Chapter Thirteen

Gareth

 

 

It was very late by the time Gareth found his bed. Gwen lay in his arms but was having as much difficulty sleeping as he was.

“What are you thinking?” he said.

Gwen turned slightly and lifted her head so she could look at him, though her face was shadowed. He could make out little more than her shape in the dark because the only light in the tent came from the firelight and torches outside.

They were lucky to have their own tent. Most of their companions slept outside on the ground, grouped around the campfires that would burn all night. The princes had brought four cartloads of goods into England, but only half a dozen tents. The rest of the space in the carts had been taken up by provisions.

Hywel and Rhun’s tent was empty, as was the one for Prior Rhys, since the young monk, Tomos, who’d accompanied the prior on the journey, had gone to the castle to wait on him.

“I’ve been thinking about what we’ve so far failed to understand,” Gwen said.

“That would be just about everything, wouldn’t it?” Gareth found the end of Gwen’s night braid and tugged on it.

“Well, yes. But it’s more than that. It’s Mari’s involvement, honestly, that has me flummoxed.”

“Why?” Gareth said.

“You don’t find it odd that Prior Rhys reported to Mari’s father when he worked for Empress Maud?” Gwen said.

Gareth shrugged. “Every man, other than the king himself, serves a man of greater rank, and from what I know of Rhys on our short acquaintance, he was very good at his job.”

“But Mari’s father—”

“All men have pasts. You know that.” Gareth hugged Gwen close. “Rhys escaped to the monastery when his work sickened him beyond endurance. Given what I know of the man, I can believe that series of events.”

“I don’t disagree,” Gwen said.

“So what bothers you about his story?” Gareth said.

“I want to know what happened that drove him away. He never said, and when I asked, he took the conversation in a different direction. He spoke of Alard and the other horsemen as his brothers. You didn’t hear him, but the decision to leave was a hard one. The monastery didn’t call him. Something changed in his life to drive him toward it.”

Gareth surveyed the ceiling of their tent. “Ralph’s death.”

“Certainly that was part of it, though that’s not exactly what he said.” Gwen pushed off Gareth’s chest to sit cross-legged on the pallet, a blanket around her shoulders. He couldn’t see her face properly, but he knew how she looked: beautiful as always, and intent. He would have drawn her down to kiss her, but she would have wiggled away. His wife didn’t like to be distracted when she was thinking. “Could Prior Rhys have killed Ralph? Is that why he fled?”

“That would be awkward, if true.” Gareth ran both hands through his hair. Sleep had never been further off. “Prior Rhys was a warrior. He’d killed before. How much would it have bothered him to kill a man if he had a good reason?”

“What reason could that be?” Gwen said. “We’re talking about Mari’s father.”

“A man we’ve never met,” Gareth said. “How well did Mari even know him if he served the empress?”

“I’m going to pin her down about what she knows about him if it’s the last thing I do,” Gwen said.

“Let me talk to Prince Hywel first,” Gareth said. “Sometimes asking direct questions isn’t the best way.”

“It’s what I’m good at,” Gwen said.

Gareth couldn’t argue with that.

“Besides, though she wouldn’t talk about it, something about the way he died meant that he left her with no dowry,” Gwen said.

“It isn’t because of how he died. Gwen, her father was Norman. Even though he had been well-born, he was a younger son, so what wealth of his own he had would have been minimal. By Norman law, when Mari’s mother married Ralph, all her property became his, and when he died, with no son to inherit, all of his property went to his elder brother’s son. Women cannot own anything in England like they can in Wales. That’s the main reason the English throne is in dispute in the first place.”

“It doesn’t seem right.”

“Maybe you’ll get along with Empress Maud after all.”

“Did you tell Amaury that his fourth horseman isn’t dead?” Gwen said, changing the subject.

“I did not,” Gareth said. “Until I’m sure it’s relevant, I’d rather not expose Prior Rhys’s secrets. While I can work with Amaury, he reports to Philippe. I don’t trust him at all.”

“And you don’t believe Philippe when he says Alard is a traitor?”

“I believe he intercepted a messenger, but if I were William of Ypres, would I commit such information to an intermediary? It could be a clever misdirection on William’s part to incriminate an innocent man and deflect attention from the real villain.”

“What about the dead woman?” Gwen said. “Why in all this does one of Alard’s friends end up dead?”

“Because someone is tying up loose ends,” Gareth said. “Rosalind knew Alard well and could have been questioned, perhaps even exonerated him.”

“What if he has more friends out there?”

“I hope for his sake that he doesn’t. I would prefer not to face more murders tomorrow.”

Gwen rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in both hands. “Where’s the emerald, by the way?”

Gareth reached under his pillow, pulled out his purse, and shook it.

