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Llelo
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Gareth had discussed with Llelo the times he’d had to enter an English domain during the course of an investigation. He’d gone to Chester years ago and met the Norman Amaury, who turned out to be a villain at Newcastle-under-Lyme, where Gareth had rescued Dai and Llelo from the English friary. Gareth had worked with Saxons most recently in Shrewsbury, though Llelo hadn’t been there that time. By traveling with his parents to Bristol, Llelo had expected to meet many Normans, but he was still surprised to find himself accompanied on the first day by a foreigner—who as it turned out wasn’t even a Norman. Hamelin had been born in Anjou.
He was equally surprised by how accepting of it all he was, in large part because Hamelin was treating him with the respect he deserved as a man, but he was quite certain he didn’t deserve as an investigator. Still, it seemed better to Llelo to brazen out whatever insecurities were voicing themselves in the back of his mind rather than tell Hamelin that he’d been on his own during an investigation exactly once before. Llelo had comported himself well at the time, but it wasn’t as if he had a wealth of experience to draw upon today.
He had more than Hamelin, however, and perhaps that was all that was needed. Anyway, both men were gaining experience by the hour, and their first encounter with a soldier, whom they met coming out of one of the towers opposite the one Gwen had gone into, immediately showed the benefit of having Hamelin with him.
At their approach, the soldier halted and bowed his head, “My lord.” He wasn’t referring to Llelo.
“We have questions to ask you. What is your name?” Hamelin said in French. Now that he thought about it, Llelo realized he’d heard only French spoken since he’d arrived. It seemed to be a requirement for living at Bristol Castle, and Llelo was a little irritated that all his efforts this last year to improve his English might have been for nothing. The French, however, was proving to be very useful indeed.
The soldier replied in the same language, “Thomas, my lord. Please ask anything. It is my wish to serve.” His eyes flicked questioningly to Llelo.
Hamelin saw the motion and responded to it. “This is Llelo, son of Gareth, who has traveled to Bristol at the behest of the prince, my brother. Llelo himself was meeting with Prince Henry when Sir Aubrey was struck down. You will answer every question he puts to you.” Amazingly, and to Hamelin’s credit, he didn’t butcher the pronunciation of Llelo’s name as badly as every other foreigner Llelo had ever encountered.
His Adam’s apple bobbing, Thomas faced Llelo fully, implying with his wide-eyed questioning look that Llelo could ask him anything, and he would answer truthfully.
Llelo himself swallowed to see it, feeling the pressure now, but this was the task he’d been set, so he squared his shoulders and asked his first question. “Where were you when the stone fell on Sir Aubrey?”
“In the central guardroom, my lord.” Thomas answered without hesitation and pointed across to the gatehouse that allowed access to the inner ward. “I was at the morning meeting.”
“What was this morning meeting about? Who called it?”
“Our captain. We have it every morning.”
“Wait a moment.” Llelo couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying that the captain of the castle’s garrison holds a meeting of the guards every day at exactly the same time Sir Aubrey died?”
“I suppose so, when you put it that way. When the tower bell at St. James’s Priory tolls for Terce, it is echoed here at the inner gate, and we are to come to the guardroom. When Sir Aubrey died, the meeting was almost over.”
Terce was the monks’ mid-morning prayer. Bristol contained at least six monastic houses that Llelo knew of, plus several lay churches and the castle chapel in the far outer ward, so Llelo had heard bells tolling all morning. They’d sounded during his parents’ conference with Prince Henry, but he’d thought nothing of it, since the sound of bells was a constant backdrop to life in any town. He’d experienced it first-hand at Newcastle-under-Lyme.
Hamelin’s expression had also turned to one of dismay. “How many of your fellow guardsmen were there?”
“All of them, my lord.” Thomas hesitated. “Well, all but the few needed to maintain the security of the main gates and the outer curtain wall.”
Llelo bit his lip, giving himself time before speaking so he wouldn’t come across as accusing. “So, if I am to understand correctly, when Sir Aubrey died, every man on duty who wasn’t standing over one of the two main gatehouses was in the central guardroom?”
