Gwen
“We’ve come full circle, Gwen,” Hywel said. “And I am no closer to calling Cadwaladr to account than I was the day Rhun died.”
They had just left Sunday mass, at which Gwalchmai had sung beautifully as promised. The church had been packed to the rafters with residents of the Abbey Foregate and the town. To a man, they were horrified at the events of the past few days. The brothels were one thing—to the minds of many, they were a necessary evil, and while, to Gwen, a woman who’d been allowed to live freer than most, the girls involved were effectively enslaved, that didn’t seem to be an opinion shared by anyone else.
Regardless, actual slavery was another matter entirely, and nobody was happy with the fact that it had been going on right under their noses.
“I am so sorry, my lord,” Gwen said.
“We’ll find him, my lord,” Gareth said. “He can’t run forever.”
“No, I suppose he can’t, not if he ever hopes to see his children again. And when he returns, I will make him answer for what he’s done.”
They stood in the courtyard of the monastery, off to one side so as not to impede the passage of the churchgoers. The rain had stopped, finally, in the early hours of the morning. Gwen hadn’t managed much sleep, but she’d had more than Gareth.
“Do we know yet the name of the girl who died?” Gwen said to Gareth.
“No,” Gareth said shortly. “I can’t see any way of finding out either. I have her picture, but—”
Hywel broke in. “Uncle Madog might know.”
Gwen was still having trouble wrapping her head around the conspiracy which had Hywel’s uncle turning a blind eye to English raiding parties stealing girls from their homes, as long as he got his portion of their subsequent sale. But then, she was having trouble with the fact that he’d tried to murder Hywel too.
“What of Jenny, Martin’s wife?” Gwen said.
“She appears to have known nothing of her husband’s activities,” Gareth said.
“I believe her,” Gwen said. “Either she didn’t know, or she didn’t want to know, which to some degree amounts to the same thing.”
“John has spoken with her at length,” Gareth said, “but none of the survivors, including Tom, have named her as a participant in either the brothel or in the slave ring.”
“I’m glad, for her and for John’s sake,” Gwen said. “She’s lost everything.”
“She owns a cartwright’s workshop,” Gareth said. “That’s something.”
Hywel had been gazing off into the distance, but now he shook himself. “Are you ready to go home? With Martin dead and Conall alive, you know everything now, don’t you?”
“What about Will de Bernard?” Gwen said.
“Nobody has seen him,” Gareth said. “John can send word to London that he’s wanted in connection with these deaths, but—”
“He might not have gone to London,” Gwen said, “and why would he when he can lose himself in territories controlled by Robert of Gloucester?”
“John might not be able to send word of what has transpired here to Robert, but I can.” A thoughtful expression came over Hywel’s face. “My father remains on good terms with Earl Robert.”
All of a sudden, Gwen’s heart felt lighter. If England had been ruled by Welsh law, Robert would have been king—and a more able king could not have been found in all of Christendom. Once he learned of it, Robert would be offended by what had happened here and would not want to harbor a slaver, even if he’d sinned in Stephen’s lands. Robert’s hold on the reins of his fiefdom was loosening due to illness and age, but Gwen knew as surely as the sun would rise tomorrow that the man would do what he could.
“Gwen, I need to talk to you.” Jenny Carter, John’s sister and Martin Carter’s widow, hurried towards them, having come from the service at the church. She was well wrapped in a shawl that she’d pulled up over her head and held tightly under her chin, and she was chewing on her lower lip as if she was nervous. It wasn’t a posture that Gwen would have said came naturally to her. Jenny was as vibrant and alive as any girl Gwen had ever met—and she elbowed Gareth in the ribs so he would look at her too.
Gareth’s expression softened at the girl’s approach. Jenny was not only newly widowed, but had been forced to accept that her husband had been a villain. The next few days and weeks were not going to be easy.
“I came as soon as I could get away.” Jenny embraced Gwen.
“I am so sorry for everything that has happened,” Gwen said.
“None of it is your fault,” she said. “I was the one who was deceived—by Martin, by Adeline. It turns out I knew nobody as well as I thought I did.”
“You know your brother,” Gwen said.
That got a nod, but Jenny brushed any other comfort away. “You need to know that whatever bad things he did and harm he caused, Martin did not kill his own brother.”
Gareth expression showed skepticism, though his voice remained gentle. “You sound very certain. How can you be?”
Jenny looked him full in the face. “I know you think that I was mistaken about Martin spending the night in bed—or maybe you think that I lied—”
Gareth opened his mouth to protest, even if Gwen knew that had been exactly what he’d thought, but Jenny didn’t let him speak.
“—but I didn’t lie. Martin did spend the night at home. I admit now that I didn’t know Martin as a wife should, but I do know that he would never have set foot in Rob Horn’s inn, not for money, not for hatred. Never.”
“Why would that be?” Gwen said.
“He found the smell of tanning leather unbearable,” Jenny said. “I’ve seen him lose his dinner on the ground at the slightest whiff of that smell, which is why his and Roger’s business was located to the northwest of the castle, as far from the tanning works as possible. At Martin’s urging, the Council passed restrictions as to where leatherworking could take place and ruled that no more tanning businesses could be established within the town of Shrewsbury. It was Martin’s hope that the council could eventually force the entire industry to move outside the town, beyond the river. Believe me, he would not have murdered Roger in that inn for any amount of gold.”
“Fear can be a powerful motivator,” Gareth said. “The fact that you knew of his antipathy to the smell could make his crime one he thought he could get away with, because nobody would believe the murderer could be him.”
Jenny was shaking her head even as Gareth was speaking. “Not Martin. No. But I know who did.”
Gwen put a hand on her shoulder. “Whoever it is, just tell us.”
Jenny took in a breath. “Huw, Roger’s apprentice. What’s more,” she added in the face of their disbelief, “he’s been missing since this morning, since word came to us about Martin’s death.”
“Why would Huw murder Roger?” Gareth said.
“Roger treated him badly. You’ve heard that, I’m sure. But what you don’t know is that I overheard Huw telling Martin that he blamed Roger for Adeline’s death. What you don’t know is that Huw was in love with her.”