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Day Three
Catrin
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“Are you really saying you stood before both Prince Edmund and King Edward, and you’re not in chains?”
Catrin knew she was glaring at Rhys, but she was a little irate that all her concern for him had been for nothing—not that it hadn’t been anyway, because if he had been in chains, there wouldn’t have been anything she could do about it. It was easier to be angry than admit how relieved she was. That would be tantamount to admitting how much she had grown to care about him in only a few days.
So her hands were on her hips as she stood in the middle of the stables, currently located outside the castle proper, to which Simon and Rhys had retreated after Rhys’s ordeal in the castle. It was getting late in yet another day, and they were still without any answers or suspects.
“I did. All is apparently well.”
“Prince Edmund embraced him, in point of fact.” Simon sat on a stool. The front legs were off the ground, and he was tipped back against the wall. “The king already knew he was here, and he greeted Rhys with a smile. He was genuinely pleased to find him yet again in Edmund’s service.”
“I got off easy, I know.”
Catrin felt foolish now for ever suspecting Rhys had been involved in Llywelyn’s death. If he had been, the king and prince would both have known he was alive, and they would have feted him, not made him fear being torn limb from limb. The name of the man who actually had betrayed Llywelyn was a mystery that remained unsolved.
Rhys turned to Simon. “Events fell out the way they did, and I responded to them the way I did, because it seemed necessary at the time. Even with that, I need to tell you how sorry I am that I let you think I was dead. It was unfair of me and dishonored our long friendship.”
All of a sudden, Catrin felt she was intruding, but for Simon and Rhys, it was as if only they were present.
The front legs of Simon’s stool came down hard on the ground. “I could make a jest. I could pretend I wasn’t hurt. But that would be a lie. I was hurt.”
“You are my closest friend in life.”
“And you are mine, as I told Prince Edmund,” Simon said. “I forgave you the moment I saw you, though I couldn’t admit it until you asked.”
“Thank you.” Rhys bent his head. “I have missed you.”
“I only hope you in turn can forgive me.”
Rhys’s head came up at that. “For what?”
Simon was looking at him intently. “You spoke very frankly to me earlier today, and I am not blind to what losing the war is doing to your people, Rhys. I played my part in it at the time, and it may be that one day we end up on opposite sides in a war again. It would not be my choice.”
The two men exchanged a long look. Catrin didn’t understand entirely what they were silently communicating to each other, but in the end, Rhys stuck out his arm to Simon, and Simon took it without hesitation. A sense of wellbeing settled over her, and from the way Simon and Rhys eased back into their seats, it came over them too.
“But not today,” Rhys said.
“No.” Simon relaxed again against the wall. “Today we get to investigate murder.”
“Murders,” Catrin said. “The residents of the castle can talk about little else.”
“Better than talking about him.” Simon jerked a thumb in Rhys’s direction.
Rhys acknowledged his interjection with a nod. “Which is the reason we are here. We needed a place to think.” He’d returned to the overturned bucket on which he’d been sitting, and again put his feet up on a wheelbarrow.
Catrin looked from Rhys to Simon. “Why do I think you two have done this before, been here before?”
“Not so much here, in this barn, of course. But in a place like this?” Simon gazed around the stables. “Many times.”
“This was in the Holy Land?” Catrin said.
“And after,” Rhys said, “for a time, before I returned to Wales.”
“Lady Catrin, you should go back to the castle,” Simon said. “With three men dead, you need to leave this to us. It is more dangerous than ever for you to be involved.”
“I know that, actually. But I came for two reasons: the first is to tell Rhys that the queen would very much like to see him, at his convenience; and two, to tell you that, except for whoever killed him at that inn, I think I was the last person to see John alive.”
That got the kind of reaction for which she’d been secretly hoping, in that Rhys was on his feet in an instant and approaching her. “How is that?”
“Remember why I left you this morning?”
“You’d been summoned by the queen.”
She tipped her head to look up at him, and he backed off slightly. “That was a lie, as it turns out. It was John le Strange who summoned me, in the name of the queen.”
Rhys didn’t show very much emotion most of the time, but at her news, his hands clenched briefly into fists. “Why?”
“To warn me against spending time with you.”
Rhys blinked, and Simon said, “Really?”
She glanced over at him. “You find it so surprising that John would show interest in me?”
Simon let out a laugh. “Not at all. Only that he would take it upon himself to speak to you that way, on so short an acquaintance.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter now what he thought or did,” she said.
