Gwen
The four men heard the whole story from Derwena on the way back to the monastery, and she (quite willingly) went through it all again in the dining room of the guesthouse for the benefit of Gwen, Meilyr, and Saran, who had returned by then. The sisters had been jubilant at their reunion, even if both women were dismayed to know that Rhodri was a captive in Madog’s camp.
Gwen had seen to Conall’s injuries already and put him to bed with a warm compress and a carafe of mead. As it turned out, the retinues of neither king had chosen to stay in the guesthouse, except for Hywel, who at the moment was dining at the Gwynedd camp, and Susanna, who’d gone to bed with a sick headache. Gruffydd, Evan, and Gareth had done a quick canter around each man’s obligations and responsibilities, ending with Gruffydd departing to speak to Hywel of the night’s events. Tangwen was asleep, and Gwalchmai had gone to the church to sing for Compline. Abbot Rhys knew well Gwalchmai’s worth, and Gwen suspected that he would employ him to the fullest capacity as long as the young bard was a guest in his house.
Thus it was Evan, Gareth, Saran, and Gwen who gathered around Derwena to listen to the story. Meilyr was there too, but he’d found a seat in the corner with his lyre and was playing a gentle melody. Gwen assumed that he was listening, but he had deliberately set himself apart so as not to become involved in their business or the investigation until he was wanted.
“The part you haven’t yet explained is why exactly Madog’s men arrested Rhodri,” Gwen said, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice but undoubtedly failing.
Derwena looked down at her feet. So far, Gwen had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt because she was Saran’s sister and obviously under great duress. But there was something shifty about her wide-eyed innocence, and when she talked, she didn’t always look directly at anyone. It could have been that she was embarrassed, but equally, it could be because she wasn’t telling the entire truth. Saran was one of the most intelligent people Gwen knew, man or woman, but it was possible that Derwena hadn’t been given the same gifts.
“Rhodri has been secretive of late. He didn’t want me to come north with him, but I put that off as simply his concern for his mother’s wellbeing.” Derwena shook her head. “But now I fear it was something more.”
Gwen didn’t know everything there was to know about young men—less than many women, certainly—but she suspected that few wanted their mothers along on their adventures even if they weren’t doing anything that would put them in prison. Again, it was a naiveté on Derwena’s part that Gwen found disconcerting. She didn’t say anything, though—just allowed Derwena to keep talking.
“What sort of more are you thinking of?” Gareth said.
Derwena’s eyes flicked around the room. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
Saran had her arms folded across her chest and was studying her sister. “Anything at all will help us to understand what’s happening here and maybe to get Rhodri back.”
Gwen was glad it was Saran who’d said that, because it felt like Derwena was a hair’s-breadth away from closing up.
Derwena shook her head, her eyes back on her feet. “It could be that Rhodri was passing information. Maybe.”
“From whom to whom?” Saran said. “Rhodri serves King Owain, but he was arrested by King Madog’s men. Are you saying he spied for King Owain?”
Saran’s assessment seemed to leave her sister speechless. She shook her head again, her eyes on the floor, and then shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”
Saran went down to a crouch in front of her sister, like Gwen might in front of Tangwen when her daughter was having a hard time conveying her thoughts. “None of us believe that Rhodri spies for Owain, Derwena. Whom did he really serve?”
But even Saran couldn’t get anything more out of Derwena. She’d gone mute, and just shook her head.
“Derwena, do you have a place to stay tonight?” Gwen broke in.
“She can stay with me,” Saran said before Derwena could answer. “Earlier I spoke with the healer here in St. Asaph, and she made me welcome.”
“No—” Derwena put out a hand. “I would be glad to stay with you, but I will not be an unwanted guest.” Saran opened her mouth—perhaps to protest—but Derwena overrode her. “She invited you, not me. I have a place with some of the other women in the encampment.” Derwena stood and brushed her hands down her skirt, smoothing the fabric. “I’ll just go.” And with a few hasty steps, she was out the door and gone.
Gareth jerked his head towards the door. “Evan and I should follow.”
There was a time when Gwen would have wanted to go with him, maybe as recently as two weeks ago in Shrewsbury when she did go with him, but she had duties here, not the least of which was Saran herself. From the way Saran was holding her arms around her middle, she was less than pleased with how the evening had gone.
Once Gwen, Meilyr, and Saran were alone, Meilyr stopped the music and put down the instrument he was holding. Saran paced in front of the fire, the fingers of one hand playing with the end of her long braid, which was otherwise coiled around her head. When Gwen had known her in Carreg Cennan, her hair had been coal-black, but a startling white streak now rose from her widow’s peak, and elsewhere the black was shot with strands of white.
“What are you thinking, Saran?” Gwen said after Saran had paced around a little more.
“She’s my sister.” Saran took in a deep breath and let it out.
Meilyr pulled one of the stools closer to him and put his feet up on it. “We know she’s your sister, Saran, and that you want to think the best of her—and want the best for her. Even if it’s been a long time since you’ve seen us, you should know that you can tell us what troubles you.”
She gave him a genuine smile. “I have seen you at your worst.”
Meilyr nodded, his eyes on Saran’s face. “Yes, you have. Things are better now.”
“I can see that.” Saran’s eyes went to Gwen. “My sister is two years younger than I. She was the baby of the family, prettier than I, and she has always used her prettiness to get what she wanted.”
“I would not have said that Derwena is prettier than you now,” Gwen said.
“She’s had a hard life, and any woman who reaches middle age as we have has lost her beauty by now. She had more beauty to lose. Her husband died when Rhodri was a child, and since then she has struggled to support them with her small flock of sheep.” Saran sighed. “Rhodri grew up clever but not wise or intelligent, if you know the difference?”
