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Day Three
Catrin
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As Rhys had promised, he welcomed Catrin’s company and help with the investigation as long as it was confined to the castle. After breakfast, they began with the castle workers, much to the annoyance of the deputy mason. They’d received permission from the master mason, of course, but Mark was really in charge of the overall workforce, and he didn’t like seeing it disrupted more than it already had been in the aftermath of the attack the previous night.
“You’re wasting our time, my lord.” Mark ended with the honorific as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Everyone in the castle had learned by now that Rhys was a crouchback. They didn’t know the full story—Catrin herself knew only the minimum Rhys would tell her—but they knew enough. “None of my men did this. Questioning my people won’t do you any good.”
“Were any of the other masons particular friends of Tomos?” Catrin asked.
He looked at her, and his expression softened slightly. “They say not, my lady.” Then he lowered his voice. “Should you be involved in this? Surely after last night—”
Catrin supposed everyone knew what she’d done too. She’d assumed Mark favored the vigilantes, but to think so would have done him a disservice as he was looking at her with respect rather than disdain.
“My presence isn’t a judgment on Rhys’s abilities. Cole was my son’s man, and if I can be of any assistance, I will.”
For a moment Mark looked helplessly at Rhys, who smiled blandly back. Catrin was grateful that Rhys himself had given up arguing.
The first group they interviewed consisted of five masons who worked the stone, as Tomos had done. The men were different sizes and shapes, but they all shared the thick arm muscles and hands of the dead man. Rhys gathered them together and began by asking what he felt to be the first important question: “When did you last see Tomos?”
The first to answer was the youngest, a tall, thin apprentice with a shock of blond hair that stuck straight up from his head, full as it was of stone dust. “We ate in the mess before going our separate ways.”
An older man, shorter, with a craggy face, nodded. He appeared to be the younger man’s overseer. “We sleep in tents within the palisade, but Tomos found lodging elsewhere, outside the castle. Welsh aren’t allowed inside the town or castle after dark.” He made an apologetic gesture and looked embarrassed. “Excepting nobles such as yourselves, of course.”
“It’s the law,” Catrin said simply, “and not your fault.”
“Do you know where he was laying his head?” Rhys asked. “Have you ever visited the place yourselves?”
As one, the men before them shrugged. Truthfully, if Rhys didn’t know where Tomos was staying, perhaps nobody did. Given the Welsh emphasis on hospitality, it was more than surprising that nobody in the village had taken him in.
“Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against him?” Rhys asked.
“Because he was Welsh, you mean? Last night was a long time coming?” The older man shook his head. “Last night shouldn’t have happened, and Tomos was liked by all of us. He did his job well and minded his own business.” Among laborers, both were high accolades.
The masons shared another quick glance amongst themselves, and then a third man, also a journeyman, embellished the answer. “Tomos was mourning his family. He didn’t call attention to himself, and as long as a man does good work, we don’t care where he’s from.”
“Might someone else have done? Someone who didn’t know him as well?” Catrin said.
The masons considered the question, even as the journeymen kept glancing towards the building works, impatient to be back at it. Finally the same man raised one shoulder. “I don’t know anything more.”
Over the course of the morning, nobody else did either. Finally, Rhys appeared to grow tired of speaking to unhelpful workers, and he moved on to the guards at the gates. The King’s Gate allowed access to the town, so he chose the Queen’s Gate as the most likely egress point for Tomos.
They were almost there, having crossed the length of the bailey, when a page skidded to a halt beside them. “Lady Catrin!” He was breathing hard. “The queen requests your presence.”
Catrin let out a sigh at being summoned, not that the morning’s work had been particularly entertaining. She turned to Rhys. “You intend to continue your inquiries?”
“I have to. I also want to know why Gruffydd never mentioned Tomos to me. It’s very odd.”
“You, at least, should be happy, since you’ll be rid of me.”
“Catrin—”
She shook her head, cutting him off. She’d been teasing, but maybe only partly. At his horrified look, she took pity on him and smiled. “It’s all right. Perhaps I will see you this evening?”
