Hallowmas was upon them, and even with the intrigue swirling around Tegwen’s death, Gwen was having a difficult time thinking about anything but what the poor girl had looked like when Gwen had first seen her on the beach. Most years, Gwen looked forward to Hallowmas, the dancing and singing in particular, but tonight she felt distant from it.
The feasting was continuing in the great hall, but Gwen, who’d excused herself to use the latrine, didn’t return to it, standing instead in the shadow of the stone battlement. The air was damp with the threat of more rain, but she breathed deeply, glad to be away from the hall and the press of people. She was already tired of the smell of sweat and damp wool, and winter hadn’t even started.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of candles lit the courtyard of the castle. Some of Aber’s villagers had started to trickle away down the hill. Hallowmas was both a serious time and one of joyful celebration. Before midnight, the villagers would light a bonfire from which the hearth fires of every household would be relit. Sharing food was a way to welcome the souls of family members who’d died, so revelers would leave food on the doorsteps of every house.
She glanced towards the postern gate, which was open, providing easy passage to and from the house in which she and Gareth were staying. Several soldiers stood guarding the door, though they were drinking and eating, so she wasn’t sure how much attention they were paying to the people who came and went. With Tegwen laid to rest and her murderer known, King Owain had relaxed the discipline among the men for the evening.
“It makes me uncomfortable too,” Gareth whispered in her ear, “especially since Evan reports that Wena’s hut is empty. He saw no sign that either Erik or Cadwaladr were ever there.”
Gwen turned to look up at him, her heart lifting as it always did when he was near. “What about the archer who shot at Hywel? A man was wounded, and Hywel could have been killed! It’s as if the king doesn’t care.” She gestured to the crowd of people who were surging from the hall, laughing and talking with one another.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Gareth said, “but he prefers to blame masterless men for that act.”
“What masterless men?” Gwen said. “We don’t have masterless men this close to Aber.”
“Keep your voice down, Gwen.”
Gwen turned at Hywel’s command. He had Mari on his arm, and in the light of the torches, her face was the least pale Gwen had seen it in days. It looked as though she had forgiven Hywel for leaving without saying goodbye.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Gwen said. “I’m worried.”
Hywel tipped his head to indicate the guards. “Dearest Gwen, this inattention is by design. Those men are drinking well-watered mead.”
Gwen’s expression cleared. “That’s a relief.”
“We want to lull our murderer into a false sense of security,” Hywel said.
Gareth’s brow furrowed. “What are you planning, my lord?”
But Gwen understood. “You’re using yourself as bait! How on earth did you convince your father to let you do it?”
Hywel grinned. “He saw the wisdom of catching this murderer sooner rather than later.”
“I’ve already told him I don’t like it.” Mari squeezed Hywel around the waist with both arms. “I almost lost him already today.”
“I’ll be fine.” Hywel patted her arm, laughing over her head at Gareth and Gwen.
“It would be tempting fate to put yourself in harm’s way again,” Gwen said.
“I am no more at risk than I would be riding among my guard,” Hywel said. “We will have watchers through the night. Most of the villagers won’t sleep anyway, so they will think nothing of the activity of our men.”
Mari didn’t look convinced, but she released Hywel’s arm to take Gwen’s. “My husband was escorting me to bed, Gwen. Will you retire with me so we don’t have to be a party to their stupidity?”
“Of course.” If the revelers weren’t so loud and raucous, Gwen would have been asleep already.
Mari shot a glare over her shoulder. “He’s lucky he almost lost his life today or he’d be sleeping in the stables tonight.”
Hywel blew his wife a kiss.
Gwen nudged Mari’s shoulder. “He meant well, not waking you.”
“He won’t make that mistake again,” Mari said.
Gwen and Mari passed through the postern gate while Gareth and Hywel stopped to speak to those who guarded the door.
“Gareth will look after him,” Gwen said.
“He really is most incorrigible,” Mari said.
“That’s why you love him.”
Mari smiled, unable to stay angry. Gwen was glad to see her friend in a better mood and was about to say so when her attention was caught by a movement at the edge of the trees to the south of the castle. Two figures were standing face-to-face a hundred yards away. Both wore cloaks and were hard to see, since they were well out of the range of the torchlight and only stars shone down tonight.
