Chapter Twenty-one

Gareth

 

 

Gwen had gone up to the castle to poke around with Hywel, which was as good a way as any to get both of them into trouble. Thus, before he left the monastery, Gareth made arrangements for the men of Hywel’s teulu, whom he commanded, to treat Dinefwr Castle as if it were Aber. After the poisoning, the men had been up all night with Gareth, but they’d taken turns sleeping yesterday. With the new day, most were now able to concentrate on their duties again.

Gareth sent Goch of the red hair and large feet with ten of the company to scout the area around the castle. With so many of Cadell’s men down, that duty was sorely neglected, and Gareth had not yet ruled out an attack from an outside force. An enemy—perhaps even Walter FitzWizo, who was loyal to King Stephen—could have orchestrated all of this. Gareth hadn’t forgotten those three men killed on the road the night of the feast either. They’d been up to something, but as they were all dead, nobody knew what that had been.

He charged Rhodri with leading the rest of the men, who would remain inside the castle, to fill in where Cadell’s men could not. Lord Maurice had men in the castle too, of course, as did Richard de Clare. It could be they’d end up tripping over each other in their attempt to keep the residents of the castle safe, but that was better than not being safe. Admittedly, it was also a bit like locking the barn door after the horse had escaped, but Gareth was doing the best he could with the resources he’d been given.

Because he wasn’t putting in an appearance at the castle at all, Gareth didn’t have to explain himself to Prince Rhys or Richard de Clare. Last night, he had diverted them in advance by suggesting that this morning they ask among their men if anyone had seen or heard anything unusual or relevant to the investigation and report back. Truth be told, that questioning needed to be done, and Gareth hadn’t had time to do it, which was also why he’d suggested Angharad and Evan help too.

Aside from the fact that he and Gwen liked the way the pair looked together, time was running short, and it wasn’t only Cadell who was impatient for answers. Gareth needed to find the poisoner and the murderer. It was incredibly irksome that he didn’t know how many culprits there were, much less why they’d struck in the first place. It made it a little hard to predict when they might strike again.

This ride from the monastery was becoming as familiar to Gareth as the road from Aber through the pass of Bwlch y Ddeufaen in Gwynedd. As they rode along, he noted the familiar landmarks: that old, gnarled tree, the start of a stone wall, the same three cows in the field before the village, and the series of potholes to be avoided as they reached the bottom of the hill up to the castle. It was reaching a point where he knew the road well enough that he could have traveled it without a torch, even were it dark and stormy. Likely, the killer could say the same.

The thought prompted him to speak out loud. “He has to be a member of Cadell’s court.”

“What’s that?” Gruffydd was riding to Gareth’s right, and had remained silent up until now to allow Gareth space to think.

Gareth turned to the Dragon captain. “Whoever killed Sir Robert did so in the church graveyard, which is out of the way and not a typical place to meet anyone by accident. Furthermore, Robert was killed from behind, indicating he’d been followed or awaited. The killer knew his victim—and even more, knew his potential movements.” He clenched his hand into a fist and pounded it onto his thigh, finding himself frustrated as usual by what he didn’t know. “Along the same lines, even with the large number of people at the castle for the celebration, whoever poisoned the pie had to have been known to the kitchen staff. A stranger couldn’t have passed through that kitchen without someone remarking upon him.”

“You are right on all counts, which means we need to know more about our suspects.” Gruffydd barked a laugh. “It would be helpful to have suspects.”

They were passing through the village now. As with the road, Gareth was becoming familiar with the faces that turned to look at him as he went by. Here in the south, people weren’t comfortable with strangers. It was all the more reason to think the killer was one of them. Even with all the comings and goings of the army, the people of Dinefwr’s village would notice a newcomer who wasn’t a soldier, and while they might not have come forward to tell Gareth, they might speak to the abbot or someone in authority they knew. So far, they had not.

The company arrived at Alban’s manor to find two village boys, the eldest perhaps having achieved manhood, industriously chopping at the overgrown grass along the roadway with long knives. It was about time. Perhaps when Alban had been only a steward, he hadn’t felt the need to maintain the property, but now with Robert’s death, he was the lord of the manor. As Gareth himself could attest, ownership changed a man’s perspective.

Gruffydd, who by then had been riding just ahead of Gareth, motioned that the five Dragons (the company was lacking Evan) spread out to have a look around the estate. Gareth himself approached the manor house, and, for the second time in two days, walked in on a fight. This time, to Gareth’s complete lack of surprise, it was between Alban and Caron. The pair were so loud, Gareth opened the door and stepped inside the house without them noticing. It turned out they were in the back, all the way through to the kitchen where Gwen had met with Caron.

“You spent it?” Caron was shouting. “How could you? We agreed you wouldn’t!”

Gareth was completely happy to eavesdrop on the argument and to have a moment to himself inside the manor. Now that he could name Meicol as the master carver and had a more complete perspective on the man himself, he was able to better admire what he’d done here. And it occurred to Gareth that Meicol had done it for Robert, not Alban.

He rubbed his finger along the arm of a chair, carved to look like a paw. It was one of twelve that sat around the long table. All of the edges, legs, and arms were elaborately decorated. He could almost picture the bear that had been the model crouched on the other side of the table. Meicol might not have been deemed reliable anymore and might have been drinking too much, but Sir Robert had seen his worth and employed him at length. It seemed amazing to Gareth that Cadell hadn’t done the same. And now it was too late.

“Do you like the table?” The little girl he’d seen with her nanny earlier stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the railing.

“I do.” Gareth swept his fingers along the smooth finish.

“Uncle Meicol made it.” She made a sad face. “He’s dead now.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She walked forward. “Can I show you something?”

“Of course.” He reached out a hand and tugged on one of her pigtails. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was going to grow up as beautiful as her mother. The cliché I don’t envy her father passed through his head a heartbeat before he realized someone might say the same thing about him. He had a daughter too, younger than this girl, who was utterly beautiful. And he didn’t think it was just fatherly pride saying so. Woe betide any future young men who attempted to woo her before Gareth had assessed them fully and deemed them worthy.

Meanwhile, the little girl dropped to her knees and crawled under the table. “Come here.”

Half-laughing, he got down on his knees and then his rear and scooted himself after her. Instead of four legs on the corners, the tabletop was supported by two pedestals attached to one another by two thick crossbeams running between them. The little girl put her finger to her lips and then reached up and touched one of the knotholes in a pedestal. With a click, a drawer popped out. She pushed it back in, pressed the knot again, and it popped out again.

Gareth’s eyes were bright. There really was far more to Meicol than met the eye, and they would all be wise to remember it. “Is there anything inside?”

She nodded solemnly and pulled out a carved cat the size of Gareth’s pinky finger “Meicol told me if I ever had something I didn’t want my brothers to steal, to hide it in the drawer. My doll doesn’t fit, or I would leave it here so my brother can’t hurt her.”

“I’m sorry about your doll. I have a little girl too, and she would not be happy if someone hurt her doll.” Children could be—and often were—cruel if left to themselves. He slid out from underneath the table. “Meicol was a good friend to you.”

The girl followed, still holding the carved cat. “Do you think he’d like it if I brought the cat to his funeral?”

“I’m sure he would, but don’t leave it on the grave. He carved it for you because he wanted you to have it.”

She nodded again, the cat clenched in her little fist. By now, the fight in the kitchen had died down, it was time to make himself known to Alban and Caron. Then the front door opened, and Llelo, who again was tagging along, poked in his head. “Remember what Evan said about comparing this house to the barn at Aber?”

Gareth raised his eyebrows. “I do.”

Llelo nodded. “There’s something Gruffydd wants you to see.”