The Fourth Horseman

by Sarah Woodbury

  “You want more?” Though Philippe’s voice trembled, a hint of amusement appeared in it as well. “What is it?”

  “We have a chain of events that we must follow, threads that have been woven together that we must unravel. You say that you didn’t send David and John after Alard.”

  Philippe nodded but didn’t speak, preserving his energy. His sudden attack seemed to be easing, and he rested his head against the wall at his back.

  “You also say that you didn’t order someone to steal David’s body and disable Prior Rhys,” Gareth said.

  “I did not.”

  Gareth rubbed his chin. “Do you know about the farmhouse?”

  Alard stared hard at Gareth, but Philippe didn’t seem to notice and said, “What farmhouse?”

  Gareth rubbed his hands together. “Lastly, did you send that archer to the abandoned chapel last night?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you.” Gareth rose to his feet. He and Alard moved several paces away to allow Ralph to take Gareth’s place and speak with Philippe, one old spy to another.

  “My friend, the only evidence you have against Alard is the word of a messenger sent by William de Ypres,” Ralph said. “If you entertain the idea that he played you false, in a deliberate attempt to mislead you, than everything else we have argued in Alard’s defense must be true.”

  Philippe’s breath came more easily, along with the encouragement they needed: “Go on.”

  “Thank the Virgin,” Alard said in Gareth’s ear. “He’s beginning to listen.”

  “This means Philippe isn’t our traitor either,” Gareth said.

  “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” Alard said. “I had convinced myself that he was the only one who had the means to assassinate Prince Henry.”

  “I never trusted him, of course,” Gareth said, “but why didn’t you?”

  Alard’s brow furrowed. “Who else has a finger in every pie? Who has the ambition and the reach?”

  “I don’t know. There’s too much I still don’t know.”

  “We must find the answers,” Alard said. “Prince Henry’s life depends on it, and I am more worried now than before. I have been taking orders from Philippe for years, and yet the events of the past few days have completely passed him by.”

  “I apologize for revealing the existence of the farmhouse,” Gareth said. “You deliberately kept it a secret, did you not?”

  Alard nodded.

  “From everyone?” Gareth said.

  “Only the four of us and Ralph knew of it.” Alard paused. “And Ranulf, of course.”

  Gareth started. “Why Ranulf?”

  “All this land, except for Newcastle itself, belongs to the Earl of Chester,” Alard said. “We couldn’t build on it without him knowing.”

  Gareth turned to look back at Philippe. Ralph sat next to him, and the two men were talking quietly. “A secret stops being a secret the moment you tell one person,” Gareth said. “It occurs to me only now that if David was paid an emerald to betray you and the empress, what other of your secrets might he have told? And to whom?”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Gwen

  “I don’t feel like sleeping yet,” Gwen said to Prior Rhys when they reached the Welsh camp.

  “I confess, I’m wide awake too.” Prior Rhys helped Gwen dismount at the pickets and then crooked his elbow in invitation. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Fine.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. It was mostly fine. Gwen took Rhys’s arm and began to stroll with him around the perimeter of the camp. As they walked, she could see Prior Rhys evaluating the layout of the encampment, his eyes flicking from the sentries, to the picketed horses, to the tents and fire circles. Old habits weren’t easily put aside.

  “I understand that Prince Henry will pass our camp on his way to the castle tomorrow morning; we should be able to join his party,” Gwen said.

  “It is my thought to get a little ahead of him,” Rhys said. “I don’t want his murder to happen on my watch.”

  “But you aren’t a sentry,” Gwen said. “It isn’t your watch any longer, and yet you still feel responsible? Why?”

  “In some way, I feel that everything that has happened this week stems from Ralph and me. If we hadn’t left, if we had found another way, we might have stopped this before it started.”

  “That’s a great many days to relive,” Gwen said. “Think of all the good you’ve done at St. Asaph. If you hadn’t been there last winter, Gareth might not be alive.”

  Prior Rhys patted Gwen’s hand. “You comfort me.”

