The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (31 page)

Hywel gazed at her intently. “Do not forget that it was Cadwaladr who sent the Danes to murder Anarawd, not I. That they did not succeed does not absolve him of his crimes.”

Gwen studied Hywel’s face. She wanted to believe him. She’d served him because she believed what he’d told her. But now … something still didn’t add up.

“Tell me the real reason you killed Anarawd,” she said. “There’s something more; something you haven’t said. Was it personal gain? Your father has given you Ceredigion.”

“Again, you think so little of me?”

“Is this really about Anarawd?” Gwen said. “Or about Cadwaladr?”

“It’s always been about Anarawd.”

“What grudge did you hold against him?”

A long silence followed through which Hywel held his expression, and then his eyes darkened. “Cowardice isn’t enough?” He gave her a small smile. “No. For you, it’s only the truth that is enough, isn’t it?” He walked back to his desk and sat heavily in his chair. He picked up his pen and then dropped it.

“Six years ago, I fought beside my father in Deheubarth in the rebellion that put Anarawd on the throne. Even all these years later, the brutality of that war haunts me.” He paused, seeming to search for the words. “Anarawd’s father was old, but not to death, not like my grandfather who was blind and could no longer travel. The King of Deheubarth’s sword arm was still strong. But in the midst of some heavy fighting along the Teifi River—the last battle we fought that turned into a victorious rout for us—Anarawd came upon his father from behind and murdered him.”

Gwen blinked. “Just like that? And you a witness?”

The rueful smile was back. “The whole truth, eh? It was the last of the fighting but my first real experience in war. I was puking my guts out behind a tree—dry heaving by then—when Anarawd’s father came to rest some ten paces from me. He put a hand on a tree, holding his heart and breathing hard. We were fifty yards from the fighting—not exactly safe, but out of it. Anarawd came up to his father, all solicitous, and then stabbed him through the heart.”

“As you did Anarawd.”

“Yes,” Hywel said. “I call it justice.”

“Why didn’t you tell your father?” Gwen said. “He would have listened to you.”

“Would he?” Hywel said. “You know my father. The alliance with Deheubarth was well-established by then; Anarawd was in his confidence and when he brought the body of his father into the hall and laid him in state upon the table, tears pouring down his cheeks at what the Normans had done, how could I stand then and gainsay him?”

“But in private…”

“It was done,” Hywel said. “More of my ancestors than I can count took the throne by patricide. Some say that my own father killed his brother, the
elding
, in battle in much the same way.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“Don’t you,” Hywel said. “Why don’t you? You’ve seen my father’s temper.”

“Do you believe it?” Gwen said.

Hywel shook his head, more in resignation than because he was saying no. “I don’t believe it, but the rumors were rife ten years ago when my uncle died in battle; I couldn’t stir them up again.” He paused. “And then there was my sister. I couldn’t stand by and see her hurt. It was my last chance to protect her.”

Gwen met Hywel’s eyes and neither looked away.

“I saw an opportunity and I took it. It was impulse, but still, I cannot regret my decision.”

They sat together, silent, Hywel genuinely relaxed in Gwen’s company, for perhaps the first time since he was ten. He had no false front to keep her from seeing him as he really was, no mask to wear. Instead, his face revealed resignation, and perhaps acceptance of who he was and the role he played in his father’s world. For it
was
Owain Gwynedd’s world, and Hywel was, and perhaps would always be, the son who did his father’s bidding.

Hywel cleared his throat and when he spoke next, his voice came so softly, she almost couldn’t hear him. “When Cadwaladr claimed you bore my child, I told Gareth that I had never taken you to my bed.”

Gwen gazed at him, waiting. These words meant something to him. She could hear it in his voice.

“Do you know why?” he said.

“I’ve wondered why,” she said. “I loved you when we were children, and there were times I would have come willingly since my father left your father’s service. But you never asked.”

Hywel looked up from fingering the documents on his desk and met her eyes. “It is not in my nature to be faithful, Gwen. I loved you too much to hurt you.”

Gwen swallowed. As she’d suspected.
The truth.

“I leave tomorrow for Ceredigion. Do I have your blessing? Are you still with me?”

Gwen met his gaze. “I’m still with you, Hywel.” She stood. “I wish you the best.” She was at the door a heartbeat later, for the first time ever without asking permission or looking back.

But before she’d gone two more steps, Hywel’s parting words reached her. “As I do you, Gwen. As I do you.”

The End

Historical Background

The events related in
The Good Knight
are, amazingly enough, based on historical fact. The premise of the book, the murder of King Anarawd of Deheubarth, did take place at the behest of Owain Gwynedd’s brother, Cadwaladr. Prince Hywel was tasked with rousting his uncle out of Ceredigion, and did burn his uncle’s castle to the ground. Cadwaladr had retreated to Ireland and returned to Wales at the head of an army of Danish mercenaries to the extreme displeasure of his brother. This was only one of the first of many betrayals by Cadwaladr. Owain Gwynedd did accept his brother back into his favor, after he paid the Danes what he owed them.

Many of the other characters in
The Good Knight
are historical figures as well, including Cristina, Rhun, Gwalchmai, and Meilyr. The fiction comes from all that we don’t know about the events that transpired, whether because nobody wrote them down, or because any such documents were destroyed in the intervening years. There is a story that one of the more recent owners of Castle Aber found a collection of papers stashed in a wall cavity in the old part of the castle—and burned them because they were in Latin and she couldn’t read them.

