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Day Two
Gareth
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Odd things indeed.
Dai had told the story of his meeting with Vigo with a gleeful enthusiasm that infected everyone else in the room. How could it not?
Gareth ruffled his son’s hair. “I’m proud of you for sticking with it. Not everyone would have known what to say.”
“Jon and Cadoc helped.” Dai ducked his head. “If they hadn’t put up Vigo’s hackles, he probably wouldn’t have trusted me. I can’t believe he sold Arnulf out—to a total stranger!” Then he hesitated. “I guess he didn’t mean to because he didn’t know who he was talking to. You don’t think he’s lying, do you? He can’t know who I am, can he?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Gareth said. “It doesn’t sound like it.”
“How do you feel about this?” Gwen put her arm around Dai’s shoulders. “Lying to him, I mean?”
The old Dai might have shrugged and shown unconcern, but the new Dai was more thoughtful, and he took a moment before he answered. “I felt bad at first. But when he lied to Jon’s face, I decided the truth was more important. And if Arnulf rented that sword, then he’s been lying to Father this whole time!”
Dai’s outrage was endearing—and understandable too. They were all working towards a common goal, and it was frustrating to discover people who were supposed to be trustworthy standing in their way.
But it was gratifying too, because this, combined with Gwen and Cait’s discovery of the origin of the wooden coin and Holm’s conversation with Harald’s mother and the existence of his books, gave them a clear indication of where to go from here.
Llelo looked at Gareth. “Can I be with you when you arrest Arnulf?”
“Of course, but I’m not going to do that yet.” Gareth’s eyes met Gwen’s, and then hers widened at what she might have seen in his. “He isn’t going anywhere, and I sense he is a little fish. Saying anything to him could alert the bigger ones, like this Goff—or Vigo. I think we need to use him first. And that means letting him run free, as much as it goes against our instincts.”
“You’re not—” Gwen stopped. “Gareth.”
“What?”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Is it? You don’t even know what I am going to propose.”
His wife poked her finger at him. “I was at Shrewsbury too, remember? And Dai—” she broke off, and Gareth’s heart clenched at the genuine fear in her face.
“I’m not a child anymore, Mam,” Dai said from beside his mother.
“I know.” Gwen looked down at her hands.
“I was in Shrewsbury too, Gwen,” Conall said gently.
Gwen reached out a hand and put it on top of Conall’s. “I know that too.” She sighed and sat back, gesturing to Gareth. “Go on. Tell them the plan.”
“It is obvious to me we should take advantage of Dai’s discovery and have him go with Vigo to the fight, if that’s happening tomorrow night.” He put up one finger before anyone could say anything. “In addition, we have two coins, which means two more of us may attend the event. Others can be nearby if something goes wrong. We have to think hard about whom we can send openly.”
Cadoc looked disgruntled. “It can’t be me or Jon, since we are known to Vigo personally now.”
“Nor can it be Conall, Llelo, or I,” Gareth said. “If Arnulf plans to attend, he would recognize us on sight and know the game was up.”
“Whatever that game is,” Gwen said darkly.
Gareth’s eyes swept around the table, seeing his two sons, Gwen, Conall, Jon, and Cadoc, who appeared to be this week’s delegate to the murder investigation. In past years, it usually had been Evan, but he and Gruffydd were the leaders of the Dragons now and charged with Prince Hywel’s personal safety. Cait, Godfrid, and Hywel were at the palace, each unable to attend because of royal obligations, though all would have wanted to.
Holm was also present, though he’d stayed silent while they talked, likely because he couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Gareth had almost surprised himself by including him, but he was the sheriff and, unlike in previous investigations in foreign lands, they didn’t need to keep select aspects of their findings to themselves.
“I had a thought we might rope in a few of the other Dragons, if you approve of my plan,” Gareth said.
Gwen put up a hand. “My objections aside, which are more for Dai—”
“Legitimately so,” Gareth said, wanting to be supportive, and would have been even if he wasn’t likely to get what he wanted.
Gwen eyed her husband but continued, “We have two coins and two men to use them. We have a monk who was obsessed with Danish history and mythology—and who died dressed as a knight. I am forced to agree that we have to take advantage of what we’ve been given. I am wondering, however, if Iona shouldn’t keep her coin and use it. Or if women don’t need a coin to be admitted, she could go on the arm of one of the Dragons. Having a recognizable person at the fight might call a newcomer less into question.”
“Can she go on the arm of Fergus the Sailor?” Conall asked.
“He’s Irish. Iona made clear these fights are for Danes.”
