lit up like day.
Gareth could have thrown his knife, maybe even hurt the man badly, but that would have defeated the entire purpose of this exercise, not to mention leaving him and Gwen still in the cellar. Given that Alard had trapped them down here instead of killing them, Gareth was hoping for talk, which was all he’d wanted in the first place.
“So, it is the Welshman who comes. I am Alard, servant of Empress Maud, but you knew that already.”
Gareth nodded. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you.”
“Why?” Gareth said, though that was what he had wanted too.
“I have many questions that need answering, and the only way for me to clear my name is to encourage someone other than Ranulf or Philippe, someone from the outside, to find me answers,” Alard said. “I trust nobody’s motives but yours.”
Gareth sheathed his sword. That was quite a declaration, coming from a lifelong spy. He decided to be as friendly as possible until he had a reason not to. Alard had all the advantages currently. It might pay to play nice. “Why do you name Ranulf? What does he have to do with this?”
“He is Earl Robert’s son-in-law, and certain tasks fall to him—unsavory tasks—because he excels at making problems go away,” Alard said. “I knew Earl Robert would place the investigation of David’s death in his hands, and he and I have no love for each other.”
“Why is that?” Gwen said.
“His allegiance is to Robert only. He cares nothing for the empress. I don’t trust him.”
“It is my impression that what Ranulf cares most about is his own power and status,” Gareth said.
“That too,” Alard admitted.
“You may have questions, but we also have them—and they need answers,” Gareth said. “First and foremost, did you murder David?”
“No,” Alard said.
Gareth scoffed. “Then how did he die if you didn’t kill him?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t kill him,” Alard said. “I did. But it wasn’t murder. He came at me, and I had no choice. He was my friend and I killed him, with regret and in self-defense.”
“You had to throttle and stab him?” Gwen said. Gareth was glad Gwen wasn’t cowed by the Norman spy and was asking some of the questions. Alard might take them better coming from a woman who seemed no threat to him.
Alard unhooked his cloak to show Gwen his neck. It was mottled with bruises. “My side is bandaged—it’s a wound from David’s knife. Do you need to see that too?”
Gareth remembered the splashes of blood on the leaves beside the brook. “That won’t be necessary. What about John?”
“I didn’t kill him either,” Alard said. “He was dead before I came out of the brook.”
Gareth pursed his lips. “Then who murdered him?”
“I cannot say,” Alard said.
“Can’t or won’t?” Gwen said.
Alard’s chin firmed, and for a moment he looked like he was going to walk away. Gareth changed the subject before they lost him. “What were you doing in Newcastle in the first place?”
Alard gestured to the farmhouse. “This is our base. I always return here. And in this case, David asked to meet me. Knowing he might think my loyalty was in question, I became concerned about his, so I suggested a public place for our meeting. When he didn’t show, I took the opportunity to observe your arrival. A Welsh delegation is an unusual enough sight for me to want to inspect it personally, and that is all I was doing on the wall walk until David came up behind me and caught me unawares.”
“How sloppy of you,” Gwen said under her breath, in Welsh and for Gareth’s ears alone.
Gareth clasped her hand in his, and she looked down, hiding a smile. “Why would David want to kill you?” Gareth said.
“I assume he’d been told that I was a traitor. I wanted to speak with him, hoping that he would give me the benefit of the doubt.” Alard sighed and looked away again. “Apparently not.”
“I’m not sure that I believe you,” Gareth said. “You left yourself an escape route by rope from the battlement. That smacks of planning, not happenstance.”
“I always leave myself an escape route,” Alard said.
Gareth coughed a laugh, his fist to his mouth, and granted Alard his point.
“When you chased me, I knew I had made the right choice to drop David at your feet,” Alard said. “Did you know that he was a traitor to your King Owain?”
“Prince Hywel knew it as soon as Earl Ranulf claimed him as his man,” Gareth said.
“Good,” Alard said. “That was as I hoped.”
“You should know that one of the reasons we’re here listening to you at all is be
cause you have at least one friend who wanted to hear your side before he passed judgment,” Gareth said.
“Who’s that?”
“Amaury, a retainer of the Earl of Chester,” Gareth said.
Some of the tension around Alard’s eyes eased, and he nodded. “I always admired his intelligence, though he has too much honor to make a good spy.”
“We know about the four horsemen,” Gwen said.
Gareth managed not to smirk when Alard raised his eyebrows. “Then you know I am the only one left.”
Gareth regarded Alard steadily, careful not to give Prior Rhys away. But then as Alard gazed back at him, his focus caused Gareth to think again. “I would prefer we don’t tell each other lies. Too many men have lied to me already since we arrived at Newcastle.”
Alard rubbed his chin. “So I did see what I thought I saw in the bailey yesterday.”
“What did you think you saw?” Gwen said.
“Peter, with the Welsh princes. I was busy with David at the time and later decided my eyes had deceived me. I’m guessing that it is through his knowledge that you learned of this farmhouse.”
Gareth canted his head, without giving anything more away.
“Does Peter think ill of me too?” Alard said.
“He did not share his opinion of you with us,” Gwen said. “You do understand that the accusations against you go beyond murder? That both Earl Ranulf and your spymaster, Philippe, have named you traitor to the empress?”
“I’d been told that was the way of it.” Alard crouched near the hole, hanging his hands between his knees and looking more relaxed than before. “I have no illusions of my own importance, great or small, but it explains the effort expended to hunt me.”
“There’s more, however, that you’re not telling us,” Gareth said.
Alard’s jaw worked. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
Gareth gestured to the contents of the room. “I wouldn’t have believed this until I saw it. Tell me. You may find me surprisingly open-minded.”
“You do have a captive audience,” Gwen said. “You are accused of murder and apparently sentenced to die without a trial. At this point, telling us the truth may be your only hope. You have nothing to lose.”
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