“Why did Rhun give it back to you?”

“If he is to be stuck inside the castle, the last thing he wanted was to keep it with him,” Gareth said.

Gwen took in a deep breath and let it out. “I accept that. I wish we knew for whom it was intended and if that person will come looking for it.”

“We don’t even know if the man who took his body was looking for it,” Gareth said. “If your guess was correct that Alard didn’t murder David, perhaps there was something about the way he died that would implicate someone. That someone could have taken the body.”

“Like Prince Hywel hid King Anarawd’s body last summer before you could examine it?”

“Exactly.”

“These aren’t questions we can answer tonight.” Gwen snuggled down beside him again. “I wish we were back in Aber and the emerald was stored in the treasury.”

“The camp is well-guarded. I wouldn’t have let you sleep here, even with me, if I didn’t think we’d be safe tonight,” Gareth said. “I would never put you in danger, not even for Prince Hywel’s sake.”

“I know.” Gwen yawned. “You need to sleep. These problems will still be with us in the morning.”

“I just wish I knew whom I could trust.”

Gareth lay awake a long while after that, though Gwen fell asleep almost immediately. As he listened to her breathe, Gareth stared into the darkness, cursing himself for keeping the emerald with him. Even if he’d spoken reassuringly to Gwen, he could believe that the man who took David’s body wanted the gem and would wonder if she’d found it, especially once he saw the torn seam. Gareth’s stomach roiled at the possible danger to Gwen. The list of tasks that he had to accomplish before he could take his sleeping wife home stretched before him, each item more insurmountable than the one before it.

Gareth eventually fell asleep and, as it turned out, the rest of the night passed without incident. He woke with the emerald still under his pillow, though as Gwen had pointed out, his double duty remained: to keep his wife safe, and to discover who murdered David and the others. Unfortunately, he had no real idea how he was going to do either.

Gwen opened her eyes. “We should at least inspect the farmhouse.”

Gareth pushed onto one elbow to look down on her. He loved the fact that she woke up alert, as if sleep had been merely a moment’s pause in her existence. “What farmhouse?” he said.

“Didn’t I mention it last night? Prior Rhys told us that the four horsemen used to meet at a farmhouse. He thought it was possible that they had continued to use it. I assumed that was why Prince Hywel wanted you here last night instead of in the castle.”

Gareth gaped at his wife. “No—neither he nor you mentioned it.”

“The emerald distracted me,” Gwen said.

“Is the farmhouse far?

“All Prior Rhys said was that it lies in a wood to the south of the Lyme Brook,” Gwen said.

“Who else knows about this?”

“Prior Rhys, of course, and Hywel and Mari. They were in the room when he spoke of it. Nobody else.”

“Why wasn’t that the first place we hunted for Alard?”

“Hywel asked that too, but Prior Rhys said that the farmhouse had been kept a secret. After Rhys left, perhaps the remaining horsemen chose not to tell anyone else. If they had—Amaury, Philippe, Earl Robert—don’t you think one of them would have said?”

“I would hope so,” Gareth said, “but who knows the lengths to which these Normans will go to hide the truth? Philippe, certainly, would consider it just another secret to keep from me. But you’re right, we should have a look.”

“I get to come with you?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight if I can possibly help it,” Gareth said. “Besides, I’m smart enough to know that you might have an insight or two once we get there, if we get there.”

Gwen didn’t ask any more questions. She slipped her dress over her head, and Gareth rose to his feet to pull on his breeches.

Then he stopped, one leg on, and said, “It may be that we’ll find Alard there. We’ll need to be careful not to scare him off.”

“So just the two of us should go.” Gwen laced up her boots. “Besides which, Hywel might object to including anyone else in the investigation if we don’t need to, and Evan and Gruffydd must attend the princes.”

Gareth lifted the tent flap. By the dampness on the ground, a light rain had fallen in the night, but the morning had dawned clear with only a few clouds skittering across the sky. Gareth and Gwen found Evan sitting in front of one of the cooking fires with Llelo and Dai, who perked up at their approach. Gareth affectionately cuffed each boy upside the head and then sent them off to fetch breakfast. Gareth and Gwen settled on a log beside Evan.

“What news do you have?” Gareth said.

Evan quirked a smile. “You mean because some of us put work before sleep?”

Gareth snorted laughter. “That would be Gwen, not me.” He laughed again when Gwen elbowed him in the ribs.

“Nothing new,” Evan said. “You and I tucked the princes in safe last night, and Gruffydd sent word a moment ago that all is well. I’m to report to Prince Hywel within the hour. How about you?”

