Chapter Twenty-four

Gwen

 

 

Gwen gripped Gareth’s hand tightly as they stood with Prince Rhun, Gruffydd, and the two boys near the cluster of huts that lined the road to the west of the castle.

They had converged together in the last quarter of an hour after Gareth and Gwen had ridden to Newcastle at the tail end of Prince Henry’s entourage. Rhun and Gruffydd had come from the castle with the bad news that Evan, Mari, and Hywel were missing, and Llelo and Dai had run all the way from the Welsh camp to tell Gwen that Prior Rhys still couldn’t be found. No one had seen him since she’d said good night to him and retired to her tent with the boys.

To top it off, Gwen was focusing very hard on not allowing the roiling in her stomach to overwhelm her completely. She’d woken every morning for the last week feeling as if she didn’t want breakfast and would lose it if she ate it. At first, she’d told herself that her queasy feeling was due to anxiety over the trip or the progress of the investigation. Yesterday, she’d decided that she’d eaten a bad piece of meat. But she couldn’t deny the other changes in her body any longer.

While part of her wanted to shout from the highest tower in Newcastle that she was carrying Gareth’s baby, she knew it would be better to wait to tell Gareth until they were alone, maybe even in their own bed at home. If her courses hadn’t returned by then, she could be absolutely sure of her pregnancy, and Gareth wouldn’t have so much else to worry about.

The entire village of Newcastle, not to mention the residents of the castle itself, had come out to greet Prince Henry as he arrived. The boy himself appeared innocent enough, waving as he passed, though he had to be uncomfortable wearing his fine clothes and thick ermine-trimmed cloak in the brightness of the early morning sun. On his head he wore a gold circlet, which wasn’t quite his right, since his mother was uncrowned as yet. Gwen felt sorry for him for having a mother who insisted on full ceremony at every occasion.

“If Empress Maud and Earl Robert can’t protect the prince, nobody can,” Gareth said. Gwen and Gareth had tried to close the distance between them and the prince during the ride, but the boy’s retainers had protected him, and it was reasonable to believe that they would continue to do so.

“I can accept that,” Rhun said, “especially if it means we can turn our attention to what concerns us specifically: where my brother and Mari have gone.”

“Where do we even begin to look?” Gwen said. A dozen worst-case scenarios were skipping through her head, each one more evil than the last, and all of them ending in her friends’ deaths.

“We could try the tunnel again,” said Gareth. “Amaury said that other passages branched from the main one with plenty of places to hide a body if a man wanted to.”

Rhun nodded. “That’s a good place to start—”

“The prince! The prince!”

“No—” Gwen choked on the word as more shouts came from the gatehouse. A woman ran towards them, screaming and sobbing, her arms spread wide. “He’s dead!”

Onlookers had overflowed the road when Prince Henry had ridden by. They’d begun to disperse once the parade was over but now surged towards the castle. At the same time, some inside the castle looked to flee, and they fought to get past each other at the gate.

Rhun let out a sharp breath and pointed at Gruffydd. “Begin your search for Prince Hywel in the village. Go from house to house if you have to. Perhaps someone noticed a cart—anything—leaving the castle that could have hidden two or three people.” Gruffydd nodded and departed at a run.

Then Rhun put his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “It has to be chaos in the castle right now. With Ranulf gone and Amaury injured, Earl Robert needs men who can think. That’s you.”

“Surely you would be better suited to that task—”

“I’ve already searched the castle from top to bottom. My brother isn’t there. Hywel’s life is in danger, and I can be of no use to Earl Robert or the empress until he is found,” Prince Rhun said.

“I will go with Gareth,” Gwen said.

Rhun shook his head. “You should return to the camp.”

“She can’t go off on her own, not in this crowd,” Gareth said, taking Gwen’s hand. “I won’t let her out of my sight.”

“What about us?” Llelo and Dai had been standing behind Rhun, hopping from one foot to the other, waiting for their assignment.

Rhun swung around to look at them, but instead of sending them back to the camp like Gwen expected, he said, “You know the friary and its grounds better than most, I imagine. You will come with me to find Philippe and tell him what has happened.”

“Yes, my lord!” the two boys sang in unison and then set off, sprinting down the road towards the friary.

Rhun turned back to Gareth and Gwen. “Come to us there when you can.”

Gareth handed the prince the reins of his horse, upon which he and Gwen had ridden together from the camp. “Take him. It’ll be faster.”

More sure and decisive than Gwen had ever seen him, Rhun swung into the saddle and spurred the horse after the boys.

Gwen hurried beside Gareth towards the gatehouse, lifting her skirt so the hem wouldn’t trip her up. Like a fool, she’d dressed in finery again, in honor of the coming of Prince Henry. She should have known better.

Shouts still erupted from the bailey, but the crowd wasn’t shoving and heaving anymore, and as they came under the gatehouse, Gwen understood why: the guards had dropped the portcullis. Gwen and Gareth had to be let in by the wicket gate. Gareth pointed at one of the guards as he passed through. “What happened?”

