Gareth
Gareth had a moment’s fear as they rode back through the dark to Shrewsbury that John’s guardsmen might have let Flann go, once John himself didn’t return in a timely fashion to question him. Fortunately, John’s men were better trained than that. For Gareth’s part, he felt no anger at Martin, just impatience that killing had been necessary. There was enough death in the world as it was without adding to it.
Gareth had spent the ride back into Shrewsbury relating to Hywel, Conall, and the others everything that had happened in the last few days, after which the prince had explained how it was that he’d come to Shrewsbury with only Evan and Cadifor as companions. Imminent war with Powys didn’t make slavery in Shrewsbury a paltry matter—but it did mean that they needed to finish up their business here quickly so the prince could return to Aber and his father. Tomorrow, however, would have to be soon enough, and they took a moment to stop at the monastery infirmary to augment the work Gwen had done on his head and shoulder.
The infirmarer had been horrified to learn that Gareth planned to go out again, but after Abbot Radulfus himself appeared to hear the story of what had happened at the old mill, Gareth convinced them both that questioning Flann could not wait even another hour. Leaving Gwen in the care of her father, Evan, and Hywel, Gareth made his way to the castle, accompanied by Conall, who’d also been seen to by the infirmarer.
“Are you, by chance, acquainted with Godfrid, Prince of Dublin?” Gareth had been debating whether to ask Conall the question ever since he’d met him, wondering if it was politic since Dublin and Leinster were often at odds, but he decided he had nothing to lose by asking. And he was curious.
Conall was still obviously in pain, but he managed an eye roll at Gareth’s question. The infirmarer had mentioned cracked ribs and had looked askance at the bruises along the entire length of Conall’s body. Still, he was managing to sit on a horse. “He is renowned throughout Ireland, though I have never met him. I have seen him from a distance, but since I don’t speak Danish, I am of little use as a spy in Ottar’s court.” He paused. “I gather you know him?”
“He is a friend,” Gareth said. “I had a thought to ask if he’d approached your king for aid.”
“In overthrowing Ottar? I wouldn’t know. The man’s a pig—Ottar not Godfrid—" Conall hastily put out a hand to reassure Gareth about whom he was speaking, “but he rules with an iron fist now that Torcall is dead.”
“Godfrid’s older brother would have things be different.”
Conall barked a laugh. “Wouldn’t we all.”
John greeted them as they arrived at the castle, and he led them immediately to Flann’s cell. The merchant had been pacing in front of the back wall of his prison. Shrewsbury Castle had cells in the basements of its towers, but Flann hadn’t been stored there. This was just an empty guardroom at the castle’s east gatehouse. At the time when John had arrested him, Flann had been only under suspicion.
As Gareth opened the door, Flann swung around. “It’s about time.” But then Flann’s expression of outrage faltered and his face paled as he saw Conall following Gareth into the room. With a grin, John Fletcher came last, taking up a position with his back to the door.
John had asked Gareth to begin the questioning with the idea that they would take turns with Flann until he told the truth. Flann’s first response would be to stonewall them or feign ignorance. They needed to get to the bottom of the intrigue here. Unlike Tom, Flann held a position of authority in Martin’s organization, and they needed him to talk.
“What’s this?” Flann said.
“This—” Gareth pulled out one of the stools at the table and sat, “is where you start talking.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“We know that’s not true,” Gareth said. “The question before us is the extent of your wrongdoing. Is it just slave trading, or does it extend to murder too?”
Flann gaped at Gareth, and then his eyes tracked to Conall, who had set himself up against the side wall of the room, his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles.
“I didn’t kill anyone!” Flann said. “I’m a merchant!”
Gareth slapped his hand on the table. “If that’s true, then tell us everything—about Martin and Roger Carter, about Conall here, about the girl who died, about who is involved in the trading of the Irish and Welsh women we found at the mill.”
Flann licked his lips, his eyes tracking again to Conall.
“Yes, we know about them because we rescued Conall,” Gareth said. “Tom Weaver named you and Will de Bernard as the London connection to the slave ring. Tom told us that Roger Carter confronted his brother about his involvement in the slave trade. How many times did you steal women from Wales and Ireland? And how many did you take in all?”
Tom had returned to town as well, after having been questioned at length by John, and then sent home. The weaver had been foolish and was now remorseful. With Martin dead, nobody saw any reason to punish him further. John had then sent out a warrant for the arrest of Will de Bernard, Flann’s companion, who’d disappeared after leaving Gwen and Gareth in the mill and hadn’t participated in the subsequent battle.
Flann swallowed. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gareth rose to his feet and took a step towards John. “What do you think about charging him with the murder of the girl in the alley? We know it was his cart that hauled her body to the river, which means it was he who killed her and threw her in. That should be enough for the sheriff when he returns. Meanwhile, he can rot in a cell.”
John played along, “It will be Will’s and Tom’s testimony against Flann’s, and since Flann has Irish blood, it will be easy to convince the sheriff that it is they who are telling the truth, not Flann.”
Flann’s face had drained of color. “I didn’t kill anybody! Did Will say I did to save his own skin? That traitor!”
