Gareth
The investigation was becoming more absurd with every hour that passed. That wasn’t something Gareth might have said about any murder a month ago, but what with his new policy of not allowing these investigations to overburden him, he could see the humor in the situation. Gareth could take some consolation in the fact that Hywel was right that the only body they’d found so far had been Erik’s, even if they’d found it twice.
Still, after the meeting with the horrified Abbot Rhys, Gareth went to check that Erik’s body, having been washed by now and prepared for burial, was still in the room off the cloister where he’d left it last night—and that the two monks whose job it was to pray over him hadn’t raced to put out the burning barn with the rest of their brothers and allowed someone to take it.
At the sight of the two monks sitting where he’d left them, Gareth let out a sigh of relief. They looked up as he entered, but other than a raised hand, Gareth didn’t speak to them. This wasn’t one of those monasteries where silence was enforced—not like some of the English houses—but unnecessary conversation was frowned upon. Gareth had been spending so much time in monasteries lately that he was growing used to the habit of conversing with gestures rather than words.
He’d been here until very late last night, doing more than his duty, in fact. Every soldier who’d spent any time at war had seen men’s insides spill to the ground, ripped open by a blade in the course of battle. But the Church looked askance at cutting open a man for any reason, as well they should, seeing such efforts as rooted in paganism.
Gareth had been given permission to examine Erik, however, and he had made the most of it. He’d even put charcoal to paper, sketching the locations of each of Erik’s organs—what was left of them, that is. The length of a man’s intestines alone was a revelation. Gareth didn’t know when such a record might come in useful again, but he was neither squeamish nor one to waste an opportunity to learn more about his craft when it was presented to him.
Having verified that Erik’s body was still there, Gareth returned to the monastery guesthouse, where a belated meal was finally being laid out. Gwen, Conall, and Hywel were there when Gareth arrived, along with Meilyr, Gwalchmai, and Iorwerth. Meilyr was looking daggers at Gwalchmai, and Gareth could well guess the reason why.
Gwalchmai hadn’t yet reached his adult height, but he carried himself with the ease of a man far older. He was used to the weight of responsibility. He was growing up, whether Meilyr (and Gwen) liked it or not. And if not for his and Iorwerth’s curiosity, they would be farther behind in this investigation than they were, so before Meilyr could upbraid his son for involving himself in yet another investigation, Gareth told him so.
Meilyr subsided, somewhat reluctantly, and then set to his food with a will, as they all did. For a quarter of an hour, the room was completely silent as everyone ate and drank. Then Gwen sighed, pushed away her bowl, and tipped her head at her father. “Saran has been keeping Tangwen since this morning. Could I ask you to collect her? I would hate for Tangwen to be a burden on their first day together.”
Meilyr narrowed his eyes at his daughter, knowing that she was sending him off so as not to involve him in what they were doing any more than he already was. But there was something else in his manner that almost made Gareth laugh when he realized what it was: Meilyr wanted to go. And Gareth didn’t think it was because he missed his granddaughter. Gareth would have to ask Gwen, who was better at these things than he, but it came into his head the Meilyr was personally interested in Saran.
Then everyone’s ears pricked up at the sound of chattering voices coming through the open window that faced the courtyard. Gareth pushed back from the table. “People are starting to arrive.”
Hywel’s eyes were sober. “Father should be returning from the encampment at any moment.”
Everyone rose to their feet and left the room. As if Hywel’s words had been some kind of warning, King Madog’s party appeared from underneath the gatehouse within a few moments of them stepping outside. This time Queen Susanna rode beside Madog, and King Owain and his men followed a few lengths behind.
Evan was among the first to dismount, and he hastened to speak to Gareth. “Where have you been?”
“Busy, as I will tell you in a moment.”
“That’s him! That’s him!”
They all swung around to look at who had spoken. Madog’s men held back Rhodri, who was wrenching at his captors’ arms and trying to throw himself across the courtyard at Gareth. Everyone stared at the young man as he pointed. “He’s the one! He’s the one who paid me!”
Every man in the vicinity of Gareth closed ranks at the same moment, blocking any direct path to Gareth. For Gareth’s part, he was gratified by the loyalty of his men, but the sickening feeling at being falsely accused came slithering once again into his belly.
King Madog’s face was alive with triumph, exactly as it had been in the chapter house several hours earlier. “Arrest that man!”
Alone, Hywel took one step forward. “You will not.”
Although Rhodri had put the courtyard into an uproar, there was something about the way Hywel’s voice carried—his assurance and clarity of purpose—that closed people’s mouths and brought silence to the onlookers.
Then Abbot Rhys appeared from around the church and walked between the parties of opposing men. “Accusations are to be saved for the conclave, which shall commence momentarily.” He looked directly at King Madog and then at King Owain, both of whom nodded at him, accepting his authority.
Madog’s enthusiasm diminished slightly, but even so, he radiated an air of righteousness that couldn’t be dispelled by having his victory delayed for another quarter-hour. Rhys preceded the kings towards the chapter house, which meant returning the way Rhodri had come, along the path behind the church.
Watching the various groups of men follow, Gareth’s eyes narrowed. “Why was Rhodri brought down to the courtyard when it meant that he would have to retrace his steps a few moments later?”
“To accuse you, of course, in a fine, dramatic fashion.” Hywel snorted and looked at those who surrounded him. Gwen had opened her mouth to protest, but Hywel forestalled her with a raised hand. “We know the truth, and it will come out if we let it.”
Gareth put an arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “We’ve been here before, only last November.”
Conall raised his eyebrows. “After Shrewsbury, you promised to tell me the full tale.”
“Now probably would be the time, since I’m wondering if it pertains to this one,” Gareth said.
“I’m wondering many things.” Hywel jerked his head at Iorwerth, indicating that he should attend the conclave too.
“Hywel, no! Surely you aren’t going to turn Gareth over to Powys!” Iorwerth was horrified in a way only a seventeen-year-old boy could be. He’d missed the unspoken underpinnings of the conversation. He should know about the events of last autumn and why his friend, Gwalchmai, had gone to Shrewsbury, since Gareth couldn’t imagine that Gwalchmai hadn’t told him, but he was not yet sophisticated enough to make the connection without help.
Though Hywel didn’t have the time to do it for him, he did wink at his brother. “Watch and learn, young man. Watch and learn.”