Gwen
“I should have kept a better eye on Dai,” Llelo said.
Gwen shook her head. “It’s hardly your fault he ended up sick. He’s responsible for his own choices.”
“He likes secrets, does Dai.” Llelo looked down at his hands, clenched as they were around his horse’s reins. “The more I see the work you and Father do, the more I realize what you’re really doing is uncovering other people’s secrets.”
Gwen had a feeling he’d been wanting to have this conversation with her for a while. It was only a mile or so to Meicol’s house, however, and she guessed either he hadn’t been able to wait any longer, or he’d wanted their time to talk to be constrained by the short distance they had to ride.
“While you’re right in principle, Llelo, Dai sneaking the pie hardly rises to the level of what’s been done here, but it’s true that once you start keeping secrets, it’s hard to stop. They become a habit.” She sighed to see Llelo’s stricken face. “They’re also destructive, not only just because you’ve done something you feel must be kept secret. Secrets eat you up inside and put up barriers between you and the people you love and from whom you’re hiding.”
“Sometimes I think Dai keeps secrets because it gives him something that is his and his alone. Nobody can take them from him.”
“Perhaps he’s learned his lesson this time,” Gwen said.
Llelo shook his head ruefully. “I say that every time.”
At a signal from Gareth, they halted in front of a steading that looked to Gwen as if it at one time had been prosperous, but now vines trailed up the walls of both the main house and a second building in the rear of the property, and their roofs would need to be patched before the next serious week of rain. The stable was near to falling down as well.
Llelo was seeing it with different eyes, however, and said, “If Meicol had to end up somewhere other than the castle, this is a pretty spot.”
Gwen smiled at her son. Despite all he’d been through in his short life, she was glad he could still appreciate a bit of beauty. And he wasn’t wrong. Dappled sunshine shone through trees on a grassy meadow full of wildflowers. It was peaceful here, with birds singing, and the sound of the river running close by through the trees that lined the bank.
Perhaps in a winter rainstorm it would be a somewhat less desirable location, given the danger of flooding, but the houses looked as if they’d been standing for half a century, and even in their present condition, might continue to do so for a good while longer.
A well-worn path led from the track they’d come down to a walled garden on the far eastern side of the property. After dismounting, Gwen followed the path. Llelo’s long legs caught up in a few strides. “I’d always heard it said that poison is a woman’s weapon.”
“Not in our experience.”
Llelo put a hand on her arm, stopping her before they reached the garden door. “Really? What don’t I know?”
Gwen studied him, a hair’s-breadth from telling him King Cadell had poisoned one of his spies at the eisteddfod in Aberystwyth last summer. Llelo didn’t know about it because he’d been in Gwynedd at that time.
“Ask me again once we’re home.” She shook her head. “So many men know how to use a blade, and they’re bigger and stronger than women, so it’s natural to think a woman might resort to poison. But as a weapon, it works just as well for men when they want to be stealthy about it, and when they have time to plan.”
The Dragons and Gareth spread out to secure the perimeter of the steading. Not that they expected the culprit to appear out of the woods unannounced, but knowing the terrain was the first step towards not being caught by surprise. Gareth had managed to persuade Richard to send most of his men back to the monastery. Acknowledging that taking an armed company through the countryside might not be the best way to catch a murderer, Richard himself had continued among the Dragons with only two retainers as support, rather than the twenty he’d brought to Alban’s house.
The door into the garden had been left open, and, as Gwen took a step inside, the feeling of peacefulness Llelo had felt when they’d first arrived expanded. The garden appeared to be an island of order and tranquility in an otherwise unkempt property. In fact, its beauty and diversity rivaled any garden Gwen had ever seen, whether at a monastery or castle, no matter how rich.
Flowers rioted in the corners and row after row of carefully tended vegetables covered an area forty feet long and more than half that wide. Trees had been cut down around the wall to provide maximum sun exposure. In particular, the northernmost wall, which inside the garden was south-facing, was in full sunlight so the least sturdy plants and tender herbs planted there could stay warm and grow. A small hut was built against the southern wall, where very little sun shone, and the door had been left open to the day’s warm air.
It made her a bit unhappy that immediately after appreciating the peacefulness of the location, her next thought was that the poison could have come from here. If so, the hut should show evidence of its making, and she went straight towards it, skirting the many neatly tended beds. The inside of the hut, however, proved to be as neat as the garden, with rows of jars and vials, some of which were nearly identical to the one found in Meicol’s bag, though all of the ones before her were empty. While this appeared to be a perfect spot for the poison to have been made, the worktable had been wiped down, and no herbs hung from the ceiling. There was nothing about the hut to indicate it had been used recently.
Relieved in a way, Gwen returned to the door and closed her eyes, breathing in the scents of mint and apple blossom, mixing with lavender and rose. She opened her eyes again at the tapping of a cane on the flagstone walkway. Old Nan was coming towards her, so Gwen went to intercept her so she wouldn’t have to come so far.
Old Nan’s smile was beatific. Though her eyes were open, she was looking at a spot a foot to Gwen’s right. “So the young lady from Gwynedd has come to see my garden. Gwen, isn’t it?”
“How could you possibly know it was me?” Gwen moved nearer, finding herself staring impolitely, though of course as Old Nan couldn’t see her, it was the one time it couldn’t matter.
