As the music ended and the evening approached midnight, the crowd began to break into smaller groups. Gratifyingly, the majority of people weren’t ready to return to their lodgings or tents. Several bards had broken out their instruments to form an impromptu concert around Meilyr and Gwalchmai.
For his part, Rhun kept a wary eye on his brother, who circulated through the crowd, Mari on his arm, accepting congratulations from all quarters. Rhun felt his own blood pumping through him in a way that was typical of a successful performance—usually in his case he felt this way when a fight had gone well. For Hywel, it was when he’d held a crowd in the palm of his hand, which meant that tonight he had to be on top of the world.
Then Gareth appeared near the high table and bent to whisper in Gwen’s ear. She held the sleeping Tangwen in her lap, but she turned to look up in evident surprise at her husband’s words. Rhun reached them in half a dozen long strides, which he hoped weren’t too conspicuous. “What is it?”
“Maybe everything,” Gareth said, and gave a summary of his conversation with Carys and Alun. Rhun had already heard from Gwen about Madlen’s lies. Strange as they had been, he could almost understand them. As to the rest of the lies they’d been told, he feared he would never make a good king because the common mind eluded him.
“You need to find your bed,” Rhun said.
Gareth opened his mouth to protest, but Rhun looked darkly at him, and Gareth snapped his lips together. When he opened his mouth again, he said, “I bow to your command, my lord. I will escort Gwen and the babies home—Mari too if she will consent to come. I’m asleep on my feet.” Gareth pointed with his chin to Prince Hywel. “See if you can get your brother to return to the monastery once he comes down from his mountain top.”
Rhun smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Gwen shifted Tangwen to her shoulder and rose to her feet. “Your father seems happy, my lord.”
“My father had the foresight to put Hywel under Meilyr’s tutelage.” Rhun directed a quick nod in Gwen’s direction. “So much joy has come from that simple act.”
“It changed my life,” Gwen said. “You could even say that it set the course of my life.”
“And mine,” Gareth said.
Rhun nodded. “I will say your goodbyes to my brother. You’ll be of no use to him if you can’t think straight, either of you.”
As Rhun looked back to Hywel, thinking to detach Mari from him, he felt a tug on his elbow. Turning, he saw that Angharad’s maid had darted towards him from out of the darkness beyond the pavilion and was already halfway back to it. Frowning, he followed her past the last tent pole and tether line.
“My lord.” The woman’s forehead was practically on the ground in her obeisance.
Rhun raised her up. “What is it?”
“My lady Angharad asks to speak with you.”
Rhun looked at her cautiously. “Why doesn’t she return to the pavilion?”
“She fears her uncle’s wrath,” the woman said.
Rhun growled in dismay. “Lead on.”
He followed the maid towards Cadell’s encampment. He’d collected Angharad from her tent here earlier that day, but it seemed as if their stroll among the stalls had taken place weeks ago instead of merely hours. As they closed in on the entrance, the woman darted off, this time towards the trees that lined the river. She stopped in the darkness fifty feet from the nearest tent.
Rhun hurried to catch up with her, and when he did, Angharad detached herself from the trunk of an oak tree. She was wrapped in a dark cloak that hid all but her pale face. “My dear.” Rhun took the hand she offered him. “What are you doing here?”
“I need you to take me away.”
Rhun swallowed and moved closer, lowering his voice. “Why? Are you in danger?”
“My uncle knows I’ve been speaking to you.”
“I know he does. He gave me permission to court you,” Rhun said.
“That’s not it.” Angharad looked at the ground. “He’s been asking questions about you. I fear he is using me to spy on you.”
Rhun suppressed a smile at her earnestness. “It’s all right, Angharad. It is no less than I expected.”
“When he questioned me this evening, I became flustered. He knows I’m lying to him.”
“What could you possibly lie to him about?” Rhun said.
“I denied that I told you about his men hidden to the south of Aberystwyth,” Angharad said.
