“Psst! Gwen!”
Gwen looked up to see her husband silhouetted in the doorway of King Owain’s tent.
Gwen glanced first at the king, who was huddled before his brazier on a stool, wrapped in a blanket and sipping broth in a cup he was holding without assistance, which in and of itself was a huge triumph. He remained weak and shivery, but the fever had broken, and he claimed to be hungry. She rose to her feet and went to the doorway.
“I need you to come with me,” Gareth said.
“I can’t leave—”
“We’re just here.” Gareth indicated the fire closest to the king’s tent, all of ten yards away. “You’ll be able to respond immediately if he calls out to you.”
“Go on, Gwen.” Tudur ducked under Gareth’s arm and entered the tent. “I can care for him a while.”
“Did you sleep?” she said.
“Enough.”
Gwen didn’t believe Tudur, but she let Gareth lead her to the fire circle, where the companions waited for her. She pulled up short to see Cynan and Madoc among the listeners too. Before yesterday when they’d talked in the monastery warming room, they had never been part of the circle of confidants she’d known Hywel and Rhun to have, but it seemed they were in the thick of it now.
She liked them fine, as far as liking a pair of Welsh princes was something one even did, but she didn’t know yet about trusting them. Hywel and Rhun clearly did, however, and that was apparently going to have to be good enough for her.
King Owain’s tent was set back from any others but Rhun’s and Hywel’s, so they were far enough from the other soldiers in the camp that they couldn’t be overheard. She glanced towards Hywel’s tent, shadowed underneath some nearby trees. They could have met in there, except the walls gave the illusion of privacy without actually providing it. Gwen agreed that this was better.
Gareth held Gwen’s hand to steady her as she stepped over the fallen log currently being used as a bench seat, and then he sat down beside her. The air was colder than before the sun had gone down—colder than in King Owain’s tent where a brazier burned next to his bed. Happy for the warmth, she put her hands out to the fire. Her gloves were back in the king’s tent.
It was Hywel who spoke first. “Gareth has new information that effectively brings his investigation into the deaths of the false Gareth and Gwen to a conclusion. While I might want more solid evidence than we have, I can’t wait on it. We must act. I have called you here because what Gareth has discovered is so volatile that whatever we do from here on out must take place with one mind, one goal.”
The prince then nodded at Gareth, who launched into a narration of his conversation with Pawl and Morein. As he talked, Gwen felt herself shivering, and no amount of heat from the fire was going to warm her. Cadwaladr. Gwen hated even to hear his name.
Gareth concluded with the information that Morein and Pawl were being held inside Hywel’s tent, which explained further why they hadn’t met in there. The knee of her husband’s breeches also had a tear, which hadn’t been there when she’d seen him earlier, indicating there had to be even more to this story than he’d told them. She could feel the looks being shot at them by the soldiers sitting at nearby fire pits. A number of them had been present when Gareth had gone to the village. They knew something was happening. They just didn’t know what.
Gwen had no idea what Hywel and Rhun were going to tell them. How does one say to one’s men that Prince Cadwaladr had betrayed them all again with the very man against whom they were supposed to be fighting?
Rhun tipped back his head and expelled an audible breath. “That’s why Cadwaladr wanted Cole and Adeline with him—as proof that Hywel and I supported Cadwaladr?”
Hywel glanced at Gwen and Gareth. They had feared from the very beginning the role someone had wanted Cole to play. But this was so audacious a plan that it wasn’t any wonder Rhun could hardly believe it.
“Yes, my lord,” Gareth said. “If Ranulf could be convinced that the two of you had switched sides and supported Cadwaladr against your father, then not only would Ranulf be more likely to throw in his lot with Cadwaladr, but the odds of his plan actually working would go way up. Cadwaladr’s problem was that he needed me to convince his own men too. They needed reassurances that they could betray the king and get away with it. But that was a secret too great to keep.”
“You are incorruptible,” Hywel said, “which is why Ranulf took your presence as testimony that working with Cadwaladr might gain him Gwynedd.” He glanced around at the others. “That’s what our uncle wants, isn’t it? Our father’s throne.”
Cynan grunted his assent. “Ranulf tried to work with Cadwaladr before. The plot failed because it was uncovered—by you, Gareth, I might add. Only a powerful incentive could have encouraged him to work with Cadwaladr again, and I can see how the sight of Cole acting as you might have been just what Ranulf needed.”
“And then Cadwaladr killed Cole.” Gareth drew out a bag and spilled the coins stored inside into his hand so everyone could see them. The gold and silver glinted in the firelight. “Or had him killed.”
“Judas required thirty pieces of silver to betray Christ,” Gwen said.
“There’s eleven here,” Gareth said. “Given that they were discarded on the ground, it seems Cole believed himself underpaid.”
“How did Cadwaladr even know about Adeline’s and Cole’s existence?” Madoc said.
