Prince Rhun gestured Father Alun closer. The priest, a rounded, somewhat squat man somewhere in advanced middle age, obeyed, stepping out from under the eave that sheltered the doorway into the monastery proper. He’d waited there while Rhun had greeted Godfrid.
Arrayed in the undyed robes of a country priest, simple and plain down to the sandals and a belt made of rope, he couldn’t have been comfortable in this weather. Gwen felt colder just looking at him. He had a kind face and eyes, though, which were currently riveted on her face with an intensity that was disconcerting.
Gwen didn’t know the reason for it, so she tried to ignore it, saying instead, “Aren’t bodies supposed to be found in graveyards?”
Gareth squeezed her hand briefly, probably glad that she’d been the one to ask the obvious question rather than leaving it for him.
“Indeed,” Father Alun said, his eyes still fixed on Gwen. “One would expect it. But this is something of a different situation. I was wandering among the stones at the back of the churchyard, looking for a burial spot for a parishioner who died, when I came upon a body in a freshly dug grave.”
Gareth’s eyes narrowed. “One, I gather, that shouldn’t have been freshly dug?”
“And a body that shouldn’t have been in it, freshly dug or not,” Rhun said.
Father Alun’s gaze skated to the prince, who tipped his head in a possible apology for interrupting, or merely to indicate that the priest should continue his tale.
Father Alun sighed. “Earlier in the day, one of the village pigs was found inside the churchyard wall. We rousted him and thought we’d undone the damage from his rooting, but we hadn’t investigated very far behind the church. I wish I had, because he’d been digging at the grave with his hooves and uncovered a woman’s hand.”
Gwen wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That must have been unpleasant.”
Father Alun nodded. “It was. I’m sorry to say that I did not keep my dignity as well as I would have liked.”
He admitted his failing with complete serenity, and Gwen felt a sudden warmth towards this humble priest, who seemed to have no agenda but to discover the name of the poor victim who’d been left in his charge.
Prince Rhun waved a hand, dismissing Father Alun’s admission. “Go on.”
Father Alun certainly knew how to tell a story. While he didn’t relish the telling of it, he laid out the salient facts with a clear voice: the grave lay in the far corner of the graveyard under a spreading oak. The initial grave had been dug long ago, and the man in it buried while the tree was still young and its root system less extensive. The wide boughs had prevented the robust growth of grass beneath the tree, which may have deluded the man who’d buried the woman there into thinking the digging would be easy. Instead, he’d encountered roots two feet down, gave up, and buried the woman in a far too shallow grave.
“Even without the pig,” Father Alun continued, “I might have noticed how the earth was more mounded under the tree than it should have been. At the very least, even a cursory inspection would have shown that someone had tried to get rid of extra dirt by mixing it with fallen leaves and strewing it over the spot where the digging had occurred.”
“Is the body of the man whose grave it is still in place?” Gwen said.
“Yes, it is.” Father Alun said. “We confirmed it without uncovering him entirely, and then laid the dirt over him again. We tried to be respectful.” For the first time he showed real discomfort, wringing his hands at the sacrilege done to the dead man’s remains.
“Could someone have buried the body because they didn’t think—” Gwen broke off, trying to find a better way to articulate the ugly thought. She started again, “Could it simply be a matter of burying a loved one whose interment in holy ground you might not have approved of?”
“That was, frankly, my first thought.” Father Alun spread his hands wide. “I am not one to deny burial unless the circumstances are extreme, and I hadn’t heard of a woman dying in the region other than the old woman for whom I was looking for a burial site. We are a small parish, and any death would have been known throughout Cilcain.”
“Anyway,” Rhun said, obviously having heard the whole story already, “the man’s grave was old and had a stone to mark it.”
“What about grave robbers?” Godfrid said, speaking for the first time. He’d been listening to Father Alun with an amused expression on his face, which was typical for him.
Father Alun shook his head. “We are a poor parish—poorer in recent years with all the fighting. My people aren’t buried with expensive rings and trinkets.”
“Perhaps it’s time you tell us why you came all this way,” Hywel said. “A dead woman is one thing. Are we to understand that you believe she was murdered?”
“Her throat was cut.” Father Alun gave an involuntary shudder.
