“Who’s he?” Gwen moved to stand at Gareth’s shoulder. “Which of Ranulf’s men do you mean?”
“I—” The man looked from Gwen to Gareth, confused by their joint questioning. “It was Sir Amaury, with his arm in a sling. I don’t know the names of the two men with him.”
Gareth turned to Gwen. “We can leave the pursuit in this direction in Amaury’s hands. With the friary and Philippe close by, he’ll have the men he needs.”
“I’m just happy that he was able to rise from his bed,” Gwen said.
“Did they give you the name or a description of the one they were hunting?” Gareth said.
The soldier shook his head.
Gwen and Gareth returned to the bailey, wending their way through the crowd that remained. A few people talked among themselves, but most watched the entrance to the keep, hoping for news. Several men, one a priest, had gathered on the steps to hold a prayer vigil. Gareth and Gwen passed them by without a second glance and entered the anteroom to the great hall.
Once inside, Gwen hesitated. The door to the great hall was closed. Likely, Prince Henry had been laid on a table inside. Gareth kept going, but Gwen didn’t follow. “I think we should go this way.” Gwen changed direction, heading towards one of the side doors to the anteroom.
“Where are you going? Prince Rhun wanted me to offer my services to the earl.” Gareth followed Gwen, but his tone told her that his patience was very thin.
“I think we should go first to Earl Robert’s apartments,” Gwen said.
“Earl Robert should be in the great hall …” Gareth’s voice trailed off as Gwen took the stairs up to the next level.
“Did Earl Robert strike you as a fool?” she said.
“Of course not,” Gareth said.
“Or a man who held his nephew’s life cheaply?” Gwen said.
“No—”
They had reached the corridor at the end of which lay the earl’s rooms. When they’d first arrived at Newcastle and Gwen had explored the interior in a free moment, she’d noticed that maids always hovered around the farthest door. Today was no exception, except that instead of two in front of the door, there were three. The women hushed at Gwen and Gareth’s approach.
“Don’t you have something better to do?” Gareth said in French. “Why are you always here?”
Gwen put a hand on his arm. “They work for the earl, Gareth.”
Gareth’s brow furrowed, making Gwen smile despite the urgency of the moment. For all that he was used to having a wife who did men’s work, Gareth still couldn’t imagine other women doing the same. The maids smirked back at Gareth. “You shouldn’t be here,” said one of them, a slatternly-looking woman with a swirl of bright red hair.
“Earl Robert sent us to sit with Prince Henry until he could sort everything out,” Gwen said.
The woman pursed her lips, but after a moment’s pause, she nodded. “He’s in a bad way.” She opened the door to the room.
A boy not yet in his teens sat on a bench at the end of a four-poster bed hung with burgundy curtains. He was alone. And he was crying.
They entered the room and the maid/guard shut the door behind them. Prince Henry looked up at their entrance, but such was his defeat that he didn’t protest at the appearance of complete strangers, just hung his head. “Bernard is dead. He died for me.”
“I know.” Gwen glided to Henry, sat beside him, and took his hand. “That was a risk he took, one that every man takes when he cares for the next King of England.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Henry took what Gwen was offering and put his face into her shoulder. He gave three or four heaving sobs before he sat up again, wiping his eyes. “My uncle will be ashamed of me if he sees me like this.”
“There is no shame in grief,” Gareth said to Henry and then switched to Welsh for Gwen’s ears only. “How did you know?”
She lifted one shoulder. “It came to me as we crossed the bailey that Earl Robert might not have been as willing to risk his nephew’s life as it first appeared. And if I was wrong, if the prince really was dead, we lost nothing in pursuing my hunch.”
Prince Henry pushed away from Gwen and stood. He gripped his hair with both hands and then paced to the window and back. “I need to know what is happening out there.”
“You need to stay here, where it’s safe,” Gwen said, back to speaking French, “else Bernard’s sacrifice will be for nothing.”
“That’s what my uncle said,” Henry said.
