Chapter Five

Gwen

 

 

While the noblemen discussed the murder, Gwen sat. She was glad that Gareth had been included in whatever they were deciding, but she felt restless staying with Evan and Gruffydd and not knowing what was going on. Gareth would tell her all about the conversation later, but that knowledge wasn’t helping her right now. Gwen had seen enough of this Norman castle already. She wanted to go home to their cottage on Anglesey.

Gareth and Gwen had married before Christmas the previous year and immediately traveled to the lands Prince Hywel had bestowed upon Gareth as part of his knighthood. As a captain in the prince’s teulu, it was no more than he deserved.

The estate was near St. Eilian's, a little church on the northeast coast of Anglesey. Their home didn’t look like much—no more than a small cottage, byre, barn, and stockade, with fields around, farmed by the common folk who tithed to Gareth, who in turn would tithe to Prince Hywel. Still, it was home, and Gwen could walk out her door every morning and watch the sun rise over the Irish Sea. In the years of wandering with her father since they’d left Gwynedd, she’d forgotten what it was like to stay in one place and to have a home.

Gareth, of course, couldn’t really stay in one place if he was to continue in Prince Hywel’s service. Gareth and Gwen had spent the winter and spring at their new home but, even so, had ridden the twenty miles to Aber each month so Gareth could confer with Prince Hywel. Soon, most likely after this trip to England, Hywel would want to go south, to his own lands in Ceredigion. He would want Gareth to ride with him as the captain of his teulu, and Gwen might not be allowed to go with them.

Abruptly, she stood, stomach churning and no longer able to sit still. “I’m going to see how Prior Rhys is getting on with the body.”

Evan gaped at her but then snapped his mouth shut. “I don’t know that any other woman could get away with saying those particular words, but coming from you, they make sense.”

Gwen smiled. “Few women have my particular history.”

Evan guffawed. “I don’t object to your going, and I don’t think Gareth would either. But I will need come with you.”

“There’s no need—”

“Gareth would have my head if I let you wander this castle by yourself without an escort. You are among strangers,” Evan said. “Best you remember it. I’ll take you there and then return to the hall, provided your presence is acceptable to Prior Rhys.”

Gwen nodded. It would do no good to argue, and she could believe that Evan wanted an excuse to leave the hall too. He’d been jittering his leg underneath the table since they sat down, and if she hadn’t decided to leave, she would have had to speak to him about it.

She and Evan left the hall, passed through the anteroom in which two dozen people still clustered—though what exactly they were doing other than gossiping, Gwen couldn’t determine—and left the building. Once in the bailey, Gwen had to acknowledge that Evan had been right to escort her. This wasn’t Aber, her home on Anglesey, or even Wales. She shouldn’t go about on her own.

“Did you ever meet David when he came to Aber Castle?” Gwen said.

“I saw him a few times, but we never had a conversation,” Evan said. “He would arrive late at night and leave early the next morning.” Evan glanced down at her. “We all knew that he spied for King Owain, so we kept our distance.”

“Hywel knew him,” Gwen said.

“He did indeed,” Evan said.

“I will ask him about David later.”

“You do that—and then let me know what he tells you. Far too many secrets are being kept here for my comfort and—strangely—only a few of them by our lord.”

“When did you last see David at Aber?”

Evan shook his head as he thought. “Oddly, not since the winter, just as Ranulf said. It would have been nice to know what he was doing.”

“And where he was doing it,” Gwen said.

“David should have known better than to choose a Norman over King Owain.”

Gwen couldn’t help smiling at the derogatory way Evan said Norman. She was sure he meant it exactly the way it sounded. “I wonder how that came about.”

“We may never know now,” Evan said. “King Owain will need to think twice from now on about the men he trusts.”

Now Gwen shook her head. “It isn’t that easy to know who might be a traitor. Prince Hywel is usually very wary, and he didn’t suspect David was dealing falsely with King Owain.”

