The Fourth Horseman (12 page)

He clasped his hands behind his back,
settling into position to wait. Gareth had only stood silent for a
single count of twenty, however, when the door behind him opened.
He turned to see two young boys dash into the room. The first
pulled up short at the sight of Gareth, causing the second to
stumble into him.

The boys recovered quickly, and the first
boy said in heavily accented French, “Who are you?”

Gareth peered at him. If he wasn’t mistaken,
the accent came from Gwynedd. “You’re Welsh, aren’t you?” he said
in that language. “What are your names?”

“
You first.” The second boy
folded his arms across his chest and stuck out his chin.

Gareth managed to hide his amusement at the
boy’s defiant stance and saw no reason to hide his identity. “I am
Gareth ap Rhys, a knight in the company of Prince Hywel of
Gwynedd.”

The boys hesitated, and Gareth wondered if
he’d misjudged their origins. Then they both began to speak at once
in Welsh.

“
We heard that
you—”

“
Our father was a merchant
from—”

Gareth held up his hands to stop the barrage
and signaled the boys to come closer. He bent at the waist, his
hands resting on his knees, to look into the younger boy’s face.
“One at a time. Tell me your name.”

“
I’m Dai, and this is my
brother, Llelo,” the first boy said, while his brother nodded. “Our
father was a merchant; he traveled through England and Wales, even
to London, selling our wool. This was my first trip with him.” Dai
stopped, looking all of a sudden like he might cry.

With a glance at his brother and a gentle
hand on his shoulder, Llelo took up the story. “We’d stopped here
at the friary for the night. My father and I had stayed with the
monks in the past because they bought our wool. We didn’t have wool
to sell yet, you understand? We were just collecting orders.”

Gareth nodded. Sheep outnumbered people in
Wales by a large margin, and a good merchant maintained his ties
with his customers from year to year. Most shearing occurred in the
spring, culminating in festivals in June throughout Wales. “Where
is your father?”

“
He died, that first night
here, in his sleep.” Llelo imparted this information without
emotion or expression.

Gareth looked at him closely. “I’m sorry to
hear that. When was this?”

“
St. Dafydd’s Day,” Dai
said.

“
That was over two months
ago!” Gareth said. “And your mother?”

“
Run off years ago.” Llelo
shrugged, masking his anxiety by renewing his tough façade. Given
his height, Gareth guessed him to be a year or two older than his
brother. Gareth had acted the same at that age when he’d spoken of
his losses.

He studied the boys. They were dressed in
the plain undyed robes of their order, but they were too young to
have taken vows. “Are you pledged as novices?”

“
Not yet,” Llelo said. “I
will be twelve next week, and the monks say that I will be old
enough then to choose this life and stay here forever.”

“
Is that what you want?”
Gareth said.

Both boys shook their heads vigorously.
“No,” Dai said. “We have an uncle who runs sheep near Dolbadarn. He
would take us in.”

Dolbadarn Castle was in Gwynedd, not far
from Aber Castle, the seat of King Owain. Gareth rubbed his chin
and eyed the boys. Llelo shifted from foot to foot. “Are you sure,
Llelo?” Gareth said. “I sense you’re keeping something back. Do you
want to become a monk?”

“
No, sir!” Llelo
said.

Gareth nodded, convinced of that at least.
“Will the friary be sorry to see you go?”

The boys glanced at each other, both with
the same sheepish expression on their faces. “I’d guess not,” Dai
said.

Gareth clapped a hand on each boy’s
shoulder. “If you warn the master of novices that I am here, I will
meet with him later. With his permission, I will take you with me
when I leave the friary in an hour or so. You will be safe at
Prince Hywel’s encampment until we can return to Wales.”

The light in both boys’ eyes warmed Gareth’s
heart, though he wondered what he was getting himself into, taking
on two boys in the midst of an investigation. Yet he couldn’t turn
them away.

Then Llelo stepped closer, his expression
more serious. “I don’t like the man you’re going to see. He leaves
his quarters in the middle of the night and meets with strangers in
the gardens.”

Gareth’s brow furrowed. “What man—?”