Gwen had been waiting for him to admit something along those lines and spoke gently, “You don’t recognize her as someone from your parish?” It was one thing for Gwen herself to become far too familiar with murder, but this might be the first time the good father had encountered it.
“No, but—” Father Alun shook his head, his attention back on Gwen’s face. Then, strangely, he came forward and took one of Gwen’s hands in both of his. “I am accustomed to being the bearer of bad news, but I have never had to bring news to a relation in a situation such as this. My dear, I apologize for staring at you, but even in death the woman we found bears some resemblance to you. Do you—do you have a sister? Or-or-or a cousin, one who could have come to grief near Cilcain?”
Gareth leaned in between Gwen and Father Alun. “Wait. Are you saying that the murdered woman looks like Gwen?”
“Yes. I came here hoping for help in putting a name to the woman’s face, but I had no idea that discovering her identity was as simple as speaking to you, my dear.” Father Alun looked helplessly at Gwen. “Please tell me her name so that I may give her a proper burial.”
“But I don’t have a sister.” The words came blurting out before Gwen could think about them or stop them. “I don’t even have a female cousin that I know of. My mother died birthing my brother.”
She looked down at the ground, not wanting to see the sympathetic expressions on the men’s faces. It was perfectly possible that her father had loved another woman besides her mother. Gwen knew virtually nothing about her father’s life before her own birth and might not know everything about his conduct afterwards. He might never even have known that he’d sired a daughter other than Gwen.
It would have been unusual for the mother of the child not to tell him. In Wales, illegitimate children were counted as legitimate as long as the father acknowledged them. King Owain had many illegitimate sons and daughters, and he’d acknowledged them all. Rhun was his father’s favorite and the edling, the chief heir to the throne, even though King Owain hadn’t married his mother, an Irishwoman who’d died at Hywel’s birth. It was one of the many ways that Welsh law differed from English law, and why the Welsh were fighting so hard to maintain their sovereignty.
Gwen was still shaking her head. “My mother was an only child, and my father’s sisters have no daughters. I don’t know who this woman is.”
Father Alun pressed his lips together for a moment, and then said, “That may be, but would you consider coming to see her for yourself?”
“I think you should,” Hywel said, before Gwen could answer, “except that Cilcain is very close to the territory controlled by Earl Ranulf’s forces. Cilcain itself was ruled by him until we drove his men back towards Mold a month ago.”
Gareth slipped his arm around Gwen’s shoulder and directed his words at Prince Hywel. “My lord, this isn’t just about the girl’s connection to Gwen. It’s murder too.”
“As I was saying to the prince before your arrival, my lords, Earl Ranulf’s men have moved south and east,” the priest said. “A few of us alone won’t invite notice or comment, even if he has men scouting the region.”
“Looking for us, you mean,” Hywel said. “He knows that we are preparing to move on Mold.”
“All of Wales knows that,” Father Alun said, “but Chester doesn’t have the men to stop you.”
Prince Rhun stepped closer. “How’s that?”
Father Alun’s head twitched as he looked at the intent faces of those surrounding him. “Didn’t-didn’t you know that? He is facing pressure from King Stephen on his eastern border. Small skirmishes only, but Ranulf has pulled back many of his men all along the border with Gwynedd.”
Rhun’s face took on a rare intensity. “Is that so? We hadn’t heard.”
Godfrid touched Gwen’s elbow, and he jerked his head to indicate that he would like to speak to her and Gareth a bit away from Father Alun, who was now being pressed harder by Rhun and Hywel to explain exactly where his information had come from.
“Father Alun could be a spy for Chester and his story a ruse, as a way to deliver this piece of information to King Owain,” Godfrid said. “What if his intent is to draw the king into a trap?”
Gwen looked up at the Dane. His size and enthusiasm sometimes made her forget the sharp mind behind his twinkling blue eyes.
But even with Godfrid speaking low—and in accented Welsh—Father Alun overheard him. He cleared his throat and said loudly, “What I have told you isn’t news today to any man living east of the mountains. Chester has refortified Mold as best he can, it is true, but we haven’t seen any of his soldiers pass through Cilcain in days. I swear it.”
