The next morning, Gwen slept later than she intended. It was already dawn by the time she awoke. She rolled up the pallet on which she’d been sleeping and hurried out of the hut. In the middle of the night, during the long hours when she wasn’t sleeping, she’d come to the decision that she should bring what Edain had discovered to Gruffydd. Perhaps her information could spark him into movement. Despite his lack of action, she trusted him more than she did Robert or Cadfael. Maybe he’d at least be willing to listen.
But before Gwen was half way down the path towards the kitchen, Saran waylaid her. “I heard that you have been trying to help your father.”
Gwen swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Saran studied her. “And? How does it feel?”
Gwen didn’t hesitate. “Terrifying. But not so much as the thought of my father being hung for murder.”
Saran nodded. “I spoke with Gruffydd about the potion yesterday, and now I have something to show you.”
“Something good?” Gwen said.
“Perhaps.” Saran directed Gwen to a corner of the kitchen garden. A shovel rested against the chin-high wall that sheltered the plants from the wind that blew around the castle most days of the year.
Saran pointed at a hole in the ground. “I noticed that the shovel was missing when I checked my tools this morning, and then saw that the earth had been disturbed here. I’m surprised you didn’t hear someone digging in the middle of the night.”
“I was certainly awake for enough of it.” Gwen touched the handle of the shovel, glad that Saran was so careful with her possessions, even if it made Gwen nervous to be anywhere near her things.
When Gwen had asked permission to use the herbalist’s hut for music practice, Saran had given her a fierce look. She’d assented, but not before threatening Gwen with bodily harm if she moved, damaged, or otherwise touched the huts’ contents in any way. Gwen’s initial laughter had died in her throat when she realized that Saran wasn’t jesting.
Gwen crouched to look at what Saran had unearthed: two lengths of linen cloth, wadded into balls and stuffed together in a shallow hole. Carefully, Gwen pinched the corner of one of the pieces and lifted it. Loose soil had adhered in places to the pus and blood, which had soaked through the cloth.
“The blood hasn’t dried,” Saran said. “I would say that whoever buried these, did so just a few hours ago.”
“Someone at the castle has an injury which they want to hide,” Gwen said, “or they would have come to you.”
“I want to say these belong to our murderer,” Saran said. “But I don’t see how he could have been injured so severely in garroting Collen. Collen didn’t even have skin under his nails where he might have scratched at the man.”
Gwen hadn’t realized that Saran had examined the body so thoroughly. “And yet—” she said.
Saran’s brow furrowed. “And yet if he had nothing to fear, why not wash them, or burn them? Why risk their discovery?”
“Where would a man do that without being seen?” Gwen said. “In the great hall? It’s always full. Someone would notice, just as someone would wonder about a man washing cloths at the well when it’s icy cold outside.”
Gwen glanced up at the herbalist, prepared to thank her for her help, when an image of Gwalchmai tuning his lyre last night came to her in a flash. She could have throttled herself for being so blind and stupid.
Saran touched Gwen’s shoulder. “You know something. I can see it in your face.”
“Lord Cadfael should see these,” Gwen said. “I won’t say more until I’ve spoken to Gruffydd.”
“Lord Cadfael, Gruffydd, and Cadoc are leading a hunting party this morning in celebration of Cadoc’s birth day.” Saran checked the sky. “They should be leaving soon.”
At that moment, the rear door to the keep, beyond the kitchen garden wall, slammed open. Gwalchmai bounded down the steps. “Gwen! You must come! Sir Gruffydd is bringing Father before Lord Cadfael right now!”
“What?” Gwen dropped the cloth she was holding back into the hole. “I thought he was going to wait until tomorrow!”
“Lord Cadfael is sentencing him today,” Gwalchmai said. “That’s what Cadoc told me.”