Evan took Gwen’s elbow, leading her around the horses and men—and manure. King Owain kept the offal under control at Aber, but it seemed impossible to keep up with here. Gwen would have held her nose as she picked her way around the piles, but holding up the hem of her dress meant she didn’t have an extra hand.

When she and Evan had appeared at the top of the steps to the keep, two dozen heads had turned towards them, and many still hadn’t turned away. Gwen didn’t know how to interpret their expressions, whether it was scorn or dismay—or even admiration in the eyes of some of the men. It was the kind of admiration that made Gwen uncomfortable. She was glad that it was Evan who walked with her and not Gareth, for the looks would have made him angry.

“How many soldiers do you think Earl Robert houses here today?” Gwen said.

“Soldiers haven’t made the castle so full,” Evan said. “Earl Robert’s barons have brought hangers-on with them. Only a hundred of us rode with Hywel and Rhun, and few will ever enter Newcastle. Think about how many men of rank Ranulf has at his command, not to mention Earl Robert. They will expect to enter the castle and be well received.”

“At Winchester, when Ranulf and Cadwaladr barely escaped with their lives and Queen Matilda captured Earl Robert, how many men did the earl have with him?”

“Well over a thousand. He wasn’t outnumbered. He got caught while defending his sister’s retreat.”

“That’s what I’d heard. What’s strange is that he lost so many and yet still has enough men at his command to fill this castle. I don’t know that King Owain has more than a few thousand men in all of Gwynedd upon whom he can call.”

“He has that many,” Evan said, “but you are right in principle. The English outnumber the Welsh tenfold. It’s why we are here in the first place: King Owain must tread carefully so as not to offend either Earl Robert or King Stephen. The day an English king decides to direct the full weight of his armies towards conquering Wales might be our last day of freedom.”

Gwen shuddered at the thought. The Normans held the Welsh in disdain and always had.

“My greatest concern is not the men here, nor these Norman barons. It’s the undercurrents,” Evan said.

“What do you mean?” Gwen said.

“Even without the matter of this dead man, which is sure to sour relations between Earl Ranulf and King Owain, I sense defensiveness in Ranulf’s manner. He is not as solid in his allegiance to Earl Robert as his attendance here implies.”

“How can you be sure?” Gwen said. “He’s married to Earl Robert’s daughter, after all.”

“And how often has kinship stopped our own people from betraying those to whom they claim allegiance?”

Gwen had to admit Evan was right. “Disloyalty does seem to be in our blood. You only have to look to Prince Cadwaladr.”

King Owain had contained his brother for now. Cadwaladr was living on his estates in Merionnydd. Gwen didn’t doubt, however, that King Owain would be hearing from him again, and when he did, the news of him would not be good. After Cadwaladr had been caught conspiring with Ranulf against King Owain, Ranulf had made amends, sending messages and gifts to King Owain, who wanted to have peace with his brother—if not with Ranulf—but the tension between the brothers remained. Cadwaladr could never be trusted again. As Gareth had said more than once, putting trust in Cadwaladr would surely lead to disappointment later.

“You there! What’s your business?” A young soldier who’d been talking to some of his fellows near the armory ran over and accosted Gwen and Evan in French as they arrived at the chapel.

Gwen and Evan eyed him instead of answering.

He glared back and added, “Who are you?”

Evan dug into Gwen’s ribs with his elbow. “Say something. My French is poor and my English worse.”

Gwen lifted her chin. She didn’t know why she needed to tell this soldier anything. At the same time, she saw no need to offend him unnecessarily. “We are companions of the Princes of Gwynedd. I intend to join Prior Rhys in watching over the body of the Welshman who died.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “That is acceptable. You will find Prior Rhys through the first door on the right.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said.

The guard turned away, and Gwen and Evan made to enter the building. Before they reached the door, however, a shout came from behind them. “Evan!”

