Gareth looked from Hywel to the body and back again. “This is your cousin? How can that be?”
Gwen was staring open-mouthed at Hywel. “But—but—Tegwen ran away. We all know that she ran away!”
Hywel shook his head, sadness and regret in his face. “It seems we might have been wrong about that, Gwen.” Then he looked at Gareth and said, “My uncle, Cadwallon, was her father. He never had any sons, and Tegwen was his only child.”
Gareth straightened from his crouch and stepped close to his lord to ensure that none of the onlookers could overhear him. “I know who Tegwen was, my lord, but she’s been missing these five years. Are you suggesting that she didn’t run away with a Dane as we all thought but has been dead this whole time?”
“I can only tell you what I see.” Hywel gestured helplessly to the body. “That’s Tegwen. I’d swear to it.”
“How could she have ended up here?” Gwen stood with her hand to her mouth. She seemed unable to look away from the dead woman, so Gareth stepped past Hywel to stand beside her, his hand resting gently at the small of her back.
Gareth couldn’t blame the two of them for being shocked. This was the last thing he wanted to see today too. From the head wound, this was murder, and even if it happened a long time ago, it couldn’t be ignored. Neither King Owain nor Hywel would allow it. For Gareth’s part, he was loath to spend the short time he had with Gwen working on a murder investigation, particularly one involving a beloved member of the royal house of Gwynedd.
Tegwen’s disappearance five years ago had been dramatic enough to have become legend. Gareth had heard the stories and couldn’t blame the people for reveling in the retelling. Who wouldn’t enjoy a tale of a young princess who defied her family and ran away with a handsome Dane? The fact that Tegwen had left her husband and daughters behind was usually (and conveniently) forgotten.
Gareth had heard a version of the story in the great hall at Aber just last night, set to music and much embellished, with the names changed and an added mythological element that included a dragon. The singer hadn’t been Meilyr or Gwalchmai, Gwen’s father and brother, and as Gareth had heard this version before, he hadn’t paid much attention. He’d been with Gwen at the time, and they’d had eyes and ears only for each other.
Neither King Owain nor his guests were going to enjoy what appeared to be the real story: Tegwen hadn’t run away with a Dane. She’d been murdered.
Gwen slipped her hand into Gareth’s. “We have more to observe, but it might be better not to do it in front of all these people. Can you get them to leave? Rhodri and Dewi tried, but nobody seems to have listened.”
Gareth surveyed the beach. Although most of the dozen onlookers had the decency to move at least ten feet from the body, and no one else was hovering over it like they were, Gwen was right. “I’ll see what I can do. Ignore them and do what you have to do to help Prince Hywel.”
With a worried look at Hywel, who seemed to be frozen where he stood, Gareth headed up the beach towards his men in what wasn’t his usual stride. His boots dug into the soft sand, and he knew he’d be dumping the fine grains out of them for weeks to come. As he crossed onto drier sand, Gareth called for the men to gather around him.
“This has turned into a more delicate situation than Prince Hywel first thought it would be, and we need to contain this scene. Many of you have had the misfortune to participate in incidents like this before. I must stay beside the prince for now, but I need to know everything that happened on this beach between yesterday evening and this moment.” Gareth pointed with his chin at his friend. “Evan, if you could see to interviewing the people here? You know what to do. At a minimum, I need them to stay farther away from the body. A crowd of onlookers watching his every move is the last thing Prince Hywel needs right now.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Gareth turned away, taking a breath and letting it out to settle himself as he looked down the beach to where Hywel and Gwen were talking quietly over Tegwen’s body. Hywel seemed to be recovering from his initial shock, which had been uncharacteristic of him to begin with. None of them had encountered a murder since last spring when a Norman spy had dropped a body at their feet in the bailey of Earl Robert’s castle at Newcastle-under-Lyme. While Gareth had been a key player in that investigation, his task had been hampered by his unfamiliarity with the area and a general prejudice against the Welsh displayed by most every Norman he encountered. At least here at Aber that wouldn’t be a problem.
Always considering himself to be one of Gareth’s men, even though he was only twelve, Llelo had gathered a handful of children to him and was bending forward to speak to them, his hands on his knees. Gareth patted him on the shoulder as he passed him on the way back to where Hywel and Gwen waited. “All right there?”