Gwen took off running towards the door to the keep, the hem of her skirt clenched in both hands to free her legs, but then she changed course halfway to Gwalchmai and headed towards Saran’s hut. She burst into the workshop, grabbed a clay dish, and dashed back to the hole Saran had discovered. Carefully, Gwen removed both lengths of cloth and placed them in the dish. Then she ran back towards the keep, collecting an open-mouth Gwalchmai on the way.
As she pushed through the door, two of Gruffydd’s men urged Meilyr across the expanse of wooden floor towards the dais where Robert, Lord Cadfael’s steward, waited.
“Father!” Gwalchmai had both hands to the sides of his head, as if by blocking his ears, he could stop the sentencing from happening.
Gwen turned on him. “Stay with Saran. You shouldn’t watch this.”
“But Gwen—”
Gwen grabbed his arm. “Please, Gwalchmai. This isn’t for your eyes. I will stand with Father and support him.”
Gwalchmai stared at Gwen, his mouth working, but then he closed it and obeyed her, as he’d obeyed her in the pantry, turning on a heel and going back outside. Saran met him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Please, Saran—” Gwen said.
Saran nodded and put her arm around Gwalchmai’s shoulders to direct him towards the kitchen. The servants there would welcome him, and feed him, and by the time he finished eating, this would be over.
Dreading what was to come, but unable to see a path forward that didn’t go through this moment, Gwen walked to stand beside Meilyr, her knees shaking. She was glad that her long skirt hid the trembling and she clenched the clay dish she had brought. She had accumulated some knowledge, and had some evidence that might indicate that her father had no involvement in Collen’s murder. But mostly what she’d discovered led only to more questions, ones for which she didn’t yet have answers.
Robert had cleared the hall except for Gruffydd and a dozen men of the garrison, plus Eva and Denis, both of whom had a vested interest in Lord Cadfael’s decision. The couple stood in the corner by the door. Where all the other visitors to the castle had gone, Gwen didn’t know, although she could hear the muster of men in the courtyard, preparing to ride out on the coming hunt.
“Girl,” her father said as Gwen took her place to his right, “go away.”
“No,” Gwen said. “I need to hear what Robert and Lord Cadfael have to say. And you need someone to stand with you.”
An expression identical to the one that Gwalchmai had just given her crossed Meilyr’s face, but he swallowed down his objections without further comment and turned to face Robert. Then, Lord Cadfael entered the hall from the stairwell that came down from the upper rooms. The table that normally sat on the dais had been moved to one side. A single chair rested in a central location and Cadfael claimed it. His hands clasped behind his back, Cadoc took his place just to the right of his father’s chair as he often did.
The room settled into silence. Cadfael flicked a finger at Gruffydd, who brought Meilyr to stand ten paces from him. Then Gruffydd pressed down on Meilyr’s shoulder to force him onto his knees.
“Of what is this man accused?” Lord Cadfael’s voice rang throughout the hall. Everyone knew of what Meilyr was accused, of course, but this was a formal setting, before the lord and judge of the castle, and the traditions had to be observed.
“Of murder, my lord,” Robert said. “He was found next to the body of the man, Collen, trader and merchant. The murder weapon was found beside the body and belongs to the accused.” Robert held up the harp string.
Meilyr didn’t look at either Cadfael or Robert, and instead stared down at his hands.
“And what say you, Meilyr ap Brydydd?” Lord Cadfael said. “Did you do this deed?”
Meilyr shook his head, still not looking up. “No, my lord. I did not.”
“Is there a man, here, who will speak for you?” Cadfael said.
More silence. Then Gwen stepped forward. “I would speak for my father, my lord.”
Cadfael’s eyes narrowed.
“My father does not have a son who has come of age to speak for him, so it falls to me.” Gwen kept her eyes lowered and her tone courteous.
“Although it is unusual for a woman to speak in the hall, I grant your wish. What have you to say?” Cadfael said.
Gwen’s head came up. “My lord, first, I would like to ask Lord Robert about the coins that Collen left in his keeping.”
All of the men in the hall went rigid. Gruffydd had been standing behind her father, who was still on his knees, and now leaned in so he could speak low in Gwen’s ear. “What coins?”
