Gareth
Sitting next to Hywel as the conference continued could have been more uncomfortable, though Gareth wasn’t entirely sure how—and it wasn’t just because his body ached. He’d lived in Powys for a time, and he recognized many of the men at Madog’s side, including a former employer, Bergam of Dyffryn Ceiriog. Bergam’s lands were located to the southwest of Llangollen and part of Powys, so Bergam had come to St. Asaph at Madog’s behest. Gareth had left Bergam’s employment in the same way he’d left Cadwaladr’s—under a cloud because the tasks he’d been asked to perform were impossible to stomach. The man’s spoiled son was not here, for which Gareth could only be grateful. Ten years on, Gareth was wiser, but he didn’t have faith that the man’s son would be.
For Bergam’s part, he hadn’t recognized Gareth, or if he had, he gave no sign of it as his eyes passed over him without stopping.
At first, Rhys did most of the talking, which was fine. There were few men alive who made as much sense when they spoke as Rhys. Then Gwalchmai and Meilyr sang—not war songs, but ones of peace and tranquility to soften the mood—and then the moment came for airing grievances. King Owain went first.
Somewhat laboriously, though in hindsight Gareth had seen him move with agility of late, so it had to have been a bit of an act, Owain rose to his feet. What would happen next was as much for his own barons’ benefit as for Madog’s. Owain had to prove he was a fit king.
King Owain finally reached his feet, and once he did, he stood completely upright, his chin held high and his shoulders straight. “You tried to kill my son.”
He sat down again.
His accusation was met first with shocked silence, then with disbelief that those few words were all he’d said, and then as Owain gazed impassively at Madog, a murmur of consternation swept through the room. Everyone had expected Owain to enumerate a variety of affronts to Gwynedd, from incursions across the border to disputes over cattle, and conclude with the attempted murder only after these others had been examined.
Petty crimes like the former could be negotiated, and even put to one side with enough talking, but the attempted murder of the edling was a crime clearly laid out in Welsh law as punishable by the payment of an enormous galanas, a life debt. It hardly mattered that Madog hadn’t succeeded, because the punishment, the sarhad, would be essentially the same. That is, it would be the same if Owain had the authority to order Madog to make such a payment, which he didn’t. These were two kings, equal in stature. With an unprosecutable crime such as this, Owain’s only other choice had been to go to war.
Gareth’s earlier comment about this being a courtroom instead of a peace conference had been dead on. It could never have been anything else, not with the attempted murder of Gwynedd’s edling at the center of the discussion.
When Cadwaladr had ordered the murder of King Anarawd of Deheubarth—and for all intents and purposes admitted to it—he should have made such a payment to Cadell, Anarawd’s brother. King Owain had forced him instead to spend most of his wealth to pay off the Danes whom he’d brought to Gwynedd, and Owain had never demanded that Cadwaladr pay Cadell anything. That debt still lay between Gwynedd and Deheubarth, and even if the fault was entirely Cadwaladr’s, not Owain’s, and Cadwaladr himself was now in exile, the debt remained. Cadell had allied himself with Cadwaladr last summer—and it could even be that Cadell wasn’t asking for sarhad because he’d colluded with Cadwaladr to kill his brother—but that didn’t mean anyone else had forgotten what he was owed.
Abbot Rhys studied Owain for a moment, his lips pressed together in a thin line. This was not a good beginning. Owain had come to the peace conference, but Rhys was feeling now that he hadn’t come in good faith. But he straightened his shoulders, acknowledging what couldn’t be changed, and turned resolutely to Madog. “Since Gwynedd has said all that it has to say, it is your turn to air your grievances.”
Beside Gareth, Hywel nodded his head, acknowledging the proper procedures were being followed: first both sides spoke of their grievances without rebuttal by the other side. Thus Madog was not obligated to respond to Owain’s charge until the time came for it, presumably during the afternoon session so that both sides could take some time to confer among themselves and develop a strategy for answering the charges against them.
Madog’s eyes were fixed on Owain, who did not look away. He rose to his feet in much the same ponderous style Owain had used and then snapped his fingers to a man standing off to one side, holding a rolled parchment. The man was short and white-haired, with hunched shoulders but bright blue eyes that blinked rapidly as he focused on Madog. Then he stepped forward and bobbed his head in a bow.
“Who are you?” Rhys said.
“Derfel, the king’s steward.”
Rhys leaned back in his chair and gestured to one of the scribes behind him. “Make a note that Derfel read the grievances.” Rhys returned his gaze to Madog’s steward. “Continue.”
