| |
Day Two
Gareth
––––––––
Gareth should have known it was a foolish hope to think they could get away with only one dead body in this investigation.
Unlike Harald, whose expression in death was serene, this man had died in pain, with hugely swollen lips, puffy eyes, and a bloody froth around his mouth. He hadn’t died here, since he lay with arms above his head, indicating he’d been carried into the storage room off the kitchen—to hide him, it seemed, once someone ran to tell a higher authority what had happened.
Though Gareth crouched beside the body, Gwen sensibly remained near the door, seeing no need to approach too closely. Shelves lined the walls of the room on all sides, laden with stacks of serving dishes, cups, carafes, trays, and the like. As a result, with him, Gwen, Conall, and Jon present, the room was very crowded. Llelo and Dai were keeping watch on the other side of the door, undoubtedly with ears perked in order to hear what was going on inside.
“Just tell me what happened.” Gareth looked from Conall to Jon. “And for the love of St. Seiriol, tell me why everyone in the hall is still eating the food, the consumption of which has just killed this man!”
“The food in the hall is not tainted,” Jon said soothingly. “King Brodar’s food taster sampled it all, and he remains well. King Diarmait himself was adamant that none of the guests become aware someone had died. Right now, he and Brodar are the only ones at the high table who know.”
“If all is well, how is this man dead?” Gareth said.
Conall made a gesture with one hand, telling Jon he would talk. “Let me start at the beginning: you are correct to be concerned, but not for the reasons you think. Yes, a half-hour ago, Banan collapsed by the dishes waiting to be carried to the high table. He is King Diarmait’s food taster, but even had the entire high table eaten what killed Banan, only King Diarmait would have died. That’s why the meal is continuing as usual. Again, King Brodar’s food taster had already eaten of everything to be served with no ill effects.”
He took a breath. “My family cannot eat shellfish without becoming violently ill. Aversion usually manifests in childhood, initially with less severe symptoms such as a rash and itching in the mouth after consumption. Subsequent meals, however, can mean death. Diarmait’s brother died when the same knife used to open an oyster was used to cut his vegetables. One of my great-uncles died after he took a long sniff over a pot where a mixed fish and oyster stew was cooking. Banan was King Diarmait’s food taster because he also suffered from the malady, having had his first reaction to a prawn, as did Diarmait, as a child.”
“I hope the king paid him well,” Jon said dryly.
“He did.” Conall toed the heel of the man’s boot. “Not that it does him any good now. His family, however, will be provided for.”
“What about you?” Gwen looked Conall up and down.
“Of my mother’s children, only I am afflicted.”
Gareth’s breath caught in his throat. “You could have died too!”
“Believe me, I am aware.”
Gareth studied their friend. “You’re sure nobody else is in danger? Dorte and Cait are just in the hall!”
“And they are happily eating without ill effect.”
Gareth couldn’t stop staring at Conall, and at first Conall almost glared back—before relenting. “I supervised the cutting of fresh meat for my uncle with a newly scrubbed knife and sampled the food meant for their table. Even if everyone at the high table was so afflicted, nothing they eat tonight will hurt them.”
Conall’s words had started Gareth’s mind churning—and his stomach, truth be told. He didn’t think he would ever be able to eat shellfish again either. “Are you saying just the residue of shellfish on the blade of a knife could be harmful? Or smelling it? How can that be true?”
“I don’t know how, only that it is.” Conall let out a puff of air. “I love my sister and my mother, Gareth. And you can see for yourself that nobody else has died or even fallen ill. Both King Diarmait and King Brodar have decreed the meal will continue. It is out of our hands.”
Gareth knew when he was defeated. “How many people know of the king’s affliction?”
“One too many,” Conall said bitterly.
Gareth looked at Jon. “Did you know?”
“Not before tonight.”
“Which means Godfrid didn’t know. I certainly didn’t,” Gareth said. “King Diarmait didn’t tell the kitchen staff?”
“He did better than tell them,” Conall said. “He brought his own food taster to supervise their work.”
Gwen scoffed. “He didn’t do a very good job.”
Jon cleared his throat. “King Brodar acquiesced to every request, of course. Our cook was told Diarmait despised shellfish of all kinds and requested we not serve any. Most are out of season anyway, so we complied.”
“Or so you thought.” Gareth made a hmm noise at the back of his throat. “So it isn’t common knowledge here. What about in Leinster?”
Conall tipped his head. “Many know. How could they not?”
“Who then are Diarmait’s rivals for the throne?” Gwen asked.
“He has sons, of course,” Conall said, “but they are hardly old enough to fight amongst themselves as Rory and Donnell do, much less assassinate their father. It would be a bold move for any of them to attempt to take the throne already.”
“But not impossible?” Gwen asked.
“The eldest isn’t even twenty.”
“Is it too much of a coincidence that Rory O’Connor is here tonight?” Jon said. “Or emissaries from Donnell, on the spot, so to speak, at King Diarmait’s death, ready to negotiate with Brodar about the future of Dublin?”