Gwen watched them for a moment. It looked like they were arguing, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then one of the figures went down on one knee before falling to the ground. Gwen let out an involuntary gasp of air, causing Mari to swing around and look where Gwen was looking. Mari squeaked, and although she cut off the sound the moment she released it, the standing figure raised his head and looked towards Mari and Gwen.
Aber’s bonfire had just been lit in the courtyard, and its light, combined with the candle-filled turnips that lit the pathway to the house, meant that whoever it was could see the women more easily than they could see him.
The figure hesitated for a moment and then whirled around to disappear into the darkness of the woods beyond.
Gwen finally found her voice. “Gareth!”
Gareth and Hywel reached them in three strides. “What is it?” Gareth took Gwen’s arms and turned her so she had to look into his face. She wasn’t usually this frozen in the face of danger, but it had taken hardly more three or four breaths for the whole scene to start and finish. The man on the ground wasn’t moving, and Gwen feared that she’d just seen him murdered before her eyes.
Gwen didn’t have the words to explain; she pulled away from Gareth and lifted the hem of her skirts to run towards the fallen man.
The others ran after her, with Hywel and Gareth passing her once they realized where she was going. The man on the ground still hadn’t moved or made a noise, and both men were already crouched over the body by the time Gwen came huffing up, her hand to her belly. Mari had followed too; she leaned her shoulder into a nearby tree before bending over, her hands on her knees, to lose her dinner on the ground.
Gwen wiped Mari’s mouth with a cloth that she kept folded at her waist. Gwen felt like puking herself but was managing for the moment to control the instinct. “He’s dead?” she said to Gareth.
Hywel held up his palm. It was covered in blood. “He took a knife between his ribs to his heart. Did you see where the killer went?”
Gwen gestured towards the woods. “That way. He could be anywhere.”
Hywel peered in the direction she’d pointed. “I can’t see a thing. He could be fifty feet away or five hundred.” He put his hand to the hilt of his sword and scanned the darkness under the trees.
Gareth flipped back the man’s hood, and then Gwen really did fear that she was going to lose her dinner. The dead man was Brychan, Tegwen’s lover. Gareth grunted and then swept a hand across Brychan’s eyes to close them. “I feel like this is my fault, at least partly.”
“Gareth, no—” Gwen began.
Hywel turned to look down at Gareth. “Why is that?”
Gareth ripped open Brychan’s shirt. He hadn’t been wearing armor, just a coat and cloak against the night air. “If I hadn’t allowed other cares to divert me until this morning, we might have found him sooner, and he might still be alive.”
Hywel discarded Gareth’s claim with a wave of his hand. “You know as well as I do that Brychan’s death cannot be laid at your door.”
“The blade was thin.” Gareth wiped away the blood, which had stopped pulsing from the wound. “One thrust and he was dead. Gwen could have managed it.”
Hywel glanced to where Gwen still stood beside Mari, her arm across her friend’s shoulders. “Did you see who did it?”
Gwen shook her head. “Not more than his shape and not much of that.”
“Anything you can tell us would be helpful,” Hywel said.
“He was of average height, within an inch of Brychan. Slender, or at least not fat. Other than that, it was too dark.”
Hywel’s lips twisted in dismay. “Brychan must have seen, known, or done something that someone else feared.” He went to Mari, who put her face into his chest, not quite sobbing but breathing deeply to control her emotions. Gwen knew how Mari felt, though she was trying to be as calm as the men.
“Yes, but who feared it?” Gareth said.
Hywel looked at Gwen over the top of Mari’s head. “I thought at the time that Dewi was telling the truth about Tegwen’s death as far as he knew it, and given the corroborating evidence, I still believe it.” He indicated Brychan’s body with a tip of his head. “This is about something different.”
“The Book of Kells, do you think?” Gwen said.
Hywel shrugged. “I couldn’t say. We should show Brychan’s face to Godfrid. Maybe he knows him. Maybe Brychan spent time in Dublin too.”
