This funeral was soon over, however, and since they hadn’t had the chance to tell Father Alun the names of the dead before the service, it had a particularly perfunctory air. The crowd dispersed quickly. Nobody cared to stand around in the wet grass and the dark to watch the interment of two people they hadn’t known. The main focus of the mourners was to get to their mead so they could discuss the funeral in detail and speculate on the identity of the dead and their killers. The former point, at least, could be made clear to everyone as soon as John had a chance to look at the victims’ faces.
Gareth and John waited until the last of the mourners had turned away before stepping forward from where they’d watched the funeral. Gareth moved first to the smaller of the two coffins, which had to be Adeline’s, and put out a hand to the gravediggers, indicating that they should hold. They’d been about to lift her body out of the box and put her into the grave.
“Sir Gareth.” Father Alun had been overseeing the work, and he gave Gareth a nod of his head in greeting, as well as a small smile.
“You chose a nice spot for them,” Gareth said.
“They may have died violently and unshriven, but that doesn’t mean they can’t rest in peace,” Father Alun said.
Gareth canted his head. “Excuse the interruption, but I’d like to present to you John Fletcher of Shrewsbury, who arrived today at King Owain’s headquarters on a similar quest to your own.”
“More men have been murdered?” Father Alun said, aghast.
Gareth gave a tsk of dismay. “I phrased that badly. I should have said that he came to King Owain looking for these two. He has been searching for them for some time.” He gestured John closer, adding, “He thinks he can identify them for us.”
Father Alun’s face collapsed into an expression of pure relief. “That I had to bury them unnamed has been a weight on my heart since Lord Morgan told me that you’d returned to Prince Hywel.”
“Is that what he said? That we’d abandoned the investigation?” Gareth looked around for Lord Morgan, but he’d left with the other mourners. Gareth hadn’t made himself known to him, and since the only light came from several torches surrounding the gravesite and two lanterns on the step of the church, Morgan could perhaps be forgiven for not noticing Gareth’s arrival. “He was the one who practically ordered us to go.”
As soon as he spoke, Gareth wished he could take back his words. Father Alun might be gentle, but he’d proven last night that his mind worked as well as anyone’s. Gareth had implied that Lord Morgan had lied, which was a mistake.
Father Alun frowned. “Maybe I simply inferred it.”
“I’m sure it was something like that,” Gareth said, backtracking. “As it is, I’ve returned and am ready to continue the investigation.”
Father Alun gave a slight bob of his head. “Thank you, Sir Gareth.”
Gareth held up one hand. “Don’t thank me yet.” He turned to look at John, who was crouched over Adeline’s coffin. He hadn’t yet moved aside the part of the shroud that covered her face.
“Are you ready for this?” Gareth was beginning to think that John himself may have lied—in this case either about his relationship with Adeline or his experience with death and murder.
John looked in Gareth’s direction and waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve seen bodies before, of course.”
“Of course,” Gareth said, “but it is a very different thing to examine closely someone who has been murdered, particularly if you knew her in life. Anyone would be feeling queasy about now.”
A swift breeze came from the west, thankfully blowing away any foul smell that might be developing in the corpses. They were reaching the end of the grace period when a body had to be put into the ground. Instead of commenting on it, Gareth moved to crouch beside John, deciding to remove from John’s hands the burden of unwinding the cloth from Adeline’s face. Gareth also wanted to make sure that the death wound on her neck wasn’t revealed. Undersheriff or not, used to death or not, John didn’t need to see it.
A few swift movements and it was done. Gareth’s stepped back and left John to it. The undersheriff looked into Adeline’s face for a count of ten, pausing long enough that Gareth suddenly feared they’d been mistaken about her identity. But then John nodded. “That’s Adeline.” He carefully rearranged the cloth so it covered her face again.
“God bless her soul.” Father Alun stepped to the side of the coffin, opposite Gareth, and made the sign of the cross above her body.
“Will you look upon Cole as well?” Gareth said.
One of the gravediggers had already exposed his face—without fuss, Gareth was glad to see. He hadn’t questioned either of them yet, but he reminded himself to do so. Since they’d been involved in the uncovering of Adeline’s body, they might have a different perspective on the circumstances of it than Father Alun.