Gwen didn’t answer. She gazed fixedly at Lord Cadfael, who kept his eyes on hers for a long moment. The nature of Welsh law was such that a defendant not only had a right to a defender, but had a right to ask questions of his accuser. Cadfael turned to his steward. “Robert?”
Robert stood a little way to Cadfael’s left, opposite and more forward from Cadoc’s position. “What—what coins?” Robert said.
“I know about the coins that Collen gave you for safekeeping, my lord.” Gwen refused to back down or look away from the men in front of her. “You cannot keep them.”
Robert’s face flushed bright red. “Are you accusing me—?”
“You are accusing my father of something he did not do,” Gwen said. “If you expect him to tell the truth, you must tell it also.”
“Gwen is right, my lord Cadfael. You should listen to her.” Denis strode towards the dais. Gwen turned so that she could see him approach. While she was terrified by her forwardness, his face showed interest and even … amusement. “Collen told me that he had left three gold coins in Lord Robert’s keeping. When I asked him about them after Collen’s death, Robert claimed no knowledge of them.”
Robert was sputtering. “I have no idea what you—”
“I can prove it, my lord.” From his pocket, Denis pulled out a tiny book, no more than a finger’s length high and wide. He opened it to a page and held it out to Cadfael. “Collen kept very careful records of everything he bought, sold, or did.”
Lord Cadfael eyed the page, and then Robert. Cadfael studied the steward for a long moment and then surged to his feet. He swung a finger to indicate the entire hall. “Clear the room! Now!”
Stunned silence followed that order, but then Gruffydd put his heels together and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“But my father—”
Cadfael cut Gwen off with a glare. “Except for you. You stay!”
The two men who guarded Meilyr got him to his feet. Gwen remained in the middle of the floor, her hands still clenched around her clay pot. She kept her head slightly bowed while the room emptied, not sure of what had happened—or why—or what might happen next. A moment later, only Gwen, Gruffydd, Robert, Cadoc, and Cadfael remained.
Cadfael settled back into his chair. “Now,” he said. “I want to know what’s really going on in my castle.”
Nobody answered him.
Lord Cadfael lifted his chin to his steward. “Robert, I know the truth now. Speak to me of the coins.”
Robert’s jaw clenched. “I have them, my lord. I understand that the possession of them gives me motive for killing Collen, but I did not kill him.”
Gwen bit her lip. She didn’t want to insert herself into the lords’ dispute, but there was no help for it, not with what she had discovered—and remembered. “My lord, there is an easy way to determine the truth. Lord Robert should remove his gloves.”
“What?” Gruffydd, Cadfael, and Cadoc spoke in unison.
“The man who murdered Collen has wounded hands,” Gwen said.
Cadfael snorted his disbelief. “How would you know that?”
“I was remiss in not realizing this earlier, for it would have exonerated my father instantly,” Gwen said. “No man, no matter how strong or able, could garrote another man with a harp string and not mark his palms and fingers. The strings are very sharp and will cut an unwary person if he is not careful. My father wears thin gloves when he strings his harp. Think of the damage the string must have done to the killer, who wound it around his hands and killed Collen with it.”
Gruffydd glanced at the bloody harp string Robert had set on a side table. “Can you show us?”
Gwen slipped a second coil of string from her pocket and straightened it. She’d been carrying it around since yesterday, just as a reminder of what she had to do. It was two feet in length, thin and generally unbreakable except when stretched tight on her father’s harp. Gruffydd took the string from Gwen and held it between two fingers. It bowed and bounced as he wiggled it.
“Imagine grasping the ends, coiling them around your hands, and garroting a struggling man with it,” Gwen said.
Robert had been watching their exchange carefully, his shoulders tensed. He hesitated another heartbeat, and then with quick jerks, loosened the fingers of both gloves, pulled them off, and dropped them onto the wooden planks of the hall. “There!” He held out both hands to Gruffydd and Gwen, and then turned on his heel to show Cadfael.
