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Gwen
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The church in the southern ward wasn’t attached to a monastery, so the None bell didn’t actually mark the Divine Office here, and no monks came to pray. Consequently, Gwen and Gruffydd were alone, sitting in companionable silence on a bench set against an inside wall of the church. Like the castle, the church was built in stone, with a large nave oriented roughly east to west. Nearby were several domestic buildings for the priest and the church’s attendants. Taran had been fussing by the time they arrived, so he’d nursed again—at two months old he was growing quickly and eating nonstop—and had fallen asleep for the third time today.
“What do you think of all this?” Gwen asked Gruffydd, just as a by-the-way to pass the time while they waited for the maidservant, though she was genuinely interested in his opinion too.
“Whether or not the Earl of Gloucester was hurried to his death is a question I’m happy to leave to you and Gareth, but I’m certainly not surprised to find intrigue in a Norman castle.”
“Not that we aren’t prone to it too,” Gwen said with a laugh. “The intrigue in a Welsh castle when Cadwaladr is present could rival any English court.”
“Cadwaladr is here, so I imagine things have been much better at home.”
“You forgot about Cristina.”
Because Gruffydd couldn’t argue with Gwen’s assessment of King Owain’s queen, he laughed instead, and then the chapel door opened and a woman glided in.
As she rose to her feet, Gwen said in Welsh to Gruffydd, “You didn’t say that she was beautiful.”
“Is she?” Gruffydd snorted under his breath. “I suppose.” Putting aside his disdain, he held out his hand to the newcomer and switched to French. “Welcome. May I introduce Lady Gwen, wife to Gareth, to whom you spoke earlier.”
Glad the woman couldn’t possibly understand Welsh, Gwen smiled in greeting as well and hastened forward. “I was hoping you’d come.”
Perhaps Gruffydd’s eyes were failing him, because the woman was the very essence of beauty, with white skin, dark brows and eyes, and red lips. She’d pulled her hair back and caught it up in a wimple, though a few stray hairs told Gwen that the hair underneath was brown too, with just a touch of red, and her cheekbones were high enough to be the envy of any woman, noble, peasant, and everything in between.
“You can call me Edith.” The woman took Gwen’s hand. “Thank you for speaking to me.” She glanced between Gruffydd and Gwen. “I am trusting you to be discreet.”
“Nobody else knows of this meeting except Gareth,” Gwen said. That wasn’t quite true, but it was true enough for their purposes.
“If the prince asks—”
If the woman didn’t want anyone who lived at Bristol to know she was speaking to Gwen, that was a secret Gwen was prepared to keep. So she answered Edith’s question before she could completely voice it: “We will not tell him of this conversation if you do not wish it. We are in Bristol because Prince Henry asked for us to come, but he is not our liege lord. He has said outright that’s why he asked us to come. He knows we will do what is right, regardless of who may object.”
Edith still looked worried, so Gwen drew her to a different bench, this one farther into the nave and hidden from the front door by a pillar. Gruffydd moved to stand at the pillar, further blocking them from the view of anyone who might enter the church through the front door.
“Tell me what you have to tell me before anyone comes.” She squeezed Edith’s hand encouragingly.
Gwen was expecting more hesitation, but Edith now spoke without pretense, “The evening before he died, I heard Earl Robert arguing with his son. Earl Robert said that he was not his father.” Her jaw was firm as she said it, showing no hesitation.
“Those were his exact words? You are not my son?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know to which son he was speaking?”
Edith maintained a steady gaze on Gwen’s face. “I wasn’t sure at first. He kept his voice too low, but ... I think it was William.” She shook her head. “I would never have said Earl William could have murdered his father, but it makes sense if—”
If Earl Robert was going to disown him. Gwen didn’t speak the words out loud. Though Gareth had spoken of William to Prince Henry, generally it was best not to put words into any informant’s mouth. Since Edith hadn’t voiced her complete thoughts, Gwen didn’t either. It was clearly the conclusion Gwen was supposed to draw, however.
