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Day Three
Gareth
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Gareth had known from the start that his day would be completely taken up by the events of the previous evening. He’d stayed up what felt like half the night (though it was really only until midnight) examining the body and then had slept past the dawn long enough to feel a little ill about it. He’d needed the sleep, however, and after a hearty breakfast without too much fish in it and a nice chunk of cheese, he and Godfrid returned to the palace.
As they approached the gate, the look on Godfrid’s face was grim. “If you were to remark on the way the streets are eerily quiet today, I would have to agree.”
“What are the people afraid of?”
“I don’t know,” Godfrid said. “A poisoner is a devil you can’t defend against. It does no good to post extra men on the wall-walk and in the streets. He is by nature invisible.”
“But we post the guards anyway.” Gareth sighed. “A show of force is sometimes necessary. We need the people to feel safe.”
Jon met them halfway across the courtyard to the great hall. His eyes had black circles under them, indicating he’d slept far less than Gareth.
Godfrid immediately put a hand on his shoulder. “You are relieved. Get to bed. That’s an order. We need you fresh tonight.”
Jon’s mouth formed to say, “What’s tonight?” But then his brain caught up, and his expression hardened as he remembered the fighting ring. “You should know, my lord, that the question we have been most asked is if the death of Harald and the poisoning of Banan are related. I’ve told everyone every time that inquiries are proceeding.”
Godfrid sighed. “People want answers. It’s understandable. Now, go.”
Jon went, and Godfrid and Gareth continued into the great hall. While the streets of Dublin were subdued, as Godfrid had remarked, the great hall was packed to the rafters with diners.
“Is this a show of solidarity and faith, or are people really that trusting about what comes out of the palace kitchen?” Gareth asked.
“My brother told them they were not in danger from the food. It appears they believe him. I’m certain those in the kitchen were up most of the night too, preparing the food for today and making sure it isn’t tainted. Gareth—” Godfrid turned to him, “—the wedding is tomorrow!”
“You will be at the church on time, and you will marry Cait. All this—” Gareth swept out a hand to encompass the room, “—is not enough to stop it.”
Godfrid nodded, seemingly mollified. And it was true. All it took to be married were banns read in advance, which had been done, and a priest to bless them. They could do it in a field if they had to. The point was to be bonded in the eyes of God and men. The rest of it—the guests, the feast, the gifts—were trappings. Lovely trappings to be sure, but unnecessary to the main point.
Gwen had come to Gareth with little besides the clothes on her back. She’d brought him a family, however—something he never thought he’d have again—which was worth far more to him than a patch of land or silver. With Hywel’s largesse, he had far more than a patch now too. And it was Gwen who’d been most instrumental in helping him achieve everything he’d accomplished in the last five years.
Godfrid detoured to the front of the hall to speak to his brother and King Diarmait, leaving Gareth to head for the kitchen, initially alone, but then Prince Hywel intercepted him. Gareth didn’t bother to dissuade him. He needed a translator, and if it couldn’t be Godfrid or Jon, he was happy to settle for his lord.
“You actually look rested,” Hywel said by way of a greeting.
“I admit to sleeping longer than I intended,” Gareth said. “Are you sure you have time to help with this? I am grateful, to be sure, but don’t feel obligated if you have other duties.”
“I am here for a wedding scheduled for tomorrow. Diarmait is determined it will happen, but he isn’t very pleasant to be around just now. The sooner we complete this investigation, the happier everyone will be.”
“Where are the Dragons?”
Hywel lifted one shoulder. “They are being Dragons. Cadoc has gone off with Iago to scout the land north of the Liffey. They dragged Steffan with them to prevent him from drinking too much and then regaling anyone who could understand him with stories of one false exploit after another.”
In addition to having a rare facility with knives, Steffan was a storyteller. After music, the next best thing in the evening was getting him to tell a story, either from legend or about himself, often made up on the spot. To have had him on their ship had definitely made the journey across the Irish Sea more pleasant. As soon as they’d learned about the possibility of attending the fighting ring, since Steffan was the Dragon who’d interacted least with the Dubliners, he’d been held back in the hopes of at least one of them remaining somewhat anonymous.
Hywel continued speaking. “Evan is just there—” he gestured towards the kitchen door through which Gareth could make out Evan’s bulk settled against the frame, “and the rest are about somewhere.”
