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Day Six
Rhys
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Rhys set a large chicken leg, half a loaf of bread, and a portion of various vegetables in front of Patrick. “Care to talk?”
It was the end of a very long day. Simon had already tried to elicit something meaningful from Patrick without result. Patrick seemed shocked that exposing the existence of Gruffydd’s poem hadn’t achieved what he’d hoped and had refused to speak at all. They’d even brought in Adam to beg Patrick to just tell the truth. For once.
Given that the king had decreed Patrick would be hanged at dawn, he had nothing to gain from speaking. He wasn’t Trahaearn, but an example would be made of him nonetheless. Rhys’s window of opportunity to learn what exactly had gone on inside Patrick’s head was closing. Why had he killed his father? Why had he killed Hugh? Rhys wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew.
“Is this a bribe or a last meal?”
“Both.” Rhys shrugged. “Neither. You killed your father. Why?”
Patrick picked up the chicken leg and sniffed it. It was hot and juicy, and Rhys would be happy to eat it if Patrick didn’t. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It does to me.”
“Why?” Patrick started eating with a will, but then spoke around a full mouth. “I’m not long for this world, whether or not you hang me. See?” With his free hand, he unknotted the bandage around his upper arm, revealing a gruesomely inflamed wound, purple and tight. At Rhys’s surprised expression, Patrick shrugged and went back to eating, leaving the bandage undone. “Your wife’s blow, but my dagger.”
The wound looked far worse than Rhys would have expected in a few hours, perhaps a product of wrestling about in the dirt and grass with Hywel. Patrick was right that it hardly mattered. “So, why were you at that barn? We already know it wasn’t to meet Hugh.”
Patrick kept eating, and Rhys was about to give up when he said, “I was meeting one of the judges there.”
Rhys allowed himself an inward sigh. “You wanted to bribe him, didn’t you? Who was it?”
Patrick sneered. “Like I would tell you.” Then he shrugged. “He didn’t come anyway, so it hardly matters. He chose the high road after all.”
Good for him was Rhys’s thought. With the contest all but over, they might never know his identity, though Rhys would make sure to speak to the head judge on the subject. “And Hugh?”
“He’d followed me to the barn. In recent months, he’d been growing more distrustful of me overall, and my father’s death had him worried.”
“He suspected you’d killed him?”
“He chose to confront me then and there. I tried to give him the money I’d meant to give the judge, but Hugh threw the purse back in my face. Why wouldn’t he take it?”
It wasn’t quite what they’d guessed. “And for that you killed him?”
“Did I say so?”
Rhys could see their meeting like it was being enacted in front of him. Whatever Hugh had said to Patrick, he had surely underestimated the evil within his friend’s son. “After you killed him, you had your own purse and Hugh’s. Why dump the money on his body?”
Patrick’s upper lip lifted. “I wasn’t there, but if I were, I would say it amused me to do so.”
More than anything, Rhys wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. “Is that why you murdered your father too? He refused to do what you wanted? What kind of monster are you?”
“I’m not a monster!” The words burst from Patrick, the hope for which had been the reason Rhys had spoken that way. He’d meant to provoke him into telling the truth. And it worked. “I was about to lose everything!”
“How so?”
“He told Owen he was leaving his service. And then he told me that even if I came with him to the Bohuns, he wouldn’t be ordaining me a bard this year. Or the next. Or ever, not without a change in attitude. I lay awake all night thinking about how he had ruined my life. He couldn’t do that to me!”
“You could have changed your attitude.”
Patrick scoffed. “He had no right to withhold from me what only he could give. He gave me his ring, as if that could make up for his failures. It’s his own fault he’s dead.”
“We know you planned it.” Rhys couldn’t help but lean forward in his intensity. “You took Adam’s hood and wore it. You took the poem from Gruffydd’s wagon. You planned to kill him.”
“I gave him one more chance, there in the wagon, to change his mind.” Patrick was wholly unrepentant.
Rhys had just one more question, purely for his edification. “Why confuse the issue by stuffing Gruffydd’s song into your father’s mouth?”
Patrick wrinkled his nose, reminding Rhys sadly of Adam. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I shouldn’t have bothered. It isn’t as if his lament is a secret.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Gruffydd sings down by the River Dee, thinking somehow we can’t hear him. We all know the tune by now. Do you want me to recite the lyrics for you?”
Rhys put up one hand before he could start. “Best you don’t.”
“Because you’d have to report me to the king?” He sneered again. “I don’t envy you; I don’t have to live in this world anymore. For you, it’s just beginning.”
Rhys couldn’t move off the topic fast enough. “Why burn Hugh’s body?”
“Oh that.” Patrick shrugged. “It was impulse, honestly. I lost a garnet from the knife’s hilt in the barn. I figured it fell off when I stabbed him. If you found it, Adam would have recognized it, since he’s the one who gave me the knife.”
“I’d already found it. I was done, and the body was wrapped for burial.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It would surely have been easier just to get rid of the knife.”
“It was mine.” His emphasis on the last word was notable. “And again, Adam would have recognized the garnet regardless.” He was entirely correct, of course, since Adam had recognized the garnet.
“When you told me you had accepted a position as assistant steward, you seemed genuinely pleased about it. Why not murder Adam while you were at it?”
“There was no need.” Patrick appeared to have entirely forgotten he was supposed to be keeping secrets. “Adam was among the few in Owen’s court who could read. I apprenticed to my father for over a decade. I could wait a year or two to step into Adam’s shoes.”
“You were that sure Owen would replace Hugh with Adam?”
Patrick scoffed. “Owen is nothing if not predictable.”
“And then what? Why was a position in Owen’s court so important to you?”
Patrick gazed at Rhys in astonishment. “It is where I belong; it’s what I deserve.”
Rhys thought back to everything Patrick had done and said so far, and in a moment of clarity, thought he finally understood what this was really about. “The judge you were trying to bribe ... that wasn’t the first time, was it? You were going to start up Hugh’s scheme again.” When Patrick waggled his head, effectively admitting it, Rhys said further, “How did you even know about it?”
“Who didn’t know about it? I had been a runner for Hugh since I was ten years old. I found him taking money from some poor farmer who wanted the upper hand in a land dispute.”
Rhys was almost impressed. “You blackmailed Hugh?”
Patrick made a face. “Not exactly. I’m not stupid. I made myself indispensable and got paid for my efforts. A pittance at first, and then more as the years passed.”
The last piece fell into place. “And then nothing, because Hugh had a change of heart, and there was no more money coming in. Did your father know? Was that the final straw? He was leaving the Poles because he was worried about you and your plans? Did he confront you?”
Rhys saw in Patrick’s face that he’d finally reached the truth. He didn’t know if ironic was the right word, but it was certainly something that Patrick had killed initially because his father had guessed he was going to take over Hugh’s system of payments, and then murdered a second time because Hugh had guessed he’d killed his father.
Patrick settled his back against the wall behind him. “My father wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. And neither are you.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” Rhys decided he couldn’t stand his presence anymore and headed for the door.
Patrick spoke louder to Rhys’s retreating back. “You won’t be quite so smug when you find yourself in chains too.”
Rhys didn’t want to look back, but somehow he had to. “Why would I be in chains?”
Patrick’s expression was smugger than ever. “I know you heard Trahaearn singing that first morning. I know you helped him flee. Set me free, and I won’t tell anyone else.”
He was guessing. He had to be.
“Tell whomever you want whatever you want. I am not afraid of you.” They were brave words, firmly spoken. Rhys surely hoped Patrick believed him. As he pulled the prison door closed behind him, he was quite sure he didn’t believe himself.
