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Day Three
Simon
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“Are you implying that Hugh’s death has anything to do with me?” Owen surged to his feet, almost spilling his cup of wine as he did so. He contained his ire long enough to lick the slop from his finger and then drained the cup in a single breath.
That seemed to settle him enough that he was able to hear Simon’s reply. “Two of your men are dead, my lord. Not only that, they were both murdered. Questions are going to be asked, and not just by us.”
“So now you think I killed them?” His outrage was palpable—and understandable, if he didn’t do it.
Still, even through the glaring, Simon sensed an odor of duty about him, as if Owen was outraged because that’s how he thought he was supposed to feel. For the first time, Simon wondered how much of Owen’s sycophancy and pomposity was because he had observed such behavior in other men in the king’s service, and he was mimicking them, not because he believed in it fully himself.
Not that this was relevant in the moment, so Simon felt safe answering, “No, my lord. Nobody is wondering if you killed them.”
“Really? Because it looks to me as if that’s the first thing on your mind. I told you where I was when Morrydig died, and I have been either within the castle or with the king today. There must be a hundred witnesses who can testify to that fact. I didn’t kill my steward!” Then he snorted. “I feel almost insulted that you would think I would be foolish enough to murder Hugh or Morrydig so publicly. I can assure you there are better ways, ones that would not prompt an investigation.”
As Simon had already thought of that, he didn’t argue. “As I said, you are not under any suspicion. But we must still address the fees we have learned were being paid to Hugh.”
“This is what you were talking about earlier—Hugh accepting payments from contestants at this music festival?”
“Yes.”
“I still don’t believe it.”
“We have—”
“How many of your witnesses paid him this week? None, didn’t you say?”
Simon was forced to concede the point. “That’s right. None would admit to it or knew who might have done so. None could say for whom the festival is rigged, particularly now that Morrydig is dead. Nonetheless, they believe absolutely that it is.”
“I can’t help what they believe. Nor could Hugh.” Owen shook his head. “And now he is dead, and you think this is the reason.”
“Let’s just say it’s a question we are asking. Even if mere rumor, we must look into it.”
“Everyone will assume I’m involved.” Owen made a broad gesture with both hands. “You know how hard it is to find men you can trust. I trusted Hugh. Why wouldn’t I, given his long service to my father?”
“No reason.” It was a rhetorical question, but Simon answered anyway.
“The king knows this too.” Now it sounded as if Owen was trying to convince himself. “He has the same problem, which is why he surrounds himself with crusaders, including you and Reese. My loyalty to the king is absolute, as is yours, as was Reese’s to Lewelen. He would have died for him. From what I hear, he thought he had. The king employs him because he knows Reese is capable of holding his ground to the bitter end. It is a rare quality in men.”
All of a sudden, Simon was glad Rhys wasn’t here. This was a conversation Owen might not have been able to have with the Welshman. His point was also well taken. Rhys had been willing to die for his lord. Simon knew for a fact that at times he’d wished he had. Simon also hadn’t ever thought about the king’s willingness to employ Rhys as resulting directly from what happened at Cilmeri rather than in spite of it.
Owen was back to thinking about himself. “Hugh’s loyalty to me was of that quality. I would swear to it. If he was accepting payments from contestants, I did not know about it. If he was selling my secrets, I didn’t know about that either. Does that make me a fool? Many will think so, but I submit that greater men than I have been betrayed by those they thought loyal.”
Owen had that right too, but to say so didn’t entirely let him off the hook. “But you are personally having money issues, are you not? Your wife was overheard arguing with Adam about the last payment to Morrydig. We understand you have declined to fulfill his contract.”
“The man is dead. Of course I wasn’t going to pay him.” Owen let out a sound of disgust. “I regret that now, since Joan has gone to ask him for help. We’ll have to make amends.”
“Even for the work Morrydig did that went unpaid?”
“Yes. Yes. It’s all different now with Hugh dead.” Owen flung himself into his chair. “With bards, no contract is ever signed. They know they can be dismissed without prejudice at any time. It’s a lord’s prerogative. I had, in fact, dismissed Morrydig the day before his death. That’s the reason I wasn’t going to pay him once he was dead.”
Trying to keep his eyes from crossing in confusion, Simon put up a hand. “My lord, did you just say you had dismissed Morrydig?”
“I did say that, and yes, I had dismissed him.” Owen was projecting defiance, his arms folded across his chest. “It was time for a change, and what better opportunity to find a new bard for my household than this festival?”
“Did anyone else know of this?”
“I didn’t shout it from the rooftops, if that’s what you mean. My wife knew. Adam knew because he was there when I gave Morrydig the news. I did say they could keep their quarters until after the festival. I wasn’t angry with him, and I understand it’s easier to find a new patron when you still have your old one.”
“Do you know if he’d found a patron?” Simon asked as mildly as he could muster. Rhys had told him about the Bohun offer of employment to Moriddig, but this was a new twist on the whole issue. Owen also had conveyed none of this two days ago when he’d been asked about his bard.
“I have no idea. I didn’t inquire. In case you were wondering, that’s the reason Morrydig was sleeping in his wagon.” Owen shivered. “In that sense, perhaps it is my fault he’s dead.”
“Did Morrydig’s son, Patrick, know?”
“I did not tell him.”
“What were your plans for the boy with Morrydig gone?”
“I hadn’t decided.”
Simon genuinely didn’t know what to make of this tale. Because this was the first he’d heard of it, Owen could have concocted it on the spot as justification for not paying Adam. Given that the Bohuns had kept their offer a secret, it was impossible to interrogate Owen about the issue. Adam, however, could be questioned.
Such was the way with investigations. While it would be nice to have an infallible method to sift truth from lies, a large part of the job involved accumulating so much evidence that no conclusion was reliant on the word of a single man.
“Did Hugh know about all this?” Simon said.
“Of course, he did. As I have explained, he knew everything about my household.”
“Do you know if Hugh told anyone else?”
“I do not.” Owen let out something of a moan. “I was going to suggest you ask him, but you can’t. Nobody can. Nobody will, ever again.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about Hugh’s activities that could have resulted in his death?”
“I can’t imagine. I don’t really have any secrets worth selling.” Then Owen’s face paled. “Was he tortured before he was killed?”
Simon took a sip of the wine before answering. He didn’t believe Owen had no secrets, not when he’d just trotted out the secret he’d kept about Moriddig’s employment, or lack thereof. “Reese has not yet fully examined the body, so we cannot say. If he was tortured, those wounds aren’t obvious. I can say that he does still have all his fingernails, for example.”
Owen shuddered at the description, reminding Simon once again how young he was and how little experience he had with a brutal world Simon took for granted.
And who was to say which way was better?
“What was the money for then?” Owen asked a bit plaintively. “For services rendered? But to whom? And if this was about money, why leave even one coin behind?”