While Gwen couldn’t be happy that Cadwaladr had ridden to Bristol, she was glad now that it was she who’d come to hear Edith’s story instead of Gareth. The woman’s beauty was overwhelming, and it was difficult to read her face because every expression, every mannerism, was graceful and lovely. Gwen didn’t think Gareth would have been swayed by it, but it might have made it hard for him to listen objectively to her story.
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t know. I hid myself behind a curtain, and the son walked off in the other direction.”
Gwen studied her through a few heartbeats. “Is there more?”
“More? Does there need to be more? William murdered his father in an attempt to keep him from speaking to anyone else. But then he discovered that Earl Robert did talk to other people: his maid, his valet, and his steward.”
While the woman herself had an obvious intelligence and bearing that surprised Gwen coming from such a low servant, her hand, which Gwen still held, was coarse from labor, rough with callouses. Gwen would have thought she’d have risen higher, but then again, Edith was a Saxon in a Norman castle. It wasn’t as bad as being Welsh, but opportunities for advancement must be few and far between. “Have you spoken of your suspicions to anyone else?”
“No.” Edith pulled her hand away and stood abruptly. “And I won’t. I’m in fear for my life, and I’ve decided to leave Bristol.”
Gwen stood too. “Where will you go? We can protect—”
“No! I will go to my sister in Dorchester. I won’t be back.” And then, just like that, she set off for the door.
Gruffydd made to step in front of her, as if to bar her way, as surprised as Gwen by her sudden departure, but Gwen made a motion with her hand, telling him to let the servant go. She had come to them of her own free will, and Gwen didn’t have any right to keep her. Edith brushed past Gruffydd on her way to the door and didn’t look back.
Gwen watched her leave, waiting until the chapel door swung closed before speaking. “Did you hear all of that?”
“She thinks William killed his father?”
“She outright accused him of it.”
Gruffydd tapped a finger to his lower lip. “You do realize that if William is not the earl’s true son, that means in the first year of their marriage, Lady Mabel was unfaithful.”
Gwen canted her head. “Such a threat to herself and her son as disownment would make Lady Mabel an equally likely candidate to do murder—and perhaps better placed for it than William.”
“Earl Robert never struck me as one to be anything but practical. You would think if he suspected he wasn’t William’s father he would have made this accusation long ago.”
“He might have just learned of it,” Gwen said.
“Would he really have shamed his wife on his deathbed?” Gruffydd’s expression was dubious. “I don’t see that we can question either Mabel or William about this.”
“I’m not even sure we can tell Prince Henry, at least not yet. And unfortunately, with these deaths, we have nobody left to question. Anyone who could deny or corroborate Edith’s story is dead.”
“That’s convenient.” Gruffydd made a skeptical sound. “William is due in Bristol by the evening meal. We can take the measure of him then and decide.”
Gwen looked again to the door. “I don’t like letting her go.”
“Nor I, but did we have a choice?”
As Gwen started towards the exit, her thoughts were troubled. “Is it odd that we’ve heard so little favorable about William? Has it been different for you?”
Gruffydd scowled. “No.”
“Can he really have inherited so little from his father? Llelo grows more like Gareth every day, and yet they share no blood.”
“William has the burden of filling a powerful father’s shoes. How many sons in that position are capable of it?” Gruffydd shook his head. “It’s an impossible task. Just ask Prince Hywel.”
Gwen conceded Gruffydd’s point, but it was still an extreme measure to disown a son, even on one’s deathbed—or especially on one’s deathbed. It also hadn’t escaped Gwen’s notice that the loss of William would make Roger the heir. She didn’t like Roger at all, and it made her think that William would have to be a terrible son indeed for the old earl to think Roger as his heir would be better, no matter his antecedents. Edith’s story, if true, did rule out Roger as the killer, however, since it would have been in his best interest to keep his father alive and talking.
Gwen and Gruffydd left the chapel for the outer ward to find the wind had picked up considerably, whistling across the open space between them and the keep, which was visible above the curtain walls that separated them. The weather up until now had been atypical for November, far too warm for the season. Gwen supposed it was only a matter of time before it turned, and now that she thought about it, she’d been growing steadily colder as she’d been talking to Edith in the church.