  “Besides, there are a hundred ways to murder a prince,” Gwen said. “Perhaps tomorrow is not the day.”

  “No.” Rhys shook his head. “There are a hundred ways, but only a few that are manageable without getting caught. That has to be the reason for the traitor’s focus on Newcastle—and his craftiness. Whoever is behind this plot has been planning Prince Henry’s death for some time. Those emeralds aren’t payment for failure.”

  “I can see that,” Gwen said, “but why hasn’t our assassin tried to kill Prince Henry long before now?”

  “Who’s to say that he hasn’t?” Prior Rhys said. “But I suspect he wasn’t able to get close to Prince Henry in Bristol.”

  “Why not? Clearly, he has resources,” Gwen said.

  “Not enough to allow him to mingle with Prince Henry’s usual retainers,” Rhys said. “He is not of Henry’s inner circle.”

  “So the person we’re looking for is here at Newcastle because Prince Henry has finally left Bristol and is more exposed,” Gwen said.

  “That is what I suspect,” Prior Rhys said.

  “Then the assassin couldn’t ever have been Alard,” Gwen said. “He would have had access to Prince Henry many times over.”

  “He would have been more subtle about it too,” Rhys said. “He’s a spy.”

  “And yet, isn’t it odd that of all the events that have occurred since we arrived, David’s death was the only one accomplished in public.”

  Rhys fingered his bottom lip. “Perhaps that’s been our mistake all along.”

  “How so?”

  “In assuming the murderer is a spy,” Rhys said, “I have taken it as a given that the threat to Prince Henry will come in secret—as poison, a knife in the darkness of his bedroom, or from a distance like that archer who shot Amaury. But what if the traitor isn’t a spy?”

  “Spy or not, the murderer will work in secret if he wants to survive to spend his money,” Gwen said.

  “You’re right. Perhaps I’m over-complicating matters,” Rhys said.

  “We may have already done all we can.” They had come full circle, back to Gwen’s tent, and as she stopped in front of it, Gwen canted her head. “Did you notice anything unusual in your inspection of the camp?”

  Prior Rhys smiled. “What do you mean?”

  “Our walk brought us conveniently close to every sentry,” Gwen said. “They each stiffened to attention at your approach.”

  Prior Rhys waved a hand. “It isn’t the first time I’ve walked the perimeter.”

  “Did you know the guard, Ieuan, who didn’t pass on your message to Gareth?” Gwen said. “This is the first time any of us have been at the camp since yesterday morning. We should talk to him.”

  Rhys led Gwen to a fallen log near a brightly burning campfire. The night had turned cool, and Gwen rubbed her hands together in front of the blaze, glad for the warmth. She observed two women having an argument thirty feet away, near another campfire. One poked a finger in the other’s face.

  “Ieuan is one of Prince Rhun’s men,” Rhys said, ignoring the fight. “If you would sit a moment, I’ll see if I can find him.”

  Gwen didn’t protest to Prior Rhys that he should let her come with him. He was a churchman. If anyone could get information from a recalcitrant guard, it was he. As Gwen sat, several soldiers near the fire nodded to her. She recognized them as men under Gareth’s command. On
e of the soldiers, a man named Rhodri, sat heavily at the end of Gwen’s log, a good three feet away. “Will Sir Gareth be returning to the camp this evening? With both him and Evan gone, it has fallen to me to see to the men, and I have some questions.”

  “He told me he would spend the night here,” Gwen said. “Are you concerned about something in particular?”

  Rhodri had been whittling on a stick, turning it into a horse, though only the head had appeared so far. At Gwen’s question, he looked up from his work. “I don’t mind telling you that we are too exposed here, with too many women and servants and not enough soldiers. I don’t trust these Normans.”

  One of his companions tossed a log on the fire. “We can’t return to Wales soon enough for me.”

  “I share your sentiment,” Gwen said, and then the sound of running feet had her turning around. Llelo and Dai plopped themselves on either side of her. She hugged them both, one arm around each boy.

  Rhodri grinned. “Good boys you have there.”