He didn’t want to alienate Thomas, but he was having trouble encompassing what he’d just said. Llelo understood the need to meet with the men together every day. Every captain had to set out the daily duty roster, and it was much more efficient to call everyone together and speak to them at the same time. But at Denbigh, where Llelo had trained most recently, the new shift came on before the old shift was over, and that meant the meeting could take place while the current shift was still active. It meant the towers and walls were always manned.
For the security of Bristol Castle, Llelo couldn’t imagine a worse scenario. He was shocked that any castle, never mind one in the middle of a war, would implement such a system—though in regards to his need to question everyone at Bristol, it essentially eliminated the majority of the garrison, since its members had been together in the same room when Sir Aubrey had died.
Despite Llelo’s efforts, and even with French as Llelo’s second language, the guard heard the criticism in his voice. Probably it would have been impossible for him to miss the horror on Hamelin’s and Llelo’s faces anyway. So now Thomas said, somewhat combatively, “Men remained on the outer walls! What do you take us for here?”
Fools was what Llelo was thinking, but of course he couldn’t say it. Instead, he said, “How long did the meeting last?”
“A quarter of an hour, no more. It was just long enough for everyone to get their assignments for the day.”
Llelo took in a breath, rearranging his expression so as not to rile the man further. This was not a good beginning, and he was sure his father wouldn’t have allowed his emotions to show. “That your commander requires this of you is completely understandable, and certainly whatever arrangements are made for the rotation of duty at the castle is not within your purview.” Llelo bent his head slightly, and at his understated apology, the soldier looked slightly mollified. “May I ask if you noticed anything unusual in the moments leading up to your departure for the meeting?”
Thomas pursed his lips. “No.”
Llelo couldn’t tell if the guard was being difficult on purpose, so he tried again. “Where was your post?”
Thomas tipped his head. “Right here.”
Llelo and Hamelin had come to the right person. “Is this your usual posting?”
“Oh no. We rotate duty every day, and often every few hours so that no man becomes bored and complacent.”
That sounded like good management, so perhaps the captain knew what he was doing—at least in this. “Do you remember who, if anyone, was about?”
Thomas didn’t even have to think. “In the moments before the bell rang, I saw Earl Robert’s widow, Lord Roger, Robert Fitzharding, John the ewerer, several kitchen helpers, and three servant girls carrying laundry to the washing room.” He shrugged. “I don’t see how that helps.”
The castle was a busy place. Llelo had noticed that, as they’d been talking on the wall, at least twenty people had passed by the spot where Sir Aubrey had died—morbid curiosity, perhaps, or simply because it was on the way to wherever they were going.
“Was there anybody on the rampart of the keep?” Hamelin said.
Now Thomas shook his head regretfully, to all appearances having forgiven them both for their earlier criticism.
“Did you see Sir Aubrey?” Llelo said.
“He always came late for the meeting, and nobody expected him sooner.”
Llelo tried very hard not to stare at Thomas, even as he was grateful for the unprompted bit of information. “Sir Aubrey was meant to attend the meeting?”
“Yes, of course. That’s why he was crossing the courtyard, but as I said, he’s always late. On purpose, I think, to give the captain a chance to settle us.”
“Why did he attend at all?” Hamelin said.
“He was the steward,” Thomas said, as if it were obvious.
Patience filled Hamelin’s voice. “I understand that he was the steward, but I would have thought he had more pressing duties at that hour of the day.”
The guard shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that. Didn’t he need to know what was going on with every aspect of the castle?”
“Of course,” Llelo said, again attempting to be reassuring. “Did he usually speak to you?”
“Almost never. Mostly he poked in his head at the end and conferred with the captain after we left.” Thomas made a motion with his head to imply he wanted to modify his earlier comment. “It was in some of our minds that he was checking up on the captain more than us.” He stopped, pressing his lips tightly together as if he’d said too much and now regretted his frankness.
“Why would you think that?” Llelo said.
Thomas took in a deep breath through his nose. “I shouldn’t say.”
Few comments could have done more to pique Llelo’s interest.
Hamelin too leaned in. “Now you have spoken of it, you have to tell us.”