“While we wait for news, can you tell us what happened?” Gareth said, still in his position by the door. Gwen knew what he was thinking now: Those women might guard the prince, but he and Gwen had entered with no trouble at all. For all that Earl Robert had thought far enough ahead to arrange for a decoy for Prince Henry, it seemed he hadn’t given as much thought to what came after.
Prince Henry lifted a hand and then dropped it in a gesture that looked very much like despair. He sat back down on the bench beside Gwen. “I rode here, well in the rear of the company. My primary guards protected Bernard; they always do. I’m not sure how many of them truly think that Bernard is the prince. Uncle Robert insisted on this arrangement and that I not give the game away by word or deed. Still, I had guards around me, too.”
“Were you disguised for the whole journey or just as you approached the castle?” Gareth said.
“I’ve always been disguised,” Henry said, and when Gwen and Gareth couldn’t hide their puzzlement, he added, “even at Bristol, even when men came to greet me, it has always been Bernard that they see, not me.”
Gwen found her jaw dropping at the audacity and complexity of the ruse, and her estimation of Earl Robert went up another three notches.
“I found it irritating at first,” Henry said, continuing his story in the face of their stunned silence, “but when I realized how much more freedom it gave me, I embraced it. It was Bernard who was forced to attend the fine dinners and speak formally with visitors. I was usually with him, as one of his retainers and friends, but the lack of attention paid to me was refreshing after my father’s house in France.”
“Your father expects a great deal from you, doesn’t he?” Gwen said.
“He expects me to inherit England, Normandy, and Anjou,” Henry said matter-of-factly. “Nothing else matters.”
King Owain’s attitude wasn’t any different; he possessed a similar pride and Gwen knew that Hywel, even as a second son, had felt that pressure his whole life.
“Did you see who killed Bernard?” Gareth said.
Gwen was glad that Gareth was the one to ask that of Henry. Sometimes a soft voice like hers was more likely than a gruff one to set off tears, and they needed Henry focused.
The boy swallowed. “I saw the man—or thought I saw him—but now I’m sure I was confused in all the chaos.”
“We need to know the one you saw, even if you think you might have been mistaken.” Gareth moved to crouch in front of Henry, ignoring the fact that there was something slightly unseemly about grilling a ten-year-old princeling for information about his friend’s murder.
Henry still didn’t want to say, but after hemming and hawing for another few heartbeats, he said, “It was that fellow who came with Ranulf to see Uncle Robert in Bristol last month. Amaury was his name.”
“What?” Gwen spoke in Welsh, such was her shock. Gareth reached over to put a gentle hand on her leg.
“Amaury was among the men who greeted us when we entered the bailey just now. He grabbed the bridle of the horse next to Bernard’s to hold him steady and then moved to help Bernard dismount. His left arm was in a sling, which made his motion awkward,” Henry said. “Because of the sling, I continued to watch him, even after the trumpets rang and everyone turned to see my mother arrive on the steps of the keep.
“At that point, Bernard’s horse blocked my view. By the time he shifted again, Amaury was gone and Bernard lay bleeding on the ground. I next saw Amaury running towards one of the towers, po
inting and shouting at his men that he’d seen the assassin and they needed to come with him.” Henry shook his head. “I can’t say more than that.”
“Could it be that—” Gwen looked at her husband, whose face had turned to stone.
“No,” Gareth said. “It couldn’t.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Gareth
Gareth held Henry by the shoulders. “You’re sure? You’re sure it was Amaury you saw?”
The boy nodded.
“Who else have you told?” Gareth said.
“Nobody! I couldn’t tell anyone! Bernard went down and the guards brought me here. My mother screamed and screamed—” He put his hands to his ears as if he could still hear her.
Gareth, for his part, had a hard time imagining the empress screaming about anything except in anger.
“You need to go, Gareth,” Gwen said, “just like before. I’ll stay with Prince Henry until Earl Robert gets here.”
“He’s staying away so as not to attract anyone’s attention to me,” Henry said.