Meilyr and Gwen nodded, because how could they not? It was a common condition.
“Perhaps he inherited that from his mother.” Saran looked down for a moment. “Derwena has always been calculating. You saw that when she was here. She tries to fall back on innocence and her beauty, but it’s gone now and all that’s left is the cleverness.”
“What is it that you think she is being clever about?” Gwen said. “Do you think she knows what Rhodri is up to?”
“She knows,” Saran said. “I have no doubt that she knows, and she doesn’t want to tell us because we won’t approve or because it will implicate him in some genuine wrongdoing.”
Meilyr pushed to his feet. “Let me escort you to the healer’s house, Saran. Perhaps if we two go over it again, we can figure out what she’s hiding.”
Saran smiled. “Thank you, Meilyr. I would like that.” She nodded to Gwen. “Tomorrow, my dear.”
Gwen stood to hug Saran, and stayed behind as they departed as her father had clearly wanted. This was again one of those moments when an investigation intersected with her and Gareth’s personal lives, and Gwen didn’t see how she could stop it from happening. At the moment, given how pleased with life her father seemed to be all of a sudden, Gwen wasn’t going to interfere with his developing relationship with Saran.
It was odd to be completely alone for once, and for a moment Gwen didn’t know what to do with herself. But the monks who attended the guesthouse had gone to Compline before cleaning up from dinner, so she began collecting cups and stacking empty dishes on a tray to return to the kitchen. When the first load was ready, she carried it through a narrow doorway, along a covered but open-air walkway for a few steps, and then into the kitchen. It was empty but for one man, who was just pushing open the back door.
Both he and she hesitated in their respective doorways, each equally surprised to see the other, and then Gwen took a few steps forward to set the heavy tray on a nearby table. “Father Alun!”
The old man beamed. “My dear Gwen.” He walked towards her and put his hands on her shoulders in a partial hug. “You look absolutely radiant!”
Gwen didn’t know about that, but she smiled anyway. Father Alun was the priest of the church in Cilcain, a town ten miles as the crow flies east of St. Asaph. Alun had been unlucky enough to find the body of a woman who looked like Gwen half-buried in his graveyard last autumn. That finding had ultimately set Gareth and Gwen on a course for Shrewsbury. While she couldn’t regret knowing that the girl who’d died had been her cousin, she was sorry that Father Alun had been caught up in murder.
“I am well.” She leaned forward to speak to him conspiratorially. “Gareth and I are expecting another child later this year.”
He squeezed her shoulders. “I’m so happy for you, especially after all that has happened.” He shook his head and looked down for a moment. He was thinking of the loss of Prince Rhun, as they all still did, many times a day.
“But why are you here?” Gwen said.
He looked up. “The peace conference, of course. I was invited as a witness.”
Though Gwen would never say it, she thought it was kind of Abbot Rhys to invite the older man. She didn’t think Alun was exactly lonely in Cilcain, given the busy life of a parish priest, but it must be nice to be among other churchmen every once in a while, men he could truly relate to as friends, rather than as confessor and parishioner. Rhys had implied as much earlier when they were discussing why Rhys already knew about the events of the previous year without Gwen or Gareth having to tell him.
“Come. Sit.” Gwen moved a stool from beside the fire to the table. “You must be hungry after such a long journey.”
“I am. I am.”
For a moment Gwen frowned. “Why did you come to the guesthouse instead of the monastery kitchen? Surely they have a spot for you there.”
“They do; they do.” Alun spoke heartily, but then he leaned forward and said in a loud whisper, “The food over here is better.”
Gwen smiled. “I’ll fix you something.”
“I hope you serve it with news from Gwynedd. We know of the taking of Mold, of course, but recent events often pass us by in Cilcain.”
“I do have much to tell you.” While she talked, Gwen bustled about, getting the old priest dinner. The pot over the fire had a few cups of mutton stew left in it, and half a loaf of bread remained on the sideboard. She set the meal in front of him, poured them each a glass of mead, and then pulled up a stool to sit beside him.
“Where is your husband? I hope he is not so unwell that he is abed?” Alun said.
Gwen smiled ruefully. “I’m waiting for him to return. I’m afraid that we have another death to investigate.”
“You don’t say! My dear, that’s terrible.”
Gwen pursed her lips, reminded of her encounter with Deiniol, and pulled the sketch of Erik from her purse. “Do you recognize him?”
Alun squinted at the page. “Is he the murderer or the victim?”
“The victim.” And she described his overall size and shape beyond simply what his faced looked like.
Alun stood and took the paper closer to the fire, which was blazing brightly. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I saw this man earlier this week.”
Gwen spun around on her seat. “In Cilcain?”
Alun nodded. “Passing through. He stopped at the church to ask if I knew where Prince Hywel was now, as he wasn’t at Mold Castle where he was supposed to be.”
Gwen’s eyes lit. “So he was looking for the prince. I don’t suppose he said what for?”
Alun shook his head sadly. “No.”
“Did he have anyone with him?”
“Not that I saw.” Then Alun frowned. “He asked if my church was missing any relics. I told him that we had so little here, there was nothing to miss, and if a thief was so desperate that he needed to rob us, he was welcome to what he took.”
Gwen studied the priest. It was just like Alun to say that. More importantly, his testimony was the first link between Erik and the thefts. Then her stomach dropped into her boots as fear surged through her. It could even be that Erik had been looking into what had happened in Wrexham, as she and Gareth now were, and someone had killed him for it.