Gareth
Though he’d been about to go anyway, since Old Nan’s last words had been a clear dismissal—as well as permission—Gareth turned at the sound of wheels rolling over dirt and stone. A woman pulling a handcart appeared in the pathway below the garden. She was completely focused on her feet and pulled the cart towards Meicol’s house without looking up or appearing to notice Gareth in the garden doorway a hundred feet away.
The Dragons had staked out positions around the perimeter of the property, and they watched her with interest, but without moving to intercept her. Since Gareth had convinced Richard to leave the questioning of Old Nan to him and Gwen, he and his men had gone to water their horses at the river.
Then, still without looking up, the woman left the cart a step from the threshold and entered Meicol’s house without knocking.
Old Nan frowned and spoke from her spot against the wall. “Was that a cart?”
Gareth turned to her. “Yes. A woman was pulling it. Do you know her?”
“My guess is it’s Meleri. She is Meicol’s friend,” Nan said, her expression sour. “Was.”
“You don’t like her?”
Old Nan shrugged. “There’s nothing to like or not like. She’s simple.”
Gareth turned back in time to see Meleri leave Meicol’s house and finally see the soldiers waiting for her. Even from this distance, he could see her shrink back against the house, cowering in fear. From beside Gareth, Gwen saw it too, and she immediately set off across the grassy expanse that made up the clearing in front of Nan’s house, heading towards the woman.
Meanwhile, Gareth waved off his men. All soldiers had long experience with waiting, and nobody was sorry to have a moment to relax in the sun. Richard was just returning from the river, and his men stretched out on their backs on the grass too, their heads pillowed in a cloak or coat they didn’t need on such a fine day. Gareth would have liked to take a nap himself.
“It’s all right,” Gwen said as she approached the woman.
Gareth came closer as well, making less for the woman than for her cart, which she’d left by the front door, and when he reached it, he pulled back the hemp fabric covering the contents. Meleri possessed a pot and a pan, a fire starter kit, a blanket, a cloak and … a bound stack of paper that, as he flipped through it, proved to be a book of sketches.
As he looked through it, Meleri stabbed out with her hand. “That’s mine! It’s wrong to take other people’s things or reveal their secrets.” The words came out strangely, as if she was quoting what someone else had said to her—and perhaps she was because Meleri’s eyes were wide and guileless.
“I won’t hurt it.” Gareth showed her the way he was handling the pages gently.
Upon closer inspection, Meleri was sun-browned but not scrawny or underfed, and her face was clean. Her brown curly hair was untamed by any scarf or wimple and contained a substantial number of gray strands, but it was brushed and appeared to have been washed recently. She had white, straight teeth as well. Gareth himself had been taught to care for his teeth by the uncle who raised him, and it was the subject of a lecture he gave his men once a year—or whenever one of them fell victim to an abscess. Now, Gareth sucked on his teeth, regretting that, with the urgencies of the day, he’d neglected to partake of the vinegar and mint mouthwash he endeavored to use every morning.
He had met people like Meleri over the years. Their bodies grew but their minds did not. Often, however, they had a single gift. Some could do sums; others could play an instrument with exquisite beauty. Meleri, it seemed, could draw.
With gentle hands, Gwen took the book from him and indicated with a tip of her head that he should move a few paces away. “It’s all right, Meleri. We aren’t here to hurt you or take your things.”
Then Gwen’s eyes went to the open page in front of her, and what she saw gave her as much pause as it had given Gareth. This particular sketch was of Old Nan. Gareth worked mostly in charcoal, conveying in a few strokes the likeness of a person. What Meleri had drawn, if this was indeed her doing, was a more complete picture, employing color and an instrument other than a simple piece of charcoal to show Nan seated on a bench underneath a trellis of red roses.
“Did you draw this?” Gwen turned the book to show Meleri. “It’s beautiful.”
Meleri smiled beatifically, apparently forgiving them their trespass.
Gwen handed the book back to Gareth and spoke to Meleri as if she were a small child. “Why did you come here today?”
“I was looking for Meicol.”
“When did you last see him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it before or after the battle against the Flemings?”
Meleri’s brow furrowed. Gareth had seen such an expression on Tangwen’s face many times as she thought hard. “After.”