“
Sir Gareth!” Amaury had
returned.

Gareth ruffled the hair on their heads,
intending to imply comfort and discretion at the same time. “Off
with you.”

“
Yes, my lord!” the boys
said together.

Gareth coughed a laugh and turned to face
Amaury, who looked past him to the boys’ retreating backs. “An
unexpected meeting with fellow countrymen,” Gareth said, by way of
explanation.

Amaury gestured towards the open doorway
behind him and the passage beyond. “Please come.”

Despite Llelo’s warning, Gareth still
expected to find himself in the presence of the empress herself.
Instead, Amaury ushered him into a room at the end of the corridor
with a lone man sitting behind a table strewn with papers. Although
the day was warm, a blazing fire burned in the grate. Smoke curled
around the ceiling instead of out the vent behind him, and Gareth
wished the window shutters were open so he could breathe. The air
was dense, humid, and smoky.

While Amaury closed the door and stood at
attention against the wall to the right of the doorway, Gareth
stepped closer to the table. The man’s face was gaunt and drawn,
too white for someone who was experiencing good health. Gareth’s
attitude of defiance faded, though he remained no less determined
to find the truth.

“
My lord,” Gareth said in
French. “It was my understanding that the empress asked to speak
with me?”

“
I asked to speak with
you.” The man made a fist to show Gareth the broad ruby ring he
wore. “This means I speak for the empress.”

Gareth glanced at the ring and then into the
man’s face. “Yes, my lord.”

The man leaned back, gripping both arms of
his chair tightly. “Do you know who I am?”

“
No, my lord.” Gareth
silently cursed Amaury for not giving him more information before
he invited him to the friary. At the same time, if Amaury was
following this man’s orders, Gareth could understand better why
he’d lied. If Amaury hadn’t, Gareth might have balked long before
he reached this room.

“
I am Philippe de Nantes.”
The man said this as if it should mean something to Gareth. Gareth
bowed his head, and Philippe smiled. “You have never heard of
me?”

“
No, my lord.” Gareth felt
more foolish with every moment that he stood before
Philippe.

“
Excellent. That is the way
I prefer it,” Philippe said. “Suffice it to say that I wear the
empress’s ring, and thus, I assure you that I have her
ear.”

“
Yes, my lord.” Gareth was
willing to grant him that, for now.

“
Amaury tells me that Earl
Robert has included you in the inquiries regarding the death of
this Welshman, David, tossed over the battlement by the empress’s
man, Alard.”

Gareth nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Philippe poured wine into a cup and took a
long sip. From the way he held the carafe, Gareth judged it to be
almost empty. “Alard is a dangerous man,” Philippe said.

Gareth felt like saying that under the right
circumstances, any man was dangerous, but he held his tongue.
Philippe’s illness meant that he spoke slowly, forming each
sentence carefully. Gareth didn’t want to interrupt.

“
Alard has been a friend—to
all of us,” Philippe said. Out of the corner of his eye, Gareth
could see Amaury nod his agreement.

“
So I understand, my lord,”
Gareth said.

Philippe kept his eyes fixed on Gareth’s
face. “I know that Amaury has told you of the empress’s name for
her most loyal servants.”

“
The four horsemen,” Gareth
said.

Philippe licked his lips. They were cracked
and looked painful. “What he has not told you is that they served
the empress under my direction.”

Finally, Gareth was getting somewhere. “You
are the empress’s spymaster.”

Philippe allowed himself a snort of
laughter. “So, you do understand.” Without waiting for an answer,
he added, “Then you should also understand that it would be better
for you to return to your encampment and leave this investigation
to me and my men.”

So that’s what this was all about. “I don’t
know that I can. Earl Robert himself spoke to me about seeking the
truth.”

Philippe’s jaw clenched once and then
relaxed. He reached out for his goblet of wine and drank again.

Gareth couldn’t tell if he was stalling
because he didn’t want to answer Gareth or if he merely was
thirsty.

“
He doesn’t know that I
have arrived.”

“
Surely he has spies, too,”
Gareth said. “He will know soon.”

“
Will you tell him?”
Philippe said.

