Gareth
Gareth’s feet were on the ground before anyone else’s, despite Gruffydd’s protest that there was no point in guarding a man who refused to be cautious.
“The day I’m in danger from a pregnant woman is the day I hang up my sword.” Gareth strode forward towards the altercation, which appeared just short of coming to blows—and might have but for the arrival of Gareth’s company.
He halted in the circle created by the woman, Caron he presumed, though they hadn’t officially met, young Richard, and Alban, Caron’s husband.
Hands on his hips, Gareth surveyed the trio and said in the voice he normally reserved for recalcitrant men-at-arms. “What seems to be the problem here?”
Richard lifted his chin. “I simply asked her a question, and she started screaming at me.”
As if on command, Richard’s denial set Caron off again. “Simply asked a question? You accused my husband of murdering Sir Robert!”
Gareth looked at Alban. “Did you murder Sir Robert?”
Alban huffed out a breath. “It’s ridiculous even to suggest such a thing. Sir Robert has been nothing but good to us.” He put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
Caron, meanwhile, dabbed at her eyes and cheeks with the hem of her apron, wiping away tears. Her anger had turned to sudden grief. “How could you accuse Alban of such a thing? We loved Uncle Robert!”
In Gareth’s experience, love and hatred were two sides of a single coin. In addition, training men in war made them very good at killing other men. No man reached Alban’s station as second-in-command of the king’s teulu, essentially Evan’s position in Prince Hywel’s company before his transfer to the Dragons, without a skill and familiarity with it. Gareth had it too, but if he ever decided murder was necessary, he wouldn’t be bashing a man on the back of his head and leaving his body to be found.
Richard appeared to give up on Caron and turned to Gareth. “Were you able to speak to Sir Robert last night?”
Gareth shook his head regretfully. “By the time I’d finished examining Meicol’s body, dessert had been served and people were dying. Sir Robert himself had left the hall before I returned, and was dead soon after—though not of poison, of course.”
Richard harrumphed his disappointment and looked back at Alban and Caron. “I don’t see the two of you sick. How did you escape?”
Caron was sobbing too hard to speak, but Alban’s eyes were clear, and he retorted, “How did you?”
For a moment, Richard looked thunderstruck at the lack of courtesy, but then he relaxed and shrugged his shoulders, perhaps thinking they could get more out of the pair with honey than with vinegar. “I was among the men who carried Meicol from the hall and chose not to return afterwards. I didn’t hear of the poisoning until one of my men reported people were dying.”
Gwen arrived at Gareth’s side and gently rubbed elbows with him, not because she wanted attention but to let him know she was there. She was with child—by all appearances a similar length of time along to Caron—and the sight of Gwen reminded him that no good could come of accusing Caron of murder. The idea was absurd. Alban, however, was a different matter.
Which gave him an idea. “Perhaps my wife could assist you inside, Caron. I’m sure both of you could do with sitting down with a warm cup.”
Alban’s expression turned to one of relief, which was the first instance where Gareth felt some sympathy for him. If Caron was often as hotheaded as this, their marriage might be stormier than most.
Caron, for her part, continued to weep, but more quietly, and she tipped her head towards the door. “Of course. If you would follow me, Gwen.”
That left Alban alone with Gareth and Richard, who was a smart enough young man to realize exactly what Gareth had done. Separating the two of them prevented them from colluding on whatever story they were going to tell, if they, in fact, had something to do with Robert’s death.
Alban didn’t look like it, however. As Caron departed, he heaved a sigh, and his expression cleared. “I apologize for my wife’s behavior, Lord Richard. Sir Robert’s death, on top of what has been a difficult pregnancy, has been hard on her.”
“Better them than us, eh?” Richard said.
Alban let out a genuine laugh. “You have the right of it.”
It was the opening Gareth had hoped for to catch Alban when his guard was down. “Tell me about Sir Robert.”
Alban was ready this time with his defense. “I really didn’t kill him.”
Gareth made sure his voice was all patience. “I didn’t say you did. I spoke with him only in passing and didn’t know him at all, but you did. I genuinely want you to tell me about him.”
Alban pressed his lips together, and for a moment Gareth wasn’t sure Alban believed his assurances, but then he nodded. “He was a fine swordsman, as I’m sure you know.” Alban lifted his chin to point at Richard. “So good that King Cadell loaned him to Earl Gilbert.” Then his eyes grew thoughtful. “He was genuinely a good man too. Lonely though, since his wife and child died.”
“When did that happen?”
“Oh—” Alban waved a hand dismissively, “—twenty years ago or more. Robert devoted himself to his work after that.”
“Who inherits his estate? You?”
Alban nodded. “Caron is—was—his niece. That’s why he put me in charge of his manor in the first place. It would make the ultimate transition easier.”
Gareth rubbed his chin. Alban spoke straightforwardly, and Gareth’s initial thought that Alban might have killed his benefactor faded. It would have made no sense to do so when he himself was going to inherit eventually—and already had the benefit of the manor house. Robert was never home, and by the look of the estate—which on second glance was not so much run-down as lived-in—never made demands.
“Where were you last night that you weren’t poisoned?”
Alban made a rueful face. “Caron has been ill nearly continually with this child. She ate nothing during the feast, and though I would have stayed, she asked me to take her home right after she spoke to Evan.”