“That may be, but you are more than a prince today. You are the only witness to the murder.” Gareth stood and took a step towards the door. “Your safety is still our first priority.”
Prince Henry rose to his feet to follow him. “You may be right, but it is unseemly for a prince to cower in a room while others risk their lives for him.”
“No!” Gareth and Gwen shouted in unison.
Gareth went down on one knee again before Henry. “We need to know that you, at least, remain safe. For you to appear now, alive, might not only put your life in danger but all our lives.”
“How so?” said Henry, not ready to give in.
“Because the killer will know that he failed. He will be desperate to finish the job and won’t care who is harmed in the process,” Gareth said.
Prince Henry stuck out his chin, but then he sat down again with a sigh. “I accept what you say. Go.”
Gareth glanced at Gwen, who gave him a quick smile. Ten-year-old boys seemed to be her forte, so he knew he could leave Henry to her. Gareth pulled open the door to find the three women still making a show of gossiping in the corridor. At the sight of them, he forced himself to accept what Prince Henry had told him: that Amaury had manipulated everyone, including him. Maybe all signs had pointed to Amaury all along and Gareth hadn’t wanted to see it. He would have to examine the clues again later, when he had time, and discover where they’d all gone wrong. Where he’d gone wrong.
As he saw it now, Gareth had two choices: the first was to run after Amaury on the off-chance that he could overtake him. If Amaury fled Newcastle, he would ride to the court of King Stephen. A man didn’t murder the son of an empress and expect to resume his normal life as if nothing had happened. Three emeralds would give him enough wealth to walk away from his old life.
Gareth’s second choice—and the one he realized he had to choose—was to speak to Earl Robert and inspire him to organize a manhunt. Another few moments might make the difference between apprehending Amaury and not, but Gareth wouldn’t consider the time wasted if he had the earl and all his resources at his disposal. If they were going to capture Amaury, they had an enormous amount of ground to cover in a short amount of time.
That didn’t mean, however, that he shouldn’t do what he could about Amaury right now. Gareth tugged the door closed and faced the women guards. “Prince Henry reports that it was Sir Amaury who killed Bernard. I will speak to the earl if one of you will run to the friary and find Prince Rhun or Philippe. Amaury could be long gone by now, but if we have a chance to stop him anywhere, it will be from there.”
The three women gaped at him, and for a moment Gareth wondered if his French had been up to the task, but then one of the women, the same redhead who’d spoken earlier and seemed to be in charge, nodded. “I’ll go.”
They raced down the stairs and into the anteroom. While the woman disappeared through the main door to the bailey, Gareth came to a sudden stop, having nearly plowed through Evan, who stood swaying in front of him, his eyes crossing and re-crossing as he tried to focus them. Gareth grabbed his shoulders, just as he had Prince Henry’s. “Where have you been?”
“I woke up underneath a bed.” Evan waved a hand feebly towards an upper floor. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t have time to tell you.” Gareth’s eyes swept the anteroom, looking for anyone he could trust and coming up empty. He shoved Evan towards the doorway to the stairs. “Gwen is in Earl Robert’s quarters. Go to her.”
Evan gawked at Gareth. “She’s where?”
Gareth tsked through his teeth at his friend’s slow mind. Poppy juice, he guessed, and not his fault. He gripped both sides of Evan’s head, making him focus on him. “This is important. Go to her. She will explain everything. I need you to protect her and the one she’s with.”
Gareth’s urgency seemed to penetrate the fog in Evan’s mind, because he nodded and, with a straighter back, turned on his heel and trotted up the stairs towards the earl’s apartments. Gareth took in a deep breath, committing himself to his next course of action, come-what-may. He pushed open the door to the great hall.
While the uproar in the bailey had been ongoing, the great hall was unnaturally calm. Bernard lay in state on a table, a cloth covering him except for his head. Empress Maud was nowhere to be seen, but Earl Robert paced in front of the fire, barking commands and demanding answers while his retainers cowered around him. Gareth recognized none of the others on sight, but at Gareth’s entrance, they all looked over to him.