“None of the Dragons are Danes,” Conall pointed out, “and none of them speak Danish at all, much less as well as I do.” He looked at Holm and said, “What do you think?” and then translated what they’d just said into Danish.
Holm looked thoughtful for a moment before putting forth his opinion (again patiently translated for those who didn’t understand). “Harald had a coin, a sword, and died wearing armor. The idea that he is associated with these fights is an obvious one. I’m sorry to say I know nothing of them, and I too am not one who can go.”
Jon translated and then added, “Sitric already confessed to being involved. He has a coin himself, so clearly he should go.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll bring him in.”
While Jon was getting Sitric, Cadoc stirred. “The rest of us need to stay close. I, for one, am not going to sit by and wait while the young one has all the fun.” He put a hand on Dai’s shoulder and shook him.
“We can post men north of the river long before sundown, so nobody will be wondering about a herd of us crossing the bridge at the same time as the participants,” Gareth said. “We can also put a man on Goff, to see where he goes and with whom he meets.”
“And on Arnulf,” Conall said. “Carefully. We don’t want to give ourselves away before tomorrow night.”
Jon returned with Sitric, who’d already begged Godfrid’s forgiveness and was now ready to talk. Although he was dark of hair and eye, his beard was thin, indicating he was probably just twenty, if that. He was large, however, and no longer had the round face of youth.
“Many will not be crossing the bridge. There’s a full moon tomorrow night, which makes the tide very low. Under those circumstances, it’s possible to cross the Liffey over the tidal flats. The organizers have been very careful to make sure we are never caught, which means the city guards can’t be put on alert by so many men leaving the city at the same time after dark.”
At low tide, one could also walk across the Menai Strait from Gwynedd to Anglesey before the tide turned, and that was a much farther distance. Gareth would rather take a boat during the slack water at high tide. Less risky, to his mind. But then, he wasn’t a huge admirer of the sea, not like these Danes.
“Why do they fear being discovered?” Gwen asked. “That’s one of the pieces that’s odd to me.”
Since Jon had collected Sitric, Conall had been the one translating for Holm in a low tone, and now the sheriff, the Danish symbol of authority at the table, harrumphed. “We have no objection to men training.”
Sitric looked down at his hands, and when he spoke, his words were a cross between contrite and sulky. “Men join because it’s secret. They think they’re getting something they can’t get anywhere else. It’s like a guild, except for warriors.”
Now it was Conall’s turn to harrumph. “It’s more fun when it’s secret, isn’t it?”
Jon sat back in his chair, his eyes on his underling. “Stop sniveling over there. So you participate in a fighting club. Why does our discovery of it turn you inside out? Did you have anything to do with Harald’s death?”
“No!” Finally Sitric shed his mask of reticence and shame. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“Then what?” Jon asked.
Sitric was still standing, and now he put his hands on his hips, finally exhibiting a posture that wasn’t submissive, just an indication that he was thinking. “It started out as training, but over the last months, since the death of Ottar, the atmosphere has changed.”
Gareth waited for Sitric to embellish, which he didn’t, so he prompted, “It’s different now how?”
“I don’t know when it changed, but the meetings are less about training and more about fighting now. The fighters have assumed names and wear masks so nobody knows their identities. There’s gambling involved.”
Gwen pursed her lips. “Iona didn’t mention gambling.”
“She went to only one fight. She might not have realized everything that was going on.”
“Training was the original intent,” Gareth said. “Am I the only one seeing the irony that there now seems to be a profit motive?”
“Gambling.” Gwen shook her head. “One of the three original vices.”
“Three?” Llelo looked at her quizzically.
“Gambling, alcohol, and prostitution. They are pitfalls for any individual but for the mercantile-minded, they are weaknesses to be exploited. There’s a great deal of money to be made in all three.”
Conall was looking at her with laughter in his eyes. “Do you have Danish blood in you somewhere? They’ll make a merchant of you yet!”
Gwen scoffed. “I didn’t say I was going to exploit them! Only that others do. And in this case, if the foreman—or someone else—has organized gambling on the winners of these fights, that could be a motive for murder if Harald was supposed to lose a fight, for example, and he won instead.”
Cadoc leaned forward, his focus on Sitric again. “Was there ever a monk who fought in the ring?”
“A monk? No, I don’t think so. Really, if that had been the case, I would have mentioned it sooner.” Sitric shook his head as if the very idea was ridiculous. But then he stopped and thought again. “But—” his face paled.
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
Sitric swallowed hard. “I have seen the one they call the Templar.”