“Yes, sir,” Llelo said.
“Let me know what you discover,” Gareth said.
“I already promised Gwen I would,” Llelo said, looking slightly affronted that Gareth would tell him his job. Gareth held back a smile.
Gwen had mentioned designating tasks to the other two attendants on the scene, Rhodri and Dewi, but they seemed to have disappeared. As Hywel had dismounted from his horse, Adda had tried to explain to him how inadequate to the task of investigating the death Gwen had been. Gareth had brushed past him with a disdainful look, but he probably should have found out if Adda had discovered anything important. Contrary to Adda’s opinion, Gareth was pleased with how Gwen had taken charge in his absence and how quickly the investigation had moved into full swing.
“I gather that you don’t recognize Tegwen yourself, Gareth?” Gwen said as he reached them.
He shook his head. “I never met her.”
“She disappeared a few months before you began your service with me, Gareth,” Hywel said.
“And you, Gwen?” Gareth said. “You must have grown up with her.”
Gwen bit her lip. “Not really.”
“Tegwen was the same age as I am.” Hywel had returned to his usual matter-of-fact manner, pacing around the body with his eyes on the ground as he talked. “She was the result of a liaison between my uncle, Prince Cadwallon, and a girl named Ilar, the daughter of a man-at-arms turned knight of my father’s generation. His name is Gruffydd.”
Gareth’s brows drew together. “Do I know him?”
“You should,” Hywel said. “Tegwen’s grandfather still lives. He’s the castellan at Dolwyddelan.”
Gareth’s expression cleared. “He’s a good man. He was very helpful last year when Anarawd—” Gareth broke off as Hywel glanced at him, his mouth twisting in wry amusement.
“Yes. Exactly,” Hywel said. “Ilar died birthing Tegwen, so Gruffydd and his wife raised her themselves. My grandfather appointed Gruffydd to be the castellan at Dolwyddelan at Uncle Cadwallon’s request, in remembrance of Ilar and so Gruffydd could raise Tegwen as befitted her station as a princess of Gwynedd.”
Gareth would have wondered why Cadwallon hadn’t brought the child to Aber and raised her himself if he hadn’t been a prince. Any peasant would have, but Cadwallon was a warrior and was often absent from home. It was common practice to foster out royal children, either at birth if the mother was dead and the parents hadn’t married, or at the age of seven when a child began to prepare for his adult life.
“That was why I barely knew her,” Gwen said. “I was only eleven when Cadwallon died, twelve years ago now. Tegwen lived mostly with her mother’s family, and I saw her in court only a few times.”
“When she was fifteen years old, Tegwen married Bran ap Cynan, whose father was the Lord of Rhos.” Hywel looked at Gwen. “You attended the wedding, didn’t you?”
Gwen shook her head. Rhos, a sub-kingdom to Gwynedd with the lord’s seat at Bryn Euryn, was a little more than ten miles from Aber Castle. “My father provided the entertainment, but Gwalchmai was a small child, and Meilyr left me at Aberffraw to mind him. Don’t you remember? You came home with your head full of new songs, though you’d sung none of them because your voice was still changing, and my father didn’t trust it.”
“I was fifteen myself.” Hywel had gone back to a crouch beside the body, his head bent.
Gareth wasn’t sure if he should speak since it appeared that Hywel was struggling to control his emotions again. He cleared his throat. “My lord, why are you so sure this woman is Tegwen?”
“By her dress, her belongings.” Hywel threw out one hand, the gesture halfway to despair, pointing at the necklace at the woman’s throat. “She never took that necklace off. It was a gift from her husband.”
The body lay as Gwen had left it, the cloak spread out in the sand, and now Hywel flipped back the edge of the cloak to reveal a hem embroidered with tiny red lions, half obscured by sand and dirt. “This is her cloak. The lions were a tribute to her father’s personal coat of arms. My father gave it to her the day she became betrothed to Bran. I don’t know what has been done to her or how she came to look like this, but …” Hywel’s voice trailed away.