Hywel clutched his knees with his hands, staring into the fire. “Unless my uncle confesses, we may never know, and though I don’t like guessing, in this case I will: his wife’s family has lands in Shropshire. He’s been to Shrewsbury many times. He could have seen the woman six months ago … a year … two years, and then a chance meeting with Cole, who was already something of a brigand, put the idea of impersonating Gareth into his head.”
“He did look very much like Gareth,” Gwen said.
“When Gareth’s belongings fell into the river, the plot was born,” Hywel concluded.
Rhun made a chopping motion with his hand. “It doesn’t matter how, only that he did it. It’s an easy forty miles to Shrewsbury from here. A few days’ journey, a few pieces of silver as down payment, and he has his false Gareth and Gwen.”
“Don’t forget the death of Llywelyn. Cole could have killed him on Cadwaladr’s orders,” Gwen said, and then at the men’s surprised looks, she added, “What? He killed him for someone, didn’t he? Cadwaladr wouldn’t want King Stephen’s message to reach King Owain. It makes sense if it was he.”
“Or perhaps it was for Ranulf, who would have objected equally to an alliance between King Stephen and Gwynedd,” Hywel said.
Rhun stood abruptly. “We must take it as a given that everything we’ve planned for the upcoming campaign has reached Ranulf’s ears through our uncle. Ranulf knows we’re coming. He knows when. He knows how many men we have. Everything.”
Hywel looked sharply at his brother. “Where is that letter from King Stephen?”
Rhun gaped at Hywel through several heartbeats and then said, “It’s addressed to Father. I didn’t open it.”
“Maybe we should,” Hywel said.
“I’ll get it.” Rhun disappeared inside his tent, which was to the left of King Owain’s, and returned immediately. Once back at the fire, he sat with the missive on his lap for a moment, and then with a swift slice of his belt knife, broke the seal. As he unfolded it, complete silence fell on the companions.
Rhun read, his eyes flicking quickly across the page. “It says he is prepared to launch a joint attack on Chester and asks father to send a representative to meet with him to discuss the action as soon as it’s convenient.” He handed the letter to Hywel. “We already know from Father Alun that Ranulf is facing an assault by the king’s forces on his eastern flank.”
“King Stephen may have given up waiting for a response,” Gwen said. “He’s never been a patient man.”
“An alliance among his enemies is exactly what Ranulf would have wanted to avoid if he’s working with Cadwaladr,” Gareth said. “King Owain’s sons would have wanted that letter to disappear too, were you really working with your uncle and Ranulf.”
“I will send a man to Stephen immediately with our acceptance of the alliance. Mold should have been as good as ours, but with Cadwaladr feeding information to Ranulf, we have to wonder what traps he may have laid for us.” Rhun gazed around at the others. “Our uncle has gone too far this time. I see now that there is nothing he won’t do and no desire he won’t put ahead of his family.”
For her part, Gwen had come to that conclusion a long time ago, though it was a relief to hear someone else say it. She hated Cadwaladr, and hated herself for hating him because it ate her up inside. If it wasn’t only she who felt this way—or how Gareth, Hywel, and she felt—it made it easier to let the emotion go.
“I admit the lengths to which he has gone are astounding.” Godfrid stretched his legs out towards the fire and crossed his ankles. He was the only one among them who appeared relaxed.
Cynan was shaking his head. “I know what my uncle has done in the past, but even knowing that the plot is real, it seems far too elaborate and complicated to ever work.”
That was too much for Gwen. “You don’t know him like I do. Cadwaladr would never simply murder a woman and bury her in the woods. He would think it clever to hide the body in someone else’s grave. He wouldn’t simply conspire with the Earl of Chester. It’s totally in character for Cadwaladr to create copies of Gareth and me in order to convince Ranulf that Rhun and Hywel had betrayed their own father.”
Gareth nodded. “Elaborate plans and overthinking are exactly like him.”
Rhun laughed mockingly. “Without the discovery of the bodies, Gareth might have dismissed the words of Morein and Pawl as drunken ramblings.”
“We have to end this, Rhun.” Hywel had finished reading the letter from King Stephen. “Our uncle can’t be allowed to go free this time.”
“We have to kill him, you mean,” Rhun said.
Gwen swallowed down a gasp, less that the words had been spoken out loud, but that it had been Rhun to say them. Cynan and Madoc didn’t look shocked at all, however, and Godfrid merely stroked his beard in a contemplative way.
“We can’t just do it,” Hywel said, “not without at least speaking to Father.”
“We can’t talk to him about this tonight, though,” Rhun said. He and Hywel kept their eyes focused on each other. “He isn’t well enough to hear it. They’re still brothers.”
“If Father is too ill to see justice done, that it must be we who do it,” Cynan said.
We. All of the men in the group relaxed a little. Yes. We’re in this together, the younger princes were saying. We’re brothers too.
Hywel turned to the others, having concluded whatever silent communication he’d been having with Rhun. “We have to bring Cadwaladr in. He can’t be allowed to roam free.”
“We don’t have real proof yet,” Gwen said, remembering all those times King Owain refused to believe the worst of his brother, even when it was true.
