Gareth lay on the pallet he shared with Gwen, listening to her easy breathing. His mind churned with all the pieces of the puzzle they were trying to put together. It was only now that he remembered that he had neither returned to Wena’s hut to look for more clues nor had made a concerted effort to find Brychan among the crowd at Aber. Godfrid’s arrival and his story of the Book of Kells had put both concerns completely from his mind.
Dawn was still some time off, but Gareth rose from the pallet, unable to lie still any longer. He glanced up at the big bed to make sure Mari remained asleep and tiptoed to the door. Gwen rolled onto her side, murmuring in her sleep. He thought he saw a gleam which could have been her eyes opening, but then she closed them again, and he went out the door.
The manor house in which they were staying consisted of four rooms on each of the two floors, for a total of eight, built around a central stair that was more of a ladder. The sole purpose of the manor was to accommodate the overflow of visitors from the castle. Since the manor was built outside the castle walls, it was vulnerable if an opposing army was ever to attack Aber, so it was unadorned, consisting of nothing more than the eight rooms. Gareth didn’t think he had a war to worry about today. The border with Powys was quiet, and the Earl of Chester had his hands full maintaining his own lands without trying to push into Gwynedd.
Coming down stairs from the front door, Gareth almost stumbled over the turnips piled on the steps. With Hallowmas that night, the people had been getting ready for days. Before sunset, the turnips would be hollowed out and candles lit within them to guide the souls of the dead who had trouble finding their way to the next world. From the furor in the hall yesterday, it seemed many feared that Tegwen would be among them.
She would be buried in a few hours, which King Owain hoped would ease the people’s anxiety. Gareth wasn’t sure King Owain would even wait for Hywel to return. The needs of the dead today superseded those of the living. Hywel hated funerals anyway, and even if the investigation hadn’t been urgent, Gareth wouldn’t have put it past Hywel to visit Bryn Euryn simply to avoid Tegwen’s interment.
Gareth hated funerals too, though what was there to enjoy about them, really? This was one he couldn’t avoid attending, but he could occupy himself in the meantime. The sooner he figured out who had murdered Tegwen and Bran, the sooner he could begin the search for the Book of Kells. While far too many of the people who had known Tegwen were already dead, he had a castle full of people to talk to today. He needed to find the one man who might know more than he was currently saying: maybe not because he was deliberately hiding something, but because he might not realize that bits of what he did know could be important.
King Owain’s longtime friend and steward, Taran, bobbed to the top of Gareth’s list.
The king himself would still be asleep, presumably with Cristina, though one never knew, but Taran was an early riser. He was often up with the dawn even in the summer. He’d been awake when Gwen had come to him the previous morning; he would be awake now. Gareth found him, as he thought he might, hard at work in King Owain’s office off the great hall, going over the castle accounts.
Gareth knocked on the doorframe, since the door itself was halfway ajar, and Taran looked up. The smile that flashed across his face at the sight of Gareth turned wary within a single heartbeat. “Hello, Gareth. Please tell me you aren’t here to inform me of another death.”
“No, sir,” Gareth said.
“I’m delighted to see you then.” Taran pointed to the chair opposite his own on the other side of his table. “How may I help you?”
“I want to tell you everything that I know so far about Tegwen’s disappearance and death—and Bran’s for that matter, which is very little—and ask you speak to me of what you remember of that time.”
“We do have ourselves a puzzle, don’t we?” Taran rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and clasped his hands in front of his lips. “King Owain is greatly troubled by his niece’s death. I will help you in any way I can.”
Gareth took a moment to collect his thoughts and then said, “It is my understanding that you were here and not in Powys at the time of Tegwen’s disappearance.”
A distant look came into Taran’s eyes. “That is correct. The king had gathered his nobles to him, and though I rode with him in the first forays, I returned to Aber after only a few weeks.”
“Why was that?”
Taran coughed, his expression reluctant. “He was having … domestic troubles and needed someone he trusted here at Aber.”
“He wanted you to keep an eye on Gwladys,” Gareth said.
Taran’s expression cleared. “How did you know?”
