The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (3 page)

“I can’t say what value I’ve been to him. My reports are mostly on the comings and goings of his people, both high and low,” Gwen said. “Who conspires with whom; who has sued whom over what land; whose marriage bed is colder than it should be.”

“Your father said you’ve been among the dead before.”

“I never thought to involve myself in anything dangerous,” Gwen said. “But we served in many households, and … things kept happening. My father was even accused of murder once and it was up to me to find the truth because nobody else would.”

“If I’m ever accused of murder, I would be delighted if you would extend me the same courtesy,” Gareth said.

Gwen smiled, as she was sure he meant her to, but then sobered, looking over her shoulder at the men strewn along the road. “Nearly two dozen men, all dead, all put to the sword either in battle or once they lay stunned on the ground. All except Anarawd, who was killed with a knife.”

Gareth crouched low to the ground. “Here.” He brushed away a few fallen leaves to reveal a man’s footprints, clearly embedded in the soft earth. Further on were more footprints, and then more again.

“How many men in the party, do you think?” Gwen said, glad they could talk about something else, even if it was murder.

“More than enough to surprise Anarawd’s troop,” Gareth said. “Anarawd and his men stood little chance, taken unawares as it appears they were.” He eyed the road and the woods beyond. “The attackers waited here—probably here and in the trees opposite—for Anarawd’s company to ride past. King Anarawd and his men would have been unconcerned and unsuspecting of danger. They were well within the confines of King Owain’s territory and only an hour out of Dolwyddelan. They’d gone—what?— four miles at most?”

“Something like that.” Gwen and her family had ridden that distance at a walk, which was all the horse who drew the cart could manage most days. They’d left two hours after Anarawd and his men. That meant the ambush had occurred at least two hours before this moment and more likely three, which made sense since the bodies were still warm, but stiff. Unmolested, the company would have nearly reached Aber by now. Gwen pursed her lips as she studied the footprints. “You knew what to look for,” she said. “You’ve seen this type of thing before?”

“Ambushes are the easiest way to eliminate a rival,” Gareth said. “And like yours, my tenure with Hywel has been—” Gareth paused to glance up at Gwen, an actual smile hovering around his lips as he sought for the proper word, “—irregular.”

“My father told me that you’d hired yourself out to the highest bidder,” Gwen said. At the renewal of Gareth’s uncanny stillness, she kicked herself for not keeping that question to herself, but she
had
to know. “You fought as a mercenary.”

Gareth took in a breath that was almost a curse. Throughout their conversation, Gwen had found it difficult to look into his face because she was afraid of what she might see there, but now it was impossible. She scuffled at the fallen leaves and dirt that made up the floor of the forest. No glint of metal or other indication of men appeared, other than their trampling footprints.

“That’s true as far as it goes,” he said. “When I left Prince Cadwaladr’s service, I had nowhere to go. I was skilled with a sword and such men are always needed in Wales, with the Vikings, the Irish, and the ever-present English hemming us in on every side.”

“I wasn’t criticizing you.” Gwen’s voice went soft. “Just asking. How long have you worked for Hywel?”

“Almost four years,” he said. “Despite what your father might think, I’m good at what I do and those for whom I fought recognized it. Hywel was one of several lords who offered me a permanent place in their
teulu
.”

“You wear a fine ring,” Gwen said.

“A gift.” Gareth fisted the hand that wore it. “It was given to me along with my horse when I joined Hywel’s band. Prince Hywel’s brother, Rhun, knighted me six months ago after a skirmish with the Normans near Chester.”

Six months. He’s been a knight for six months, and yet …
Gwen shook herself and held her tongue. Five years was a long time to carry the memory of someone in your heart—someone you’d not seen and had no reason to think still loved you. It wasn’t surprising that he’d not bothered to find her.

The sharp twang of an untuned note carried through the heavy air. With his legs swinging nearly to the ground, Meilyr sat in the bed of the cart, holding a lyre. He could always find comfort with an instrument in his hands.

 “I would have brought more bowmen than the attackers did.” Gareth turned back to their task. “I find it odd they had so few. It seems shortsighted to me. It makes the success of an ambush less certain.”

“Maybe none of the men our murderer trusted were archers,” Gwen said.