“Brychan knew his murderer,” Gwen said. “I can say that for sure. They were talking before he was stabbed. Their faces were inches apart.”
“As I said, one thrust and Brychan was done. He wouldn’t have seen it coming,” Gareth said. “A weaker man could kill a stronger one that way, simply because of the surprise.”
Hywel had released Mari to crouch by the body again, and Gwen wondered if he was thinking of the way he’d murdered King Anarawd. Hywel had been able to approach him because he’d known him, and Anarawd had let his guard down. In that case, Anarawd’s armor had slowed, but not stopped, the blade. Brychan hadn’t even had that protection.
Mari was standing a few feet from the body, facing towards the postern gate. “Hywel, regardless of who did this, we can’t let everyone know that Brychan was murdered in the woods. The people might panic.”
Hywel groaned. “Why does it have to be Hallowmas?”
“We have to do something with the body,” Gwen said. “We can’t leave him here.”
Mari was gathering herself after her shock. “You two put the body in the firewood shed behind the house,” she said to Hywel and Gareth. “Gwen and I will act as lookouts.”
At Hywel’s assent, Mari ran ahead to blow out the candles on the pathway and plunge the manor into greater darkness. A few candles still flickered on the back steps to the house, and she put those out too. Gwen, meanwhile, stood sentry halfway between the woods and the house, and when it seemed all was clear, she waved the men forward. Gareth and Hywel carried the body out of the woods, but when they passed Gwen, she realized they were leaving a trail of blood on the ground behind them.
While Gareth stacked enough wood to last the household inhabitants through the night and divert them from entering the woodshed, and Mari kept watch at the corner of the house, Gwen grabbed a rake from its hook on the wall. Scraping the ground with broad sweeping motions, she worked her way back to the woods with it, churning the soil, grass, and leaves to bury as much blood as she could. Nobody would notice the blood in the dark, but it might be noticeable in the morning and, at the very least, attract wild animals in the night.
When she reached the spot where Brychan had died, she stopped, listening to the distant calls and laughter from the castle. As Gwen’s eyes grew used to the darkness under the trees, the world outside the woods grew brighter—or maybe it was the sweep of stars that had appeared from behind a cloud. Gareth and Hywel disappeared inside the woodshed, and Mari now stood on the top steps to the back door, which was open, her silhouette clearly visible against the backdrop of candles she’d relit behind her.
Gwen shivered and looked away. She’d been so focused on her task that she hadn’t had time to be afraid of the dark. Now she glanced towards the castle and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was lurking at the base of the wall, sidling towards the postern gate. Gwen stared at the figure for two heartbeats and then started back towards the manor. She opened her mouth to shout for Gareth, not fool enough to confront a murderer on her own. But before she could catch his attention, a great burst of laughter came from the revelers by the gate. A half-dozen drunken men spilled from it.
Unlike the guards who remained in the courtyard, these men had drunk more than enough mead. They milled around on the pathway leading to the manor house.
“Gareth!” Gwen started to run just as the cloaked figure slipped among them and through them.
Gareth and Hywel didn’t appear, but Mari hurried down the steps towards her. “What’s happening?”
“I saw him!” Gwen pointed towards the revelers.
“I’ll get Hywel,” Mari said.
“Gwen!” A drunken man stepped from the pack of men, his arms wide as if he wanted to embrace her. “Where is your husband? He has been far too serious of late, and we mean to make him join us!”
Gwen slowed and then stopped, looking past the man, whose name was Iago. “Did you see who passed by here just now? He wore a cloak and came from over there.” Gwen pointed to the wall to the south of the gate.
Iago spun on his heel and waved a hand at his fellows. “It’s just us here, right boys? I didn’t see anything.”
Gareth and Hywel hurried up. “Is everything all right?” Gareth said.
“Gareth!” Iago clapped a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “You’re not drinking!”
“And you, Iago, have drunk far too much.” Gareth shook him off and guided Gwen through the crowd to the postern gate. “Mari said you saw the killer. Where did he go?”
“Through here, I’m sure of it,” Gwen said. “Iago and his friends are too drunk to notice anything but their own amusement.”
