Gwen had once told Hywel that he should have the words never assume inscribed above his door, and right now, as he waited for Madog’s funeral train to pass him, he reminded himself of the reason why. He had thought that his main purpose in coming to Rhos was to pin Ifon down about Tegwen’s last days. And he’d done it, but he felt now as if he’d learned too much information about the wrong things. If Bran had done something so terrible that both he and his wife had died over it, Hywel almost didn’t want to know what it was.
Almost.
As Ifon had promised, it wasn’t quite noon, and Madog would be in the ground within the hour. The preparations for Hallowmas could then go forward as planned. Tegwen might have been dead for five years and Madog for only a few hours, but from the buzz of conversation around Hywel, most everyone was focused on Tegwen. Her death had been violent, and everyone knew that it was those spirits who were the most restless.
Hywel and Evan stood to one side of the path leading out of Bryn Euryn as four mourners carried Madog’s body towards them in its temporary coffin, inside which the body lay, washed and shrouded. As was the custom in Gwynedd for all burials other than noble ones, Madog would be laid in the grave in just his shroud, and the coffin would be reused. The priest led the procession, followed by Ifon, his family, and Madog’s family.
Hywel hated funerals. He understood the need for them and the importance of easing the soul into the next life. It was supposed to cleanse the grief of those left behind. But Hywel had attended too many funerals of loved ones to have any interest in witnessing the last journey of someone who may have feared death less than speaking to Hywel about Tegwen’s disappearance.
Evan shifted beside Hywel, restless too, and Hywel canted his head to indicate that he should move through the crowd. Hywel’s other men-at-arms had spread themselves out among the mourners, acting as Hywel’s eyes and ears the best they knew how.
Hywel brought his attention back to the procession, and as the body passed his position, he felt the pressure of a hand in his, followed by a low hiss and the words, “Tegwen met with a man the morning she disappeared.”
Hywel licked his lips, his eyes flicking among the crowd to make sure nobody was looking at him, and took a step back. His fellow mourners shifted to fill in where he’d been standing. An ancient yew tree arched over the pathway a few feet away, and he and the woman who had come to find him stepped behind it, allowing Hywel to get a good look at his informant for the first time. She was perhaps ten years older than he was, blonde and blue-eyed, and if he hadn’t been a happily married man he would have regretted not meeting her the previous evening.
“What can you tell me?” Hywel said.
“You have to understand that when the story of how Tegwen ran off with a Dane came out, I assumed I’d been mistaken in what I’d seen. Madog was so sure that he saw her getting into that boat. But now that Tegwen died instead, I knew I needed to come forward.”
With never assume echoing in Hywel’s head, he pressed the woman’s hand. “With whom did Tegwen meet?”
“His name was Erik, a half-Dane in Bran’s company,” the woman said. “Tegwen met him over in the trees not far from here. She wandered, you know.”
Hywel tried to keep his impatience in check. “So I’ve heard.”
“I know she came back to the castle after she met him, but my duties as wet nurse for her younger girl prevented me from asking her what Erik had wanted. I never saw her again.”
“You never told anyone about this?” Hywel said.
The woman shook her head uncertainly.
“Not Lord Bran?” Hywel said, trying to keep his voice gentle. What he wanted to do was shake the answers out of her.
“No.” The woman’s eyes went wide. “When Lord Bran was told that Tegwen had gone, his anger was terrifying! I stayed out of his way, and since Erik was his man, I didn’t think it was my place to say anything.”
“What about this Erik?” Hywel said. “Did you ever talk to him about it?”
The woman sniffed and wiped at her nose. Hywel was reconsidering his initial attraction. “No. He left Bran’s service that summer, and by then I’d decided I was mistaken. He was half-Dane, and since Tegwen had run off with a Dane, perhaps I’d confused one man for the other, and it hadn’t been Erik I saw.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
The woman gave him a coy smile. Had he actually fallen for this sort of thing in the past? Hywel decided he must be growing more discerning with age. He patted her hand and dismissed her. By now, the funeral procession had reached the bottom of the hill, and Hywel walked along the edge of the road, passing some stragglers, until he could see the chapel and the circular graveyard with its freshly dug grave. The pallbearers had removed Madog from his coffin and were lowering him into the ground.
Evan stood at the back of the mourners, and Hywel moved to his side. They were standing to the left of the priest who raised his hands and began a prayer. “Is everything all right, my lord?”
Hywel settled back on his heels. He’d walked up to Evan with a spring in his step, but to be so bright-eyed at a funeral was unseemly, and he should have known better. “I was just given helpful information and a real lead. I’ll tell you when this is over.”
Hywel waited impatiently for the funeral rites to end and for Ifon to greet each person who’d attended. Ifon had made himself into a fine lord, even if he hadn’t been born to it. If things had fallen out differently, Ifon might have been pledged to the church, though it was rare enough in Hywel’s experience for a lord with only three sons to think that he had any to spare. Hywel’s father, King Owain, had fathered ten sons already, only four of whom lived at their father’s court: Rhun and Hywel as the eldest, both in their middle twenties, sons of an Irishwoman their father had loved but never married; and the much younger Iorwerth and Maelgwn, born to his first wife Gwladys.
Of the six remaining sons, Hywel had met only three: Cynan, who was three years younger than Hywel himself; Cadell; and Madoc, all of whom lived in Powys, serving lords who would train them as warriors the way Hywel himself had been trained. The Norman church would have had Iorwerth as his father’s heir, but fortunately for Hywel, in Wales, all acknowledged sons could inherit. In another world, Iorwerth might have made a fine King of Gwynedd, but Hywel knew that Rhun would make a better one than all of them.
“Lord Ifon, if I may have one more word before I go.” Hywel touched Ifon’s elbow as the last of his people bowed before him and departed.
Ifon’s eyes flicked to Hywel and then back to the crowd of mourners heading up the hill to the castle.
“I know you have people to see to,” Hywel said. “This won’t take but a moment, and my men and I will be on our way.”
Ifon let out a breath and turned to face Hywel directly. “Of course. How may I serve you?”
“It is my understanding that after Bran’s death you found places for his men all over Wales,” Hywel said. “I would like to know why.”
Ifon gave a snort. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s as I told you last night. They were loyal to my brother.”
“In many households, that loyalty transfers to the man next in line,” Hywel said, “which would be you.”
“I did not trust them,” Ifon said. “I had my own men, and Bran’s men deserved the opportunity to serve a lord who would use them well. That lord was not I.”
Hywel bent his head once in acknowledgement of Ifon’s reasoning. “I’d like to inquire in particular about one man, Erik. He would have been half-Welsh, half-Danish.”
Ifon was nodding before Hywel finished his sentence. “Bran got rid of him before my time. He sent him home, I believe.”
“Home, as in … Dublin?”
“Yes,” Ifon said.
“You say got rid of him. Do you know why?” Hywel said.
“It was during the transition from my father’s rule to Bran’s,” Ifon said. “Bran arranged for most of our father’s men to find posts with other lords.”
“Thank you.” Hywel stepped back. “And thank you for your hospitality. I won’t keep you from your people any longer.”
Ifon bowed, his hands clasped before him, and then strode past Hywel and up the road to Bryn Euryn, the aforementioned people crowding around him as he went.
Evan and the other men from Aber, meanwhile, converged on Hywel. “Do we have a lead?” Evan said.
Hywel’s eyes brightened. “Any of you fancy a journey to Dublin?”