“Prince Hywel instructed Gwen and me to question as many people as we could today—not in the castle, but in the village itself—all the while staying out of Philippe’s way. But Gwen and I have a more important task to do first.” Gareth glanced at his wife. “Gwen reports that Alard may have had a base—a farmhouse—to retreat to, south of the Lyme Brook. She and I are going to find it.”

Evan raised his eyebrows. “I will tell the prince. You shouldn’t go alone, you know.”

Gareth looked around the encampment and then repeated what Gwen had concluded. “I’ll have Gwen with me, and I’m not sure that we should involve any of the other men in this if we don’t have to. The fewer who know the details and can speak of them to someone else, the better.”

“Some men do have too loose lips, even when instructed to keep silent,” Evan agreed. “But if Alard finds you there, it could be dangerous.”

“I want to talk to him, not capture him,” Gareth said. “That is more likely to happen if Gwen and I go alone. He’s a spy. He’ll be on the watch for any threat, and he should recognize both of us from yesterday at Newcastle.”

Evan gave way, if grudgingly, and only after another wary look. “Return before dark or I’ll be sending out a search party.”

“We will.” Gareth clapped Evan on the shoulder.

After a quick breakfast and a warning to the boys to behave themselves and not get too much underfoot, Gareth and Gwen mounted their horses. Prior Rhys’s description of the farmhouse wasn’t detailed, but Gareth had looked at the lay of the land from the top of Newcastle’s wall walk the day before and had some idea of where to start their quest.

Instead of following the road that would take them to Newcastle along the north side of the Lyme Brook, they crossed the water at a ford and found a path that ran on the south side of the brook, always following its course but at times wandering a hundred yards or more from it. A mile into their journey, the castle rose up on their left. When Gareth and Gwen trotted their horses past it, Gwen eyed the battlement. “Alard climbed down from there, did he? That was brave.”

“I would have said desperate, but the grin he gave me when he dropped into the brook makes me think he’s not the desperate type,” Gareth said. “The move was calculated and looked easy.”

Now the path turned strongly southeast, away from the Lyme Brook, and as they continued along it, Gareth looked for a sign that someone might live in the woods that closed them in on both sides. The brush and trees—fast-growing alders mostly—provided a nearly impenetrable barrier.

“Where are we, Gareth?” Gwen wiped her brow. They’d left the brook behind, along with the cooler air associated with it. The day was getting hot.

“The friary lands are ahead of us,” Gareth said. “We’ll skirt them to the south.”

The path curved again, following the border of a cultivated field. The vegetation on either side of the path grew thicker. England wasn’t as well forested as Wales, but many Norman lords had their own private forests for hunting grounds. Gareth speculated that Earl Robert had set aside this particular wood as his own. The terrain wasn’t flat here anyway and wouldn’t have been useful for farmland.

“I feel like we’ve ridden for miles,” Gwen said. “How are we going to find the farmhouse Prior Rhys meant? It could be anywhere.”

“It has to be near enough to the castle to be accessible but far enough away so as not to invite comment or to be easily stumbled over. But I agree in part. I don’t think we should ride much farther east or south. We’re getting too far from Newcastle’s domains.”

At last, Gareth reined in and surveyed the landscape from the saddle. “This isn’t right.”

“I’ve thought so for some time.”

“Prior Rhys said a farmhouse, but perhaps that doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it does to me.”

“We just have to get around these trees. These are as thick as many Welsh woods.”

“That is exactly what I was thinking. Come on!” Gareth urged his horse, riding fast now and not worrying about finding a pathway into the woods. Then, with the day already approaching noon, the trees came to an abrupt end, while the path continued southeast into the customary rolling English countryside.

“Now that’s more like it,” Gwen said. “There are plenty of farmhouses here.”

“But perhaps not the one we’re looking for.” Gareth turned his horse and headed off the trail, riding due south before curving back west, around the woods.

Gwen followed him without question, even as the growth became thicker, with the same alders as before, albeit with a higher concentration of oak mixed in. The brush wasn’t quite as thick either, but this time there was no trail to follow.

“What are you thinking now?” Gwen said.

“I’m thinking that this farmhouse has been deliberately hidden.” Gareth dismounted and began shouldering his way through the brush, clearing a path for Gwen, who followed. Strands of hair had come loose from her bun, framing her face. He thought she looked pretty.

After they’d walked only ten yards, the brush thinned out, and a little farther on, the woods opened up, allowing sunlight to stream through the canopy. Gareth halted, and Gwen was able to come up beside him.

“Those trees back there were very strange,” Gwen said. “They form a shield, as if they’re walling this peaceful woods in.”

“Listen.” Gareth held up a hand.

The little wind that was blowing moaned among the trees. “That’s an eerie sound.” Gwen turned this way and that as she listened.

“I’ve never been in a haunted wood before,” Gareth said.