  “They haven’t been too much trouble?”

  “Far from it,” Rhodri said. “I wish they’d come to me before running off to look for you. I would have believed their tale and could have helped.”

  “We didn’t know you then,” Dai said. “We didn’t know anyone we could trust, and Tomos didn’t either.”

  “You did the best you could,” Rhodri said. “Can’t ask more than that.”

  Gwen was glad to see that the soldiers hadn’t been bothered by the boys, though as she eyed her two charges, she was sure that there was more to their acceptable behavior than a sudden change of heart and conversion to obedience. She peered at Dai. “You have something to say to me. What is it?”

  Dai glanced at Rhodri. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “The tale belongs to you,” Rhodri said.

  “That soldier, Ieuan, has run off,” Llelo said, for once getting in ahead of his brother.

  Dai gave him a sour look. “I was going to tell her!”

  Llelo merely looked smug. “We followed him as far as we could, but he was on horseback, and we were running. We couldn’t keep up on the road.”

  “Did he go west or east?” Gwen said.

  “Neither,” Dai said. “South.”

  Prior Rhys settled himself on the other side of Dai. “You two really are rapscallions, aren’t you?” He ruffled Dai’s hair.

  Llelo and Dai straightened their shoulders at their own importance, and out of respect for Prior Rhys, whom they recognized as something more than a monk. They didn’t lump him in among those they’d left at the friary in Newcastle.

  “As soon as the boys reported Ieuan’s absence, I sent men after him,” Rhodri said. “They haven’t returned, and I don’t expect they’ll catch him.”

  “Did you know Ieuan well?” Gwen said.

  “No,” Rhodri said. “Not before this journey.”

  “I did.” One of the men raised his hand. “I fought with him down in Ceredigion.”

  “Did he strike you as one who might turn traitor?” Gwen said.

  The man scratched at his sandy beard. “They say that any man can be bought if the price is right. I might have said that Ieuan’s price would be cheaper than most.” He nodded to Gwen. “Not much in the way of honor had Ieuan.”

  Rhodri rose to his feet. The other soldiers around the fire, who’d been listening to the conversation with open interest, stood with him. “Your orders, Sir,” one said.

  “See to the perimeter,” Rhodri said.

  The men dispersed, and Rhodri bowed slightly towards Gwen. “I must confer with Gruffydd’s second on the disposition of the men for tonight. Until we know more about Ieuan’s betrayal, we will remain on heightened alert. Please ask Sir Gareth to find me when he arrives, if I don’t find him first.” Gwen nodded, and Rhodri strode off.

  Gwen looked over at Prior Rhys. “Llelo and Dai say Ieuan rode south. Do you think that’s significant?”

  “It is the direction from which Prince Henry will come.” Prior Rhys got to his feet too. “Please stay here. I intend to confer further with Rhodri, and then may well return to Newcastle if I think the situation warrants it. The princes should know of what has transpired here today.”

  Once again, Gwen found that she couldn’t argue with the old prior like she might have if Gareth or Hywel had been the one doing the asking. “Of course. Llelo and Dai will protect me, won’t you, boys?”

  Their eyes brightened in unison, and she couldn’t regret the pleasure it gave them to be asked to take up a man’s job. And just because she stayed here didn’t mean she had nothing of importance to do. She felt in her boot for the emerald in the toe. She, Prince Rhun, and Gareth had been playing the shell game with the gem all day. Between Earl Robert, Ralph, and Amaury, too many Normans knew of it now. Hywel had sent it back to camp with Gwen for safekeeping, though she supposed that when Prior Rhys returned, she might include him in their little circle and give it to him.

  Prior Rhys saluted the boys, following the path Rhodri had taken. The other men had dispersed to other duties, so Gwen tipped her head to Llelo and Dai. “I think the safest place for all of us to stay until Gareth returns is in my tent.”

  “I’ll sleep across the doorway,” Llelo said, claiming primacy as the eldest.