“We have the word of two of his men, and the innkeeper in the village should recognize him,” Hywel said. “It’s true that if confronted, Cadwaladr could come up with any number of lies that would explain what he was doing in Shrewsbury recently or why he met with Ranulf. He might not even have killed either Adeline or Cole himself, further confusing the issue.”
Rhun took in a breath. “We have enough proof for me. More importantly, we have leverage we can use against Ranulf that could bring us Mold Castle without a fight.”
“We do?” Cynan said.
Rhun looked at his younger brother. “We have the letter from Stephen. We have proof in Gareth’s own person that Hywel and I have not betrayed our father. Ranulf thinks that we have allied with Cadwaladr and are about to rise up to overthrow Father before Mold falls. We have not, of course. Cadwaladr lied to him. If we told Ranulf that we have uncovered Cadwaladr’s plot and that the men he has given Cadwaladr are walking into a bloody fight, he might see better of this alliance.”
“He will cut his losses,” Hywel said. “Ranulf, like Cadwaladr, is only concerned about himself and his power. Losing a company of men will not aid him in that regard.”
Godfrid lifted a hand. “Perhaps I can help—”
Just then, Tudur came out of the king’s tent and approached the fire. He bowed to the four Welsh princes and said, “Your father requests your presence.”
The brothers looked at each other with consternation, but then as one they rose to their feet. Hywel still had the letter from King Stephen in his hand. Godfrid, Gwen, and Gareth stayed seated, but Tudur gestured to them as well. “He wants all of you to come.”
“He knows something’s going on,” Gareth said to Gwen and Godfrid in an undertone.
“He always knows,” Hywel said grimly, having overheard. “I’ve been trying to lie to him and failing my entire life.” They all followed Rhun toward King Owain’s tent.
Godfrid put his hand on Hywel’s shoulder. “Better if I don’t come with you.”
Hywel stopped in the doorway, half in and half out of the tent. “You said you had an idea?”
Godfrid made a dismissive motion with his head. “I will tell you later. It might no longer be appropriate, depending on what your father says.”
Thus, only the four princes, Gareth, and Gwen filed into King Owain’s tent. It was more of a pavilion, at least thirty feet on a side with a grass floor. A hole in the roof allowed the smoke from the fire burning in the brazier, a portable iron grate, to escape the tent. King Owain’s bed had been placed right next to the fire, along with the stool upon which he’d been sitting when Gwen had been in here earlier.
As soon as she entered, Gwen went straight to the king to feel his forehead. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief at how cool he felt. Whether or not he’d been poisoned, he was on the mend.
King Owain reached up to remove her hand from his head, though he squeezed it once before letting go. “Help me to sit up.”
“Father—” Rhun started forward.
King Owain actually waved his son closer instead of refusing his help. “I am much better, but I need this pillow behind my back.” Between Rhun and Gwen, they maneuvered King Owain into a more upright position, propped against several pillows. “I want to hear what has you all so concerned. Gwen tried to tell me about the investigation yesterday, but I was incapable of hearing it.”
There was a moment’s pause as the companions looked at one another, nobody wanting to be the one to speak first. Then Hywel took in a breath, taking it upon himself to begin. He raised his hand to show his father the letter from King Stephen—
—but then without warning, King Owain leaned over the side of the bed and vomited up the broth he’d so confidently drunk. A chamber pot had been placed in that spot for just such an occasion. Gwen moved it closer, holding it in both hands, her head bent towards the king.
Tudur hastened to take the basin from her, his brow wrinkling in concern. “Really, Gwen, he’s been so much better.”
“I know,” Gwen said. “This is the first time he’s vomited since we reached the camp.”
The king sighed and flopped back against his pillows, sweat on his forehead and his face ashen. Gwen allowed Tudur to take her place and backed away, motioning with her hands to shoo the others out the door. They went, but Rhun hesitated, and then stepped to his father’s side to put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll talk later, Father. It isn’t important for you to hear this now. Rest.”
King Owain flapped a hand weakly in his son’s direction but didn’t speak. He turned on his side to curl up around his belly, a position in which he’d lain almost exclusively for the last two days.
“I’ll get more broth,” Gwen said, resigning herself to another night of spooning liquid into the king’s mouth.
Once outside again, Rhun set off determinedly after his brothers in the direction of the fire where the Danes had established themselves on the north side of the camp, adjacent to the kitchen area, which Gwen suspected wasn’t a coincidence. Gwen followed, since she was going that way anyway.
Gareth, Hywel, and the others reached Godfrid first, and by the time Rhun and Gwen arrived, his face had turned grave. “You had no chance to tell the king anything?”
“Nothing,” Rhun said. “He didn’t even hold King Stephen’s letter. We need to hear your idea.”
“Hmmm.” Godfrid looked towards the campfire where his men were clustered. Most weren’t actually sitting, and their stances implied tense anticipation. “The more I consider it, the worse my idea becomes, but it might be the only option available to us.”
“Tell us,” Hywel said.
Godfrid shrugged. “I had a thought that some of us might take a little trip.”