Gwen looked sharply at him. “Do you think it is?”

“No,” Gareth said. “Of course not. But someone means us to think so.”

He could feel Gwen relax beside him. “You had me worried there for a moment. I could believe in ghosts if I’d ever encountered one.”

Gareth squeezed Gwen’s hand. “Even if spirits were here, I don’t believe they would hurt us. But I’m inclined to believe people are responsible.”

Gwen’s brow furrowed. “You mean someone is making those noises?”

“Something, Gwen,” Gareth said. “Think about it: the winding pathway, the thick forest which hides access to this pleasant wood, the moaning. It all adds up to an attempt to prevent people from coming here and, if they do find their way through these woods, ensuring that they leave quickly.”

Gwen cocked her head and then handed the reins of her horse to Gareth. She walked twenty feet from him, halted at the base of a pine tree, and looked up. “The sound is louder here.”

“Can you see something that could be making it? Wind chimes, perhaps?” Gareth said.

“There!” She pointed a finger. “And over there too!”

“Imagine what it might be like to come here on a gloomy winter day or in the dark,” Gareth said.

Gwen spun around to look at Gareth. “Do you think, then, that those alders were planted on purpose? That they really are meant to be a shield or a fence?”

“If we find the farmhouse close by, I would say definitely,” Gareth said. “But let’s find it first.”

They continued walking, and even Gareth had to admit that occasionally the sound of the wind in the trees sent a chill down his spine. Gwen renewed her hold on his hand. They were heading northwest now and had just crested a small rise when they both halted at once.

A wooden house was nestled in a clearing with its back to a copse of trees. A creek ran past it on the west side, heading north to the Lyme Brook. Gareth was surprised to have found the farmhouse this easily, though five hours of looking might not qualify as easy to some.

“We would never have known about this if Prior Rhys hadn’t told you,” Gareth said.

“The trees grow thicker again on the other side of the house.” Gwen lifted a hand to indicate where she meant. “A traveler faces them no matter where he starts.” She glanced at Gareth and then at the farmhouse. “Much easier to just continue along the main path, don’t you think?”

“Between the eerie sounds and the thick trees, I’d agree that few would want to come here.” Gareth looped the horses’ reins around a tree branch and crept a few paces forward, keeping a screen of bushes between them and the house.

Gwen followed him and studied the house some more. “It has the look of being long abandoned.”

“It does.” Gareth didn’t enter the clearing but crouched in the brush and pulled Gwen down beside him. “But then, like everything else, its appearance could be a carefully cultivated façade. We should stay here to watch for a while.”

Gwen glanced up at him. “You’re disturbed by the way things have fallen out, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” Gareth said, though even as he asked the question, he knew that she was right.

“Is it the spying?” she said. “Or that we’re in England? It can’t be the deception because people always lie to you.”

“They do always lie.” The words came out harsher than he intended, and he moderated his tone. “I think it’s rather that the forces at play are so much more powerful than I’m used to, and the stakes are so much higher. King Owain rules Gwynedd and reaches his hand—uninvited at times—into other parts of Wales, but the war that Stephen and Maud are fighting is tearing England apart. I feel as if our troubles here make up only one piece of that larger whole. I need to get it right before Prince Henry dies.”

“You are an honorable man, Gareth ap Rhys,” Gwen said.

Gareth was glad to hear his wife say that because he tried to be. He didn’t always succeed.

“You brought the emerald, didn’t you? What if someone is inside—?”

Gareth was shaking his head before she finished. “Don’t worry. It’s safe.”

“No place is safe. And no one is safe.”

“As safe as I can make it. It’s in my boot.” Taking a leaf from David’s book, Gareth had wrapped the emerald in a cloth and stuffed it near the smallest toe in his boot. “Truth be told, it’s driving me mad, but it was the best I could think of at the time.”

“You certainly were wise not to leave it in our tent. I wish Prince Rhun still had it.”

“At least he didn’t give it to you.”

“I would have been the better choice,” Gwen said. “Nobody would think I had it.”

“Except for the man who took David’s body!” Gareth shook his head. “Gwen, be reasonable.”

“Which is why he should have given it to me,” Gwen said. “Perhaps another woman might have kept the gem to herself, but more likely I would have told you, and you would have told the princes, which is exactly what did happen. We were predictable. Giving it to me would have been unexpected.”

“Clearly, everything we’ve done so far is predictable, or we would have captured Alard by now.” Gareth rubbed at his forehead. “Let’s not overthink this or give the person behind whatever is happening too much credit. We need to continue as we have been, and let him catch up to us if he can.”

“You mean he’s not a sorcerer,” Gwen said. “He can’t see the future.”

“I wish I could.”

“I do worry about the princes.”