Rhun made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. “Angharad, he expected you to tell me. He wanted Prince Hywel to know.”
“What?” she said. “Why would he want that?”
“Cariad, this is a game we are playing. I know it doesn’t feel like it, and perhaps that isn’t the right word for what’s going on, but this is a contest. Your uncle wants Ceredigion back. My father took it from his older brother, Anarawd, as spoils of war, and as payment for his troubles after the 1136 war. The fifty men he brought were not meant to violate the peace but to show his defiance and strength. We were meant to learn of them. He may even have used you as a way to let us know about them without having to be more obvious.”
Angharad looked aghast. “He used me?” Then her expression hardened. “Here I was concerned about your safety and mine, and my uncle is probably laughing at me right now.”
“I don’t think he’s laughing,” Rhun said, “especially not at the sight of my uncle Cadwaladr, who also brought a small army with him.”
As soon as he said this, Rhun wished he could take the words back. He didn’t want to use Angharad as her uncle had, as a conduit between the two of them. He ought to be grateful that he’d impressed Angharad enough with his noble character that she would come to him. He brought both her hands up to his chest and looked down into her upturned face. “I would take you away from here, but I can’t defy my father, and I have not asked him for his permission to marry you yet. But with your permission, I will.”
Angharad’s eyes shone. “Yes! Yes! Oh, my lord, yes!”
Tentatively, Rhun bent forward and kissed Angharad gently on the lips. Her eyes widened at first, but then she closed them as he continued to kiss her. After a moment, he took a step back. “I will watch until you are safely back in your tent.”
But Angharad wasn’t having that. She launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. Her joy was infectious, and he caught her up and spun her around. He wasn’t sure how this had happened so fast, but he wasn’t sorry either. His stepmother, Cristina, was going to be very disappointed.
Rhun set Angharad down, and she eased back from him a little, just a step, but it was enough to cause him some disappointment of his own. Still, they couldn’t remain much longer together here under the trees. They weren’t officially betrothed, and until they were, he had to be careful with her.
“Oh, I just remembered,” Angharad said. “There was something else I thought you should know: my uncle has placed a spy among you.”
Rhun raised his eyebrows. “I would be surprised if he hadn’t.”
“No, no. He’s not an ordinary person,” she said. “He travels far and wide for Cadell, and I know for a fact that he has met in secret with one of Prince Cadwaladr’s men, if not Cadwaladr himself, as a way to pass messages between my uncle and yours without anyone knowing.”
“Cadell and Cadwaladr are working together?” Rhun said.
Angharad looked nonplussed. “You must have suspected they’d been involved in the past.”
“Cadwaladr had Cadell’s brother killed,” Rhun said.
“And who do you think orchestrated that?” Angharad said. “My uncle, of course. He hated his brother.”
“You know this for certain?”
“As certain as I can be. At the very least, they are working together now, despite the faces they show in the pavilion. Cadwaladr’s man in Ceredigion is a half-Dane named Erik. He has been passing messages to Cadell through my uncle’s man. Much of the purpose of their arrival here in Ceredigion was to finally meet.”
Rhun felt an understanding growing within him. “So the two armies aren’t for the purpose of attacking Hywel and Aberystwyth, but as a show of force and commitment to one another?”
“Unless they intend to join forces here in Ceredigion, but with King Owain’s arrival, that seems unlikely, don’t you think?” Angharad said. “I confess to several sleepless nights worrying about it.”
Rhun rubbed his forehead. “Does Cadell have a target other than Ceredigion?”
“Yes, of course. He hates the Normans to the south even more than your father. I think, too, that he believes Ceredigion will always be there for him, easily conquerable. For now, he appreciates his alliance with King Owain because it protects his northern border, and he is loath to open a war on two fronts at the same time.”
“What could be Cadwaladr’s purpose in all this? If Cadell gets Ceredigion, what benefit is it to him?”