“King Diarmait is unsure why Rory would want him dead in this moment, since they are speaking of a mutual alliance to put Rory on the throne over Donnell, whom they both despise. It could be a ruse, I suppose.” Conall tapped a finger to his lips. “It’s fortunate my uncle trusts nobody.”
“Rory would have far more weight to throw around if he brought Dublin into Connaught,” Gareth said. “Donnell would find himself at a disadvantage.”
“But if Rory was going to arrange for the murder of King Diarmait, would he really be present when it happened?” Gwen shook her head. “Like Donnell, he would have stayed away.”
“We can’t do anything about the men from Connaught,” Gareth said. “We can’t even question them without starting a war.”
“What about men from Dublin?” Gwen looked at Jon. “Some want to be independent.”
“This fighting ring we’ll be seeing about appears to be headed in that general direction, but it wasn’t my impression from Sitric that they are quite ready for all-out insurrection.” Conall’s lips twisted. “It is disturbing to me how hated Leinster seems to be. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“It is the reason Diarmait hasn’t attempted to rule Dublin directly, my friend,” Gareth said, not so consolingly, “and Brodar tries so hard not to appear a puppet.”
“We didn’t do this,” Jon said abruptly. “My prince is a man of honor.”
Gareth nodded. “Godfrid and Brodar are excellent dissemblers, but Godfrid loves Cait, and he wouldn’t lie to me.”
Conall thought about that for a moment. “Nor to me.”
Gwen went to the door to gesture Llelo and Dai inside. With the door closed again and all of them crowded around the body, she explained where the conversation had led them.
Llelo shook his head, almost in wonder. “I wouldn’t know anything about any of this.” Then he looked at his brother. “Do you?” The question was genuine and respectful. The last few days had wrought a change in their relationship too.
There was a pause as a curious expression crossed Dai’s face. “I might. Do we know exactly what type of shellfish King Diarmait can’t eat?”
“It is hardly something he can determine, is it?” Conall said wryly. “The king avoids all, just in case, along with most fish too, though he claims that is simply because he doesn’t like the taste.”
If not for the dead body at their feet, Gareth might have laughed at the expression on Jon’s face, which implied the very idea of not eating fish at least twice a day was inconceivable.
Dai, however, frowned, his brow furrowing as he thought. “They have a proverb here: Frisk som en fisk, yes? Fresh as a fish, which I think is a way of saying someone is feeling well? The English might say healthy as a horse.”
“Yes,” Jon said.
Dai was still frowning. “Yesterday, when I was still figuring the Danish out—”
Gareth managed not to snort laughter at the comment, not wanting to deflect Dai’s thought. But one more day had resulted in the boy being all but fluent, at least in the Danish that made up the common tongue. It mattered not at all that he couldn’t read a word, though at this rate, Gareth wouldn’t put that past him either.
“—someone said those words, and then another man said, unless you’re the King of Leinster, and they all laughed.”
Jon looked at Dai intently. “These were the men in the hall who were speaking of swords and axes?”
“No. This was later, outside. I was coming from the latrine. I’m sorry. I have no idea what they looked like. They were speaking Danish, I can tell you that.”
“I don’t like it,” Conall said flatly.
“Definitely not something to like,” Gareth said, “though it could be an innocent comment about the king’s dislike of fish.”
Gwen tipped her head. “King Diarmait’s affliction is the second thing the Danish royal court knew nothing about but appears to be available knowledge to those beneath.”
“You’re speaking of the fighting rings again.” Conall’s chin wrinkled in thought.
Gareth hated speculation and said so.
Jon had begun to pace, such as he could, in the small space. “We must do something about the threat from Connaught, even if we can’t prevent Rory and Donnell’s emissaries from smirking at us from the high table.” He stopped, his hands on his hips. “I will send riders to patrol the region around Dublin, starting tonight. At the very least, it will make our ride tomorrow night to seek out the fighting ring less noticeable.”
“What good does this do?” Llelo asked.
Gareth took it upon himself to explain. “Diarmait has brought a small army with him, as is his right as Dublin’s overlord. Rory has done the same, as a son of the High King. Both are camped in plain view of the city walls. But what about beyond the city? What about north of the river where it appears we must find this fighting ring tomorrow night? Donnell sent emissaries, but what if he has come himself, in force? How would we know if we don’t look?”
“If he did any of that, he’s getting bolder,” Jon said.
Conall tsked. “Someone attacked Diarmait at what effectively is his own table. Short of drawing sword in the hall, you can’t get much bolder than that.”
“Did Rory know Donnell was sending men to Dublin?” Gwen looked at Conall.
“I don’t know.” Conall rubbed his chin. “It might be something I can ask, especially now that an attempt has been made on my king’s life.”
Llelo put his hands on top of his head. “I don’t understand how all of you can be so calm about someone trying to murder the King of Leinster!”
Conall spoke through gritted teeth. “Believe me, son, I am not calm.”