  Dai’s lower lip stuck out, but Gwen put an arm around his shoulders and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Evil men are known best for coming in the back. You can sleep there.”

  Dai nodded, and Gwen felt the pull of her heart strings. They reminded her very much of her brother, Gwalchmai, left at home at Aber. She looked at them carefully. “Boys, has anyone ever taught you to sing?”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Hywel

  Hywel groaned and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but his hands were tightly tied behind him, and the back of the chair prevented him from moving more than an inch or two. That realization had him more awake in a hurry, and he blinked and blinked again, trying to adjust to the darkness around him. He wiggled his feet, which were tied at each ankle to the legs of a chair, and the toe of his boot hit something soft.

  He heard a low moan.

  Hywel forced down the panic that filled his throat. His eyes were growing used to the darkness, which wasn’t as complete as he’d first thought. Light filtered through the floorboards above his head and through a square opening in the ceiling on the opposite end of the room. Footsteps paced above him, and then a man appeared in the opening, holding a lantern.

  “So you’re awake.”

  It was too late to feign sleep, but Hywel didn’t answer—not that he could, given the gag in his mouth. The man came down the ladder, carrying the lantern, which illumined the cellar in which Hywel found himself. Mari lay on the floor at Hywel’s feet, unconscious and no longer moaning. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, and no blood showed on her clothing, which eased some of the tension in Hywel’s shoulders. She was alive and, on the surface, unhurt.

  Hywel tried to recall how they’d ended up here. He remembered talking with Mari in a quiet corner of one of the receiving rooms at Newcastle. He’d gone to find her after his meeting with the empress, which had been cordial, dull, and endless. Evan had brought them some wine and then … Hywel could remember nothing after that. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but from the light coming through the trap door, Hywel guessed that dawn had come and gone and the day was already passing.

  Hywel didn’t recognize the man who held the lantern high so he could see into Hywel’s face and then tugged the gag from Hywel’s mouth. “Go ahead and shout. No one will hear you.”

  Hywel tried to spit, but his mouth was dry and he couldn’t make any saliva. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Oh, I know.” The man smiled. “You’re one of the Welsh bastards.” He shined the light around the chair on which Hywel was sitting. “See that blood? Yours’ll join it soon enough if you don’t cooperate.”

  “What do you want?”

/>   “Me? Nothing. But my master? He didn’t tell me exactly what he wanted from you, but he’ll be along shortly to collect it.”

  Hywel groaned internally. He could guess what the man’s master wanted: the emerald. Hywel had never had it on him, but either the killer didn’t know that or thought he could torture its whereabouts out of Hywel.

  While Hywel hoped he was strong enough to withstand whatever a torturer might mete out, he honestly didn’t know what his limits were. Gareth had survived abuse last winter, and Hywel hoped he was man enough to do the same. But he didn’t know. With Mari unconscious at his feet, he knew he had to get out of here before he found out.

  As the man turned away, Hywel’s mind wandered to a last aside he’d had with Prior Rhys, back at the castle. Hywel had asked him the real reason he’d joined their company on the journey to England. There’d been a pause, and then Rhys’s voice had come softly. “It struck me as my duty to go, given my knowledge of the area. And perhaps, after all these years, as a gift. I have always felt it wise to accept the gifts God gives me.”

  With these last words, Prior Rhys’s eyes had skated over to Mari and then back to Hywel. The old churchman had meant that Mari was a gift to Hywel, and as he sat in the chair, tied as he was, Hywel knew within himself that it was time he claimed the right to protect her.

  The guard climbed the ladder, leaving the lantern on a hook by the trapdoor. Hywel was glad for the light, though he was disappointed to see the bottom of the ladder rising up.

  From the trap door and ladder, to the stone and dirt foundation, to the chair in which he sat and the blood beneath, Hywel could guess now where he was: the farmhouse cellar. Gareth had described it to him at length, but other than those initial details, all else was changed. It must have taken several cartloads to clear out everything in the cellar but the chair. He wondered if all that work had been done in preparation for his abduction. He didn’t exactly feel honored.