“That I do not know. Perhaps he plans to betray my uncle later.”
“That I can believe,” Rhun said. “Do you know the name of this man who spies for Cadell and meets in secret with Erik?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Angharad said. “It’s the dead man’s master, Iolo, the cloth merchant from the fair.”
“I am troubled, Gruffydd,” Rhun said to his captain a short while later.
Gruffydd had tailed Rhun to Cadell’s encampment, waited through Rhun’s conversation with Angharad, and fell into step beside him once he headed back towards the lights. By the time Rhun had seen Angharad safely back to her tent and returned to the pavilion, all that remained were servants and men too drunk to find their proper beds. Given the warm weather, it was a simple matter to pillow one’s head on one’s cloak and go to sleep. A few inquiries revealed that Hywel had escorted Mari back to the monastery, King Owain had also retired for the night to his tent in the adjacent field, and Gareth, of course, had been sent away by Rhun himself.
“Murder should always be troubling, my lord,” Gruffydd said.
Rhun shook his head. “I can’t say that what I just learned has anything to do with the murder, but it is a cause for concern.” He briefly relayed to his captain what Angharad had told him. He didn’t hesitate to do so: if Gruffydd was going to betray him, then Rhun had no business as a ruler of men and would never trust anyone again.
“If Iolo spies for Cadell, it is hardly a hanging matter, in truth,” Gruffydd said. “Your brother and father have many spies, the Lady Gwen among them.”
“While what you say is true,” Rhun said, “I do wonder what else Iolo has lied to us about. In the morning, Gareth intends to send riders to Borth to collect Madlen. What if he sent her away so she wouldn’t waver under our questions? What if she aids in her uncle’s work too.”
“In which case we have even less reason to believe anything he has so far told us,” Gruffydd said. “May I make a suggestion, my lord?”
“Please,” Rhun said.
“Sleep feels elusive to me, but perhaps less so to others. Would this be an opportune moment to search Iolo’s cart for evidence against him?”
“Evidence that he spies for Cadell?”
“That would be a start,” Gruffydd said. “Up until tonight, we had no motive for murder for him, but now …”
“Gryff came searching for my brother on the afternoon he died.” A chill ran down Rhun’s spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze that swept through the field, rustling the flags and tents all around them. “He could have discovered something about Iolo’s activities that got him killed.”
“A motive, as you say, my lord,” Gruffydd said.
Having proposed marriage to Angharad and been accepted, Rhun had been unlikely to sleep either, but with something solid to do, he picked up the pace, heading towards the market fair. When they reached the place where the merchants’ carts were parked, he found guards on duty, Goch still among them. Watches in the middle of the night were usually dull, but Goch seemed alert enough. He stood with his hip propped against the side of the last cart on the end. At Rhun’s approach, he straightened. “My prince.”
“Which cart is Iolo’s?” Rhun said by way of a greeting.
“Third one from the end,” Goch said. “Some of the merchants have moved theirs around tonight, looking to bring them closer to their stalls to restock, but they’ve put them back.”
“Iolo has not come himself?” Rhun said.
“Not since Gareth let him go. He went straight to his stall and has not left it,” Goch said. “I have two men watching, and more are posted at both entrances to the market grounds. Sir Gareth was very specific in his orders. Iolo went in and has not come out.”
“Good,” Rhun said. “Let’s have a look at his cart.”
Goch raised his eyebrows, but then quickly rearranged his expression. Rhun thought he knew what that was about, and said, “I may not have the experience of some, but I am loath to wake my brother or Gareth, and this needs doing.”
“Yes, my lord,” Goch said with somewhat more enthusiasm.
Rhun didn’t often feel he had to justify his actions to his men. His authority in battle had been hard won (and was deserved, though he would never say it), but he had never been so actively involved in a murder investigation before. He could appreciate Goch’s skepticism, even as it annoyed him.
