Gwen
Tonight they had forgone the hall up at Dinefwr and chosen instead to dine in Hywel’s pavilion, set up in one of the fields adjacent to the monastery. It was private, and they had the pleasure of Hywel’s voice, even if Meilyr was still tasked with singing to entertain the other lords at the castle.
Evan and Angharad were both there too, at her uncle’s request, since it was her last night at Dinefwr. He had given her a small bag of silver coins as dowry, but her inheritance from her father was actually an estate in Ceredigion, which he’d lost when Gwynedd had annexed the region. Thus, it fell to Hywel to award it to her—an odd circumstance for the niece of the King of Deheubarth, but somehow appropriate too, since she would now be in his retinue.
Contented from a full meal cooked over an open fire by Hywel’s own men, Gwen put down her empty cup. “Meicol should have said something to someone other than Old Nan.”
She had seen what they’d collected from Old Nan’s garden. Having dug a pit ten feet on a side and six feet deep, as if it were a large grave, Meleri and Old Nan had placed crates of valuables in it and then covered the whole thing with dirt. Nobody would have ever found it, especially once Old Nan started her plantings.
“He had spent many years feeling unhappy and unworthy. The beatings Cadfan and Alban gave him may have confirmed his decision that he couldn’t go to them about the treasure.” Gareth’s long legs were stretched out in front of him. “Meicol had nobody he could trust.”
“Unlike me.” Having finished singing for now, Hywel sat beside his captain, his arms folded complacently across his chest.
Gwen rested her head against her husband’s shoulder. She could fall asleep at any moment. “Are we thinking Meicol was the one who buried the coins, to be retrieved at a later time?”
“That is very a good question, Gwen, and not one we should be asking out loud before we reach Aberystwyth.” Gareth pulled her closer. “The location of the rest of the treasure is King Cadell’s problem now. He will find answers or he won’t.”
“And we aren’t going to help him anymore. Though I never thought I’d say it, good luck to Anselm.” Hywel raised his cup in a toast and took a long drink of mead. He was always careful not to let down his guard, but he was drinking a little more freely tonight. The mead had come from a barrel they’d brought from Aberystwyth.
“Even without FitzWizo’s men, Old Nan should have run. She was a fool to stay.” Llelo was half asleep on the other side of the table with his head resting on his arms, but by speaking he showed he was listening.
Gwen was immensely proud of the work her foster son had done, proving Gareth had been right that he was a good choice to follow in their footsteps. Some might think it foolish to trust someone so young with such a big secret, but by now Llelo had earned their trust.
“She thought she was smarter than everyone else. She’d fooled everyone for this long. Why not a few days longer?” Hywel set down his cup. “As your father also says, Gwen, at the end of the song comes payment. The thief will pay in due time.”
“Does that mean we will too?” Gwen said softly, though nobody but Gareth heard her.
Then a horse whinnied at the entrance to the pavilion, and they turned to see Prince Rhys dismounting. He entered the tent and, at Hywel’s gesture, found a seat on the bench beside Llelo. “So where is it?”
Gwen narrowed her eyes at the young prince. “Where is what?”
“The rest of the treasure.” Rhys’s lips twitched. “Nobody survives around here without identifying who knows things others don’t.” He bowed from a sitting position in Hywel’s direction. “My lord. Please. I know you told my brother that you and your men are leaving in the morning, but I would ask you to stay.”
Hywel unfolded his arms. “I’m all ears.”
Rhys put his elbows on the table, the endearingly eager expression that he’d worn often in the last few days filling his face. “How did you know the treasure was buried in Old Nan’s garden?”
“We didn’t. It was a hunch.” Gwen canted her head. “As it turned out, it was a good one.”
“And that Old Nan wasn’t blind?”
“It was the only thing that made sense,” Gareth said.
Rhys nodded. “I want to go back. I want all of you to go back with me.”
Gareth let out a pfft of air. “We ransacked the garden, the hut, her house, Meicol’s house … there are no trap doors and no secret compartments. That we haven’t found it is not from lack of trying.”
“It’s there. I know it. We’ve missed something. Old Nan didn’t know about it because Meicol hid it from her.”
“Based on what evidence?” Gwen said.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Rhys was growing agitated, and he leapt up to pace back and forth in front of the table. “What would you have done if you’d found it? He gave a few coins to Old Nan and kept nothing for himself?”
“He would have taken what was easily portable,” Gwen said.
Rhys nodded. “The missing gold and jewels are somewhere close. They have to be. It’s the only explanation.”
Hywel rubbed his chin and looked at the others. “What does your gut tell you, Gareth?”
Gareth pushed to his feet. “I’ll get the others.”
Prince Rhys put out his hand before Gareth could leave. “Not too many. I’d like to limit the number of people who know about this. It’s why I came here alone.”
Gareth gave him a long look, and then he nodded and headed out.
It was nighttime. Gwen was exhausted. But she certainly wasn’t going to be left behind. She looked at Rhys. “You don’t trust someone at the castle?”
He shrugged.
“Is it your brother?”
“I don’t trust anyone.” He glanced at Hywel, who was watching them closely. “That’s the first lesson you learn as a younger son, is it not?”