Gareth glanced at Evan, who was standing in the middle of the green talking to one of Richard’s men, having dispensed with the initial plan to have him speak to Alban and Caron the moment they heard Caron scream. “This was just after Meicol’s death?”
Alban’s lips twisted. “She didn’t know about it when she met Evan in the courtyard. She’d just come from vomiting up the little she did eat. The atmosphere in the hall was not pleasant, not to mention hot and stuffy, so we left before dessert was served.”
“Where did you go?”
“Home. Here. If you want proof, you could speak to the midwife. I sent for her, just to be safe. She was here most of the night.”
That sounded definitive enough for now. “Thank you for talking with me. I’ll let you know if I have further questions.”
Alban bowed and entered the house, leaving Gareth with Richard on the porch. Though Richard’s Welsh counterpart, Prince Rhys, showed knowledge and an ability to analyze beyond his years, it was clear to Gareth that he was still very much a fifteen-year-old who didn’t yet know his place or his limits. Richard, on the other hand, gave every impression of being much older than his seventeen years. He had a shadow in his eyes that belonged to a man who’d seen too much and was no longer surprised by evil. It could be a product of his recent narrow escape from Chepstow Castle with his father or the battle against Walter FitzWizo, but Gareth thought it went deeper than that.
While Rhys had lost both parents at a young age, which couldn’t have been easy—he and Gareth shared that fate—Richard was the son of a hard-driving father and a mother who’d once been the mistress of King Henry I of England. That couldn’t have been an easy household to grow up in either. Richard’s skin was so thick, Gareth could almost see the extra layer surrounding him.
So he took a chance. “You’re not a hothead, my lord. Why did you get into a shouting match with Caron?”
Richard laughed as genuinely as Alban had done earlier. “I was never angry, though I pretended to be. I wanted to catch them out in their wrongdoing.”
Gareth’s eyes narrowed. “You were looking to do my job.”
Richard’s expression turned regretful. “I was simply looking to help the investigation along because I could.”
“How did you know Sir Robert was dead?”
Now Richard’s eyes grew sad, and he looked down at his feet for a moment. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t. I came here looking for Robert. After last night, my men are wary of staying here even another day and are ready to depart. Robert was not with us, however, though I didn’t know why at the time, and nobody had seen him. It was Alban who told me he was dead.”
That gave Gareth a moment’s pause. “How did he know? I have just come directly from the monastery myself.”
“He said a messenger came to tell him. He’d just left when I arrived.” Richard grimaced. “I wanted to accuse them before they had time to prepare a story.”
“If Alban murdered Robert, he surely would have already prepared a story,” Gareth pointed out.
Richard sighed. “In retrospect, I can see how that might be true. I was too upset at the time to consider anything beyond the shock of Robert’s murder.”
Gareth put a hand on his shoulder and shook him a little, conveying sympathy. He hadn’t known Robert himself, but he’d been a man of stature—and one who appeared to inspire loyalty, even in a Norman lord. In Gareth’s experience, Norman lords—especially one as young as Richard—who could admit they didn’t know everything were few and far between.
“No harm done, as far as I know.” But then Gareth frowned. Something about Richard’s story didn’t make sense. “Why didn’t you send one of your men to collect him? Surely that would have been more usual.”
Richard snorted under his breath. “Yes, of course it would, but I also wanted to speak to Robert of Meicol and urge him to speak to you if he hadn’t already.”
Understanding dawned. “You wanted to be with him when he talked to me.”
Richard was completely unembarrassed. “I did, yes. As I told you last night, I have heard many stories about what has gone on at Dinefwr over the years and few of them are good.” He gestured to the manor’s front door, which Alban had closed behind him. “Take these two, for example. I accused Caron and Alban of murdering Robert because they have the most to gain from his death. Robert knew it, and he was not happy about it.”
“Wait. Wait,” Gareth said. “How is that? Alban inherits. He just said so.”
“I heard him.” Richard glared at the closed door, as if he could see right through it to Alban and Caron if he looked hard enough. “But that’s not the whole story. Yesterday Robert told me he was thinking about leaving the estate to the monastery. I don’t know if he’d yet mentioned it to Caron and Alban, but he was going to speak to the abbot about the possibility before we left Dinefwr. I’m thinking he was killed before he could.”
Gareth let out a long breath. “A better motive for murder could not be found.”
Richard clasped both hands on the top of his head and looked up at the sky. It was blue, for the most part, with a few clouds scattered across it. Another lovely June day. “Could Robert have been the poisoner’s intended target, and when Robert left the castle before the dessert, he resorted to bludgeoning him?”
“It’s possible,” Gareth said slowly, “though a woefully imprecise method of murder.”
“The poisoner didn’t appear to care how many died or who they were, did he?”
“No. It was very hit or miss,” Gareth said.
“More miss than hit, if Robert was the target.” Richard dropped his arms. “Only two of my men fell ill, and none died. Cadell is going to think I did this.”
“Or the Fitzgeralds,” Gareth said. “Or us. It is he and his people who suffered the most, the implication being that Cadell was the target, not Robert.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Richard’s eyes met Gareth’s. “Find the poisoner, Sir Gareth, before he tries again.” He turned to the door and reached for the latch, by all appearances preparing to enter Alban’s house. “Leave the issue of Sir Robert’s death to me.”