It was obvious to Gareth that Tegwen could have discarded the cloak and necklace at any time between her wedding and her disappearance, making this a completely different girl, but he kept his lips together. It would be one thing if what she was wearing was the only piece of evidence, but if Hywel thought he recognized her shape as well, Gareth wasn’t going to argue with him.
He’d never seen Hywel so shaken by a death. It worried him that if this was Hywel’s reaction—a man who wore stoicism and cynicism like a cloak—the effect of the news of Tegwen’s death on the rest of the inhabitants of Aber would be far more tumultuous.
Gareth put his hand on Gwen’s arm. “Gwen, you should ride ahead and tell the king that we will be bringing Tegwen’s body into Aber as soon as we’ve finished examining the scene.”
“What? Why me? Gareth, please—”
Gareth moved his arm up to her shoulders and bent his head so he could speak gently in her ear. “It has to be you. Right now, the three of us are the only ones who know this woman may be Tegwen. The news of her death would be better coming from you, since you’ve seen and touched her, than from any of the people here. The last thing we want is to arrive at Aber with the body and surprise King Owain with the news. We’re lucky it’s still early in the morning. You know how fast gossip spreads. In another hour, the news that the body of a richly dressed woman was left on the beach this morning will have reached half of Gwynedd. We have to reach the king before he hears of it from someone else and wonders why he’s been kept in ignorance.”
Gwen groaned audibly. “I’ll have to wake him.”
“I know,” Gareth said. “But maybe that’s for the best too. He won’t be in the hall yet. He shouldn’t have to learn of Tegwen’s death with his people watching.”
Gwen wrinkled her nose at Gareth. He hoped she wasn’t angry at him, even if he was right, but she didn’t complain further and then shot him a bright-eyed look over her shoulder as she turned to head up the beach to where the horses were picketed. At a gesture from Gareth, two members of the guard intercepted her, and she accepted the help of one of them to mount her horse. She lifted her hand to Gareth one last time and rode away, a guard on either side of her.
Turning back to Tegwen, Gareth stood on the other side of the body from Hywel, waiting for him to finish his examination. Hywel had crouched to feel at the head wound and, after a moment, he looked up at Gareth. “Help me turn her.”
Gareth crouched beside his lord and pushed up on Tegwen’s right hip to roll the body up onto its side. As Gwen had said, the sand was damp beneath her, and though the moisture had seeped into her clothing, the cloth covering her front was relatively dry. Neither Gareth nor Hywel acknowledged this observation to the other, just laid her gently back down to the sand.
Hywel picked up one of Tegwen’s narrow wrists, stroking gently. “It’s broken.”
“Do you think it happened before or after her death?” Gareth said.
Hywel turned the hand over and back. “I can’t say. The skin is discolored, but so is her entire body. It has been too long since she died for me to read events clearly.” He gestured down the length of her. “She didn’t die here, that’s for certain.”
Bodies that had been moved always made for more difficult investigations. “She was struck on the head, but I don’t see how that relates to a broken wrist,” Gareth said.
“Maybe it doesn’t. Someone could have dragged the body roughly once she was dead,” Hywel said.
“Could the damage have happened as recently as last night?” Gareth picked up her other wrist. The bones were so dry and brittle that he feared he would break more of them and destroy whatever evidence they had. “You could see how easy it would be to do.”
“The head wound occurred prior to death,” Hywel said, “and I would say with some certainty that it caused her death, but I have never been faced with a body in this condition before.”
Hywel pointed to Tegwen’s feet, and Gareth moved around the body in order to inspect the heels of her boots. He knelt in the sand to lift up one heel and then the other. “I see scuff marks. I could match them to the scene if she’d died yesterday, but after all this time, it will be impossible to trace.”
“She was murdered; that’s what matters most.” Hywel straightened and stepped back from the body, his hands on his hips. “This will enrage my father.”
“Will he ask us to discover who killed her?” Gareth said.
“Who else?”
“Even after all this time?”
“Hallowmas is tomorrow night. The discovery of this death will make everyone uneasy. How much worse will it be if my father does nothing to find her killer?” Then Hywel shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t ask, I will insist we try.”
That was as Gareth had assumed, though he’d felt the need to ask. He rose to his feet too, brushing the sand from his knees. “It’s hard to know where to start.”