She and Gruffydd pulled their hoods over their heads, and she fastened the toggles on her thick cloak. Taran slept on, well protected and warm. With quickening steps, they crossed the ward, passed through the various gatehouses, and reached the keep.
Two guards stood on duty in the porch. With a nod, one of them opened the door for Gwen. It was courteous behavior, and Gwen rewarded him with a smile, before sighing as she pushed back her hood.
They stood for a moment in the far back of the hall, so Gwen could survey the tables, looking for Gareth or the Dragons. It was Llelo whom she sighted first, sitting with his back to the wall, with the other Dragons (barring Evan, who remained at the priory) around him. He saw her too and lifted a hand. She smiled to see him taking his duties seriously, as always. Gruffydd in the lead, they made their way around the margins of the room. Llelo’s attention remained mostly on the high table, and when they reached him, he said, “You see Cadwaladr there, of course.”
“He’s hard to miss,” Gruffydd said with a growl. But at the concerned looks Gwen and Llelo shot him, he gritted his teeth. “I am well in control. As the ancients say, Reflect twice before striking once. Our vengeance will be something he does not see coming.”
Gwen herself had trouble looking at Cadwaladr at all. Like the men, every part of her wanted to throw herself across the room and throttle him. She’d felt that way about him before he’d tried to kill Gareth and murdered Rhun instead. The list of Cadwaladr’s offenses was long and varied.
Llelo saw her watching and said, “He pretended he was happy to see Father.”
Gwen swung around to look at her son. “How could he?”
“Cadwaladr seeks the prince’s favor,” Aron said, overhearing. “How else to get it when we are obviously here with Prince Henry’s blessing?”
“I don’t like it.” Gruffydd’s growl was back. “It is more two-faced than usual of him.”
“There is no act of which Cadwaladr is incapable,” Gwen said, “especially one which on the surface puts him in a good light.”
“Father went to speak privately with the prince,” Llelo said. “Cadwaladr—”
But he broke off as the outside door swung open, and someone new entered the hall. He was dressed entirely in black, and as he strode towards the dais, everyone in the hall rose to their feet to show respect as he passed. This had to be the new earl, William FitzRobert. At the sight of him, Gwen quickly revised yet again her perception of what was happening at Bristol Castle.
William was tall and broad-shouldered, with brown hair and a long nose, and in every way that Gwen could discern from here, making allowances for age and time, the spitting image of his father. There could be no question of his parentage. Instead, she began to review the conversation she’d just had with Edith.
Gruffydd saw the resemblance too, and before Gwen could say anything about what she was thinking, he stood and gestured to Steffan and Iago that they should stand too. “The maidservant might still be in the castle. We will seek her out and bring her back.” He looked down at Gwen. “I know you promised Edith we would not talk to anyone about her accusation, but it’s clear now that we have to.”
Gwen shook her head, not at Gruffydd but at the circumstances. “What did she think—that we wouldn’t notice what he looked like? Or better, that he wouldn’t put in an appearance?”
“We Welsh are easily led astray. Everyone knows that.” Gruffydd scoffed and stalked away, Steffan and Iago following.
“What is this? What’s happening?” Llelo glanced at their companions’ retreating backs and then looked at Gwen. Cadoc and Aron, the remaining Dragons, leaned closer to listen.
In a few words, speaking in Welsh so they wouldn’t be understood by anyone else, Gwen related the conversation with Edith. All the while, she kept one eye on William. The respect accorded him in his own hall, Edith’s and Prince Henry’s doubts aside, was unmistakable, and he embraced Roger, who’d come around the high table to greet him.
Then William lifted a hand to his people, spoke audible thanks while requesting that they return to their seats, and then moved towards the far doorway.
Cadoc, who’d been sitting beside Llelo, snorted eloquently, and Aron beyond him said, “Not what I expected. In Gwynedd, I’d heard it said that the son was not the father.”
Gwen coughed. “Do you think we’ve been lied to?”
Now Aron laughed wholeheartedly. “Unceasingly, I imagine.”