In a sonorous voice, though not quite bard-like, Derfel began with a list of Madog’s titles, which seemed to go on for a full page, and then at the point Gareth began to have trouble focusing, he launched into the long list of complaints that Powys had against Gwynedd, beginning with incursions dating back to the 1130s, mostly under the auspices of Cadwallon, Owain’s deceased older brother—who in fact died fighting against Powys in 1132. The grievances ended with Gwynedd’s conquest of Mold Castle.
Throughout it all, Owain simply watched Madog, and Madog watched Owain back. Rhys was gazing down at the table in front of him, looking at nobody and appearing to be listening intently, while the scribes scribbled furiously behind him. Later, each of their versions of events would be carefully examined and a single definitive document created.
After Derfel read all this out, he paused for a moment, which caused Rhys to look up expectantly, thinking he was finished. But then Derfel lifted his chin. “Powys has one final grievance to put forth to the assembly, one that is so heinous, so misguided, that it supersedes all other grievances.”
Madog’s expression had turned smug, which made Gareth suddenly very nervous. Hywel stirred beside him and leaned in close. “Do you know what’s coming?”
“Yes, and you do too.”
Hywel sighed and spoke even more softly, “The sacking of the Wrexham monastery.”
Gareth had time only to nod before Derfel proved Hywel’s words prescient: “We charge Gwynedd with taking advantage of the anarchy in England to enrich itself at the expense not only of Powys, but of the Church! We accuse Gwynedd of sending men to raid and destroy St. Dunawd’s Monastery, southeast of Wrexham, of which King Madog has been a benefactor for many years!”
Taran, who’d been sitting on Gareth’s other side, directly behind King Owain, leaned forward and stabbed a finger in Madog’s direction, more agitated than Gareth had ever seen him. “That’s absurd—”
Rhys made a chopping motion with his hand. “This is not the time for refutation.”
Madog’s expression as he looked at Owain was triumphant. “I have a witness.” He spun around in his chair.
Rhys put out a hand to him too. “This is not the time for witnesses either—”
But two men had already entered the room, a third man held between them. The man’s face was bruised in places and his lip bloodied. He didn’t exactly struggle, but then again, he didn’t seem entirely conscious, as his eyes were unfocused, and his hands bound behind his back.
Rhys was on his feet now, looking daggers at the newcomers, but Madog was standing too, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He made an expansive gesture with one arm. “I present Rhodri ap Tudur of Corwen. He will testify that he was among the band of men who sacked the Wrexham monastery on King Owain’s orders.”
The last words rang throughout the chapter house, loud enough to overcome the uproar. Taran’s face was red up to his hairline, but he seemed struck speechless. King Owain remained in his chair, contemplating Madog and Rhodri. He’d known about the sacking, having heard the story from both Hywel and Abbot Rhys in turn. Thanks to Deiniol’s arrival, everybody at the monastery knew about it.
Rhodri’s attention remained on his boots, but Madog’s eyes were hot with passion, revenge, and glee. For once Owain’s legendary temper was dampened, however, and he sat somewhat canted in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, and his elbow on the arm of the chair. A single finger tapped his lower lip.
Hywel, too, had remained completely calm, and both he and Gareth moved out of their seats at the same time: Gareth to take Taran, who’d long since risen to his feet, by the arm and pull him away from the table at which the two kings were sitting, and Hywel to whisper in his father’s ear. King Owain listened, nodded, and then rose to his feet. Straightening his tunic with a jerk, he tipped his head to Rhys. “Gwynedd will adjourn until after Sext.”
“Agreed.” Rhys bowed to Owain and then turned with equal gravity to Madog.
Madog glared at the abbot. “Why adjourn? We have discussed nothing yet!”
King Owain arms were folded across his chest in a classic stance of disagreement and defiance. “There’s nothing to discuss. I could have told you that from the beginning.”
Rhys put out both hands, one to each king, in a soothing gesture. “Gwynedd has much to consider. They will meet with you again after a meal.” He tipped his head at the two men holding Rhodri. “Whether or not the council finds Gwynedd guilty of what you suggest, we will keep Rhodri in a cell here until such a time as he can be brought forward again to testify.”
Madog continued to glare at Owain even as he pointed at Rhodri. “That man is my prisoner!”
“He is a witness to a crime,” Abbot Rhys said. “He will be safe enough in our charge.”
Madog grunted and waved a hand at his guards, who let go of Rhodri. Rhodri’s chin stuck out, and he seemed to be slightly less bleary than a moment ago, but he didn’t fight the two monks who came to take his elbows and direct him from the room. Madog watched them go, and then, eyes blazing, returned his gaze to Owain. He was doing a fine job of implying that he was truly angry for the sacking of the monastery. Perhaps he even believed Owain guilty. But Gareth couldn’t forget the image of Susanna speaking to Derwena, Rhodri’s mother, and the lone rider with nine fingers. So far in this investigation there were far too many people who knew more than they were telling.