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Day Three
Rhys
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Maybe Rhys should have followed the wagon back to the castle straight away, but right now he felt that examining the body further was of lesser priority than the acquisition of other kinds of information. The body was still going to be there in an hour, and he didn’t know how much more he was going to learn from it. He was pretty sure he knew how Hugh had died.
It was why he had died that was of paramount importance. The only way he was going to get at that answer was by asking, preferably before it was common knowledge that Hugh was dead. Someone had killed him; someone had dumped a purseful of coins onto his bloody wound. In their pursuit of answers about Hugh’s fees at the eisteddfod, they had neglected the second half of the arrangements, which had to be passing some portion of said fee onto a judge.
Rhys had been asked to act as a judge only once, at an archery tournament. That had been during the time he’d served Llywelyn, and he’d done it only when the original adjudicator had gone down with a stomach ailment. Rhys had felt comfortable as an emergency replacement, since he knew how to shoot and didn’t feel he had a great deal more to learn, up until the moment he’d become responsible for the fate of the contestants.
At that point, he’d never felt more uneducated. His saving grace had been the relatively objective nature of archery. Whether or not a man hit the target with an arrow could be ascertained. Things got more complicated when the margins decreased. What really was the center of a target?
And then there was the matter of violations and deductions of points. Was every arrow of equal length and weight? Did a contestant’s toe go over the line? The latter issue could become extraordinarily contested. Unlike an arrow, which became fixed in a target, a man’s toe could move for a heartbeat when he shot an arrow, and then move back. Then it became a matter of who saw what when and if he could be believed.
Through that experience, Rhys had come to see that the most important decisions a lord made when he decided to hold a tournament (or festival) were in regards to the identities of the chief organizer, which at this festival had been Hugh, and the chief judge, whom Rhys hadn’t yet met.
A pavilion had been set aside specifically for the judges. Given the number of events, and the fact that three judges needed to attend each one, Rhys estimated that nearly twenty had been employed for the fortnight. Like bards, judges had a hierarchy, where younger, novice judges were chosen to adjudicate the lesser and earlier events. As the contestants were winnowed down, only the most experienced judges remained employed.
The sides and flaps of the judges’ pavilion were closed, and a soldier had been conscripted to stand guard to prevent anyone from entering who wasn’t authorized. Hugh had been thorough in his efforts to ensure the contest was fair.
As Rhys approached, the guard recognized him and straightened to attention. “Sir.”
“Hello, John. No need to fuss about me. I’m on the king’s business.”
“Yes, sir. I know, sir. You may come and go as you please.”
Although five men were present in the pavilion as Rhys entered, four were either already on their way out or took one look at him and decided they had better places to be. That left one man alone. He was about Rhys’s age, between thirty-five and forty, with a full head of prematurely gray hair and piercing blue eyes.
Rhys had seen him at the start of the festival and recognized him as the senior judge and, in fact, the man he most wanted to talk to. “May we speak? I am Rhys ap Iorwerth, the king’s man.” He spoke in Welsh.
“I know who you are. I’m Alun. My father was also a Iorwerth.” His smile was wry. “I hail from Denbigh.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you. I was hoping to talk to you about Hugh.”
“Our esteemed commander? What would you like to talk about?” On the surface, he was very accommodating, but his eyes had grown wary at the mention of Hugh’s name.
“I must ask first if you have judged any contests today?”
“Of course. I was busy at three different events just this morning.”
Rhys decided that instant to dispense with the need to confirm this information. He didn’t have time to track down every alibi, so he cut straight to the point. “I need you to tell me who is going to win the eisteddfod.”
“Excuse me?” Alun frowned, genuinely appearing to be confused.
“We know that over the years Hugh demanded fees from contestants and then paid judges to rank those contestants higher. I want to know who has paid to win this time.”
“You’re serious.” Alun studied him. “Nobody has paid to win.”
“How can you be sure?”
“For starters, I know each of the judges here personally. I helped Hugh select them. They are all good men.” Alun let out a breath. “Besides, there would be signs.”