“They are guarded,” Gareth said, though even as he said it, he began to worry about them himself. Then he shook his head. He had to trust Hywel, just as he knew Hywel trusted him to do his job and do it right.

“I suppose for us to stand sentry outside their room wouldn’t help anyone, since Gruffydd is already doing it,” Gwen said.

“I fear for them, but then, I feared for them as soon as we left Wales. We should have turned around and gone home the moment David’s body hit the ground at your feet.”

“That was never going to happen,” Gwen said. “Never. And you know it. You and Hywel were not going to let this go.”

Gareth grunted his agreement. “We have spent too long poking our noses into other people’s business to stop now.”

“Just as long as nobody else knows about the emerald. I’m hoping we’ll be all right for now.”

“Our traitor seems to have extensive resources, but unless Prince Rhun told Earl Robert in my absence, the emerald’s existence remains the knowledge of you, me, Mari, and the princes.”

“Good. Earl Robert’s obligations are to his sister, and I certainly don’t trust her.”

Gareth took a deep breath. “Let’s find out what kind of man Alard really is.” He straightened and entered the clearing. Nobody stirred in the farmhouse. Gareth didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed. They reached the door, two inches thick and solid oak with heavy iron fittings. The farmhouse wasn’t as ramshackle as it had initially looked. Gareth pointed at the door and then put a finger to his lips.

Gwen nodded, and Gareth pushed on the door. It was unlatched and swung open on silent hinges.

Gareth stepped into the main room, Gwen following close behind him. He had drawn his belt knife rather than his sword because it was better for fighting in confined spaces. Two steps into the room, however, he relaxed.

“It’s empty,” Gwen said, disappointment in her voice.

Gareth looked around the room. “Who leaves two chairs and a table in an empty and unguarded house?” He stowed his knife. “I was hoping for more.”

“You were hoping someone would be here to greet us,” Gwen said. “Alard, as you suggested back at the camp?”

Gareth laughed under his breath. “I’m not ashamed to say that I assumed it. And at this point, any sign of him would have been better than no sign.” He went to a ladder that led up to a loft, which took up half the width of the main room. A single rail prevented someone from falling to the floor below. From a point halfway up the ladder, Gareth was tall enough to see into the whole loft. It was completely bare, without even a bed or blanket, just blank floorboards.

“It’s empty up here too.” Gareth swept his fingers along the wooden planks and came up with a layer of dust. “Empty a long while.”

“Someone left us a lantern.” Gwen pointed to a side wall where it hung on a hook. She lifted it to examine the wick and showed it to Gareth, who’d come back down the ladder. “The farmhouse isn’t quite as abandoned as it looks if someone left a lantern full of oil and a freshly trimmed wick.”

“That’s more like it.” Gareth was back to wary, but more hopeful too. Whoever had left the lantern hadn’t chosen to occupy the house but had left it in good order. It might be deserted, with dust in the loft, but it hadn’t been allowed to fall into actual disrepair.

He could tell by how closely the wooden planks were fitted together that the place was well-built. That craftsmanship, along with the rudimentary fireplace that vented out the far wall, spoke of a degree of wealth unusual for English farmers. Someone had taken care to build a home that would stand for many years. Peasant huts in Wales had a dirt floor with a fire pit in the center and a hole in the ceiling to let out the smoke. Most Saxon peasants lived similarly.

Gareth knelt and put his cheek to the boards so his eyes could follow the line of the floor all the way to the door. His brow furrowed. “Someone has been here recently. The floor has been swept clean of footprints and dust.”

“Do you think that whoever was here last thought so far ahead that he didn’t want you—or anyone—to see where he walked in his own house?” Gwen said.

“These are spies, Gwen. They are trained to think many moves ahead and to go to seemingly unnecessary extremes as a matter of course.” Gareth got to his feet and stood in the center of the floor, gazing around the room. “He’s hidden something here, and his footprints would have revealed where it was.”

Gareth waved a hand, and they both began an inspection of the house, Gwen starting on the opposite side of the room from Gareth. When he reached the table, Gareth pulled it away from where it was positioned, slightly to the left of the center of the house, and studied the floor beneath it where it had been, looking for a trap door.

Meanwhile, Gwen trailed her hand along the right-hand wall of the house. “Perhaps he’s hidden a treasure somewhere in the walls. It may be that one section is unusually thick, but we wouldn’t know it by looking from the inside.”

“If we find nothing in here, we’ll walk around the outside,” Gareth said.

Gwen bent to the floor. “I think I’ve found something.”

Gareth reached her in three strides and crouched to look at what she showed him. An inch from the wall, the floor had been scratched. It looked as if someone had dug into the wood with a knife.

“Take a step back.” Gareth put a hand on Gwen’s shoulder, and they observed that portion of the floor together.