Now that Gwen was getting a closer look in broad daylight, Old Nan wasn’t as old as all that—and certainly not the ancient crone her name implied. Though her hair was fully gray, with only a few strands of brown remaining, her forehead was relatively unlined, and her teeth were perfect. Her hands showed signs of age—no matter how many creams a woman used, the skin on her hands and neck always gave her age away—but Gwen still wouldn’t have put Nan as more than a few years past forty.
Old Nan put her free hand to her ear. “I heard you come in.” She turned her head slightly. “I’m glad you find my home peaceful, young man.”
Llelo’s face colored, but he bowed, even though Old Nan couldn’t see it. “Your garden is beautiful too.”
By the same instinct that had caused Llelo to bow, Gwen put up a hand, though she immediately brought it down again. “I am here with my husband at the request of King Cadell.”
“Who?”
No response could have been more puzzling. “King Cadell? The King of Deheubarth?”
“Oh. Him.” The woman jerked her head, her eyes even less focused than before. “The second son.” She grunted and turned away, tapping back to a stool set against the south facing wall by a large patch of newly turned earth prepared for planting. She sat, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall, allowing the sun to shine fully on her face. “I miss King Gruffydd. Now there was a man.”
King Gruffydd had died ten years ago, so Gwen tried to revise her estimate of the woman’s age, but she still found herself thinking the woman was far too young for senility. Perhaps the blindness was due less to age than a blow to her head, which had also affected her memory.
By now, Gareth had arrived at Gwen’s side. “Madam, we’re wondering if you would speak to us of a man named Meicol. We understand he lived here.” He’d come into the garden holding the sketch he’d drawn of the dead man, but at the sight of Old Nan, he folded it carefully and put it away in his coat.
Old Nan’s face fell, and she spoke through sudden tears. “He was a wonderful boy. So helpful around here.” She wiped at her cheeks with the back of one hand. “He really is gone? The messenger didn’t lie?”
Gwen moved to her and took her hand. “I’m sorry. He is.”
Old Nan shook her head. “I was hoping when I woke this morning that I’d dreamt it. King Gruffydd is still alive to me sometimes. Why not Meicol?”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I will miss him.”
Gwen looked helplessly at Gareth, and then brought the old woman into her arms and let her sob on her shoulder. Old Nan gripped Gwen hard, and Gwen could feel the muscles in her arms and back, evidence of her work in the garden.
Finally her sobs began to wind down. “He wasn’t the only one who died last night, was he?”
“No,” Gwen said. “I am not from here, so I don’t know all the names.”
“The king lives?”
“He does.”
Old Nan nodded to herself.
Llelo had started to move along the garden paths, peering at one plant or another. “Did Meicol do all this?”
Old Nan managed a small smile. “Much of it. I also have a neighbor boy who does much of the heavy work, but I tend the flowers, of course. You don’t have to see well to know what they need.”
“I will take you at your word,” Gareth said. “Which house was Meicol’s?”
“The one in the back.”
“For how long was he here?” Gwen said.
“A few years. Back then, I could see more than I do now.” Nan gave a low laugh. “I could move better than I do now.”
“Do you mind if we take a look around?” Gwen said.
“Of course not, though I don’t know why you’d want to, unless—” For the first time, the woman’s expression grew concerned. “Why are you here specifically about Meicol? Many died last night, you said.”
“He was the first.” Gwen squeezed Old Nan’s hand, and finally the woman directed her gaze into Gwen’s face.
“You are lovely, my dear.” She reached up and traced Gwen’s cheek with her hand. “I can’t see much, but I can see enough to know that.”
“You know flowers, Nan,” Gareth said. “Do you know anything that might help us find who did this?”
Old Nan blinked. “Did this? What do you mean?”
Gwen bent further so she could look into Old Nan’s eyes. “Didn’t you hear how they died?”
Old Nan frowned. “Tainted meat, wasn’t it? Or milk?” Her eyes narrowed. “I never liked Grygg’s chowder.”
Grygg was the name of the head cook, now gravely ill himself. Gwen glanced at Gareth, uncertain as to whether or not they should tell Old Nan the truth. Gareth shrugged, and he was probably right that it could hardly matter, since the rest of the residents of Deheubarth either knew the truth or would by the end of the day. “It was poison, Old Nan.”
The woman reared back. “You’re sure?”
Gwen nodded, and then said, “Yes,” as an afterthought. She kept forgetting Old Nan was blind. “It was in the pie, which is why nobody fell ill until late in the meal.”
Old Nan nodded. “I left right after I spoke with you.” She shook her head. “It was too stuffy in the hall, and the noise was overwhelming. I started walking down the hill, and then Alban and Caron came along and took me the rest of the way. Do you know what the poison was?”
“No,” Gwen said. “Something that worked quickly.”
“Monkshood?” Old Nan said.
“Perhaps.”
Gwen paused, studying the older woman. “You know your herbs.”
“Naturally.” Old Nan gestured to her garden, implying it should have been obvious. “I know Grygg’s pie. He puts currants in it, which would have masked the taste and color of any poison.” She frowned as she looked at the ground, and Gwen waited, wondering if she was going to say more. Old Nan’s thoughts had matched theirs, and she hoped Nan might have more insight. After a moment, however, Old Nan seemed to realize that Gwen and Gareth were still watching her, and she waved a hand. “Go on into the house. Do what you must. Meicol is past caring.”