The cart had been built up on both sides in wood, almost like a little house. It had openings in the sides like a peddler’s wagon, for easier access to the wares, and an actual door at the back with hinges and a pin lock. Such locks were designed to stop sneak thieves, however, not determined princes, and Rhun broke the lock off with his belt knife, sparing Goch the duty. If this was a mistake, it was going to be Rhun’s mistake.
The door swung open, and the three men peered inside. Rhun could see almost nothing and snapped his finger for a torch. He wouldn’t take it inside the cart, but it could shed light on the interior if held at the door. When Goch returned with it, Rhun put a hand on Gruffydd’s shoulder to boost himself inside, hunching in the narrow space between the two heavily laden sets of shelves on either side. It was like being in a pantry, except it was in a cart.
Although most of the stacks were neatly ordered, reflecting what Rhun perceived to be Iolo’s character, some of the stacks of cloth had fallen off the shelves or had been tossed haphazardly on the floor, as if Iolo had left in haste. Gareth had implied as much earlier, since they’d caught Iolo trying to empty his stall so as to leave Aberystwyth.
Rhun pawed through the various woolens and bolts of brightly colored woven goods, finding nothing that struck him as out of the ordinary. He moved to the front of the cart, finding an open trunk in which was stacked more cloth. After a moment, Rhun realized that he was looking at actual clothing, which belonged to Iolo and Madlen personally. Feeling slightly sick at his intrusion, he searched through their belongings as quickly as he could. Other than an ornate looking glass, Rhun found nothing of particular value or which would implicate Iolo in spying.
“What is that, my lord?” Gruffydd said.
Rhun turned to show the mirror to Goch and Gruffydd.
“Odd that she didn’t take it with her,” Goch said.
Rhun hesitated, looking back into the trunk again. Two feet deep, it was full of clothing, and in fact, most of that clothing had to be Madlen’s. A tendril of concern curled in Rhun’s belly. “What if you’re right, Gruffydd? What if she didn’t go anywhere after all?”
“Then why did Iolo say she did—?” Goch broke off, and the men stared at each other. Spying was one thing. If Iolo had murdered Gryff, that was another, but murdering his niece was something else entirely.
Gruffydd cleared his throat. “Surely not?”
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking. Don’t deny it.” But then Rhun frowned and crouched even lower to look underneath the shelf to the left of the trunk. A strap stuck out from behind a stack of linen. Turning himself sideways so more of the torchlight could shine past him, Rhun reached for it and pulled it out. It was a crude rucksack, tied at the top with rope.
“Could that be Gryff’s?” Goch said.
“One can only hope,” Rhun said.
Rhun had cut the lock with nerves jangling, not so much regretting the commitment, but what he feared might be embarrassment when he discovered nothing. Now he climbed down from the cart, the rucksack over his shoulder, his anticipation rising. Gruffydd closed the door and rigged the pin lock so it closed, even if it would never lock again.
Rhun walked to an adjacent cart with an empty bed and set the bag in the back. While Goch brought the torch close, Rhun untied the strings and laid out its contents. They consisted of spare breeches and shirt, a spoon, and a small box which when opened proved to contain salt. It was a valuable spice but hardly worth killing over.
“Nothing.” Gruffydd picked through the few items himself.
“This has to be Gryff’s bag,” Goch said. “Iolo took it from the tavern.”
Rhun rubbed his chin and then dropped his hand with a sigh. “I have no doubt of that, though why we don’t know.” He gestured to the few possessions. “This is hardly worth stealing, much like Gryff’s purse.”
“My lord, should we question Iolo?” Gruffydd said.
“We should,” Rhun said, “but he is safe for now. It’s late, and that can wait until morning. Madlen’s whereabouts are of greater concern. We need to find her.”
“Sir Gareth was to send to Borth for her tomorrow. We’ll know more then,” Gruffydd said.
“I feel strongly that we don’t want to wait that long,” Rhun said.