“My lord,” Gareth said, speaking to Hywel, “I am the captain of your teulu. If I were to go, I can uncover the truth of Father Alun’s words. Cilcain is a small village, and the people will all know about the woman’s death and be concerned about a murderer running free among them. They will need reassurance that their king—in the absence of Ranulf—has taken an interest in their wellbeing. I can show them that he has.”
Hywel rubbed his chin, studying Gareth and Gwen, and then turned to his brother. “I agree with Gareth. I think we should help the good father, and Gareth can also discover if what Father Alun says about Ranulf’s forces is true.”
Rhun looked east, though all he could see from where he stood were the trees that surrounded the monastery. “You know as well as I that determining the course of events that led to this woman’s death is unlikely to be quick or simple.”
“Which is why I should go, my lords,” Gareth said. “If it’s only Gwen and me, we will have access to homes and crofts beyond those which a company might find open to them, and we can ask questions of everyone.”
Hywel looked at his brother, who was behaving very much the edling today. “You know how good at this they are.”
In adulthood, the brothers had become closer than they’d been as children, providing each other with real support and without a shred of jealousy or acrimony. Though Gwen had never had a sister herself, Hywel had been like a brother to her at times, and she recognized real camaraderie when she saw it.
“I do.” Rhun contemplated Gwen and Gareth for another few heartbeats, and then he nodded his consent.
Gwen gave a small sigh of relief. Father Alun had been right to come to King Owain’s headquarters, since he was the new ruler of the region, but control of that lordship remained precarious. If King Owain was going to rule in fact as well as name, he needed to be seen doing so. And that meant solving a murder in his lands.
Gareth held out a hand to Godfrid. “It was good to see you. Hopefully Gwen and I can clear this matter up quickly and return before the assault on Mold begins.”
“But—” said Godfrid.
Gwen almost laughed at the look of consternation on his face, which was mirrored in Hywel’s and Rhun’s expressions as well. The part about Gareth and Gwen going alone hadn’t sunk in until this moment. All three had been involved in Gareth’s and Gwen’s murder investigations at one time or another, and each man wanted to come on this journey. She could appreciate the tug of intrigue and discovery, though she herself wasn’t looking forward to examining the dead body of a possible sister.
But then Rhun gave way to the necessities of his station and said, “Be careful.”
Hywel sighed and punched Godfrid’s upper arm. “This time we’ll have to leave them to it, old friend.”
Though his eyes remained on Gareth and Gwen, assessing them, Godfrid grunted his assent. “At a minimum, a conference with the king shouldn’t wait.”
“I agree, Godfrid,” Rhun said. “While my father hasn’t been receiving visitors today, perhaps he will make an exception for you.”
“He is unwell?” Hywel stepped closer to Rhun.
“So much so that he admitted it.” Rhun tipped his head to Godfrid, indicating that the Dane should come with him.
His brow furrowed in concern, Godfrid patted Gareth’s shoulder, nodded at Gwen, and followed Rhun into the monastery, leaving Hywel with Gareth and Gwen.
“I don’t like hearing that your father is ill,” Gwen said.
“Neither do I, but you’ll have to leave him to Rhun and me for now.” Like Godfrid’s, Hywel’s face showed worry. “I suspect you understand what is happening here as well as I, but I’m going to spell it out for you anyway, just to be clear: you are to solve this murder in the name of the king while at the same time keeping your ear low to the ground. Our scouts have not reported a withdrawal from the region around Mold, which they should have if it were true.”
“Maybe this just happened,” Gwen said.
“Prince Cadwaladr’s men have had the duty these past few days,” Gareth said, though he looked down at the ground as he said it, not meeting Hywel’s eyes.
Prince Cadwaladr, King Owain’s younger brother, had arrived on the border with Chester before King Owain’s forces last summer, having hastily departed Ceredigion in advance of the king. Gwen and Gareth had met during a time when Gwen’s father sang in Cadwaladr’s hall, and Gareth had served him as a man-at-arms. Both had left Cadwaladr’s court years ago—in Gwen’s case because she went where her father went, and in Gareth’s for refusing what he believed to be a dishonorable order. Gwen and Gareth had caught the wayward prince out in wrongdoing several times since then.
“I know,” Hywel said.
“I don’t like leaving you under these circumstances,” Gareth said.
“I trust no one more than you two to get to the bottom of this,” Hywel said, “but it would be good if you could hurry.”