“Yet he found enough men to do his dirty work,” Gareth said. “That sounds like a man with noble blood—with power and reach.”

“It doesn’t sound very noble to me,” Gwen said.

“You and I both know that many ignoble men inspire fierce loyalty in those who serve them,” Gareth said.

“Or fear.”

“Or the lord who ordered this made promises his men thought he could keep. Damn it.” Gareth spun on one heel to look back to the road. “We need answers
now
. Owain Gwynedd won’t want to wait until some lord’s men are curiously richer or rewarded more than their due. We will be bringing King Anarawd’s body to him at Aber
today
.”

Gwen’s heart turned cold at the memory of King Owain’s temper, and then even colder still as another thought struck her. “What if the man who ordered King Anarawd’s death
is
Owain Gwynedd?”

Chapter Four

T
hey were still arguing about it two hours later as they led their horses down the road towards Caerhun. Every man walked, while his horse had a dead man flung over it, even Meilyr’s borrowed horse, Gwen’s pony, and Gareth’s Braith. As Gareth had hoped, Gwalchmai had convinced the castellan at Dolwyddelan to help and had returned at the head of a half dozen carts, one of which now held Anarawd, lying in state. Gareth held his horse’s reins in his right hand and was sorely tempted to clasp Gwen’s hand in his left, but refrained, even though it would have assuaged some of the ache in his heart.

Too soon.

“Why would he have contracted with Anarawd for his own daughter if he was going to kill him before the wedding?” Gareth said, exasperated that Gwen was suspicious of the one person he was certain couldn’t have ordered the ambush. “His daughter doesn’t even inherit King Anarawd’s domains now.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose, clearly not wanting to admit he was right, but nodded her grudging acceptance. “All right. I can’t argue with that, though I submit he could have changed his mind. My question then is, if not King Owain, who? Who knew King Anarawd’s travel plans? Who benefits from Anarawd’s death, commands enough power to order it,
and
is secure enough in his own dominions to withstand King Owain’s displeasure when he eventually finds out? Because he will. You know he will.”

“Our culprit might not know King Owain as well as we do,” Gareth said. “He might not realize the extent of his determination and reach. Arrogance is not in short supply among our nobles.”

“I guess I have to grant you that too,” Gwen said, with a laugh.

“The first item, however, isn’t too hard to figure,” Gareth said. “Anarawd’s list of enemies was long. He’s fended off the English barons in Deheubarth for years, and in addition, while his Welsh rivals aren’t too many to count, they’re numerous. He controls rich farmland in the south, not to mention herds, mines, and trade routes.”

“It’s the other two characteristics that will narrow the possibilities,” Gwen said. “Who has the power and the reach? That’s why I suggested it could be King Owain.”

“For now, we must look beyond him.” Gareth glanced at Gwen. “And you mustn’t even hint of your suspicions to Prince Hywel.”

“Why ever not?” Gwen said. “He’s used to the machinations at court. If I don’t bring it up, he will. Given his position, and for his own survival, he has to suspect everyone, even his own father.”

“That may be true,” Gareth said. “It is certainly why he recruited you and who knows how many others to spy for him. But let him come to this on his own, if that’s what he’s going to think. It serves you not at all to impugn his father’s name.”

“I still don’t agree,” Gwen said. “He needs those of us he trusts to see the arrow flying towards him before it hits. If I tell him what I suspect, he’ll trust me later when it counts for more.”

Hywel was many things: reckless, brave, impractical, creative, imaginative, and intelligent. But also could be dreadfully irresponsible about other people’s thoughts and feelings. Except when it came to serving his father. To him fell the lot of the younger son, always passed over in favor of his elder brother Rhun—for attention, for honors—always trying to live up to the pre-set standard. And admittedly, Hywel didn’t often fail.

But he didn’t tug his father’s heartstrings like Rhun did and Hywel knew it. He’d always known it. Gareth didn’t know if it was because Hywel’s mother, whom King Owain had apparently loved, had died at his birth, or because he and his father were far too much alike. Both of Gareth’s parents had died from a wasting sickness when he was five years old, so what he knew about families he’d learned from watching others.