Hywel gave a low laugh, but then he sobered and leaned forward, his eyes intent on Rhys’s face. “You have to trust somebody sometime.” He glanced at Gwen out of the corner of his eye. “Believe me when I say it can make all the difference.”
Once back at the little steading, they dismounted: Hywel, Rhys, Gwen, Gareth, Llelo, Aron, Iago, and Cadoc, though the archer instantly headed into the woods. In turn, Iago nodded at Gareth and set off in the opposite direction with Aron. “We’ll establish a perimeter.”
Gareth looked at Gwen. “Would you like to start with the garden?”
“The three of you go on,” she said, referring to him, Llelo, and Prince Hywel. “I’ll stay with Prince Rhys.”
Gareth gave her a look not unlike the one she’d received from Abbot Mathew earlier in the day, but he nodded and strode towards the garden door.
Rhys remained where he was, and she turned to him. “What is your gut telling you?”
“Why are you asking me? You were the one who realized that the treasure could be buried in Old Nan’s garden. Nobody else had got that far.”
“But you are the one who brought us here.”
“I did. I hope I’m not wasting our time.” Rhys pushed open the door into Meicol’s house ahead of Gwen—and pulled up on the threshold. Meicol’s tools were scattered all over the floor. The figures and carvings had been knocked over, and his mattress had been pulled apart, so there were feathers everywhere.
“If we needed proof that someone else was involved, we have it now,” Gwen said.
Rhys made a rumbling sound deep in his chest. “Someone obviously had the same idea we did, and he’s none too happy about not finding what he was looking for.”
A boot scraped behind them, and both she and Rhys jumped. Anselm leaned against the frame of the door. “You’re right about that at least.”
Gwen glared at him. She despised him on principle, and nothing he’d done—not even getting Barri to confess—could make her think well of him.
Anselm put up both hands, palms out. “I’m just trying to find the truth, same as you.” He gestured to the ransacked house. “The treasure isn’t here.”
“We can see that.” Rhys spoke through gritted teeth. “How do I know you didn’t find some of the treasure and keep it for yourself?”
Anselm grinned. “Would I have made myself known to you if I had? I’d be halfway to Bristol by now.”
He had a point, though Gwen had learned not to trust a man who answered a question with a question. Anselm was unpredictable. She didn’t understand him—and really didn’t want to.
Rhys snorted and gestured with his head. “Be on your way.”
Anselm’s smile was just short of insubordinate. “Yes, my prince.” He bowed. “As always, I am at your service.” He left.
Gwen started to move about the room, discontent rumbling in her own chest at what Anselm had said and done.
“We might as well go, Gwen,” Rhys said from behind her. “He’s right that there’s nothing here.”
Gwen looked back at the prince. “Is he really gone?”
Rhys poked his head out of the door and then pulled back in, nodding as he did so.
“Shut the door.”
He obeyed with a click of the latch. “What is it?”
“There are bits of this investigation Anselm doesn’t know about.”
Rhys’s expression lit. “Good to know.”
“From the start I thought the bed was far too grand for a man of Meicol’s station, but of course he made it himself, so he could do what he liked.” She touched one of the posts, which had been carved as if real vines snaked up it.
“I’m listening.”
“Meicol had more work than perhaps the men up at the castle knew. For starters, he did all the woodwork in Sir Robert’s house. That includes a great table in his hall. Alban’s daughter showed Gareth a secret drawer underneath it, hidden in one of the table’s pedestals.”
Rhys took a step forward. “You think that he made one for the bed?”
“If so, Gareth couldn’t find it.” She began running her hands along the headboard. It looked and felt solid to her, as it should. She pressed every knothole, but there was no accompanying click.
Rhys joined her enthusiastically at first, but after he too found nothing, his interest began to wane. Gwen harrumphed and sat on the edge of the bedframe.
Rhys sat down beside her. “I was really hoping we had something here.”
“Me too.” She put her chin in her hand, her eyes scanning the room. A nearly life-sized cat lay on the floor close to her foot. On impulse, she picked it up and shook it, but nothing rattled. It was as solid as the bed. Still, she turned the cat over in her hands. “Who inherits all of Meicol’s animals, my lord?”
“My brother, naturally, as Meicol’s liege lord.”
“What will he do with them?”
Rhys shrugged. “They’re beautiful. He could sell some, but he has spoken with admiration of Meicol’s handiwork, and more likely he will eventually give them away as gifts.” He pointed with his chin to a cluster of several more. “The dragon has always been his favorite.”
“As well it should be.” Handing the cat to Rhys, Gwen darted forward to pick up the dragon. It too appeared solid, but she began running her hands all over the creature anyway.
“There’s nothing here, Gwen.”
“I’m sure you’re right—” She broke off at the click that sounded in response to a hard thumb on the dragon’s eye. At first she didn’t know what she’d accomplished, but she held the neck tightly and twisted, and the whole head turned and came off. A seam had been hidden by the dragon’s collar. Wool was stuffed into the neck and body, and she pulled out one tuft after another. Inside each little ball Meicol had place a gem, and one by one she dropped them into Rhys’s lap.