They turned together to see Gruffydd waving at them from the steps to the keep. Gwen patted Evan’s arm. “It looks like something’s happened. You’ve done your duty.”

Evan held his hand high above his head so Gruffydd could see it. Then he poked his head into the chapel to look at the interior with Gwen. A deserted vestibule with a single table beside the doorway into the nave faced them. “Go on, then. I’ll watch until I know you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for escorting me.” Gwen hurried along the corridor to the door the soldier had indicated, knocked, and then smiled when Prior Rhys’s voice rasped back at her, “Come in!”

She waved at Evan, who held up a hand in acknowledgement before he disappeared back into the bailey. Gwen pushed through the door and into the room.

The body lay on a waist-high table in a room that was entirely plain except for a wooden cross hanging on the wall above David’s head. If this was the usual place for dead bodies to be kept before burial, it seemed optimistic for the room to hold only one table. Still, Gwen immediately felt a peacefulness in the room and slowed her steps.

Prior Rhys sat on a stool near David’s head, his prayer beads loose in his hand. He looked up as Gwen shut the door behind her. “My dear.”

“Prior Rhys.” Gwen curtseyed.

“What brings you here?”

Gwen wrinkled her nose, at a loss for words. She had assumed that Gareth would have told the prior about her role in his investigations. Although Gwen and Prior Rhys had chatted during their journey to Newcastle, Gwen hadn’t discussed anything substantive with him either. But then she decided it was best to say what she wanted straight out. “I thought I would examine the body while Gareth and Prince Hywel are otherwise occupied.”

Prior Rhys regarded her, his face impassive, allowing a silence to fall between them that Gwen hesitated to fill. Then a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “A host of questions passed through my mind just now, chief among them being why?—which, after consideration, should have been obvious. I might ask, however, why you?”

“Because this is what I do,” Gwen said, and then hastened to add, “What Gareth and I do, I mean.”

“You examine dead bodies?” Prior Rhys said, and now he was almost laughing in his incredulity. “I did wonder what prompted the prince to include you among his delegation to Newcastle.”

“Believe me, I wondered it myself,” Gwen said. “Gareth might have prodded him a bit.”

“And this has been going on for how long?” Prior Rhys said.

Gwen lifted one shoulder. “A while. As a younger son, Prince Hywel has often been called upon to …” Her voice trailed off as she reconsidered what she’d been about to say. The role that Prince Hywel played in his father’s rule was perhaps not something that she should share with someone she barely knew, even if Gareth trusted him.

“Ah.” Prior Rhys nodded. “His tasks include some of the less savory, shall we say?”

Gwen sighed in relief. Prior Rhys had understood without her having to articulate it. No wonder Gareth thought so highly of him. She gave the prior a quick nod. “It has always been that way, ever since Prince Hywel became a man.”

“And you assist him?” The amusement was back.

“Prince Hywel and I grew up together,” Gwen said. “Intrigue is ever-present in a royal court. One day, Prince Hywel asked me to help him, and it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“And then once you started, it seemed impossible to stop, even as a married woman.”

“Especially as a married woman.” Gwen laughed. “You do remember I’m married to Sir Gareth, do you not?”

Prior Rhys laughed too and bowed his head. “Your logic is impeccable, my dear. Surely, though, you didn’t start out examining dead bodies?”

“I am a bard’s daughter and traveled the length of Wales for much of my life, following the music. At first, all I did was keep my eyes and ears open and report to Prince Hywel what I learned.”

“At first …” Prior Rhys continued to suppress laughter. “And when did Gareth become a part of this?”

“He’s been a member of Prince Hywel’s teulu for nearly five years,” Gwen said. “He and I were married this last December.”

“Gareth is a lucky man,” Prior Rhys said.

Gwen grinned. “I think so!” She stepped towards David’s body. “Has anyone touched him beyond what was necessary to move him?”

“No,” Prior Rhys said.