“What kind of signs?”
He held out one hand palm up. “Obviously superior bards receiving low scores and obviously inferior bards receiving higher ones.”
“As happened to Cadwgan yesterday?”
“Yes, yes. Hugh spoke to me about that.” Alun waggled his head. “That was an accounting error made worse by illegible handwriting. It has been corrected.”
“Did you know that Hugh took bribes in the past?”
Alun settled back on his heels at the question. “I have no interest in speaking ill of Steward Hugh.”
“I need you to tell me the truth. This is a murder investigation.”
Alun wasn’t happy, but Rhys was the king’s quaestor, and he couldn’t lie. “I did know. He assured me before I agreed to participate in this festival that those days were past. I refused to be tainted by his ill doing.”
“Did he ever offer you a bribe?”
Alun didn’t like that question either. It took him a bit longer to answer, so when he did, Rhys felt like it might be a relatively complete truth. “Yes, he did, years ago now. I did not take it, but it was a great sum, and I was tempted.” He eyed Rhys for a moment. “Integrity can’t be bought, and once lost is difficult to reclaim. Hugh has been discovering how true that is.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“He has a history, as you said, and many don’t believe he has changed his ways. He told me several contestants had offered him a fee to ensure their place in the standings and grew angry when he refused them.”
Rhys took a step closer. “Do you know their names?”
“He didn’t want to say, and I didn’t press him. I don’t want my own judging to be biased by the knowledge. They should win or lose on their own merits.”
Rhys gave way to the man’s honesty. Here was another who was still serving to the best of his ability.
But Alun wasn’t done. “He also asked me to tell him if I saw or heard anything untoward this week.” His expression shifted to one of concern. “Where is Hugh, by the way? He should be here answering your questions, not me!” And then, when Rhys didn’t immediately reassure him, he added, “Has something happened?”
“Yes. Something has happened.” There was no sense hiding the truth. Soon everyone was going to know. “Hugh has been murdered.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Poor Mary. Poor Jane!” Alun put his fist to his mouth. “Did he die like Moriddig?”
“Not exactly like Moriddig, but murdered nonetheless. We have cause to think it had something to do with this scheme of his.”
“As I said, Hugh took payments in the past, but that was over.”
“What about Moriddig?”
“We all know the rumor. If it’s true, he was still a great bard who lost his way one time. I can understand why, with the father he had. The pressure on him to succeed was immense.”
“Were you at that festival?”
“Not me.” Alun made a qualifying motion with his head. “Moriddig was already well established before I became a judge.”
“The other judges in the pavilion beat a hasty retreat when I arrived. Why would they be afraid of me if they have nothing to hide?”
Alun gave him a quizzical look. “You’re the king’s quaestor.”
“I am aware.”
Alun genuinely smiled at Rhys’s dry tone. “Nobody wants to be anywhere near you, on the off-chance you decide they’ve done something wrong.”
Rhys was more than a little offended, though he tried to keep the outrage from his voice. “I would not arrest someone without cause.”
“Many have lived most of their lives under the Norman boot. They don’t know you, and they fear anyone wearing the king’s colors.”
Rhys supposed he should have known that. “You might tell them from me that the more they run away, the more suspicious I become of them. If one of them took a bribe to favor a contestant in this festival, I am going to find out, one way or another.”
“I believe you. Though, I have to say, Hugh already said as much to them—not specifically in regards to your investigation, but in general. They would be far better off coming forward now and confessing all than waiting for discovery.” He paused. “If they don’t, and they’re caught, I understand the queen has promised a hanging.”
“So I also understand.”
“That is only going to make it harder for anyone to come forward. You could promise them grace all the day long, and they won’t believe you.”
Rhys didn’t have to ask why not. The queen was not known for her mercy. “They see fickleness instead of justice. That isn’t me. That will never be me.”
“That may be so. I believe you. But then, you aren’t the one making the decisions, are you?”