Thomas chewed on his lower lip, his eyes moving uncertainly from Hamelin to Llelo and back again.
Llelo spoke gently. “Sir Aubrey is dead. Whatever you have to say can’t hurt him now.”
“It isn’t him it’ll hurt.”
Llelo canted his head. “Your captain?”
Thomas turned away for a moment. Llelo had no idea what he would do if the soldier actually walked off, but then he turned back. Bastard or not, Hamelin was a high-ranking lord and could not be snubbed, no matter how unwanted these questions. For a moment, Thomas glowered. “If you speak of this to anyone, it didn’t come from me, my lords. Please.”
“We promise.” Hamelin nodded vigorously. Llelo decided it was too late to mention that he wasn’t a lord himself.
“The captain went through a spell this past year where he didn’t ... wake early.”
Llelo narrowed his eyes. “He was late for duty?”
“Some days he never came in at all.” Thomas cleared his throat. “He would be well into his cups before the noon meal. But these past months he’s been better!”
Llelo and Hamelin had the exact same response to the guard’s confidences, which was to ease back and make something of a dismissive gesture. A soldier who drank his way through the day—and night—was nothing new. What was different was that he’d brought himself back from the brink of ruin.
“So the purpose of the meetings—and Sir Aubrey’s attendance at them—was more for your captain’s sake than yours?” Llelo said.
“We needed our orders, of course, but Earl Robert insisted the captain be given a chance to make amends, and he has done so. All the men respect him,” Thomas concluded staunchly.
Earl Robert had been at the end of his life and had perhaps felt the need for forgiveness and absolution himself. Llelo was fifteen—not even a man yet by English standards—but he’d seen death. He’d also lived in a monastery. Men behaved differently when they knew they were about to be facing God himself in person.
“Can you tell us anything else about this morning—anything at all that might help us discover why Sir Aubrey died?”
The guard frowned and did appear to be trying to think. “No.”
Llelo tipped his head. “Thank you for your cooperation. If you could direct us to where your captain might be at this hour, we will let you go about your duties.”
“Of course, my lords.” The guard’s expression had cleared. Gone was his outrage and fear, replaced by straightforwardness, without obsequiousness or uncertainty. By Llelo’s reckoning, Thomas should feel satisfied: he’d told the truth as he knew it, and nobody was going to punish him for it. “He should be in his office next to the guardroom in the gatehouse to the inner ward. As I said, that’s where we meet each day.”
Hamelin dismissed Thomas, and as they watched the guard pace along the wall-walk away from them, Hamelin said, “That puts vinegar in the beer, doesn’t it?”
Llelo had never heard that expression before, and he despised the taste of beer—but he could imagine that vinegar would do nothing to improve it. “The entire guard of this castle was gathered in one place for a quarter of an hour, barring a few on the outer walls. This is something everyone in the castle had to know, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t.” Hamelin grunted. “I suppose I’ve noticed on and off since we’ve been here that fewer guards patrolled the walls for a brief time every morning, but I didn’t think anything of it. It has never mattered before.”
“When he told us of it, my first thought was dismay, and my second was ridicule,” Llelo said, “but as I look at the walls and the fortifications, I can see why the steward thought no harm could come from it. The purpose of the castle garrison is to guard the castle, not to watch the residents and inform on their misdeeds.”
“This arrangement seems to have been in place for some time, and it has never been a problem until now,” Hamelin said.
Llelo gave a snort. “That’s always the difficulty with guard duty, though, isn’t it? Days and weeks and months of nothing. Years even, but you must be ever vigilant because that one time it will make all the difference.”
Hamelin eyed him. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
“I have been on guard duty, yes.”
“I wish I could talk to Earl Robert about this. I miss him,” Hamelin said simply. “The world is a poorer place without him in it.”
“I never really met him, but my parents solved a murder at Newcastle-under-Lyme when he was in residence—at his request—and he never struck me as one to be anything less than diligent or to accept anything less than complete attentiveness in his men.”