Two men stood sentry on either side of the doorway. One of them, thankfully, was Rhodri. He’d been on the beach the day before with Gwen. It was his son who’d discovered Cadwaladr’s coin pendant.
“A man, hooded and cloaked, came through here just now,” Gareth said. “Did you see him?”
“We’ve seen dozens, my lord, both in and out since you passed this way earlier.” Rhodri’s brows came together. “I haven’t noticed anyone who shouldn’t be here, but I don’t know the names of everyone at Aber tonight either.”
Gareth cursed under his breath. “He belongs here; he must.” He gazed around the courtyard, his hands on his hips.
The bonfire had been piled to the height of a man, with the flames shooting higher than that. At least a hundred people were gathered around it, with more on the margins by the craft halls and barracks. Gwen tried to see individual faces instead of the firelight. Then she noticed a cloth bundle by the corner of the stables.
“What’s this?” She held up a cloak, thin and brown with blotchy stains in places. Someone had wadded it up and discarded it. Looking at it ruefully, she handed it to Gareth, who cursed again. The cloak was damp, but with only firelight to see by, Gwen couldn’t tell if the moisture was blood or merely water from the puddle it had been lying in.
“It’s rough and cheap,” Gwen said.
“It could belong to anyone—from the killer to a villager too drunk to notice how cold he now is.” Gareth pounded a fist on one of the posts that held up the stable’s roof. “What is going on here?”
“Did Brychan have anything on him that helps us?”
Gareth shrugged. “It’s always awkward to go through a dead man’s clothes like a petty thief, but Hywel and I did the best we could in the dim light and found nothing of interest. What Brychan knew was in his head.”
“And here I thought Hywel was going to be the one in danger tonight.”
“I’m concerned now for you and Mari.” Gareth tossed the cloak onto a towering stack of wood beside the blacksmith forge. “He knows you saw him, but he got away, and in this crowd, the only way we’re going to discover his name is by sheer luck.”
“We’re getting close,” Gwen said, trying to be reassuring. “He’s slipped up and killed someone else. He’ll know that we’ve grabbed the end of the thread and only need to tug at it for his world to unravel.”
“I won’t say you’re wrong,” Gareth said. “Isn’t that always the way of it? As time goes by and more people become involved, the killer’s plan gets away from him and spirals out of control.”
“There you are!” Godfrid detached himself from some onlookers standing near the gatehouse and strode up to them, grinning. At the sight of their serious faces, however, he faltered. “What’s happened?”
“We have another murder, and we don’t know why,” Gwen said. “Brychan, Tegwen’s lover, is dead.”
Godfrid’s expression darkened. “My men and I will aid you in any way we can.”
“We’ll have to ask the same questions we’ve been asking all over again: if anyone saw anything unusual; if anyone hasn’t been where they’re supposed to be,” Gareth said.
Godfrid snorted. “It’s Hallowmas. Nobody is where he’s supposed to be.”
“We’d better get started, then,” Gwen said.
“Not you, though.” Gwen found herself being spun around by her husband and directed towards the manor house. “You are for bed.”
Gwen didn’t dig in her heels, but she didn’t come willingly either. It was very unlike Gareth to tell her what to do so determinedly. “You can’t think I’m going to sleep? I just saw a man murdered, and you’ve hidden his body in the woodshed.”
“I know, Gwen.” Gareth’s voice came low in her ear. “But you could try. Mari needs you. And I need you safe. We have a killer running loose inside Aber. I would feel better knowing you were safe outside the walls.”
Gwen swallowed down her protest. She liked being involved, and she liked knowing what was happening, but she could just as well skip asking those same questions over again to the drunken inhabitants of Aber Castle. She allowed Gareth to escort her to their room. Hywel met them at the front door, a look of relief crossing his face at the sight of Gwen. He practically pushed her through the doorway to their room. Mari was leaning over the basin in the corner.
“You are a very bad man,” Gwen said.
Hywel smirked. “Get her to sleep if you can; try to sleep yourself.”
“We won’t be long, Gwen,” Gareth said. “It is less than two hours to midnight, after which everyone will be even more drunk and incapable of answering our questions.”
Hywel scoffed. “In another hour, we’re going to be the only ones standing.”