As an answer to Gareth, John straightened to a standing position and walked the few feet to where Cole lay in his coffin. John didn’t crouch beside the body this time but just gave another curt nod, and Father Alun signaled that the gravediggers could complete their work.
Gareth remained concerned about John’s wellbeing, and when John looked over at him next, his expression had turned even more severe, the worry lines around his eyes deepening.
“What’s wrong?” Gareth gestured with one hand. “Beyond the obvious, I mean.”
“When you unwrapped the cloth from Adeline’s face, you tried to hide the wound at her throat, but I saw it anyway.”
“I was trying to spare you grief,” Gareth said.
John gave a mocking laugh. “Instead, I almost missed seeing it, which would have been regrettable.”
“Why?”
“The wound is identical to that of a man murdered in Shrewsbury not two weeks ago. You were right in thinking that my experience with murder is minimal. In fact, the murder of which I speak was the first I’d seen. The victim’s throat was cut with the same slashing blow that killed Adeline.”
“Cole killed Adeline,” Gareth said, “or so we believe.”
John bit his lip. “Before this moment, nobody had thought to place responsibility for the death of the man in Shrewsbury on Cole’s head. He was a thief, not a murderer.”
“And now you may have to,” Gareth said. “It will relieve your sheriff to learn that he doesn’t still have a murderer running loose in Shrewsbury. Who died?”
“A Welshman traveling as emissary from King Owain Gwynedd to King Stephen of England. He was on his way home when he passed through Shrewsbury and met with my sheriff.”
Gareth felt his jaw drop. “What? You didn’t think to mention this earlier?”
John had the grace to look sheepish.
“By the saints, man! You were at King Owain’s court not four hours ago!”
“I-I-I thought you already knew,” John said, shrinking back against a gravestone. “Nobody mentioned King Owain’s emissary, so I didn’t either.”
“By God’s teeth, why did you not say something anyway? At least you could have apologized for not keeping him safe!”
“I didn’t know how to tell Prince Rhun—”
“Did you think the princes would hold this death against you?” Gareth said, still incredulous, though his initial anger was waning at the stark fear in John’s face. Gareth believed without a doubt that John was telling the truth.
John gave a jerky nod.
“It never occurred to you that they might want to question you as to the circumstances of his death? That I might have some insight, given my experience with death and your lack of it?”
“I didn’t want to confuse the issue,” John said. “I was seeking Cole; I wasn’t on a quest to inform King Owain of the death. The sheriff had already done that.”
Gareth thought of the letters Gwen had carried from Aber. One had been from King Stephen, but she’d brought others as well. Taran may not have opened a sealed missive from the Sheriff of Shrewsbury. Even with King Owain ill, Rhun might not have read any of the letters yet either.
When Gareth didn’t answer immediately, John added, “You know the man of whom I speak?”
“Of course I know him!” Gareth ran a hand through his hair and found himself pacing among the graves. “He has played the role of emissary for King Owain many times over the years in which I’ve been associated with the court of Gwynedd. Llywelyn was the man’s name, was it not, if we are speaking of the same person?”
John nodded. “Yes. We knew him by that name too.”
“King Owain knew he was missing, you see, because Llywelyn’s servant returned to Aber without him.”
Gareth didn’t question why Llywelyn had passed through Shrewsbury on his way home: it was one of the few cities in the whole of western England that still held for King Stephen. Gloucester, the seat of Earl Robert, Empress Maud’s brother and right hand, was located twenty miles to the south. From there, the earl’s power stretched far into the Welsh borderlands and adjacent counties.
Two years ago Gareth had saved the life of Maud’s son, Henry, and relations between King Owain and the Empress remained cordial. Robert himself, however, had been ill on and off this past year. King Owain intended to maintain good relations with both sides against the day one of them finally achieved victory over the other.
“What were the circumstances of his death?” Gareth said.
John gave a helpless shrug. “He’d dined with the sheriff in the evening, but because he was staying at the monastery instead of the castle, he bid goodbye to the sheriff as the hour neared midnight and departed. The weather was fine that day, one of the few sunny days we had this autumn, and he told the guards he wanted to walk unescorted. His servant wasn’t with him.