“I would prefer not to reveal that,” Gareth said, “not unless I must.”
“Of course, of course.” Taran rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Well, if it helps, I was here when Tegwen ran away—died, I suppose—but I don’t know how that helps you.”
Gareth looked curiously at the old steward. “You loved Tegwen.” Gwen had told him of Taran’s emotional reaction to her death. “I can hear it in your voice when you say her name.”
“She was a sweet little thing, growing up,” Taran said.
“Were you in support of her marriage to Bran?” Gareth said, not that it mattered now, but he was curious, given what they’d learned of Tegwen’s husband.
“He was a second son but a lord of Rhos nonetheless. He wasn’t my first choice, but I didn’t know what I know now—or what I learned of him after her marriage.” Taran’s jaw firmed at the memory.
“He didn’t love her,” Gareth said. “Did he hurt her?”
Taran pointed a finger at Gareth. “I never saw bruises, which is why I didn’t intervene in their relationship. He ignored her, certainly, and as a result, she retreated to her own world. She wouldn’t leave him; she denied any wrongdoing on his part. She was a simple girl at heart. I know that she married him under duress, having fallen in love with that man-at-arms, Brychan, but it was my impression that she grew to love her husband and turned to drink because he didn’t share her love.” Taran’s shoulders lifted and then fell in resignation. “It’s not an uncommon story.”
“When was the last time you saw Bran?” Gareth said.
Taran raised his brows. “Why do you ask?”
Now it was Gareth’s turn to shrug. “It may be that he had something to do with her death.”
“Really?” Taran said. “I’m disappointed, then, that I can’t tell you when I saw him. Not before Tegwen disappeared, certainly.”
“My informant believes that Bran and Gwladys met each other in Wena’s hut during their affair, which ended before Tegwen’s disappearance. Bran knew this area well enough to know about the hut, and given that Tegwen’s body was found at the hut …” Gareth’s voice trailed off at the look of astonishment on Taran’s face. “What?”
“Bran was Gwladys’s lover?”
“You didn’t know?” Gareth said, suddenly confused himself. He’d thought he and Taran had been in accord.
“No, I didn’t know it was he!” Taran said. “I thought it was Gruffydd, Tegwen’s grandfather.”
Gareth almost choked on his own saliva. “That’s not what I was told.”
Taran sat back. “It would make more sense if it was Bran. Gruffydd has always been a friend, and that spring he’d broken his leg, which was why I felt I was wasting my time at Aber when I could have been serving Owain in the field.”
“So you never saw Bran at Aber?” Gareth said.
“All these years and I never harbored a suspicion against him.” Taran shook his head. “I would apologize to Gruffydd for misreading him, but Gwladys’s affair was not common knowledge. Or so I believed until now.” He glared at Gareth.
Gareth put up both hands, palms out. “I will tell no one. I only brought it up because it seemed you already knew.”
Taran subsided, still looking disgruntled. “I will have to speak to the king.”
Gareth was glad that task would not be his. “So, if I may ask again, when did you last see Bran?”
“I was about to repeat that I didn’t, but—” Taran put up his finger again. “Give me a moment.” He pushed to his feet, went to a shelf on the wall, lifted out a heavy book, and began flipping through the ancient pages. Gareth had seen the book before, though he’d never been given the opportunity to read it: it was an account of important events in Aber since its founding, all the way back to Rhodri Mawr. “Here it is. It was the twenty-second of April. Bran ap Cynan, Lord of Rhos, rode to Aber to tell of the disappearance of his wife, Tegwen ferch Cadwallon.”
“May I see that?” Gareth rounded the table and read where Taran pointed. “I don’t understand.”
Taran spread his hand wide. “What’s there to understand?”
“Tegwen’s grandfather, Gruffydd, told us that Tegwen disappeared on the Feast of St. Bueno, which I believe is only two days earlier.”
Taran closed the book and looked at Gareth. “Bryn Euryn is only ten miles from Aber. He could have easily ridden this far in a day.”
“Except that he was supposed to be fighting in the east. I wouldn’t have thought that he could have known of her disappearance yet, much less reach Aber so quickly.”
