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Day Two
Catrin
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Catrin awoke alone in their tent, Rhys having departed at some earlier point. She had been startled awake, and now she lay in the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. In the back of her mind, it had been a sound that had awakened her. She looked to her right and saw a man-sized shadow just outside the flap of the door.
Her mouth dry, she called out. “Who’s there?”
No reply came, and then between one heartbeat and the next, the shadow was gone.
Her heart racing, she couldn’t get out of bed and dressed fast enough. Flinging open the flap, she stood in the doorway. The firepit at which they’d sat last night was burning low, indicating Rhys had tended it before he’d left. With Trahaearn gone, the closest tent a dozen yards away belonged to one of the king’s guards, Edgar. His servant, Cedric, came out of the entrance to the tent and smiled at her. He had no Welsh, which had really been a saving grace for Trahaearn yesterday.
“Did you see anyone about just now?” Catrin asked him in English, his native tongue.
Cedric shook his head. “No, my lady, but I have been making the bed these last moments. My apologies. Is something wrong?” He took a few steps towards her.
She put up a hand. “No, nothing. All is well.”
All was very much not well. Instead of dismissing the idea that someone had been outside her tent, Catrin accepted the possibility that the murderer had come for her or for evidence they were keeping in their possession. If true, that was bad. But what had her hurrying across the encampment was a sudden fear she wasn’t his only target. Someone had murdered Moriddig yesterday and implicated Gruffydd. With the latter effort having failed, Gruffydd could be in danger too. She was ashamed the thought hadn’t occurred to her earlier.
Catrin found Rhiannon tending a pot simmering on the fire. She was a small woman, hardly five feet tall, slim at the waist with a long rope of dark hair and one incredible streak of gray starting at the temple. “Is Gruffydd here?”
“He is warming up with Rory.” Rhiannon smiled in greeting.
Catrin subsided a little. At least he wasn’t alone.
“Would you like a warm cup this morning?”
“Thank you. I would love one.” Catrin waited as Rhiannon poured her out a measure and then sipped tentatively. The taste was calming and encouraged her to catch her breath after her headlong rush out of her tent. “May I ask what’s in it?”
Rhiannon waved a hand. “Mint leaves mostly, with a few other herbs to soothe the throat. And a touch of honey. It’s Gruffydd’s favorite, and this week I’ll have it always available for him.”
“Is that a way of telling me your husband is somewhat demanding?” Catrin took another sip. She agreed with Gruffydd that it soothed her throat. Maybe, if her conversation with Rhiannon went well, Catrin could ask for the full recipe.
Rhiannon laughed. “Not at all, except, of course, when he is.”
Catrin laughed too, because she knew exactly what Rhiannon meant. “Is this also true of his work?”
“I know what you’re asking. Gruffydd told me everything that happened yesterday, so do not feel the need to tread lightly.” Looking around cautiously, Rhiannon added in an undertone. “You saw his song.”
“Yes. I await the day he plays it for others to hear.”
“You lied for him.”
“We did.”
Rhiannon bit her lip. “Even to the king?”
Catrin nodded. “Especially to the king.”
“Gruffydd told me but I hardly dared believe it. I fear every moment for his life. I won’t let him go anywhere alone.”
It was the opening for which Catrin had been waiting. “I came here with that very thought and not just because of his song. Whoever put that poem in Moriddig’s mouth meant to implicate him, if not for murder then for treason. He might be coming after Gruffydd next.”
“The idea occurred to me as well, but I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Did you speak to Gruffydd about your fears?”
“I tried.” Rhiannon let out something of a wry laugh. “He promised not to wander off by himself.”
Catrin was liking Rhiannon more and more. The woman had a level head on her shoulders. It was becoming obvious, between Moriddig, Gruffydd, and the thousand other bards here, that being married to a bard wasn’t easy. She and Gruffydd had made it work for many years.
Now Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Not that I can trust him. How do you think the killer found the poem? Gruffydd might leave his head on the floor if it wasn’t attached to his body.” Then she put her hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t say such things. It’s too close to the truth we fear.”
“I should ask Rhys if someone can keep an eye on him.”
“One of the king’s men? We wouldn’t thank you for that.”
Rhiannon’s instant denial had Catrin looking at her anew. “Who are you, besides Gruffydd’s wife?”
“Don’t you know? Hasn’t that been gossiped about enough already?”
Catrin set down her cup. “My apologies for bringing up what is obviously a sore subject, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rhiannon gave a little scoff. “You’ve been gone a while, so I suppose you weren’t here when Gruffydd and I married. You’re going to think it has something to do with Moriddig’s murder. I really don’t think it does. But you’ll find out anyway the moment you start asking questions.” The smile was back, with even more wryness than before. “I am an unacknowledged daughter of Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn. Owen de la Pole is my half-brother.”
Catrin didn’t bother to hide her astonishment. “Owen knows who you are?”
“He knows.” The corner of Rhiannon’s mouth quirked. “My father has always wanted the favor of the Normans, and he taught Owen to seek the same. Maintaining a semblance of propriety was more important than having yet another daughter. Really, from what I understand, his wife was furious to discover my existence, less because he strayed from her bed than because my mother was a nobody. He had sullied himself with a common girl. I still could have provided a means of alliance for him to a lord in Wales, since Normans don’t want to marry illegitimate daughters, even when sired by the Baron de la Pole.” She said her father’s title with a snooty French accent.
Catrin tipped her head. “You’re saying everyone knows who you are. Except for me, I suppose.”
Rhiannon gave a genuine laugh. “There are no secrets in Wales. You know that.”
“I’m sorry for prying.”
“Don’t be. My mother’s family took us in. I was a nobleman’s daughter raised far from the halls of power. I think that’s one reason Gruffydd found me so interesting, since he, like you, was raised within them.”
Rhiannon could have been resentful of her fate, but Catrin recognized that she was just speaking the truth as she saw it. She certainly wasn’t wrong. Catrin’s family had been stewards to the rulers of Gwynedd since the time of Llywelyn’s grandfather. Rhiannon had married into another family so honored, since Gruffydd’s father had served Llywelyn as a magistrate. It had been his job to travel throughout Gwynedd, hearing cases and complaints when Llywelyn couldn’t go himself.
“May I ask one more thing about this?”
“Surely.”
“When was the last time you spoke to your brother?”
“A few days ago. We are cordial. At first he was afraid that I would want something from him, but since I don’t, he will greet me on the rare occasions we encounter one another.”
“Like this week.”
For the first time, Rhiannon didn’t answer easily, though she did say, very carefully, “Yes.”
If Rhiannon’s intent was to gain Catrin’s attention, she had it. “Was there something untoward about your conversation?”
“Not that he shared with me, but I could tell he was worried about something. We are not close enough for me to press him.”
“When exactly was this?”
“I’m almost afraid to say,” Rhiannon wet her lower lip, “but it was the night before Moriddig died.”