“One of the city boys found him dead beside the Severn River the next morning. Unlike here, the killer had made no attempt to bury the body—and we found no clues or evidence as to who had killed him or why.”
“Why should have been obvious,” Gareth said. “He was an emissary from King Owain to Stephen.”
John grunted an acknowledgement of what that meant: Llywelyn had been on his way home from his meeting with King Stephen. Whoever killed him didn’t want word of an agreement he’d reached on King Owain’s behalf to reach Gwynedd.
Gareth could well believe, given Llywelyn’s intelligence and long experience, that he’d realized he might be a target, and that was why he’d sent his servant to bring the letter home in his stead. Gareth could even believe that Llywelyn had stayed in Shrewsbury, dining with the sheriff and walking home without an attendant, to mislead his attacker, or even to draw him out. Unfortunately, he hadn’t survived the encounter.
It might be, however, that the killer didn’t know the letter had arrived safely at Aber—and then been delivered into Hywel’s own hand by Gwen.
“When did Cole come into this?” Gareth said.
“He didn’t. Cole was caught on the road to London, standing over a man he’d struck down for his gold,” John said.
“But the man didn’t have a slit throat?” Gareth said.
“No,” John said. “In fact, he lived, though he retained no memory of the chain of events that led up to the robbery. Cole claimed to have come upon the merchant lying in the road and tried to help him. He was arrested on the spot, but the arresting officer was young and inexperienced, and Cole caught him unawares and escaped before he could be brought to the castle.”
Gareth finally understood what was going on, and why John had such mixed emotions about all of this. “You.”
John bent his head. “Me.”
“You were lucky Cole didn’t slice your throat,” Gareth said. “There was nothing to stop him.”
“I wasn’t worth it,” John said. “It may even be that he was telling the truth. He could have happened upon the merchant lying in the road moments before I reached the same spot. Bad luck for him.”
“The fact that Cole ran suggests guilt, however.” Gareth tapped a finger to his lips as he thought. “A month ago, Cole is captured robbing a merchant but escapes. Two weeks ago, he murders Llywelyn. He moved up the ladder of crime rather quickly.”
“Unless he’d murdered before somewhere else,” John said, “and only came to Shrewsbury when it wasn’t safe for him in that other place.”
Cole’s initial arrest and Llywelyn’s death had come after Gareth had lost his belongings in the river. Suddenly, Gareth felt like he was a hair’s-breadth away from a real discovery, as if he needed only one more piece of the puzzle and all would be made clear. But while he was so close to understanding he could taste it, he didn’t have that piece yet.
By the time of Cole’s arrest and Llywelyn’s death, the villain behind this plot had already collected Gareth’s gear from the river. Had he known of Cole’s existence and in a single lightning strike of inspiration seen a chance to implement his evil plan?
“Any idea what Cole might have been doing since then? Did you learn of any more murdered men on your way north?”
“No,” John said.
“Or how Adeline and Cole were connected, beyond their resemblance to Gwen and me?”
John’s mouth turned down. “No. It does seem that it is in their appearance that your answers must lie. It seems unlikely that Cole himself would have had reason to murder Llywelyn, for example, or to impersonate you, unless he was working for someone else. You truly have never seen him before?”
“No.”
John plucked at his lower lip, much calmer now that he knew Gareth wasn’t going to strangle him. “I imagine that wouldn’t be something you’d forget.”
Gareth sighed. “Now that we know Cole and Adeline were from Shrewsbury, and it is in Shrewsbury that Llywelyn died, it may be that I must travel there to discover the truth.”
“I’m sorry for your difficulties,” John said. “I can’t express to you how much we’d hoped she’d merely run off with another man.”
“She did run off with another man,” Gareth said, as gently as he could. “Cole.”
“Do you think so?” John said.
Gareth felt himself taken aback that John might question such an obvious point. “Who else?”
“Perhaps the one she ran off with was the man who killed Cole,” John said. “Didn’t you suggest that he bore a sword and had the skill to use it? I find it much more likely that Adeline would leave Shrewsbury with him rather than with a brigand such as Cole, even if he was charming, a fact to which I cannot attest one way or another. She’d had her eye on a man-at-arms. How easy would it have been to transfer her affections to another man who bore a sword?”