Rhys blew out a breath. “Yes. If I survive the meeting with the king later today, that is.”
“It may not be as bad as you think. It isn’t as if he doesn’t know you’re here.”
Rhys groaned. “Last night may well have made everything worse.”
“I doubt it. But like any trouble, best to face it head on.”
“You are irrepressible!” he said, but she’d made him smile.
Smiling herself, she turned away, following the page, who escorted her as far as the Eagle Tower. One should never keep a queen—particularly this queen—waiting.
One step inside the foyer, however, she was stopped by John le Strange, of the blue chevron, who was leaned up against the wall, slicing an apple with a knife and eating it.
“My lady.” He straightened and bowed. “I am glad to see you well after last night’s horrors.”
“And you, my lord,” Catrin said, being polite. “Thank you for coming to our rescue.”
“Of course.” John scratched a bug bite on his neck under his right ear. The bite was red and inflamed, and if Catrin hadn’t been in a hurry—and preferring not to speak to him at all—she might have suggested he see a healer.
“If you will excuse me, the queen has summoned me.”
“She has not, actually.” He put out a hand to her, almost touching her arm and had the temerity to look rueful. “I apologize for the ruse, but that was me.”
“What are you saying?” She stared at him.
“I needed to get you away from that—” he appeared to just stop himself from cursing and swallowed instead, “—crouchback. It won’t do you any good to be associating with the likes of Sir Reese. Look what he led you into last night!”
She couldn’t be polite in the face of his criticism. “Last night,” she bit off the ends of her words sharply, “was an act of horror perpetrated against innocent men, women, and children. Perhaps you would be better served trying to discover who it was who incited them.”
He put up both hands at her onslaught. “Sir Simon already talked to the ringleaders! It has nothing to do with me!”
“Nor Sir Rhys.”
He deflated slightly. “No, I suppose not. You do appear to know your own mind.”
“That should not surprise you.” She paused, wondering how to continue, and still displeased with his disparagement of Rhys, even if he’d walked it back a pace. “Sir Simon speaks of Rhys with liking and admiration.”
John scratched at the bite again. “You must realize you cannot trust him.” He meant Rhys, of course.
“I can’t imagine why you’d say that.” Catrin endeavored to breathe easily and without displaying ire.
John looked for a moment as if he was going to say something that was genuinely constructive—and revealing—but all he ended up doing was adding lamely, “It would do your standing at court no good to marry someone of such low rank.”
“But he is my friend,” she said gently, knowing no good would come from antagonizing John. If she knew anything, she knew that. “As you may know by now, Rhys served in the crusade with the king himself.”
“So I’ve been told.” John was scowling as he bent over her hand. “But you still deserve better.”
“Have no fear for me, my lord.” She wanted to pull her hand away from him, but he was holding it tightly. She didn’t know what she would do if he actually tried to kiss her. Scream? But then John straightened, and she was finally able to pull her hand away.
“If you need anything—anything at all—please call on me.”
“Thank you, Lord Strange.”
“Please call me John.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, steadfastly not doing as he asked, “have a pleasant day.”
He grunted, brushed past her, and left the tower.
She watched him go, both a little stunned and concerned by his forwardness. First Guy, then Rolf at the funeral, and now John. The latter two in particular presented a problem, in that they were brothers. Even had she liked either one, it would have been bad policy to come between them. Thankfully, as a widow, she had some say in the matter of whom she would marry next, if she married at all. Even with the constraint of serving Eleanor, she had more freedom today than she’d had since she was sixteen.
“Was that Rolf?”
Catrin whirled around at the voice of Adeline, one of the queen’s ladies. “It was John.”
“Oh.” The relief in Adeline’s voice was evident, even in that single word.
Adeline was small, blonde, and very pretty. She had set her mind—rather than perhaps her heart—on winning Rolf, and she kept her eye on any woman who drew his attention. And truly, there was no reason Rolf shouldn’t have been interested in her more than Catrin. For much of the journey to Caernarfon, Rolf had been attentive to Adeline more than to any other lady, which was why Catrin had been so surprised to find him wanting to escort her yesterday.