Hywel scowled. “We should treat it no differently from any other murder. If we ask enough questions, eventually we will ask the right ones of the right people, and we will learn things we didn’t know before. All cases can be solved given time and a little luck.”
“Make that a lot of luck,” Gareth said.
Hywel looked over at him, his gaze sharpening. “I need to know that you will put your full efforts into this, Gareth. I can’t have you doubting what we do.”
Gareth tamed his skepticism and reluctance in an instant. “Of course.” At Hywel’s continued hard look, Gareth added, “I apologize, my lord.” He blew out his cheeks. “But I must point out that we will have to reexamine everything we knew about her. She was a princess and your cousin. You might not like what we find.”
“Knowing the truth is always better than believing a lie,” Hywel said.
Gareth nodded. It wasn’t the first time Hywel had said those words, and Gareth believed he meant them. “Then I have my first question, and it needs to be put to you: Gwen said that Tegwen married Bran, a prince of Rhos. Why don’t I know of him? Is he a younger son who hasn’t participated in your father’s endeavors?”
“Was that before your time too?” Hywel said, surprise in his face. And then he shook his head. “No, it couldn’t have been.”
“Was what before my time?”
“Bran was the heir to the throne of Rhos,” Hywel said. “His older brother, Marchudd, died after Bran married Tegwen, and then his father died—of old age, mind you—between Marchudd’s death and Tegwen’s disappearance. I can’t remember the specifics at the moment, since Bran had taken charge of the cantref long before that. Then Bran himself was murdered three years ago by an arrow through his heart as he journeyed along the road from Caerhun to Dolwyddelan.”
Gareth’s brow furrowed as he thought back to three years ago and what he’d been doing at that time. He’d been a member of Hywel’s company for almost two years by that point. “Tegwen was married to that Bran?”
“Indeed,” Hywel said.
Gareth looked away, his mind churning. “I remember that he died. In fact, wasn’t he ambushed not far from where Anarawd’s company was ambushed?” At this second mention of Anarawd’s murder, Gareth didn’t look at Hywel and hurriedly continued, “Why wasn’t I among those investigating his death? Where was I? Where were you?”
“You were with me,” Hywel said. “We spent most of that year in Ireland, remember? I didn’t learn of his death until my father told me of it six months after it happened. By then, with no trail to follow and nothing to investigate, he didn’t see the point in wasting my time with an inquiry.”
“Who benefited from Bran’s death?” Gareth said.
Hywel gave him a dark look. “That is the one question that we never ask, and you know it. Bran was the Lord of Rhos and had no sons. Who do you think benefited?”
“His younger brother. I see, but surely—” Gareth broke off what he’d been about to say: but surely his brother wouldn’t have murdered him? But surely he would have, if it meant gaining the lordship.
“Bran was the second son of his father, and Tegwen had given him only daughters.” Hywel had gone back to studying the body of his cousin. “The elder brother died, as did many of our men, during the wars in Ceredigion, and upon Bran’s death, the third son, Ifon, inherited.”
Given that King Owain himself had inherited Gwynedd under identical circumstances—the untimely death in battle of an older brother—it was no wonder that he didn’t want to delve too deeply into Bran’s murder and the subsequent inheritance of the cantref by a third son. How King Owain had for so long tolerated having his younger brother, Prince Cadwaladr, anywhere near him was a mystery to Gareth. All that stood between Cadwaladr and the throne of Gwynedd was Owain himself. Then again, King Owain might think it was better to keep an eye on the treacherous prince than to have him far away doing God knew what.
Until Prince Hywel had elevated Gareth to the captain of his guard and given him lands of his own, the politics of Gwynedd had concerned him only as far as they concerned Hywel. More recently, Gareth had started paying more attention.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about the younger brother,” Hywel said. “Ifon hasn’t a violent bone in his body. I can’t see him having anything to do with his brother’s death. Or Tegwen’s, for that matter.”
Hywel’s comment violated their oft-spoken motto, never assume, but Gareth let it go for now. He’d met Ifon, and Hywel’s assessment was accurate up to a point. Still, while Ifon might not have an impressive intellect or the same skill with a sword as his older brother, Gareth had worked for Hywel long enough to know that the face a person showed to the world often belied his true character. You could never know what was in another’s heart, especially when he rarely talked about himself or put himself forward.
