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Day Three
Godfrid
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Godfrid had agreed with Gareth that the situation before them called for gentle handling. Rather than swooping down on the fighters, they would watch, learn what they could, and leave the decision to close them down to Brodar. His people had a right to their training. Godfrid thought they had a right even to their gambling.
What they didn’t have a right to was murder. Or treason.
And as he and Gareth approached the ring of men from the west, able finally to hear what the leader was saying, he was feeling far more concerned about the latter than the former. Goff wasn’t openly saying that Brodar and his family were to blame for their submission to Leinster, but Godfrid was marrying Cait tomorrow, forever tying the throne of Dublin to that of Leinster. And the marriage wasn’t necessarily bringing with it a loosening of the reins of power on Diarmait’s part either.
Leinster was still going to be ruling over Dublin, even if the Danes were allowed their own king. Brodar and Godfrid could pretty up the truth with fine words about cooperation against mutual enemies, but nobody was going to forget any time soon that if Leinster hadn’t come when they did at the Battle of the Liffey, the Danes of Dublin might have lost everything.
They still could, especially if this fool had his way.
Gareth crouched beside Godfrid. “What’s he saying?”
“Nothing good.”
“That’s Goff, is it?”
Godfrid nodded. “He fought well at the Liffey. And to think he was already heavily involved in this. I wish I’d known.”
They’d left their horses a hundred feet back, and they themselves were a good five hundred feet from the fight, crouched on a rise above the draw in which the fights were taking place. It was a good situation for them, because they could see over the top of the spectators’ heads. The organizers of the fight had chosen well too, since the rising earth all around the ring masked some of the light and noise. The two friends had caught sight of a patrol a quarter of an hour earlier and had been moving as silently as possible since then. Godfrid could admit Gareth was better at it than he was, having grown up in rural Gwynedd. These days, most Danes, including him, were city dwellers.
“We shouldn’t have split up,” Godfrid said. From the start, Godfrid had tried to pair each Welshman with men who spoke Danish, at least in passing, but had needed to split everyone up in order not to call attention to themselves.
Gareth gave a shake of his head. “We talked about this. Trust our friends.”
“If anything, it’s my fault we don’t have more men, but I don’t know who of mine I can trust, and Sitric wasn’t sure either.”
Gareth gave a low growl. “Wasn’t sure or didn’t want to say? I’m not convinced letting him slide by without giving up the names of his fellows was the best idea.”
“When this is over, I will beat it out of him if I have to.” He side-eyed Gareth. “In a manner of speaking.”
They were good enough friends by now for Godfrid to be sure Gareth knew he didn’t mean it literally. A commander who flogged his men inspired fear but no loyalty, and that was precisely the kind of behavior that led to what they were witnessing now.
Brodar was a good commander, and Godfrid had been impressed by the job he was doing as king. But circumstances—and Leinster—had placed him in an impossible situation. He couldn’t keep both King Diarmait and his own people happy. So he ended up pleasing one more than the other in most things and no one some of the time. Now, with Cait joining the family, Godfrid was adding to his brother’s burden. They could bad-mouth Leinster all they wanted when she wasn’t around but, in effect, they were allowing an enemy into their midst.
Or at least that was how the men before them would see it.
Godfrid himself was well-used to the idea of being friends with Irish people. He numbered Cait and Conall among the closest friends he’d ever had. Somehow, he was going to have to reconcile these two halves of his new reality.
“You made sure Steffan understood what to do?” Godfrid said to Gareth.
“I told him to follow Arnulf but stay well back. He knows.”
Godfrid grumbled to himself, knowing he shouldn’t nag his friend.
“It is Jon, Cadoc, and Llelo who have the most to fear—besides us, I mean. That’s why they are together, to leave Steffan free to move about without anyone recognizing him.” Gareth glanced at Godfrid with a sympathetic smile. “We sent them east, anyway. They’re probably miles away with no idea what’s happening. We discovered this clearing only because of the noise.”