“You can see the join,” Gwen said. “It’s well done. Look—it follows the grain of the wood.”

“The planks are rough enough that you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking.” Gareth paused. “That’s good work, Gwen.”

Gwen smiled. “As you said, we’re dealing with spies, right? Too bad Hywel isn’t here. He would love this.” Taking out her belt knife, she slid it into the crack near the wall and worked the blade back and forth.

A small square of wood lifted up, revealing an iron ring underneath. Gareth found himself grinning as he reached for it. Before he could pull on it, however, Gwen stopped him with a hand to his arm. “What if this is its own trap?”

Gareth pulled back his hand. “You think a crossbow is set to fire at me the moment I pull on this?”

Gwen settled back on her heels. “No. That would be silly. Prior Rhys said they used this place.”

Gareth pulled on the ring. He couldn’t get it to budge.

“Wait,” Gwen said. “Maybe we have to pull up more of the flooring first.”

Gareth nodded and stuck the blade of his knife between what appeared to be two layers of flooring: a top layer, three feet on a side, hid a trap door built into the bottom layer underneath.

With the top panel set aside, Gareth again grasped the ring and pulled. Up came the trap door, and Gareth and Gwen inspected the dark space below them. Gareth got onto his knees and bent forward to stick his head into the hole. “I can’t see anything.”

“Now we know what the lantern is for,” Gwen said.

“And why there’s a ladder leading to an unused loft,” Gareth said.

While Gwen lit the lantern, Gareth lowered the ladder into the hole. The floor below had been dug deep and the top of the ladder barely reached the level of the upper floor. The pair exchanged a glance, and Gareth shrugged. He stepped onto the first rung.

“Take it slowly,” Gwen said.

“I’ll be fine.”

Ten feet down, Gareth reached the cellar floor and looked upwards to Gwen, still framed in the square hole with the light coming in from the open door behind her. He gestured for her to climb down too. She handed him the lantern, and when she reached the ground, she gasped.

Gareth didn’t gasp, but he was no less surprised than Gwen. After he set the lantern on a narrow table, they both spun slowly around, taking in the shelves, crates, and trunks filled with an assortment of goods from clothing to weapons.

“I know several lords who would be envious of what we’ve found here,” he said.

“Why did they dig the cellar so deep?” Gwen said. “With the river nearby, I would have thought they’d have hit water.”

Gareth put a hand to the dirt wall. His fingers came away dry. “Apparently they know something we don’t.”

Armor and weaponry, including bows, crossbows, and axes, lined one wall. An entire barrelful of arrows rested in one corner. A single wooden chair sat at an angle in another. Gareth’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed the lantern and went to inspect the chair. The arms were worn in places, as if ropes had rubbed them, and the ground beneath the chair was discolored. He bent closer.

“Are those bloodstains?” Gwen pointed to the seat of the chair.

“I know why the ceiling is so high,” Gareth said.

“Why?” Gwen looked from the chair to him.

Gareth stretched, trying to touch the ceiling, but even jumping, he couldn’t reach it. “This is meant to be a place to question and hold prisoners, in addition to keeping supplies.”

Gwen shivered. “Just as long as we don’t get trapped down here.” She lifted up the lid of a nearby trunk and pulled out the robes of a priest. “Why would they have this—” And then she broke off and nodded. “Because they’re spies.”

“They’ve kept everything in excellent condition,” Gareth said.

“Before yesterday, three of the horsemen still lived. They must have used it often, and given that they left the door unlocked, had confidence that nobody but they would ever come here.”

“Or the door was left open as a trap for us.”

Gwen glanced at him. “What? How can you say that so calmly? Do you really think so?”

“I hope so.” Gareth smiled at Gwen’s stunned expression.

Then she frowned at him. “You could have told me what you were thinking.”

“I didn’t want to speak of it in case I was wrong.” Gareth looked around the room, struck by the order, the neatness. The men who spent time here had cared about their work.

“I feel like I’m prying. Alard isn’t here. We should go—” Gwen broke off.

“What—” Gareth spun around. The bottom of the ladder was already five feet off the floor. Gareth leapt towards it, his fingers just brushing at the last rung before it was pulled out of reach.

Gareth looked upwards. Gwen moved to stand beside him, but Gareth put out his hand to keep her back. He pulled his sword from its sheath, though it would be of little use against the air between them and whoever had pulled up the ladder. Still, having it in his hand made him feel more confident.

Then Alard came to stand at the edge of the trap door and look down on them. He wore a wry smile and was as untouchable as when he’d hung from the rope above the Lyme Brook. He had his own lantern, and between the two, the farmhouse was lit up like day.