“
My lord, please understand
that I must answer whatever questions he asks.” Gareth didn’t want
to anger the empress’s chief spy, but he couldn’t lie to Earl
Robert.

“
You cannot be bought, is
that it?” Philippe said. “You are above such things?”

Gareth’s eyes narrowed. The conversation had
strayed far from David’s murder, and Gareth was getting lost. “I
fear I cannot help you, my lord. I ask that you allow me to return
to Newcastle.”

“
Alard is a traitor!”
Philippe’s sudden passion brought him half out of his chair, but
then he calmed and slowly settled down into it again. “He murdered
David, did he not?”

“
Perhaps it was David who
had switched sides,” Gareth said.

Philippe scoffed. “You are naïve.”

Gareth flushed. “So I have been told more
than once. Still, Alard is a traitor to whom? The empress?” Ranulf
had said the same as Philippe, but as far as Gareth knew, Alard was
only accused of killing two of his fellow horsemen. That was a
crime, certainly, but it wasn’t treason.

“
I tell you this so you
will understand my position,” Philippe said. “It has been
discovered that Alard has plotted against the life of the empress’s
son, Prince Henry.”

Amaury took one step forward, tension in
every limb. “I didn’t believe it when the messenger said that. I
don’t believe it now.”

Phillipe ignored Amaury, still speaking to
Gareth. “Last week, we intercepted a messenger sent to Alard from
William of Ypres, King Stephen’s most trusted confidant. The
messenger had been instructed to tell Alard that payment for the
murder of Prince Henry was on its way.”

“
Why would you believe
anyone sent by William of Ypres?” Amaury said.

“
You were the one who
interrogated him,” Philippe said, “and yet you don’t trust your own
results?”

Gareth looked from Amaury to Phillipe.
Amaury’s duties for Empress Maud were clearly more extensive than
Amaury had led Gareth to believe. “Even if this is so, isn’t Prince
Henry in France with his father?” Gareth said. “Surely Alard is no
threat as long as Henry remains in France and Alard stays
here.”

Philippe’s right shoulder hitched up and
dropped in a half-shrug. “You are quite wrong. Prince Henry has
been living at Robert of Gloucester’s stronghold in Bristol since
the Christmas feast and is journeying to Newcastle even now. He
should arrive in three days’ time.”

Gareth leaned forward, going so far as to
put both fists on the edge of Philippe’s table. “The empress
allowed Henry to come to England? Why? Surely he can learn the art
of war just as well in Normandy as here. What is he … all of twelve
years old?”

“
He’s ten,” Philippe said,
“but England is his birthright, for he will rule it after his
mother; he had never seen it. The English will accept him better if
they know him to be one of them.”

The revelations just kept coming. Gareth
felt like leaping across the table and shaking the man; he might
have if Philippe hadn’t already been half in his grave—and if
Gareth hadn’t been afraid that Philippe might direct his wrath
towards him. Philippe could prove to be a dangerous enemy under the
best of circumstances.

“
This is because the
Londoners turned the empress away, isn’t it?” Gareth said. “She has
realized too late that she cannot rule England without the goodwill
of those she governs.”

Phillip sniffed. “Prince Henry will make a
great king.”

Gareth shook his head at Maud’s arrogance.
To have allowed the boy to sail for England in the middle of a war
was madness.

Amaury moved closer to Philippe’s table, his
face pale. “How can you believe that Alard, the empress’s most
faithful spy, has turned against her so completely that he seeks to
murder her son? All reason argues against it.”

Philippe glared at Amaury, who didn’t
subside. Gareth, for his part, admired Amaury’s fortitude in
standing up to Philippe and his continued loyalty to Alard.

“
You imply that King
Stephen condones this plot,” Gareth said.

“
He does,” said
Philippe.

“
I’m sorry, my lord, but I
cannot believe that.” Gareth was reeling inside but was trying to
keep his tone reasonable. “Stephen would never condone such a plan.
He’s honorable to a fault, which is one reason he hasn’t yet won
this war. In addition, to allow a plot against Maud’s son to
continue, Stephen would be asking for retribution against his own
son, Eustace.”