“Come sit here.” Gwen moved Meleri out of the direct line of sight of the men on the green, going with her instead to a bench set against the side of Meicol’s house. Meleri was clearly was uncomfortable in the presence of so many people, and they didn’t want her to freeze up completely.
“Where is he?” Meleri asked once she was seated.
Gwen put a gentle had on her arm. “He’s dead, Meleri.”
Meleri blinked her eyes rapidly. “He isn’t coming back?”
Now Gwen put an arm around her shoulders. “We came here in hopes of finding some answers to what happened to him. You are the first person to come to his house since he died. Can you tell us anything about who might have wanted to hurt him?”
But Meleri wasn’t listening anymore. She had bent forward, and was rocking back and forth and weeping. Then Evan appeared at Gareth’s back. “I can tell you right now Meleri is no killer.”
“You know her?”
“Of course I know her.” Evan’s voice was a harsh whisper. “She grew up here, just like the rest of us. She’s Alban’s cousin.” Evan looked past Gareth to where Meleri sat. “If she was friends with Meicol, that was kind of him.”
“That he’d befriend her surprises you?” Gareth said.
“As you know, I didn’t like Meicol. Nobody did.”
“Except, apparently, Old Nan and Meleri.”
Evan gestured helplessly. “You see her. She’s always been like this. Trusting.”
“Would you like to talk to her?”
“I suppose I could. Perhaps she’ll remember me.” Evan found an overturned bucket near the woodpile and brought it over so he could sit on it in front of Meleri, though making sure not to get too close in case his proximity frightened her.
Gwen, meanwhile, went to her saddle bag and took out a small loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth and a hunk of cheese half the size of her fist. She came back to where Meleri was sitting and placed them in Meleri’s lap. “Eat.”
Meleri looked at the food for a heartbeat, and then her eyes went to Gareth’s face. The eagerness in her expression had his stomach clenching. She was asking his permission. He felt like he’d kicked the puppy they’d acquired to entertain Tangwen at Aberystwyth while they were away. “Go on.”
Meleri set to the food with a will that Gareth had seen in few people outside one of his sons after they hadn’t eaten all day—or Rhodri, perhaps, one of the men in Hywel’s teulu, who still ate like a man twenty years younger. He wasn’t pleased to see the weeping rash on Meleri’s hands either, and he made a note to himself to speak to Saran about it. Some people got rashes in the spring when new flowers bloomed, and he’d always been thankful he wasn’t one of them.
Evan lifted a hand to gain Meleri’s attention. “Do you remember me?”
Meleri stopped in mid bite to look at him. “Evan.” She continued chewing.
“That’s right. I haven’t seen you for many years.”
In Gareth’s experience, few thirty-five-year-old men bore much resemblance to their eighteen-year-old selves, while many women were fully mature by that age. Meleri, however, had recognized Evan easily.
Meleri swallowed. “You went away. Everybody went away.”
“I’m sorry.” Evan glanced at Gareth, who made a motion with his hand that he should continue. “Did you know someone beat Meicol before he died?”
Meleri frowned. “Someone hit him?”
“A few days ago,” Evan said. “Do you know who that could have been?”
Meleri shook her head, looking genuinely confused.
Gwen handed Evan the book of drawings, open to a page showing Meicol preparing to mount a horse. “Did you draw this?” He turned the book to show her.
Meleri nodded, and then Evan flipped through the book to another sketch. “It seems you’ve seen Barri recently too. This could have been drawn yesterday.”
Meleri spoke around a full mouth. “I saw Barri arguing with Alban in the lane.”
“Do you know what they were fighting about?”
Meleri shrugged.
Evan kept his patience, presumably used to how she communicated. “How did you even know they were arguing?”
“Because they held their shoulders like he is—” she pointed to Gareth, “—and they were right in each other’s faces.”
“Did they see you?”
“No. I was in the woods.”
“And then what happened?”
Meleri shrugged again. “I went back to my room.”
“At Alban’s manor?” Evan asked.
Meleri nodded.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about Meicol?” Gwen said.
“It’s wrong to take other people’s things or reveal their secrets.” It was exactly what Meleri had said before.
Gwen asked gently. “Who told you that?”
“Everybody says it.”
“Caron?”
Meleri shrugged.
Evan handed Meleri her sketchbook and stood. “Can I have someone take you home?”
Meleri shook her head. “No. I know the way.”