“Perhaps when Prince Hywel returns, he can shed light on these events.” Taran put the book back on the shelf.
“Why didn’t you send word to Gruffydd that his granddaughter was missing?” Gareth said.
Taran shook his head. “Now that I’ve seen the writing and the date, I remember Bran’s visit but little about it other than the fact of Tegwen’s disappearance.” His brow furrowed. “I do believe he told me that he had already informed Gruffydd that she was gone.”
“Gruffydd claims otherwise,” Gareth said.
“I can’t tell you any more than I’ve said.” Taran pinned Gareth with a sharp look. “Where is this going in your head?”
“Gruffydd and Brychan both accused Bran of killing Tegwen. I have no other suspects at the moment.”
“Given that he’s dead, he is certainly a convenient one,” Taran said.
“You don’t believe he could have done it?”
“Wouldn’t it have been smarter to murder her near Rhos? And if he wanted to hide the body, there are smarter things he could have done with it. Why bring her all the way here?”
“Perhaps because he was already here,” Gareth said. “Are you sure that he couldn’t have met Gwladys during that same time period?”
Taran lowered himself back into his chair. “I do sleep, you know.”
“Maybe he was smart enough to kill her far away from Bryn Euryn where nobody would suspect him if the body was eventually found,” Gareth said. “Did Bran get along with Cadwaladr?”
Taran snorted laughter. “No. They hated each other.”
“Do you know why?”
Taran’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “In truth, I couldn’t say. Bran was a good ten years younger than Cadwaladr, so it must have been something that happened once they reached manhood.”
“Maybe they were too much alike.”
Taran eyed Gareth, his lips twisting in a wry smile. “Thinking always of themselves and nobody else? You may be right.”
Gareth left Taran to his work. Walking away from Taran’s office, he reflected on how much he was growing to despise this investigation. He had never been one to gossip, and he didn’t enjoy accumulating other people’s secrets the way Hywel did. Had he wanted to know that Gwladys was unfaithful to King Owain? No, he had not. And at this point, he didn’t know if her activities had any bearing on Tegwen’s disappearance and death beyond informing him that something wasn’t right in Bran’s relationship with Tegwen. It occurred to him that nobody had yet told him if Bran himself had wanted something different in a wife and had married Tegwen only because his father made him.
At times like this, Gareth was glad he wasn’t born a nobleman.
The great hall was filled with sleeping guests, and Gareth paused to listen to the chapel bell toll for prime. Many would be rising now that the sun was up, and Gareth might not have a single quiet moment for the rest of the day. He turned on his heel and left the hall.
Standing on the top step, Gareth beheld the courtyard, which was already filling with villagers coming into Aber to spend the day, anticipating rich meals, gossip, and entertainment. Meilyr and Gwalchmai had sung for everyone last night and had even coaxed Gwen up on the dais for one song at the end. They would play on and off for much of the day. King Owain had also arranged for jugglers and storytellers, some who would sing and some who would not. The most important event of the day, however, would be Tegwen’s funeral.
Gareth had some time before then, so he pointed himself towards the stables, thinking that he would saddle his horse and roust one of the castle’s men-at-arms to ride with him to Wena’s hut. When he arrived at the entrance, however, Godfrid and his Danes blocked the way inside, in the midst of a heated discussion.
Gareth stopped a few feet away. He’d picked up some Danish over the years but not enough to make out more than one word in three when they were speaking so quickly. After a moment, Godfrid spotted him and sliced his hand through the air, cutting off all discussion. Gareth took that to mean that he should approach. “What’s wrong?”
“One of my men is missing,” Godfrid said.
Gareth raised his hands and dropped them in a gesture of disbelief. “I don’t know what to say.”
Then Godfrid’s eyes focused on something behind Gareth. He turned to see four gravediggers with heavy shovels on their shoulders depart through the main gate.
“When is it to be?” Godfrid said.
“Before the evening meal.” Gareth turned back to Godfrid. “There’s plenty of time for a thorough search. What is your man’s name, where have you looked, and why would he have gone?”