Gareth had left Llelo and Dai asleep. As promised, after they’d shooed Gwen to bed, Llelo had stayed up late with him over the body, and Dai needed to sleep as long as possible in preparation for staying up all night tonight. In truth, they all were going to need a nap this afternoon. But only baby Taran and Tangwen were probably going to get one.
Conall was already in the kitchen when they arrived, standing over the food that would be served to King Diarmait for his first meal of the day. He turned at their approach, a dolorous expression on his face.
Gareth stared at him. “You’re the food taster now?”
“It has to be done,” Conall said matter-of-factly.
“By the saints, you cannot!” Hywel was equally horrified.
“It does give one a moment’s pause, doesn’t it?” Conall said, still in that bland tone. “I am not terribly fearful at the moment. I supervised the scrubbing of every dish, pot, and utensil overnight. And the king has sworn to restrict himself to foods that require little preparation.” He ripped off a piece of a bun, slathered it in butter and honey, and ate it.
Gareth looked at Hywel. “Yesterday we questioned two servants who’d eaten shellfish a few days ago. What if one of them brought the knife they’d used to open the shells into the kitchen? Banan’s death could actually have been an accident.”
Conall grimaced. “I dismissed those two because there appeared to be no mal-intent in their manner, and my head was full of hatred for Donnell. Perhaps that was a mistake. As we learned from Arnulf, a person doesn’t have to lie outright to obscure the truth.” He turned to the cook and inquired where the boy and his granny were today.
“They both worked late cleaning the kitchen, and then I sent them home. Carla was weaving on her feet with exhaustion. Hans does as he’s told.”
That also didn’t sound ominous or threatening. Still, Gareth said, “We should speak to them again.” And Conall asked for the directions to their house.
“I probably shouldn’t go with you.” Hywel made a face. “Somehow, I will have to sit at the table and force down food.” He put a hand to his belly. “Good thing I’m hungry.”
Gareth didn’t say better you than me, though his expression must have conveyed some of his thoughts, since Hywel laughed. It was no laughing matter, really, but sometimes a man had to laugh in the face of terrible events. Conall, who wasn’t laughing either, motioned Gareth out the rear door, but before they’d gone three paces, they heard a shout from the kitchen, and Evan fell into step beside them. “Can’t let you have all the fun.”
“Missing our adventures, are you?” Gareth said. “Why aren’t you watching Hywel’s back?”
“Gruffydd’s got it.” Evan made a face that was half rueful, half amused. “I could have been content to never investigate another murder, but Prince Hywel sent me in his place.” He eyed Gareth. “We know what kind of trouble you can get into. I’m just sorry the prince and I will have to sit out the activity tonight.”
“We need to pretend nothing is happening, which means the two highest-ranking Dragons must stay behind.”
“I can’t say I have ever felt this closely watched before, except perhaps in Bristol. There, however, it was because the members of Prince Henry’s court didn’t want to stain the ends of their cloaks by associating with Welshmen. Here it’s reverence.”
“You could view it as a nice problem to have,” Gareth said. “And besides, what you said about Bristol isn’t entirely true. Prince Henry worshipped you.”
Evan’s lips twitched towards a smile. “True. We won’t ever be sorry to have impressed a possible future king of England.”
“One can hope.” Gareth certainly wasn’t sorry to have found favor with Prince Henry, but found it unlikely the old debt would temper any future actions against Gwynedd. Norman kings and princes cared only for their own personal power. Oddly, both Godfrid and Henry shared blood, being descended from Viking raiders. The pirate in each remained always just below the surface.
Hans and his grandmother were among the poorer residents of Dublin and thus lived to the north of the palace in what could be described as a hut, accessible down an alley near the eastern wall of the city. It was as far from the fresh water source as was possible to get in Dublin. For all that, however, every front stoop in the district was swept clean and the thatching on the roofs was fresh.
As they came closer, however, it became evident that the small crowd of a half-dozen people in the street were standing directly in front of Hans and Carla’s house. And they were doing so for good reason.
“I smell blood.” Conall coughed.
“I’m glad I left Llelo sleeping,” Gareth said. “Inevitably, like all of us, he dreams of dead men. I can’t be sorry to spare him one more.”
