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Day Two
Catrin
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Catrin had known that sensing a stranger near her tent was going to concern her husband. For once, she shared Rhys’s opinion that she needed an escort. In fact, she thought every one of them needed an escort and said so.
Her intent had been to enlist her brother for that duty, if he was willing. But when she finally tracked down Rhys to tell him her concerns, he was talking to Miles de Bohun. Somehow, one thing led to another, and it was now Miles himself who was escorting her around the festival grounds. They ended up near the main viewing stand, a few feet from where Math was standing guard.
At his own request, he was back on regular duty, guarding the king. Since they remained completely in the dark as to the identity of the murderer, it was Math’s thought that one of them needed to keep an eye on proceedings in the king’s court. It also kept Math in his fellow guards’ good graces. Rhys was universally acknowledged to be special. As the newest member of the king’s guard, Math was still the lowest man in the hierarchy.
On the whole, she wasn’t unhappy with the choice of company. As one of the Windsor conspirators, she trusted Miles with the investigation, maybe even more than her own brother. She did hope, however, that she wouldn’t trip herself up with all the secrets she was keeping.
“So how does the scoring work?” Miles had been full of questions, which she thought were sincere but which he might be employing as a way to distract her from her worries.
“It’s similar to a joust,” she said, putting the festival in terms she thought Miles would understand, “except with songs instead of blows. That’s what the judges are for. Contestants get points for every event. Over the course of the festival, the bard who accumulates the most points wins.”
Math spoke from a few feet away. “One might wonder, then, why Cadwgan is getting such low scores?”
“Who?” Miles turned to him.
Catrin intervened. “Miles, this is Math, of whom we have spoken. Math, this is Miles de Bohun.”
Math bent his head. “My lord.”
“I know who you are.” Miles waved a hand. “Enough of that. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Though quite different in age and upbringing, they both had been born men of rank. Even if Math was Welsh, Miles appeared happy to recognize a fellow friend of Rhys.
“That last bard.” Math made a motion with his head to indicate the man who’d just left the stage.
Math was right that Cadwgan had given an incredible performance, singing a long ballad about the sea in French, to uproarious applause from all parts, even the king and queen. The royal couple hadn’t attended every session, but they’d been sitting together for the last hour to watch this event.
Miles nodded. “He was very accomplished. Even I, with no music in my blood, could tell that. Why do you say his scores are low?”
“Because they are,” Math said, and then added what seemed at first to be a non sequitur. “Have you been watching the bards’ faces when they arrive to perform?”
As each bard had taken the center position, he would bow first to the king and then to the judges, and then he’d settle himself to face the crowd for his performance. Because of the way Catrin and Miles had positioned themselves, they had been able to see the face of every contestant when he crossed the stage.
Miles did his best to answer. “Some look nervous; others tense; others grim; a few determined.”
“And some are almost knowing, as if amused by the proceedings,” Math said. “Sometimes these looks continue after their performances, regardless of how well they did.”
Catrin tipped her head. “Cadwgan was one of the contestants who looked particularly grim before he started.”
“And he looks grim now,” Math said. “I think it’s because he knew what his score was going to be before he started singing.”
Catrin looked towards the judges. They had their heads together at their table. Hugh stood off to one side, writing in his ledger.
Miles pursed his lips. “Is it in your mind that something untoward is going on? Are you wondering how fair this competition actually is?”
“It’s possible Moriddig’s murder was about eliminating competition,” Math said. “If someone is willing to murder to win, what else might he be willing to do?”
“Cheat.” Miles said.
Math made a motion with his head. “Why not?”
King Edward was just rising from his chair, his hand out to the queen. The session was adjourning for a mid-afternoon meal. The judges began rising from their table too, moving towards Hugh who had signaled that they should gather around him. Math bowed briefly to Miles again and, with a smile at Catrin, followed the king and queen, as was required.
Miles gave Catrin a nudge. “Go talk to Hugh. You’re Welsh. He’ll object less to you looking over his shoulder than to me.”
Catrin wasn’t entirely sure that was true. He might not like her inquiring about the judging. She didn’t even know how each of the judges had been chosen. Up until Miles and Math had started talking, she hadn’t cared. She had overheard some of them speaking French amongst themselves. That meant they were less likely to be from the heart of Gwynedd. No surprise there.
She did as Miles bid her anyway, gliding up behind the judges and listening to the tail end of Hugh’s speech, which, tellingly, was in French. It was about not discussing the results until they were finalized in order to maintain their integrity, after which he dismissed them until the evening program.
When a moment later he spied Catrin, his face fell. “My dear, I have been meaning to find you. I am so sorry to have involved you in such horrible circumstances yesterday. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course, I can. It wasn’t your fault. I am so sorry for the loss of your friend.”
Hugh shook his head. “Awful. Just awful.”
Catrin already knew Hugh could not be the killer, since he’d been in full view of hundreds during the time of the murder. Now, she did a quick canter around her conscience and lied. “It has been suggested that I take a look at the current standings.”
Hugh’s lips formed a shape that might have been about to ask who suggested you do this? but then thought better of his question and simply gestured her closer. He didn’t give her the book, but he did allow her to read down the lists of contestants, the categories in which they were being evaluated, and their current score. With a thousand bards present, the names took up many pages. In addition, only half the bards had participated today, and Gruffydd had not been among them. Cadwgan’s position in the rankings was easy to spot. His total put him in the top ten, but not the top five.
Catrin silently agreed with Math that this was odd.
“Is everything satisfactory?” Hugh’s tone was a bit tremulous. “Please assure the queen that I am doing my best.”
“Doing your best to do what?” She tried to keep her tone level and unsurprised.
“Keep the contest fair, of course.” Hugh’s voice steadied. “She was very concerned that no hint of favoritism mar the festival.”
Catrin decided to take the bull by the horns. “Cadwgan’s score is very low for him. Is that the opposite of favoritism? I wouldn’t be the only one thinking he was the best of this last set.”
“He was, wasn’t he?” Hugh frowned as he turned the book more towards himself. “That is odd. His score should be higher. I’ll have to go back through each of the judge’s score sheets to make sure the accounting is correct.” He let out a disgusted sigh. “Must I do everything?”
“The queen was concerned about favoritism.” Catrin repeated Hugh’s own words as if the queen had said them to her as well. “How easy would it be for a contestant to bribe one or more of the judges?”
Hugh’s mouth worked, making Catrin think his instinct was to deny the possibility. But then he said, “Easy enough. However, I specifically invited only the most reputable men. I am confident in the integrity of the judging at this festival.” His jaw tightened. “Besides, we let it be known that the punishment for taking a bribe would be worse than for a bard who sings a forbidden song.”
“Worse than losing a tongue?”
“Oh yes. The queen was very clear. This is her land and her festival. A judge found tampering with the rankings will be hanged by the neck until dead.”
