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Day Two
Rhys
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To have Catrin speak to him twice about the same bard sent Rhys striding through the encampment, on a quest to find Cadwgan. Bards kept late hours, and even with darkness having fallen, he assumed he would find him awake.
As it turned out, Cadwgan was not only awake, he wasn’t alone, holding court around a fire circle amongst a dozen bards, most of whom were younger and from South Wales. Some of these lands, like Gwent and Morgannwg, had been conquered by the Normans two hundred years ago. It had been generations since bards there had free rein to sing what they liked, which perhaps was the reason Cadwgan, as their de facto leader, had produced such a lovely song. It had fit the king’s (and queen’s) requirements perfectly.
Rhys hesitated on the edge of the firelight, not wanting this first conversation to be public.
Cadwgan saw him and lifted his cup. “It’s the crusader who serves the king.” He poked at the young man sitting next to him, telling him to move. “Have a seat.”
Internally stifling a sigh at the way he’d been introduced, Rhys took the low stool the young man vacated, apparently without resentment. He simply moved around the fire circle in order to sit next to Moriddig’s son, Patrick, on a horizontal log. “It had been my thought to speak to you in private.”
Cadwgan motioned with his cup again. “I have nothing to hide.”
Rhys wanted to sigh again, but instead he chose to call Cadwgan’s bluff, if that’s what it was. “You were overheard having an argument with Moriddig.”
There had been some side conversations going on around the circle, even after Rhys’s arrival, but now they stopped abruptly, like an axe chopping through a thin branch. Cadwgan had said he didn’t care if he had an audience. Well now, for certain, he did.
Cadwgan, however, laughed. “If I was really overheard, as you say, you would know what we argued about and thus know that it—and I—had nothing to do with Moriddig’s death.”
“The listeners had no Welsh.” Rhys respected Cadwgan’s spirited response, but he didn’t back down. “What did you argue about? You were heard to say that someone wouldn’t be getting away with something again.”
Now, Cadwgan scoffed. He had been speaking in Welsh to Rhys, and it did seem that the men around him understood enough to follow the conversation, or they were putting on a good show of it. “I wasn’t actually arguing with Moriddig. I was disturbed by the order of the proceedings, and the fact that he had all but been crowned winner before the contest even started.”
“That is a motive for murder, if I ever heard one.”
Cadwgan seemed to think that was funny too. “You might think so, but killing Moriddig still wouldn’t mean I’d win the chair.”
“Why not? Your voice is incredible, as you well know. You brought the queen to tears today. You might be her favorite so far.”
Cadwgan sat up a little straighter at that, even as he said, “Fat lot of good it did me. My score was lower than it should have been. If it was low today, it will continue to be low. I’ll never catch up, and there is nothing I can do about it, especially now that Moriddig is dead.”
“Especially now?” Rhys looked at him a bit sideways. “I would have thought Moriddig’s death would help your chances. That’s what you were shouting about.”
Another scoff. “No, you have it exactly wrong. Moriddig also thought it was unfair. He was going to speak to Hugh on my behalf.” Cadwgan gestured broadly to encompass the men before him. “On the behalf of all of us. He promised.”
“Did he follow through?”
“Given my score, apparently not.”
Rhys contemplated how much he was willing to share and decided a little more might help Cadwgan trust him. “I can tell you that Hugh noted your low score today and promised to do an accounting.”
“You believed him?” Cadwgan burst out laughing. “Hugh is not known for his honesty.”
Rhys was definitely missing something, or maybe a great deal. “Are you saying it’s Hugh himself putting his finger on the scale?”
Mocking laughter arose from several more men around the fire, telling Rhys what they believed to be the answer before Cadwgan actually replied. “He has always taken bribes. How can you not know that?”
Rhys spread his hands wide. “I am not a bard, and nobody has ever said. Is this scheme with the knowledge and approval of Owen de la Pole? Does the king know?”
The laughter, Cadwgan’s included, stopped abruptly, in a manner similar to earlier. In a more thoughtful tone, he said, “I always assumed the old man, Gruffydd, knew and looked the other way. I’m not sure about his son.” He glanced at Patrick. “If your father were here, what would he say?”
Everyone looked at Patrick, who swallowed hard. “Hugh hasn’t been taking bribes at this festival.”
A general chorus of mockery rose up again from those around him, but Patrick held firm. “Hugh did take bribes in the past. We all know it. But not this time. Some of you think my father won his place by buying it. It isn’t true.” Patrick’s chin stuck out at these last words. “He earned everything he ever achieved. As will I.”