In addition, Hywel was Owain Gwynedd’s bastard second son. While the Welsh accounted a man legitimate if his father acknowledged him, the lords of Wales had a growing sense that the Welsh royal family must bow more and more to the dictates of the English Church. An illegitimate son might become king if no legitimate son was available, but King Owain had legitimate sons, with more, undoubtedly, in the works.

 “He already has younger brothers, as you know,” Gareth said. “But have you heard that they’ll be more still? King Owain woos again.”

Gwen nodded. “It’s no secret.”

“There are barriers to the match, however,” Gareth said.

“Because King Owain and Cristina are cousins?” Gwen said.

“Because she’s a witch.”

Gwen laughed and choked at the same time. “Don’t say that within King Owain’s hearing. He’d have your head.”

“All I know is that he has eyes only for her and he trails after her like a lost puppy.”

“Does she share his bed?” Gwen said.

If Gareth had underestimated the work Gwen had done for Hywel, that question put to rest to any uncertainties in that regard. Gwen was no longer the sixteen-year-old innocent he’d known and sought to marry. “Not yet—not until the contracts are signed is my guess, no matter how persuasive he can be.”

“Then all is not yet lost,” Gwen said. “He might change his mind.”

Gareth was opening his mouth to express his skepticism when Braith stopped in the middle of the road. The rest of Owain Gwynedd’s men filed around them, some of them smirking at Gareth’s stubborn horse as they passed. Gareth tugged on Braith’s reins, but the beast refused to budge. Rather than hanging her head as Gareth might have expected, given her unhappiness with her present burden, Braith lifted it and pricked her ears forward.

Gwen, who had walked a few paces on, came back to Gareth. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

They’d not yet left the mountains, though they’d descended some distance from the highest point on the path, which was a mile beyond the ambush site. The road led down from this point to the Conwy River valley. When the road had run through the old slate mines some distance back, it had been a good fifteen feet wide. A quarter of a mile ahead of them, however, it narrowed to accommodate the gorge through which the road ran, and was just wide enough for the carts to pass in single file, with a man walking beside.

Gareth moved his gaze to the hills on either side of the road. Braith wasn’t as temperamental a horse as some. Gareth had learned to listen to her. By now, he and Gwen had fallen twenty paces to the rear of the company. Those in front were nearing the narrow point in the road. From his journey south in the early hours of the morning, Gareth remembered that the path curved in on itself just ahead, following the creek on their right that flowed towards a fall.

“Madog!” Gareth shouted above the rush of the water and the sound of feet and horses’ hooves.

At the front of the line, just about to enter the narrow gap, Madog put up a hand and turned on a heel to look back at Gareth and Gwen. Owain Gwynedd’s forces, well acquainted with the chain of command, stopped immediately. Silence descended, with each man listening as hard as he could for anything amiss. The forest around them quieted too, which gave Gareth no comfort. It meant the animals and birds were on alert. Other than the occasional whicker of a horse in the middle of the company, the pounding in his own ears was all Gareth could hear.

“Gareth! Watch out!”

Gareth spun around, recognizing the voice but stunned that its owner could be here. Then, an eerie scream split the air, trailing off at the end as the crier caught his breath.

Madog shot out a hand. “Move!”

The entire company obeyed: every man pulled out his sword, crouched into a defensive posture, and turned to face outward, shields up.

They’d reacted just in time.

Arrows flew from the peaks on either side of the road, hurtling into the company. The rain of arrows didn’t last long but as soon as it stopped, men followed, flying into Owain Gwynedd’s men as if they themselves were shot from hidden bows. The trees on both sides of the road erupted and in a heartbeat, more enemy soldiers appeared between Gareth and his friends. With Gwen to protect, Gareth didn’t try to rejoin his company.

Thrusting out his arm, Gareth shoved the body off Braith, launched himself onto her back, and pulled Gwen up after him. From his vantage point, Gareth quickly surveyed the field and saw that, unlike Anarawd’s company, he and his companions outnumbered their attackers.

Sword in hand, Gareth hesitated, looking towards Meilyr, who twisted in his seat on the cart and waved his arm in a shooing motion, his face contorted. “Ride! Get her out of here!” Without waiting to see if Gareth obeyed, Meilyr launched himself from his seat into Gwalchmai who’d been walking beside the cart, and rolled with him into the ditch beside the road.