“My lord, I have news.” Adda finally reappeared with Rhodri and Dewi in tow.
A look of disdain crossed Hywel’s face at the sound of Adda’s voice, but since Hywel still faced Gareth, Adda didn’t see it. Hywel rolled his eyes at Gareth and then cleared his expression before turning around. “Good. Let’s hear it.”
“I was unable to find any witnesses to this incident.” Adda held his back straight and gazed at a point to the right of Hywel’s left shoulder. “I did discover tracks that I believe are from a cart. They start twenty yards up the beach from the body and continue past where we left the horses. If I’m not mistaken, there are two sets: coming and going.”
Gareth took a step closer. “Rhodri and Dewi brought a cart when they arrived with Gwen. How can you tell the difference between the tracks?”
“The other set goes off towards the west,” Adda said. “They are deeper, too, as if the cart carried a load.”
Gareth nodded. “Excellent work.” Adda’s observations were far more insightful than Gareth would have given him credit for.
Prince Hywel looked Adda up and down as if seeing him with new eyes too. “What happens after the tracks reach the road?”
“It is impossible to trace them, my lord,” Adda said, still stiff.
“Did you stand watch last night?” Prince Hywel said.
“No, my lord,” Adda said. “Mine was the morning shift.”
“Find the man who replaced you and bring him to me once I return to the castle,” Hywel said. “You are dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” Adda saluted and departed with Dewi.
Rhodri had been hovering on the margins of their conversation and didn’t leave with Adda even though the older soldier shot him a look that indicated he should. While Hywel bent to Tegwen’s body and began wrapping her back up in her cloak, Rhodri stepped towards Gareth. “My lord, if I may have a word?”
Gareth nodded and moved with Rhodri to one side, out of earshot of Hywel. “What is it?” It wasn’t that he wouldn’t share the information Rhodri was bringing him with Hywel but that there was a solemnity to Hywel’s movements that Gareth didn’t want to disturb.
“I wanted you to know that I wasn’t on duty either; I was here. I brought my boy to the beach this morning. My family are fishermen, and it’s his heritage, you see.”
Having seen to Tegwen, Hywel signaled to several of the men to come help him carry Tegwen’s body to the cart. Gareth turned back to Rhodri, who hurriedly continued, “I didn’t notice her until the children pointed her out, seeing how it was still dark when we arrived, and it was at least an hour that she lay on the beach before there was enough light to see by. The lanterns don’t shed much light beyond a small circle, you see.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Rhodri,” Gareth said. “She’d been dead a long while before today.”
Rhodri ducked his head. “It’s not that. It’s this.” From his pocket, Rhodri brought out a coin pendant with a hole shot through it and strung on a length of leather thong. “Within a few moments of our arrival, my boy found this lying on the path. He picked it up, thinking to keep it, but I reckon that it isn’t his to keep.”
Gareth took the pendant and held it out flat in the palm of his hand, a cold wave of dismay flooding his chest. It was clearly old and so worn that Gareth couldn’t read the writing on the coin or make out the image on its face. It would have been worn as a necklace and passed through many hands to reach his. “Thank you, Rhodri, for your honesty. I will show this to Prince Hywel.”
“I thought it might be the dead woman’s, you see,” he said. “I couldn’t by rights keep it.”
“See to your boy. This can’t have been an easy day for him.” Gareth dismissed Rhodri and returned to Hywel’s side. The prince had by now seen his cousin safely ensconced in the cart. Gareth waited patiently for Hywel to finish adjusting the cloak so it covered Tegwen completely and then caught his lord’s attention, touching his sleeve and stepping away from the group of men who had gathered for the somber journey to Aber Castle.
Hywel’s expression turned wary at seeing the concern on Gareth’s face, and when Gareth handed him the necklace and explained where it had been found, the muscles in Hywel’s jaw tightened. He turned the coin over in his fingers, licking his lips and as reluctant as Gareth to speak.
Finally, Hywel said, “You know as well as I do to whom this belongs.”
“I will name him if you won’t,” Gareth said.
Hywel shook his head. “Uncle Cadwaladr, what have you done now?”