Gwen studied the dead man’s face. She hadn’t really looked at him when he’d been on the ground. He was older than she’d thought at first, with lines around his eyes and on his forehead from a lifetime spent outdoors. She picked up one of his hands, noting the age spots and the loose skin. She revised her estimation of his age even higher, past forty at least, maybe even to an age equal with the prior.

She glanced up at Prior Rhys. He was gazing at her with a bemused expression. Gwen gave him a quick smile back and returned to her task, moving to the bottom of the table and tugging at one of David’s boots. She struggled a bit as she tried to get it off; the dead man couldn’t flex his ankles to help her. She was just opening her mouth to ask for Prior Rhys’s help when he cleared his throat and said, “Would you mind if I stepped out for a moment?”

Gwen suppressed her surprise. “Not at all.”

As Prior Rhys exited the room, Gwen wondered if he was squeamish but decided this was unlikely, given that the man had been a warrior before he became a monk.

Gwen finally wrestled David’s boots off of him. He’d hidden nothing inside them, nor did he have a knife strapped to either calf. Gwen ran her hands along his tunic and cloak, looking for a purse or a pocket in which he might have hidden something out of the ordinary. She found nothing there either, and nothing in his scrip beyond two coins. Many men kept their most precious possessions with them at all times, but it didn’t seem that David had.

Time was passing, and still Prior Rhys didn’t return. Gwen resigned herself to attempting to remove what of the man’s clothing she could, though she would leave his complete denuding to Gareth. Most of the time, she didn’t concern herself with what was proper, but she had her limits, even as a married woman. At a minimum, she wasn’t strong enough to flip the body over, and Gareth would want to get a closer look at that knife wound. Alard had taken the murder weapon with him, but if there was anything unusual about the cut, Gareth might be able to match the blade when they found it.

She unpinned the brooch that held David’s cloak closed at his neck and tugged at the fabric, trying to pull it out from under him. It was then that she noticed a ragged interior seam running down one side of the cloak. Someone had picked it out and then sewn it back together unevenly. Something hard and round had caught—or been placed—within it. Taking out her belt knife, Gwen picked at the threads that held the seam together. It was a matter of a few moments’ work, and when the ends came loose, a single polished green stone dropped into her hand.

Gwen looked at it, stunned. She’d been looking for something unusual within David’s clothing, but this went far beyond her wildest notion of what she might have found. She put away her belt knife and poked at the stone with one finger, turning it around in her palm. She was having trouble comprehending the fact that she was looking at an emerald. To possess such a gem, even a small chip like this, put David far above his normal station. It defied all rational belief that he could have owned it legitimately.

Her heart began to beat faster, and she clenched her fist around the stone. It was so precious, she felt like she was holding a flaming piece of charcoal in her hand. She fumbled with the strings on her purse, finally got them untied, and dropped the gem inside.

Before she could cinch the strings tight and tie them, however, the door latch rattled. In dealing with the stone, Gwen had forgotten about Prior Rhys. Her first instinct was to hide the bag, but as she gazed down at David’s body, hesitating, she acknowledged that deception had never been her strong point. At the same time, telling Prior Rhys the truth wasn’t an option, not before she talked to Gareth and Prince Hywel. She swallowed hard. At any moment, Rhys would ask her if she’d found anything interesting, and she needed to have an answer that he would believe.

But then a man who wasn’t Prior Rhys flung his arm around her neck and pulled her to him. She was so surprised, she didn’t even shriek—and then she couldn’t shriek.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” His was a voice she didn’t recognize, low, almost guttural, speaking French as one who’d been born to it. The man held her while she struggled to breathe, keeping a pressure on her neck that was almost gentle—and all the more terrifying for all that.

Gwen knew she should do something—say something. At the very least, she should try to scream, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. Her feet had frozen to the floor, and it felt as if her head was no longer attached to her body. Blackness swam before her eyes, and then—