The man’s face was as white as new-fallen snow. Gareth’s question seemed to settle him a little, however, and he said, “The prince dismounted, there was a scuffle and a sudden press of men and horses. When everyone retreated, Prince Henry lay bleeding on the ground.”

“Did you see who did it?” Gareth said.

The guard shook his head. “I didn’t. Nobody did. We were all focused on the empress.”

“How do you mean?” Gwen said. “Why the empress?”

“Earl Robert was waiting for Prince Henry on the steps to the keep,” the guard said. “He signaled for the horns to blow, which they did, and then the empress made her grand entrance. By the time the noise stopped, the prince was—was—”

Gwen put a hand on his arm. “We understand. You’ve done well to stay at your post.”

“Don’t let anyone in or out,” Gareth said. “I would have thought that order would already have been given.”

“It-it-it was,” the man said, still not recovered.

Gareth stepped closer. “You let us in.”

“I recognized you.”

“Did you let anyone out?” Gwen said.

The man shook his head.

Gareth nudged Gwen. “We need to keep moving. It’s unlikely that the assassin would have tried to leave this way, not when there are other choices. We need to find where he did go.”

“He could have gone through the tunnel, like you said before,” Gwen said.

“That was my thought, too,” Gareth said.

They hurried towards the northwest tower, though not without glancing towards the center of the courtyard, because they couldn’t help it. Blood stained the ground and men milled around it, avoiding the spot but unable to stop looking at it.

“I don’t understand it,” Gareth said.

“What?”

“Nobody is paying us the slightest attention.”

“Everyone is still in shock over what happened to Prince Henry,” Gwen said.

“That’s no excuse,” Gareth said. “Where is Earl Robert or the empress? No one in authority is anywhere to be seen.”

Gwen didn’t have an answer for him. They clattered down the tower stairs to the guardroom. Both guards were present and alert.

“You heard?” Gareth said.

“Yes, sir,” said the first guard, a tall, blond man in his twenties with a thick beard. His face was very pale.

“Did anyone come through here?” Gareth said.

“No, sir!” The man stiffened to attention. “None except three of Earl Ranulf’s men.”

“What were they doing?” Gwen said.

“They said they’d seen the assassin escape and were chasing him,” the guard said.

“But the assassin didn’t come this way himself?” Gareth said.

“No sir, not through here. I assumed he meant that the assassin had escaped like that spy, Alard, by rope from over the battlement.”

“Who’s he?” Gwen moved to stand at Gareth’s shoulder. “Which of Ranulf’s men do you mean?”

“I—” The man looked from Gwen to Gareth, confused by their joint questioning. “It was Sir Amaury, with his arm in a sling. I don’t know the names of the two men with him.”

Gareth turned to Gwen. “We can leave the pursuit in this direction in Amaury’s hands. With the friary and Philippe close by, he’ll have the men he needs.”

“I’m just happy that he was able to rise from his bed,” Gwen said.

“Did they give you the name or a description of the one they were hunting?” Gareth said.

The soldier shook his head.

Gwen and Gareth returned to the bailey, wending their way through the crowd that remained. A few people talked among themselves, but most watched the entrance to the keep, hoping for news. Several men, one a priest, had gathered on the steps to hold a prayer vigil. Gareth and Gwen passed them by without a second glance and entered the anteroom to the great hall.

Once inside, Gwen hesitated. The door to the great hall was closed. Likely, Prince Henry had been laid on a table inside. Gareth kept going, but Gwen didn’t follow.

“I think we should go this way.” Gwen changed direction, heading towards one of the side doors to the anteroom.

“Where are you going? Prince Rhun wanted me to offer my services to the earl.” Gareth followed Gwen, but his tone told her that his patience was very thin.

“I think we should go first to Earl Robert’s apartments,” Gwen said.

“Earl Robert should be in the great hall …” Gareth’s voice trailed off as Gwen took the stairs up to the next level.

“Did Earl Robert strike you as a fool?” she said.

“Of course not,” Gareth said.

“Or a man who held his nephew’s life cheaply?” Gwen said.

“No—”

They had reached the corridor at the end of which lay the earl’s rooms. When they’d first arrived at Newcastle and Gwen had explored the interior in a free moment, she’d noticed that maids always hovered around the farthest door. Today was no exception, except that instead of two in front of the door, there were three. The women hushed at Gwen and Gareth’s approach.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Gareth said in French. “Why are you always here?”

Gwen put a hand on his arm. “They work for the earl, Gareth.”

Gareth’s brow furrowed, making Gwen smile despite the urgency of the moment. For all that he was used to having a wife who did men’s work, Gareth still couldn’t imagine other women doing the same. The maids smirked back at Gareth.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said one of them, a slatternly-looking woman with a swirl of bright red hair.