John sneered. “If you didn’t, then who did? Do you accuse Will?”
“No! Nobody killed her. The girl ran away from us, and by the time we caught up with her, she’d bled to death in that alley. Fell on a broken crate, the stupid chit.”
While it wasn’t the scenario they’d envisioned, Gareth believed him. “Who was she?”
Flann waved a hand dismissively. “Some girl from Powys. I didn’t know her name.”
Gareth found himself grinding his teeth, and he was very close to punching the man. He needed to know where in Powys the girls were from, but he had a few more questions to ask first. “It was you and Will who hauled the body away and threw it in the river?”
“We thought it would sink to the bottom. It was supposed to sink to the bottom and be carried away by the current.” Flann sounded annoyed that, even in death, the girl hadn’t done as she’d been told.
“She was dead when she went in the water,” Conall said, somewhat absently, “that’s why she floated.”
The longer Gareth spent in Conall’s company, the more he became convinced that the Irishman played a similar role for his king as Gareth played for Prince Hywel—though Gareth would not have been the man to impersonate a slave trader. If Hywel ever needed a liegeman to do that, he would have to find someone else.
Flann tsked through his teeth. “As I have since realized.”
“I need the name of the man from whom you buy slaves in Ireland,” Conall said.
“He died,” Flann said. “That’s why we had to switch to Wales.”
“And who was it that found you the Welshwomen?” John moved forward from the doorway.
Flann leaned back from the table. “Oh. So that’s it.”
Gareth didn’t know what he meant, but he wasn’t going to give Flann satisfaction by inquiring.
Flann gave another little tsk. “What do I get if I tell you?”
“We don’t need you to say anything more,” John said. “One of the others will tell us what we need to know.”
“Maybe that’s true, but you want to know now.” He pointed with his chin to Gareth. “He’s practically quivering with the need for it. Why?”
“Give. Me. A name.” John’s fists came down on the table, and he leaned on them, looming over Flann.
Flann shook his head. “I didn’t kill anybody. Trading in slaves is a crime in England, but not a hanging offense. If I tell you who our contact was, you to put in a good word for me with your sheriff.”
John’s face was a thundercloud.
“Done,” Gareth said without asking for John’s permission. If John didn’t like it, he could take it up with Hywel later.
“We got them from the King of Powys himself.”
“From Madog,” Gareth said, without inflection. “Really. Why should I believe you?”
Flann shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me, but I tell you that he pledged to turn a blind eye to our raids as long as he got his cut of the profits.”
John stepped back from the table and glanced at Gareth, his expression clearly saying, what more should I ask him?
John might not know what to ask next, but Gareth certainly did. “Did you go to Dinas Bran to negotiate this deal?”
“What? No, of course not. We worked through his intermediary, his wife’s brother.”
“I need you to say his name,” Gareth said.
Flann was growing impatient with the questions, the answers to which he thought should be obvious, and he waved his hand dismissively. “Cadwaladr, Prince of Gwynedd.” Flann rocked on the back legs of the stool, pleased by the reaction he was receiving for his tale. “Exiled, wasn’t he? And short of gold? What better way than slaving to make a great deal of money quickly.”
John’s brow was heavily furrowed. “Who do you sell to?”
Flann laughed. “Who don’t we sell to? English thanes, Norman lords, and even farther afield. Who wouldn’t want a Welsh woman to warm his bed?”
“One who isn’t afraid of having his throat slit in his sleep.” Gareth was disgusted with Flann’s complacency and unforgiving that his men had planned the same for Gwen.
Flann laughed again with what seemed like real amusement. He either wasn’t taking his situation seriously, or he thought he had genuine leverage. “There’s always that, though we keep them pretty quiet most of the time.”
Gareth shook his head in puzzlement. “Conall mentioned the name of the herb you gave them. Devil’s Weed, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Flann said. “We put it in cakes, they eat it, and all the fight goes out of them. We’d run out of weed, which was another reason why we needed to get moving before the effect wore off.”
Gareth was going to have to dunk himself in the monastery brook when this was done just to wash off the stench of Flann’s iniquity. “When were you to meet Cadwaladr next?”
“Two weeks’ time, in London,” Flann said. “We’d have a payment for him then.”
Instantly, a vision formed in Gareth’s mind of riding to London and setting a trap for Cadwaladr there, but Flann’s next words forestalled that idea before it could fully form.
“If you’re thinking of using me as bait, it’s no good. Cadwaladr had friends among my men, and more in Shrewsbury. He’ll know, long before the two weeks are up, that things did not go well here, and he’ll scarper.”
John had been standing with his hands folded on the top of his head, as if he was trying to force his mind to accept the enormity of the plot that had been implemented right under his nose. Now he said, “We’re done here.”
Taking that as a command to leave, Conall and Gareth turned towards the door.
Flann put out a hand. “Wait! What about me?”
Gareth turned back. “John will speak to the sheriff, as he promised.”
“When will that be?” Flann said.
John shrugged. “In about a month.”
Gareth was unable to keep the grin of satisfaction off his face as he closed the door on Flann’s horrified expression.