“The murderer could have worn gloves,” Cadoc said. “Your father remains the most likely suspect for this very reason. He must have known what you have just told us.”
“That is true, my lord, except …” Gwen took in a deep breath and let it out. “My lord, may I approach?”
Cadfael raised his eyebrows, but then nodded. Gwen walked forward, holding out the dish with the bloody rags inside. “Saran found these in the garden this morning.”
The men inspected the linen with distaste. Robert sneered as he picked up one corner of a rag and held it up. “Someone is in pain.”
“Nobody has come to Saran for healing?” Gruffydd said.
“No, my lord.” Gwen eased out a breath. It seemed Gruffydd was becoming something of an ally, which was going to make this easier. “As Lord Cadoc said, my father would have known that he had to wear gloves to wield the harp string, and yet none were found in the pantry.”
“So what do you propose?” Cadfael said. “That we inspect the hands of every man in the castle? It’s an absurd thought.”
Gwen didn’t think it absurd at all, but his certainty made her hesitate. “Perhaps Collen’s wife could be questioned—”
Lord Cadfael cut her off. “Eva did not kill her husband.”
Gwen knew that he was right, given her appraisal of Eva’s hands the night before, and that she was a small woman. “I know that, my lord, but someone did. Don’t you want to discover who that is?”
Cadfael’s brow furrowed. “I dislike your impertinence, young lady.” He tapped a finger on the arm of his chair as he gazed at her.
Gwen swallowed. “Did Saran confirm what I said about the manner in which she believes my father was dosed?”
Cadfael continued his tapping. “She did.”
“Coupled with the mead he consumed, the potion would have ensured that my father had no memory of the events of the night at all,” Gwen said.
“We have no other suspect, my lord,” Robert said. “We can’t just release Meilyr. It will make you look weak.”
Gwen didn’t care in the slightest how Cadfael looked, though of course she didn’t dare say so.
Gruffydd stirred. “I have a suggestion, my lord.”
Cadfael glanced at his captain. “Yes?”
“We should use Meilyr to lay a trap,” Gruffydd said.
Cadoc spoke from behind his father’s chair. “What kind of trap?” He leaned forward, his eyes on Gruffydd. It was just the kind of thing to appeal to a fourteen year old boy.
“You threatened Meilyr with hanging earlier,” Gruffydd said. “The whole castle knows of it. I propose that we announce that Meilyr is guilty as charged and destined to be hanged in the morning.”
“What—?” Gwen stared at Gruffydd, aghast.
Cadfael ignored Gwen. “Go on.”
“Instead of being hanged, however, what if Meilyr dies in the night? The murderer would feel himself safe. With Meilyr convicted and out of the way, he could come to Saran for healing.”
Cadfael fingered his chin as he thought, his eyes on a point above Gwen’s head.
“If this doesn’t work, you wouldn’t—he wouldn’t really kill him—” Gwen could barely get the words out.
“Of course not, Gwen,” Gruffydd said.
“It would be a ruse, to draw the real murderer out.” Cadoc turned to Gwen. “Have you mentioned the issue of the murderer’s hands to anyone but us?”
“No, my lord,” Gwen said, “not even to Saran, though she is the one who found these rags.”
“If we behaved as if the matter were settled, it would allow Meilyr to sing in the hall for my birth day celebration tonight,” Cadoc said.
Gwen blanched. An hour ago, every man in the room had seemed set on hanging her father at the first opportunity, and now they wanted him to sing.
“It might work,” Cadfael finally said.
Robert glanced at his lord quickly and then turned away, running his hand through his hair. Gwen forced her eyes away from the steward and towards Cadoc, who was grinning, unaware of the silent communication and tension in his elders. A moment ago, Cadfael had given Robert a look that had been knowing. What was going on here? Robert might be innocent of murder, but she was beginning to believe there was more to this than she had so far uncovered.