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Day Four
Rhys
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To say that tensions in Caernarfon were running high was to woefully understate the case. Guards on the town walls had been doubled, and the identity of anyone going in or out of the castle was being checked and double-checked. Somehow, Rhys had lost half the day again and was no closer to finding the killer than he’d been two days ago. Or four days ago. And the Baphomet conspiracy? He was completely in the dark as to how it fit in to any of this, if it did at all.
As Rhys entered the town through the east gate, having spent the morning in fruitless pursuit of answers outside the castle, Simon appeared at his shoulder as if he’d been watching for him. Perhaps he had.
“We haven’t yet found where Tomos the mason was staying,” Simon said, without preamble.
Rhys almost snapped a quick response back at him but managed to moderate his tone at the last moment. Still, his answer came out sharper than he intended. “You don’t have to tell me. Where do you think I’ve been all morning? But so far, inquiries have produced no results.” He sighed. “I feel as if I am being stonewalled by my own people.”
“That is irksome.”
Rhys tsked. “Especially as my entire use here is to find answers amongst the Welsh where Normans fear to tread. But I am leaguing with the devil, to their eyes.”
“Better the devil you know—”
“—than the one you don’t? Normally I would agree. Normally, they would too.”
“Do you think nobody will talk because they’re afraid?” Simon asked. “After the other night, they can’t want to put themselves forward.”
“Likely.”
Simon looked hard at Rhys. “You genuinely don’t know either, do you?”
“I do not. And yes, part of me doesn’t want to know, because then Guy might accuse one of them of murder, arbitrarily, just as he did with Aron. I would prefer to focus on finding the real killer.”
“Is that why you came back to town?”
“I meant to visit the inn again yesterday, but we got distracted by Rolf’s body and that bite. I need to more fully question the bartender.”
“I will come with you.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Are you my minder, Simon?”
Simon chewed on his tongue for a moment, before nodding sharply. “You can’t be surprised that not everybody trusts you, especially now.” He laughed. “I think they are less likely to trust you now that they know who you really are. All I’ve heard this morning is the crouchback this and the crouchback that.”
“I’m surprised,” Rhys said, and genuinely was.
“My arrival has elevated your station far above what anyone thought you were. Some are embarrassed; some feel threatened; all are curious.”
Rhys gestured down the street. “Come on then. No time like the present.”
A wind had started blowing in the night, bringing rain for the first time that week. It wasn’t raining at that very moment, but as this was Wales, it undoubtedly would within the next few hours. During the spring, most days included some rain, which was what had made the last few days so unusual.
The streets were moderately full of people for the middle of the week. Tomorrow was Friday, market day, where farmers from miles around came into town to sell their wares and buy what they couldn’t make for themselves. Many were Welsh, since much of the countryside was still farmed by his people.
At Conwy and Denbigh, English farmers had been given Welsh land to farm, but quite literally no Englishman had wanted to settle this far west. So far, the merchants in the town consisted of innkeepers, craftspeople, and traders who sold their wares primarily to the people building the castle and the Welsh people outside, though among the Welsh, coinage was extremely limited.
Market day was always a treat for the English amongst them—though the Welsh were a different story. A representative of each family was required to attend, and if he didn’t, the family would be fined. It tended to put a damper on the joviality of the day.
Rhys was curious to see who would come tomorrow. It would depend on which the people feared more: the killer or the king’s officers.
Puddles had formed in the streets, which had not yet been graveled or cobbled as they were in Conwy. The king liked things neat, Rhys would give him that. Raindrops began to fall, and even though they had a short walk to the inn, Rhys tugged his cloak closer around himself and pulled up his hood. It wasn’t that he feared getting wet but rather that he had no squire to dry and oil his leather gear, so either he’d have to do it himself tonight or start teaching one of Gruffydd’s grandsons to do it for him. The latter sounded like a much more sensible project. If and when Rhys acquired a new mail shirt, he would need a squire to polish the links so they didn’t rust.
Since they were into the afternoon and it had started to rain, the inn was full, which was exactly what Rhys had wanted to be there for. More than twenty people drank and ate in the common room, with men outnumbering women four to one, but there were a number of women in the room, several accompanying their husbands for a drink by the fire. One had three men hovering around her and was smiling coquettishly at each one in turn. As Rhys entered, her eyes turned to him for a moment, and she winked.
It stopped him in his tracks, far more than the way the room had briefly hushed at their entrance. Having lived and served in Gwynedd for the past year, Rhys himself was recognized by many, and now that he was accompanied by Simon, they were both nodded to respectfully. Then the woman looked away, and conversations began where they’d left off. Rhys and Simon were dressed in royal gear, in an English town. The populace did not fear soldiers, and everybody hadn’t suddenly started talking loudly in Welsh, which would have happened if Rhys had worn his tunic into an inn in Gwynedd back when Prince Llywelyn had ruled the region.