“I hate that I didn’t know about these fights before yesterday.”
“I hate that my son is in the middle of it.”
Godfrid put a hand on Gareth’s shoulder, suitably chastened. “He’s a smart lad.”
“With far too much confidence.” Gareth’s growl sounded very much like Godfrid’s own. “We should move again. We’ve been in this position too long.”
Just then, one of the patrolling men appeared to their right, his eyes fixed on a point just past where they were hiding. But after a moment, his eyes slid away, and he moved on. Meanwhile, Goff had been conferring with one of his underlings. Then, with a laugh, he held up his hands to quiet the hubbub of the crowd, which had grown restless with no fights to watch.
“We have an exciting change to the program! One of our best warriors has found his way here today and has agreed to give a lesson to a first-timer.” He waved a hand and Sitric came forward ... followed immediately by Gareth’s son, Dai.
“No.” Gareth made a move to rise, but Godfrid put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“We don’t know what this is yet. They aren’t going to hurt a boy in front of citizens of Dublin. Even if they know who he is, they definitely wouldn’t risk my wrath by harming him.”
Gareth subsided and then watched with held breath as Sitric took Dai through the basics of sword fighting. To Dai’s credit, he pretended to be far less proficient than he really was, though here and there he showed the flashes of brilliance that had convinced the Dragons to take him on as their squire. Sitric played ignorant too, cursing at Dai in Danish as if he had no idea who he was.
“What do we do?” It was Llelo’s voice in Godfrid’s ear this time, and he nearly jumped a foot, instantly angry at himself for being so focused on the fight he’d allowed Gareth’s son to sneak up on him. Then again, Llelo had been learning from the best. He knew how to move quietly. Who knew how long he’d been watching their backs.
“Nothing, Llelo,” Gareth said. “Not yet.”
“Cadoc is nearby, and he has twenty arrows in his quiver.”
“And there are a hundred men in that clearing, most who have done nothing wrong.”
“But it’s Dai!”
Godfrid, his heart still pounding, lifted a finger. “Not yet.”
Llelo put his back to the trunk of an ancient tree to their right. He blended in so well, even in the moonlight, that he was hardly more than a shadow with eyes.
“Where are the others?” Gareth asked.
“Around the other side. They know to remain hidden.”
Dai continued to accept instruction from Sitric, and then three more younger men joined the ring, causing Gareth to breathe easier. Goff knew many of the men present were no longer here to learn to be warriors, but to watch while others fought, so soon the lesson ended, and Dai and the others filed out of the ring.
Goff raised his hands again. “Are we Danes?”
The crowd answered with a roar.
“Tonight, our first featured fight pits one of our own against a true contender.” Goff made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “We have the Templar versus the Galway Grogoch.”
Into the ring walked a man dressed in the regalia of a Knight Templar. While his garb was unnervingly similar to what Harald had worn in death, his face was covered by a full helm, so they couldn’t tell his identity, though in size and shape he resembled Arnulf. He was followed by a smaller man wearing a mask over his face with slits for eyes. The disguise couldn’t fool Godfrid, however. It was unmistakably Conall.
Gareth clenched his hands into fists. “It can’t be a coincidence that three of our own have already been included in the arena. We’re blown. We’re completely blown.” He turned to Llelo. “Get back to Dublin, as quickly as you can. We need reinforcements.”
“The guards at the palace gate will laugh at me,” Llelo said. “My Danish isn’t good enough to explain, and they’ll never let me see the king, even if they remember I’m your son.”
“Wake Cait,” Godfrid said. “They’ll let her in without question.”
As Llelo scampered away, Godfrid checked the sky, having no real idea how many hours had passed, but thinking it must be getting on towards two in the morning. They were only a mile from the city. If Llelo hurried, he could be at Godfrid’s house within the half-hour.
Godfrid just needed to keep whatever was happening here from getting more out of hand—and Conall alive—until Brodar arrived.