“Have you seen Rolf today?” Adeline asked.
“No, I’m sorry. I have not.”
Smiling now, Adeline approached. “John is a good catch too. He likes you very much.”
Catrin endeavored to be polite, but she couldn’t help saying, “I have done nothing to encourage him.”
Adeline put a hand to Catrin’s cheek. “You don’t have to, my dear. You are so lovely, even with that hair.” Then she frowned. “I must say John is a better choice than the crouchback, even if he is in the king’s favor. Margaret was just questioning your association with him this morning.”
Adeline said the crouchback as if it were Rhys’s name. Catrin couldn’t wait to tell him and watch him roll his eyes at her.
“Nobody needs to worry about me,” Catrin said, hoping to end the conversation quickly before it went any further down this road. How anyone felt about Rhys—and who Rhys really was—was not something she wanted to discuss with Adeline.
“Margaret referred to him as a quaestor. I’m afraid I don’t know what a quaestor is.” As with her comment about Catrin’s hair, Adeline spoke straight-forwardly, asking a genuine question and looking for a genuine answer, so Catrin didn’t take offense. With Catrin, Adeline had always been level-headed, but she was one of those women who behaved differently around men than women, in that amongst men she pretended to be less intelligent than she really was. Catrin respected her approach as a strategy that worked for her in navigating the court. Catrin herself was terrible at pretending to be anything other than what she was—a fact Rhys had pointed out just the day before.
“It’s someone who investigates murder.”
“Like a coroner, then?”
“A coroner investigates death so as to determine the potential revenue accruable from it to the Crown. A quaestor investigates death to attempt to bring the murderer to justice.”
“You mean like our lord sheriff.” Adeline tapped her lip thoughtfully, clearly ruminating on the newly appointed Sheriff of Caernarfon, whose brother was the Sheriff of Anglesey. Both had been appointed at the same time the Statute of Rhuddlan had been read out. Neither man had struck Catrin as suited to their new position any more than Guy was to his. The appointments were rewards for services rendered. She couldn’t say that to Adeline, however, because of its implied criticism of the king.
So Catrin again endeavored to answer as plainly as possible. It was something she’d learned during her marriage. She’d been a child, still, in many ways, though she’d thought herself grown up and the equal to her husband, despite the fact he was twenty years her senior. He’d gone into the marriage with his eyes open far more than hers, seeking an heir and someone to run his household while he was away in his service to the Earl of Gloucester.
Though it had taken some doing—and some hard lessons in how to comport herself—she’d gained the respect and trust of the men and women she commanded. She’d also given Robert a son, as required. By those lights, their marriage was more successful than most. She’d overheard Robert say as much many times over the years. He’d been content with what he had.
But she had wanted a partner and a friend, even a lover, if such a thing was even possible. Truth be told, she wanted what the king and queen of England had together and didn’t see why, now having achieved the age of thirty-six, she should settle for anything less.
“As I’m sure you understand, often a sheriff is a favorite of the court and thus has not investigated murder before his appointment. He relies on his coroner and quaestor, if he has one, for advice and to do the detail work of finding witnesses and hunting down culprits.”
Adeline hummed under her breath. “It would be better for everyone if the coroner could catch this murderer soon. Likely he’s a vagabond anyway and has nothing to do with us. Pursuit of him is taking up altogether too much of everyone’s time.”
She meant, of course, that it would be better for her, and it was Rolf who was preoccupied, though Catrin wouldn’t have said the investigation was a particular concern of his. Catrin didn’t yet know which of the lords had alerted the king to the vigilantes, but Rolf had been among those to ride to the village. It made her uncomfortable to think she might have to be grateful to one of the Stranges.
But again, Catrin spoke with patience. “The identity of the killer is what Sir Rhys intends to discover. High or low, he’s the best one to catch him.”