Like a nobleman. Gareth thought the words but didn’t say them. John needn’t be privy to all that Gareth knew. The undersheriff had grasped the essence of the investigation quickly, but once again, Gareth was irritated with himself for how little actual investigative work he’d accomplished so far. It was in the footwork that murderers were caught—speaking to witnesses, canvassing neighbors—not in speculation and supposition, even if that speculation was based on observation.
He couldn’t catch the murderer by guessing his name. He needed proof enough to convict the man before the king. The coins in his purse and the length of rope in his pack weren’t enough to do it. He needed witnesses who could identify him.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know of anyone who’d been to Shrewsbury in the last month, or even the last six months. He supposed that some of the visitors to the festival at Aberystwyth at the end of the summer could have come from there, but he hadn’t met any personally.
“Where do we go from here?” John said.
Gareth studied the young man. “I am more grateful than I can say that you undertook this journey, but you need to be on your way.” He stuck out his arm to the young undersheriff.
“What are you talking about?” John shook Gareth’s arm on instinct, but his expression was one of dismay.
“Cole and Adeline are dead. Your work is done.” Gareth released John’s arm, bowed to Father Alun, who lifted a hand in acknowledgement, and urged John towards his horse.
John dug in his heels. “Are you not concerned about bringing their killer to justice?”
“I am very concerned about that,” Gareth said, “but you have a duty to your sheriff that should not wait.”
“We don’t know who killed Cole!”
“Such was not your charge,” Gareth said. “You were to track down Cole and return him to custody in Shrewsbury. Your sheriff gave no consideration to an outcome in which you found him dead by another’s hand. Surely you must see that your only choice is to return to England ahead of this war, which you should have no part in. Besides, the murder occurred in Welsh lands. As my princes so vehemently pointed out, your lord has no writ here.”
John opened his mouth to protest again but then broke off at the faint sound of drums in the distance.
Gareth could tell from the rhythm and tenor that the music was being played by men from Gwynedd, which meant King Owain’s army was coming today as promised. Last Gareth had heard, the plan had been to cross the River Alyn to the east of Cilcain and set up camp on the highest point just west of the village of Gwern-y-waun. With the army approaching Cilcain, they had only a mile and a half to go.
“The princes are coming,” Gareth said, unnecessarily, since the drumming was growing louder. The army had taken the same road from their camp as Gwen and Gareth had with Father Alun, which meant they’d come into Cilcain from the west, instead of by way of Lord Morgan’s fort.
“Will you come with me to Shrewsbury, then?” John said. “It appears that it is in my city that many of your answers may lie.”
Gareth looked east, his heart sinking at the thought of entering England. He’d heard good things about Shrewsbury’s sheriff, but he was English and so not to be trusted. Gareth was sharply reminded of his cordial relations with the castellan at Chester, only to have it come out later that he was a spy and a villain. If he rode with John, it would be John who spoke for him in enemy territory, not the other way around.
And even if Gareth went today, the trail was very cold. He’d followed cold trails before, but they were more difficult than warm ones.
The sound of drumming grew louder, making Gareth’s decision for him. “Please tell your lord that before long I may come to Shrewsbury.”
He held the bridle of John’s horse, essentially giving John no choice but to mount. Gareth wanted him on his way before he was overtaken by King Owain’s men. The young man didn’t seem to realize the true danger he could be in, caught traveling alone between the two opposing armies.
“I wish you were coming now. I feel like I’m abandoning Adeline.”
“I will learn more if I can and send you word of whatever I find,” Gareth said. “For now, my duties lie here just as yours lie elsewhere.”
“Yes, my lord.” John finally gave way. He bent forward and stuck out his hand to Gareth once again. “Good luck.”
Gareth grasped John’s forearm. If his only means of finding out more about the deaths of Adeline and Cole lay in Shrewsbury, Gareth would follow the trail there eventually, but until then, the drums had reminded him that his duty was here.
With one last parting look, John turned his horse’s head and rode away.