Gwen
“Go! Go now before they come again!” Gareth moaned and rocked in his sleep.
After the carnage of last night, she, Gareth, and Meilyr had ultimately taken refuge in a closet-like room on the second floor of the guest hall. Gwen glanced to where her father slept on, a hand-span away. Gwen, along with Angharad and Saran, had taken turns nursing the sick through the night, among them her own Dai, but Llelo had finally sent Gwen herself away, declaring he would stay with his brother for the last few hours before dawn. Gwen had gone because Dai still lived, and Saran had been cautiously optimistic that he would continue to do so.
For once Gwen wasn’t fearful Gareth would wake Tangwen, since she’d been left at Aberystwyth with her nanny, Abi. But still, Gwen didn’t like to see Gareth distressed, and she put a hand on his chest and her lips to his forehead. He tossed and turned for another few heartbeats, but then at her continued gentle whispering, he quieted and opened his eyes. For a moment, they were unseeing, but then they narrowed to focus on Gwen hovering above him. “Did I say something?”
“You were speaking of battle, I think.”
Gareth threw an arm across his eyes, breathing deeply in and out. “I’m sorry.”
Gwen stroked a lock of hair back from his forehead. Since Rhun’s death, he’d worn his hair short, but it had been a month since she’d cut it, and he was developing a curl that kept falling onto his forehead. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“It is wrong of me to corrupt our bed with war.”
“You were sleeping,” Gwen said practically, adjusting the blanket that covered him and smoothing it across his chest. “You can’t help what you dream, and you were just in battle. Will you tell me of it?”
“I will, but not here.” Gareth sat up abruptly. His head was still bent, and he wouldn’t look at her, but he reached for his boots. “Outside.”
Gwen had changed her ruined dress for a fresh one before she’d lain down. But while she’d closed her eyes for a few hours, even exhausted as she was, she’d found it hard to sleep.
Gwalchmai was the only family member who hadn’t come to Ceredigion with Prince Hywel. The young bard remained in King Owain’s retinue, currently located at his court in the village of Llanfaes, across the Menai Strait from Aber. Llanfaes was the largest village in Gwynedd. It not only guarded Anglesey at the entrance to the Menai Strait but was also on the other end of the ancient pathway across the Lavan Sands from the mainland. Traders and travelers had been using the pathway at low tide since before there was a Gwynedd. The king had wanted to spend a few weeks close to his sister, Susanna, who was currently confined to the convent adjacent to the village.
They’d left Gwalchmai behind because, at nearly sixteen, he needed to experience the responsibilities of court bard on his own, without Meilyr looking over his shoulder all the time. Gwalchmai himself had argued for it, saying rightly that manhood came at fourteen in Wales, and if the station was to mean more than words, he had to be given the opportunity to be a man, in the same way it was given to the sons of knights (he meant Llelo and Dai, who was still thirteen). If nothing else, Gwen was glad Gwalchmai hadn’t been here to get sick too.
Once outside, she took in a deep breath and bent back her head to look up at the blue sky, trying to shake off her exhaustion. There were few enough clouds above her to indicate that a predominantly sunny day might be in the offing, a rare enough occasion in south Wales to warrant celebration.
Gareth reached for her hand. “I want to see Dai.”
“He lives, Gareth.”
“But many more do not. I’ll see him, and then I’ll take up the investigation again.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Gareth gave her a hard look but didn’t argue, for which Gwen was grateful. When she had thought last night that Dai was going to die, all she had wanted was to hold him in her arms and weep. But he hadn’t died, and while that made her happy, she was also livid at what had been done. If Meicol was the murderer, so be it. He had paid the ultimate price for his treachery. If he was an innocent bystander or had an accomplice, however, she wanted to catch the culprit as much as or more than Gareth did.
And, fortunately, because they were in Wales rather than England, she was going to be allowed to participate. At the very least, questioning suspects and following leads would give her something to do rather than constantly worrying over Dai.
They arrived at the barracks, which, along with the great hall, had been turned into an infirmary. Gareth had spent half the night ferrying the dead down the hill to lie in the church at the local monastery. Gareth had told her before he’d fallen asleep that the bodies were laid in rows in the nave. Some of the family members had protested the haste at their removal from the castle, but it was necessary rather than unseemly. The barracks and hall were needed for the living, so the only other alternative would have been to lay the bodies out in the courtyard of the castle, subjecting them to the elements.
Saran had opened all the windows in the barrack’s common room, where she was caring for upwards of two dozen ill people, but even so, the room smelled horribly of urine and vomit. Unapologetically playing favorites, she’d placed Dai on a table that had been pushed against the wall directly under a window facing the courtyard. When Gareth and Gwen arrived, Dai proved to have recovered enough to turn his head and raise a hand.
Gwen’s heart swelled with love, and she ran to him, skirting the people lying on the floor. There were fewer of them this morning than there had been last night, but she told herself that was because the missing people were feeling better. If it wasn’t true, there was no harm for now in the lie.
“How are you feeling?” She clasped Dai’s hand and bent to kiss his forehead, noting as she did so the absence of fever.
“Better. My mouth feels better too.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mam. I didn’t think one bite would matter.”
Gareth’s boots scraped on the floor as he came to a halt beside Gwen. He looked down at his foster son, his hands on his hips. Dai looked up at him, his expression one of utter wretchedness.
But then Gareth’s expression gentled, and he also bent forward to brush the hair off Dai’s forehead and kiss his foster son. “Just know we’re happy you’re alive and be glad this mistake is one you can learn from.”
Dai closed his eyes, and tears leaked out of the corners and fell down his cheeks. Gareth stepped back so Gwen could sit beside her son and hug him. “Don’t cry. Nobody is angry with you.”
“They should be.” He brushed at the tears with a jerky movement of his hand. “I’m angry with myself.”
Gareth grunted. “And that’s why we don’t need to say anything. You’re becoming a man, son. This is a hard lesson, but if you learn temperance and self-regulation from this mistake, it will be worth it.”
Gwen just hoped the incident didn’t dampen Dai’s native enthusiasm, which she loved. Gareth was right, however, that a man-at-arms was useless if he wasn’t obedient. He had to trust the wisdom of his superiors. If he couldn’t, then he needed to find new superiors, as Gareth had done, or a new line of work.
“Gareth.”
They all turned to see Evan standing in the doorway to the barracks, a grim set to his jaw. Gwen’s stomach seized. “Who—”
Evan hurried forward, waving his hand to imply that whatever they were thinking was not what was wrong and at the same time rearranging his expression to one of sympathy and understanding. “Don’t fear, Gwen. Everyone is well. The prince … everyone. This is something else.”
“Does Cadell live?” Gareth said.
“He does. It’s just—” Evan leaned in to speak conspiratorially, “—we have another murder.”
Gareth frowned. “Every person in the nave of St. Dyfi’s Church was murdered.”
Evan shook his head sharply. “Not that kind of murder. This wasn’t poison.” He drew in a breath. “Some time last night when we were dealing with the poisonings in the hall, Sir Robert was killed in the monastery graveyard.”