“Earl Robert sent us to sit with Prince Henry until he could sort everything out,” Gwen said.

The woman pursed her lips, but after a moment’s pause, she nodded. “He’s in a bad way.” She opened the door to the room.

A boy not yet in his teens sat on a bench at the end of a four-poster bed hung with burgundy curtains. He was alone. And he was crying.

They entered the room and the maid/guard shut the door behind them. Prince Henry looked up at their entrance, but such was his defeat that he didn’t protest at the appearance of complete strangers, just hung his head. “Bernard is dead. He died for me.”

“I know.” Gwen glided to Henry, sat beside him, and took his hand. “That was a risk he took, one that every man takes when he cares for the next King of England.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Henry took what Gwen was offering and put his face into her shoulder. He gave three or four heaving sobs before he sat up again, wiping his eyes. “My uncle will be ashamed of me if he sees me like this.”

“There is no shame in grief,” Gareth said to Henry and then switched to Welsh for Gwen’s ears only. “How did you know?”

She lifted one shoulder. “It came to me as we crossed the bailey that Earl Robert might not have been as willing to risk his nephew’s life as it first appeared. And if I was wrong, if the prince really was dead, we lost nothing in pursuing my hunch.”

Prince Henry pushed away from Gwen and stood. He gripped his hair with both hands and then paced to the window and back. “I need to know what is happening out there.”

“You need to stay here, where it’s safe,” Gwen said, back to speaking French, “else Bernard’s sacrifice will be for nothing.”

“That’s what my uncle said,” Henry said.

“While we wait for news, can you tell us what happened?” Gareth said, still in his position by the door.

Gwen knew what he was thinking now: those women might guard the prince, but he and Gwen had entered with no trouble at all. For all that Earl Robert had thought far enough ahead to arrange for a decoy for Prince Henry, it seemed that he hadn’t given as much thought to what came after.

Prince Henry lifted a hand and then dropped it in a gesture that looked very much like despair. He sat back down on the bench beside Gwen. “I rode here, well in the rear of the company. My primary guards protected Bernard. They always do. I’m not sure how many of them truly think that Bernard is the prince. Uncle Robert insisted on this arrangement and that I not give the game away by word or deed. Still, I had guards around me, too.”

“Were you disguised for the whole journey or just as you approached the castle?” Gareth said.

“I’ve always been disguised,” Henry said, and when Gwen and Gareth couldn’t hide their puzzlement, he added, “even at Bristol when men came to greet me, it has always been Bernard that they see, not me.”

Gwen found her jaw dropping at the audacity and complexity of the ruse, and her estimation of Earl Robert went up another three notches.

“I found it irritating at first,” Henry said, continuing his story in the face of their stunned silence, “but when I realized how much more freedom it gave me, I embraced it. It was Bernard who was forced to attend the fine dinners and speak formally with visitors. I was usually with him, as one of his retainers and friends, but the lack of attention paid to me was refreshing after my father’s house in France.”

“Your father expects a great deal from you, doesn’t he?” Gwen said.

“He expects me to inherit England, Normandy, and Anjou,” Henry said matter-of-factly. “Nothing else matters.”

King Owain’s attitude wasn’t any different. He possessed a similar pride, and Gwen knew that Hywel, even as a second son, had felt that pressure his whole life.

“Did you see who killed Bernard?” Gareth said.

Gwen was glad that Gareth was the one to ask that of Henry. Sometimes a soft voice like hers was more likely than a gruff one to set off tears, and they needed Henry focused.

The boy swallowed. “I saw the man—or thought I saw him—but now I’m sure I was confused in all the chaos.”

“We need to know which one you saw, even if you think you might have been mistaken.” Gareth moved to crouch in front of Henry, ignoring the fact that there was something slightly unseemly about grilling a ten-year-old princeling for information about his friend’s murder.

Henry still didn’t want to say, but after hemming and hawing for another few heartbeats, he said, “It was that fellow who came with Ranulf to see Uncle Robert in Bristol last month. Amaury was his name.”

“What?” Gwen spoke in Welsh; such was her shock. Gareth reached over to put a gentle hand on her leg.

“Amaury was among the men who greeted us when we entered the bailey just now. He grabbed the bridle of the horse next to Bernard’s to hold him steady and then moved to help Bernard dismount. His left arm was in a sling, which made his motion awkward,” Henry said. “Because of the sling, I continued to watch him, even after the trumpets rang and everyone turned to see my mother arrive on the steps of the keep.

“At that point, Bernard’s horse blocked my view. By the time he shifted again, Amaury was gone, and Bernard lay bleeding on the ground. I next saw Amaury running towards one of the towers, pointing and shouting at his men that he’d seen the assassin, and they needed to come with him.” Henry shook his head. “I can’t say more than that.”

“Could it be that—” Gwen looked at her husband, whose face had turned to stone.

“No,” Gareth said. “It couldn’t.”