Inside the tavern, everyone was speaking English. Most of the noblemen at the castle would not speak it, which was why they needed Rhys and another reason he and Simon were best suited to conduct this investigation. For his part, Simon had learned French from his family, English in the cradle from his nanny, and then, apparently, Welsh in self-defense.
The two men went to the bar.
“My lords.” Tom the barman swept a cloth across the already polished surface. “What can I do for you?”
“One mead, one ale, and you can answer some questions, if you will.” Rhys was being polite, and Tom should know it. Refusing to answer questions put by the king’s officers was not really an option.
Tom blinked, finally recognizing them from the day before. “Apologies, my lords. It will just be a moment.” Once he came back with their drinks, he said, “On the house.”
Simon dropped a small coin on the bar. “We pay for what we drink.”
Tom slid the coin into his hand. “This is again about the man who died? As I told you yesterday, my lords, I barely spoke to him. I don’t know what more I can say.”
Simon tipped his head to indicate Rhys. “The investigation has progressed since then. Can someone else pour drinks while we adjourn to the back?”
Tom didn’t quite manage to swallow down his sigh, but he signaled to one of the servers, a young man half his age, who then slid behind the bar to take his place.
“This way.” Tom led them down the corridor. The back door had been propped open to allow easy passage from the common room to the kitchen, located in the yard. Sensibly, out of fear of fire, the kitchen had its own building, accessed by a covered walkway, rather than being part of the main structure.
Tom gestured them into a curtained off pantry, full of stacked cheeses and other food items ready to be served. As if he and Rhys had discussed how to proceed in advance, which they hadn’t, Simon faded against the back wall. He knew what was coming next, having seen it before, though not for some time.
Rhys was out of practice, but he looked into Tom’s eyes anyway and said, “Please take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”
Tom was wary, and his expression reluctant.
“It’s possible you remember more than you think,” Rhys said. “I’d like you to close your eyes and listen to my voice as I talk you through the events of yesterday.”
“I don’t know what you think I’m going to remember,” Tom said, but he did as Rhys asked, accustomed to obeying a knight.
“Take another deep breath and let it out.”
Tom obeyed. As for Rhys, he could almost smell the dust and heat of the crowded streets of Acre, and in his own head hear the voice of his Saracen tutor, instructing him on how to get better answers from witnesses.
“You are standing behind the bar when John le Strange enters—”
“I didn’t know who he was at the time, and I wasn’t standing behind the bar. One of the regulars had spilled his drink. While Bob cleaned it up, I delivered another to the patron personally. Oh—” Tom opened his eyes. “I hadn’t remembered that.”
Rhys made a soothing motion with his hand. “Close your eyes again, take another breath in and out, and remember what you saw.”
Tom was warming to the exercise now, taking two deep breaths and visibly relaxing, before speaking again. “He blew into the inn like the west wind, as if he was in a hurry. He went straight to the bar. He wasn’t in mail, but I remember noting the fine weave of his cloak, so I knew he was a nobleman, and when he took out his purse, I saw it was heavy with coins. I asked what he wanted, and he ordered ale, and paid—too much, really. He could have had four drinks for that amount but told me to keep it. I remember now—I asked if he was all right, because his forehead was beaded with sweat. He told me he just needed the drink, which he drained without taking a breath. I refilled the cup, and he took it to a table. I helped another customer, and by the time I looked to where he was sitting, he was gone.”
“To the latrine? He would have had to walk down the corridor to get there.”
“He might have, though I didn’t see him. But as I said, I was busy.”
“He overpaid,” Rhys said. “That didn’t make you wonder?”
“If he came back for more, I would have served him, but the room was full. Rumor had it Prince Edmund was coming to town, and people wanted to talk about it.”
“Did you see anyone else who was remarkable enter the inn?”
“You, my lord,” he said bluntly to Rhys. “Nobody else.” He still had his eyes closed, but now his brow furrowed. “Coroner Guy had stopped by shortly beforehand, looking for Rosie.”
“Rosie?”
“She’s one of our barmaids. She wasn’t here then, so I asked to take a message. He shook his head and left.”
Out of the corner of Rhys’s eye, he saw Simon drop his arms and straighten against the wall.
“You’re sure it was Guy?”
“Of course. He comes here often.”
“And Rosie?”
“She was talking with some men when you came in. I can point her out to you if you like.”
“We would be grateful.” Rhys studied Tom, but when no more information was forthcoming, he decided the barman had had enough. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. If you think of anything else that might be useful, come find me or Simon at the castle.”
“I will.” Tom opened his eyes and blinked, looking around as if surprised to find himself in the pantry, and his expression became one of embarrassment.
Rhys tipped his head towards the doorway. “You can get back to work.”
He ducked his head. “Thank you, my lord.”
As he left, Simon shook his head. “I’d forgotten what that was like. I was almost ready to reveal my darkest secrets to everyone within shouting distance if only you’d asked.”
Rhys scoffed. “People want to remember, just like they want to tell the truth. You simply have to get past the barriers they put up preventing it.”