“That was years ago.” Hamelin started along the wall-walk to the tower they’d come up. “This past year he was much diminished, and he knew it. I haven’t said as much to Henry, who is still in deep mourning, but it was no life Earl Robert was living. I think by the end he welcomed death.”
Llelo hastened to come abreast, stunned and honored at the same time that Hamelin would trust him with these thoughts. “Who is the captain of the garrison?”
“Harold of Linfield.”
Thomas had long since disappeared inside the tower, but now he reappeared on an adjacent wall-walk, where he stopped and spoke to another guard. From what Llelo could see, only two soldiers were on duty on the wall-walks of the keep at any one time. At the moment, the job belonged to Thomas and this second man. A third stood on the top of one of the towers, at the moment looking west towards the Severn Sea and Wales.
Llelo could also see a man patrolling the wall-walk of the wall that surrounded the keep and the inner ward, and he could just glimpse a second farther along. Logically, the bulk of the men on duty patrolled the outer curtain walls, since these would be the first line of defense of the castle. He assumed someone was guarding the postern gate as well, though he had yet to locate it. He hoped, too, that Harold had posted someone at the entrance to the tunnel.
“It is easy to become complacent,” Hamelin said. “Bristol has never been attacked. Most of these men have no experience in war.” He stopped abruptly to look at Llelo. “You have been a guard. Does that mean you have fought in battle?”
“Yes. Gwynedd was at odds with Chester until we took Mold last spring. I was on the front lines throughout.” Llelo paused. “And then I was with Prince Hywel when he and his allies took Wiston from the Flemings.”’
“You know the Dragons?” Hamelin’s expression lit, much as Prince Henry’s had when he’d spoken of them earlier that morning.
Llelo found himself grinning. “Of course. They are my father’s closest companions. You can meet them. They are here.”
Hamelin instantly deflated. “They won’t have any interest in me. I have never fought, not really. The few skirmishes last spring were with poorly-armed men and peasants. We should not have come when we did. My brother understood his folly almost immediately, but it was too late to turn back.”
Llelo studied Hamelin’s downturned head. In this, Henry reminded Llelo strongly of Dai, though thankfully Dai was merely a man-at-arms, and his impetuousness had never been on display for an entire country. “Prince Henry turned to Earl Robert for help, and he did not give it. Was that to teach him a lesson?”
As he asked the question, Llelo had a moment of fear that it was one question too many and that Hamelin would take offense, but his new friend answered seriously.
“I do not believe now that Earl Robert wanted to deny aid, but he had no choice since Henry’s mother had already done so. He was ill, but he still welcomed us when we arrived. If you need to know more, that is a conversation you must have with the prince himself.” Hamelin paused. “Or perhaps not.”
Llelo gave a low laugh, knowing already that the prince had his own opinion about the circumstances of his debt to King Stephen. “Perhaps not.”
They’d been talking freely, since they were alone in the stairwell, but one step from the stairway door, Llelo came to a dead halt. The foyer was full of people—he would have said unusually so. Hamelin butted up behind him, forcing Llelo to take another step, at which point everyone realized they were there. Many people had been talking animatedly up until that point, but as one their heads swiveled towards him and Hamelin. Silence descended on the room. Hamelin nudged Llelo in the back again, implying that Llelo himself should speak.
His mouth went dry, and all of a sudden he didn’t have a single word of French in his head. His face coloring, he stepped quickly out of Hamelin’s way instead, and Hamelin bent his head in acknowledgement of the attention they were receiving. “As you must know by now, Sir Aubrey is dead, killed by a stone falling from the battlement. If you can tell us anything pertaining to this matter, please come forward—if not now, then at your earliest opportunity.” He stopped.
Llelo’s heart raced as he realized that Hamelin didn’t know what else to say to them—and how could he? That was Llelo’s job. In a rush, before his brain could get in the way of his mouth, he added, “I am Llelo. It is my father, Sir Gareth, who has come at Prince Henry’s request to address these matters. Our companions are known as the Dragons—” a murmur went around the room at his words, which, quite frankly, was why Llelo had said them, “—and any one of us would be pleased to hear whatever you have to say.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Then, with Hamelin at his side, he strode for the door as quickly as he could.