Gareth could have thrown his knife, maybe even hurt the man badly, but that would have defeated the entire purpose of this exercise, not to mention leaving him and Gwen still in the cellar. Given that Alard had trapped them down here instead of killing them, Gareth was hoping for talk, which was all he’d wanted in the first place.

“So, it is the Welshman who comes. I am Alard, servant of Empress Maud, but you knew that already.”

Gareth nodded. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

“Why?” Gareth said, though that was what he had wanted too.

“I have many questions that need answering, and the only way for me to clear my name is to encourage someone other than Ranulf or Philippe, someone from the outside, to find me answers,” Alard said. “I trust nobody’s motives but yours.”

Gareth sheathed his sword. That was quite a declaration, coming from a lifelong spy. He decided to be as friendly as possible until he had a reason not to. Alard had all the advantages currently. It might pay to play nice. “Why do you name Ranulf? What does he have to do with this?”

“He is Earl Robert’s son-in-law, and certain tasks fall to him—unsavory tasks—because he excels at making problems go away,” Alard said. “I knew Earl Robert would place the investigation of David’s death in his hands, and he and I have no love for each other.”

“Why is that?” Gwen said.

“His allegiance is to Robert only. He cares nothing for the empress. I don’t trust him.”

“It is my impression that what Ranulf cares most about is his own power and status,” Gareth said.

“That too,” Alard admitted.

“You may have questions, but we also have them—and they need answers,” Gareth said. “First and foremost, did you murder David?”

“No,” Alard said.

Gareth scoffed. “Then how did he die if you didn’t kill him?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t kill him,” Alard said. “I did. But it wasn’t murder. He came at me, and I had no choice. He was my friend, and I killed him, with regret and in self-defense.”

“You had to throttle and stab him?” Gwen said.

Gareth was glad Gwen wasn’t cowed by the Norman spy and was asking some of the questions. Alard might take them better coming from a woman who seemed no threat to him.

Alard unhooked his cloak to show Gwen his neck. It was mottled with bruises. “My side is bandaged—it’s a wound from David’s knife. Do you need to see that too?”

Gareth remembered the splashes of blood on the leaves beside the brook. “That won’t be necessary. What about John?”

“I didn’t kill him either,” Alard said. “He was dead before I came out of the brook.”

Gareth pursed his lips. “Then who murdered him?”

“I cannot say,” Alard said.

“Can’t or won’t?” Gwen said.

Alard’s chin firmed, and for a moment he looked like he was going to walk away. Gareth changed the subject before they lost him. “What were you doing in Newcastle in the first place?”

Alard gestured to the farmhouse. “This is our base. I always return here. And in this case, David asked to meet me. Knowing he might think my loyalty was in question, I became concerned about his, so I suggested a public place for our meeting. When he didn’t show, I took the opportunity to observe your arrival. A Welsh delegation is an unusual enough sight for me to want to inspect it personally, and that is all I was doing on the wall-walk until David came up behind me and caught me unawares.”

“How sloppy of you,” Gwen said under her breath, in Welsh and for Gareth’s ears alone.

Gareth clasped her hand in his, and she looked down, hiding a smile. “Why would David want to kill you?” Gareth said.

“I assume he’d been told that I was a traitor. I wanted to speak with him, hoping that he would give me the benefit of the doubt.” Alard sighed and looked away again. “Apparently not.”

“I’m not sure that I believe you,” Gareth said. “You left yourself an escape route by rope from the battlement. That smacks of planning, not happenstance.”

“I always leave myself an escape route,” Alard said.

Gareth coughed a laugh, his fist to his mouth, and granted Alard his point.

“When you chased me, I knew I had made the right choice to drop David at your feet,” Alard said. “Did you know that he was a traitor to your King Owain?”

“Prince Hywel knew it as soon as Earl Ranulf claimed him as his man,” Gareth said.

“Good,” Alard said. “That was as I hoped.”

“You should know that one of the reasons we’re here listening to you at all is because you have at least one friend who wanted to hear your side before he passed judgment,” Gareth said.

“Who’s that?”

“Amaury, a retainer of the Earl of Chester,” Gareth said.

Some of the tension around Alard’s eyes eased, and he nodded. “I always admired his intelligence, though he has too much honor to make a good spy.”

“We know about the four horsemen,” Gwen said.

Gareth managed not to smirk when Alard raised his eyebrows. “Then you know I am the only one left.”

Gareth regarded Alard steadily, careful not to give Prior Rhys away. But then as Alard gazed back at him, his focus caused Gareth to think again. “I would prefer we don’t tell each other lies. Too many men have lied to me already since we arrived at Newcastle.”

Alard rubbed his chin. “So I did see what I thought I saw in the bailey yesterday.”

“What did you think you saw?” Gwen said.