“Maybe,” Simon said. “But I will tell you, as I told Rhys, for your own protection before we go any further, that John le Strange was Prince Edmund’s spymaster.”
Catrin drew in a breath. She hadn’t known that. She hadn’t even guessed.
Simon was looking grim. “Who else knows you spoke to him?”
“Adeline, another lady-in-waiting, was there moments after, asking if he was Rolf. She has her eye on Rolf.”
“I know Adeline.” Simon’s jaw clenched. “If she tells anyone else you spoke to him this morning, you could become a target for the killer, who might know John well enough to worry he confided in you.”
Catrin couldn’t help arguing. “I can’t really be in danger, can I? I know nothing.”
“You’ve been helping Rhys, haven’t you? Is there a soul who doesn’t know that too? And who was it that stood in front of the mob—was it only last night?”
“Catrin,” Rhys said forcefully. “I agree there’s something to be said for keeping her where I can see her. If the murderer fears she knows something that could implicate him, she may not be safe on her own, even in the castle.”
Simon grunted. “Maybe especially in the castle. No place is safe, it seems.”
“Right now, everyone is a suspect,” Rhys continued, “which is why Simon and I were just discussing the idea of returning to the inn to question the barman again and anyone who may have been there earlier in the day. Someone will have seen something.”
Simon frowned. “Too bad Rolf is indistinguishable from John except for the badges they wear. It’s always been impossible for me to tell them apart.”
“Rolf sneers more than John, if that’s even possible.” Then Rhys put up a hand. “Not to speak ill of the dead.”
Catrin made a gesture to gain their attention. “When I speak to them, I always look for a little feature that makes them different from one another—a scratch on the back of a hand, for example, or a bug bite on the neck, like today. When I spoke to John, he scratched one repeatedly, and it was quite red. I almost mentioned to him that he should have it looked at. It’s something anyone would notice and a good way to tell them apart if someone at the inn saw the brothers, separately or together.”
Both Simon and Rhys were looking at her with identical quizzical expressions on their faces.
“Are you sure about the bite?” Rhys asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you were actually speaking to John?” Simon said thoughtfully.
“He wore the blue chevron.” She paused. “He behaved like John.”
Simon and Rhys gave each other yet another long look, and then Rhys said, “I don’t remember the dead man having an ugly bite on his neck.”
“We must look for it immediately,” Simon said. “They were twins. They could have switched identities yesterday morning.”
“And if they did, what does it signify?” Catrin thought back to Rolf’s strange behavior at the funeral. He had looked like Rolf. He had sneered like Rolf, but his interest in her had been that of John. As had been John’s interest in her this morning. If the brothers had switched identities at any point in the last two days, it had been for reasons that remained hidden. Both Stranges had been in the great hall when Gruffydd had arrived to tell them about the rabble of townspeople threatening the village.
“If it’s John left alive, did he kill his brother and assume his identity for his inheritance?” Simon said.
“According to the guards, Rolf never left the castle. We checked that. Only one twin passed through any gate.”
“And you said John had just arrived the night Cole’s body was found,” Catrin said. “That twin didn’t kill Cole and Tomos, though admittedly Rolf—or the man we viewed as Rolf—was here already.”
Simon scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know why I never thought about them switching chevrons.”
“Nor I, but it seems obvious that they might,” Rhys said.
“Both have been in and out of the king’s circle this last year since I’ve been in the queen’s service,” Catrin said, “but only recently has John expressed interest in me.”
“So was it Rolf or John at the funeral?” Rhys glowered a bit. “He didn’t have an ugly bite on his neck then, but that means nothing because he could have been bitten crossing the water back to the castle.”
“In either case,” Catrin said, “if the man I spoke to as John is currently presenting himself as Rolf, it makes me think I shouldn’t accompany you to inspect the body but instead keep an eye on whichever twin is still alive. If we’re sure he didn’t kill his brother, he will be the one man in the whole of the castle with whom I can be safe.”
“Do you want to do that?” Rhys looked at her in surprise.
She spread her hands wide. “Are you asking if spending the evening in his company is something to look forward to? Of course not. But if the killer meant to murder John, not Rolf, and John is the one still alive, wouldn’t it be best to make sure the killer doesn’t try again?”
“Indeed,” Simon said. “All effort must be put to making him think he succeeded.”