“You can’t be in here—” One of the men strode towards Gareth, motioning with his hands that Gareth should depart immediately.
“He’s Prince Hywel’s man,” Earl Robert said. “Have him come to me.”
The man seemed to hold no grudge towards Gareth, because his shooing hand gesture turned into a welcoming bow. “This way.”
Gareth marched across the floor to join the circle of men around Earl Robert, though with a flick of one finger, all but two melted away. “What is it?” Earl Robert said.
“I have spoken with … ah … the boy in your quarters,” Gareth said, not explaining more clearly since he didn’t know how many of the earl’s men knew about the deception.
The earl raised his eyebrows. “Did you?”
“He saw who murdered—” Gareth gestured to Bernard. “It was Amaury.”
Another lord might have gasped, but Earl Robert gave away his surprise only by a tightening around the eyes. “I see.” The other men had good control too.
“I spoke to the guards at the entrance to the tunnel. Amaury and two of his men left by that avenue immediately after—” Again Gareth’s eyes skated to Bernard’s body and back to Earl Robert, “—the event.”
“The boy is sure?” Earl Robert said.
“Yes,” Gareth said.
“All the boys who accompanied the prince, along with his adult retainers, are gathered in the next room,” the earl said. “Nobody saw anything—or rather, everyone saw something and none of it the same.”
“The boy recognized Amaury from his visit to Bristol a few months ago,” Gareth said. “Today he noted Amaury’s sling specifically.”
“Christ on the cross.” Earl Robert swung around and kicked at the logs stacked beside the fireplace. It was the first instance of emotion Gareth had seen in him.
“I left my wife in your quarters,” Gareth said, “but I feel it is my duty to continue this investigation. Do I have your permission to pursue Sir Amaury as I see fit?”
“I am in your debt,” Earl Robert said. “What is your first step?”
“To ride to the tunnel’s exit in the abandoned chapel and try to find a trace of where Amaury went from there,” Gareth said, and then he explained that he’d sent one of the women guards to the friary to warn Philippe and Prince Rhun of what Amaury had done.
“I will send men through the tunnel, to ensure that he isn’t hiding inside it.” And then Earl R
obert was all action. He clapped his hands together, and his men converged on his position. With a few brief sentences, he sent them off to gather men and begin a manhunt throughout the countryside. By the time Gareth reached the door, half of the earl’s men had already left the hall.
Once again, Gareth ran down the steps from the keep and across the bailey, making for one of the many horses picketed outside the stables. Gareth chose one and mounted before the stable lad could stop him. “But, sir!”
“I’ll bring him back!” Gareth saluted the boy and urged the horse towards the gatehouse. He raised his voice. “Open the portcullis!”
But the order from Earl Robert had already gone out. Even before Gareth reached it, the gate was open. Gareth ducked underneath the metal spikes, turned the horse’s head, and sent the animal heading north from the castle. As he flew through the village, people milled about the green, directionless. But at the sight of Gareth leaving and the newly opened gate, many moved towards the castle again. Gareth could have told them that they would see a gratifying amount of activity in a moment.
Once through the village, it was less than a quarter of a mile across a few fields to where the abandoned chapel nestled in its clearing among the trees. Gareth could see it before he reached it and slowed when he realized that no one was near or around it. He dismounted as he approached the ruins and led his horse to the altar with its stairs down to the crypt.
He paced around the altar. The grass that grew between the fallen stones and flagstones had been pressed flat, though Gareth couldn’t distinguish any boot prints in particular. From the tracks, men had come through the tunnel and left the chapel, all following the same line: towards the friary.
Ten feet from the altar, a knife lay in the grass. Gareth looped the horse’s reins around a half-fallen pillar and crouched to look at it. Blood stained the blade. If Amaury had been especially clever, the knife would prove to belong to someone else, perhaps Alard. Gareth could even imagine that Amaury had left the knife at the chapel to lead a pursuer astray. It was unlikely that he’d accidently dropped it having murdered Prince Henry with it a quarter of an hour earlier.
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