“Peter, with the Welsh princes. I was busy with David at the time and later decided my eyes had deceived me. I’m guessing that it is through his knowledge that you learned of this farmhouse.”

Gareth canted his head, without giving anything more away.

“Does Peter think ill of me too?” Alard said.

“He did not share his opinion of you with us,” Gwen said. “You do understand that the accusations against you go beyond murder? That both Earl Ranulf and your spymaster, Philippe, have named you traitor to the empress?”

“I’d been told that was the way of it.” Alard crouched near the hole, hanging his hands between his knees and looking more relaxed than before. “I have no illusions of my own importance, great or small, but it explains the effort expended to hunt me.”

“There’s more, however, that you’re not telling us,” Gareth said.

Alard’s jaw worked. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

Gareth gestured to the contents of the room. “I wouldn’t have believed this until I saw it. Tell me. You may find me surprisingly open-minded.”

“You do have a captive audience,” Gwen said. “You are accused of murder and apparently sentenced to die without a trial. At this point, telling us the truth may be your only hope. You have nothing to lose.”

Alard clicked his tongue, not yet nodding his agreement, but then he said, “Yes. You read me right. Besides which, you have information I need. Perhaps we can help each other.”

“Is that why you chose to dump David at our feet instead of leaving him on the wall-walk?” Gwen said.

“That is exactly why,” Alard said.

“You got our attention,” Gareth said. “I’ll give you that.”

“Surely some of it had to be unwanted,” Gwen said.

“It was the price I chose to pay. I can take care of myself.” Alard leaned forward. “You must be wary of Philippe most of all. If he sent David to kill me, then it is he who is the most dangerous—to you and to me. It is he who betrays the empress.”

Gareth didn’t trust Philippe either, but somehow the idea that Philippe was the traitor was troubling. “The man is dying. Why would he betray the empress now? He has nothing to gain.”

“Dying men can be traitors if it means leaving their loved ones well-provided-for,” Alard said.

“Philippe accuses you, and you accuse Philippe,” Gwen said. “Why should we believe you over him? You murdered your fellow horseman.”

“As I said, I defended myself only after Philippe sent David to kill me.”

“He denies doing any such thing,” Gareth said.

“He would.”

“But why?” Gwen said. “What would he gain by lying about a thing like that?”

“Trapping us here so we’ll listen to your story is not the act of an innocent man either,” Gareth said.

“It is the act of a desperate one,” Alard said, belying Gareth’s earlier assumption. “I have served the empress my whole life. I would not betray her. Not ever.”

“Yet Philippe believes you have,” Gwen said, “and you accuse him when he has served her just as long.”

Alard straightened. “I don’t know what is going on. I don’t know what he believes me to be planning. I only know that he is laying someone else’s treachery at my feet.”

“Philippe claims that your aim is to murder Prince Henry.” It was on the tip of Gareth’s tongue to mention the messenger from William of Ypres, but he didn’t, not yet. He wanted to see if Alard had already heard of him.

Alard absorbed that news with an impassive expression, but it took him a moment to answer. “I spend much of my time in France. If I were planning to murder Henry, I would have done it there.”

“According to Philippe, Prince Henry has been in England since the Christmas feast,” Gareth said.

That, of all Gareth’s news, rocked Alard back on his heels. He cursed in French and paced away from the hole. He returned before Gareth could start to worry that he wasn’t coming back. “The empress swore to me that she would not allow her son to come to England!”

“Philippe says that he’s been living in Bristol and is on his way here now,” Gareth said. “He arrives in two days’ time.”

“It should have been my job to protect him.” Alard glared at Gareth. “Does the empress know of this plot against him? Does she believe I am at its center and that is why she sent me to cool my heels in Scotland at the court of King David while she brought her son across the channel?”

“That I cannot tell you,” Gareth said.

Alard paced away from the hole again, muttering to himself. “That must be it. That’s why she did not call me to her side as I expected.”

“It would have made more sense to do so, actually,” Gwen said.

Alard spun back to the trap door. “What did you say?”

“If the empress believed you to be a traitor, all she had to do was summon you and arrest you in her receiving room,” Gwen said. “There would have been no need to send David or John to kill you.”

“My wife has a point,” Gareth said. “Much here does not add up.”

Alard bent forward, his hands on his knees. “You must get to the truth, for all our sakes.”

“Let us out and we will do what we can,” Gwen said.

“Our conversation has been productive, but still, I cannot have you following me. If you would just give me a moment—” Alard broke off and looked towards the door. Gareth couldn’t hear anything, but he was in a deep cellar. The corners of Alard’s mouth turned down.

“Wait!” Gareth said.

But Alard was already striding to the door, his boots resounding hollowly on the floor. He went through it and did not return.