Owain Gwynedd was born sometime before 1100 AD, the second son of Gruffydd ap Cynan. Owain ruled from 1137 to 1170 AD. His rule was marked by peace initially, at least with England, as Owain took advantage of the strife between King Stephen and Empress Maud for the English throne to consolidate his power in Wales. That conflict lasted for nineteen years, finally resolving in rule by Stephen but with the inheritance of the throne upon his death by Maud’s son, Henry.

Owain had many wives and lovers. His first wife, Gwladys, was the daughter of Llywarch ap Trahaearn; his second was Cristina, his cousin, to whom he remained constant despite the active disapproval of the Church (which opposed what they viewed as consanguine relationships). Owain Gwynedd had many sons and daughters. The eldest two, from his first relationship with Pyfog of Ireland, were Rhun and Hywel, as related in
The Good Knight.
They were both illegitimate children, but according to Welsh law at that time, that was no obstacle to their nobility or their inheritance, provided their father acknowledged them, which King Owain did.

For Hywel’s part, he was a genuine warrior-poet. He and Gwalchmai, who became chief bard to King Owain Gwynedd’s court, are revered as two of the foremost Welsh poets of the twelfth century.

Thank you for purchasing
The Good Knight
, the first of the Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mysteries
.
Other books in the series include a prequel novella,
The Bard’s Daughter
, and two novels:
The Uninvited Guest
and
The Fourth Horseman
. If you would like to be notified when Sarah has a new release, please see her web page:
www.sarahwoodbury.com

Or read an excerpt from the second Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery,
The Uninvited Guest:

Sample: The Uninvited Guest

Chapter One

November, 1143 AD

G
wen’s pulse beat so loudly in her ears, the sound drowned out the rumble of voices in the hall.
He was here! And he still loved her!
All day, she’d been thinking of Gareth, unable to contain her wish to see him, to talk to him. And she’d been terrified of it too. What if he didn’t have feelings for her anymore? What if he’d found a good woman in Ceredigion? When she’d stood on the top step to the courtyard and he hadn’t even
seen
her, her heart had fallen into her shoes.

But she’d swallowed her pride and gone to him and was glad she had. It would have been terrible for her to have turned away with hurt feelings. Better to let him know up front that she still loved him and see if he would respond, than to sulk in silence, punishing him for something he hadn’t known he’d done. Admittedly, from her observations, Cristina, King Owain’s betrothed, treated King Owain like that with some frequency and it hadn’t driven him away. But that wasn’t Gwen’s way.

She’d been hoping to see Gareth sooner. Days sooner. She’d paced the battlements looking for Prince Hywel’s company every free moment, until yesterday when her father had yelled at her to come in out of the rain. She’d half-given up on Gareth ever returning to Aber Castle. What if he’d died in the fighting in the south? She might not have heard the news for months. In some of her less sane moments, she’d convinced herself that Prince Hywel wasn’t going to come to his father’s wedding, and if he did come, he’d leave Gareth behind in Ceredigion.

For Gwen realized that Hywel might think she and Gareth together could present a threat to him. Hywel had to know that Gwen would speak to Gareth of last summer. Gwen didn’t know what Gareth would do when she told him that it had been Hywel who had murdered King Anarawd, not Prince Cadwaladr, King Owain’s younger brother, for all that Cadwaladr had wanted the deed done. Gwen had hoped that by now Hywel would have told Gareth about it himself, but when she’d brought up the events of last summer in the courtyard just now, Gareth had given no indication that he knew the truth.

“He’s back!” Gwen stopped next to her younger brother, Gwalchmai, who crouched beside their trunk of instruments with his friend, Iorwerth, one of King Owain’s many young sons.

“Who’s—” Gwalchmai looked up at her and at the expression on her face, didn’t finish his question. “It’s about time he came home. He’s left you here alone far too long.”

“It’s not his fault,” Gwen said. “Prince Hywel needed him in the south.”

“And how long before he returns to Ceredigion?”

Gwen shook her head. “Gareth’s not going without me, not this time.”

Gwalchmai turned back to Iorwerth, mumbling something under his breath about their father and Hywel having a say in that. But if Gwen and Gareth were married, her father, at least, wouldn’t have a say in her life anymore. Gwen practically skipped to the top of the hall where the high table lay.

Already on the dais, Hywel clasped hands with his brother, Rhun. Hywel’s black hair, deep blue eyes, and broad shoulders drew the eyes of every woman in the room to him—and had done so for as long as Gwen had known him. His charms no longer worked on her, however, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. She forced herself to relax. What was done was done. She’d made her choice, as had Hywel. It would do her no good to think too hard about it.

Hywel kissed Cristina on the cheek, and settled himself two seats from his father, whose chair stood in the center spot at the table. Prince Cadwaladr occupied the last chair on one end, as far from Hywel as he could get, and didn’t even look up. As Prince Hywel often reminded her, families were complicated.

Gwen found a place against the back wall, behind and to the right of King Owain, which meant she was directly behind Rhun and just to the left of Hywel. The kitchen door was a few paces to her left. Owain Gwynedd kicked out his chair and stood in front of it, effectively blocking her view of half the hall and forcing her to peer around his bulk.

Next to the king on his left, Cristina’s father, Lord Goronwy, twisted in his seat to look up at the king, while still holding tightly to his daughter’s hand. For all that Cristina had lived at Aber for the last six months, it wouldn’t have been proper for her to sit next to Owain at a formal dinner until after their marriage.

Owain remained standing, waiting for the hall to settle. It didn’t take long for neighbor to nudge neighbor into silence. At least two hundred people filled the cavernous space, squashed cheek by jowl at the tables. Gwen watched the people who faced King Owain (all she could see of the king was his back). They represented every sector of Gwynedd, high and low: men in mail, leather, or padded cloth armor, or no armor at all, women in fine wool dresses, others in thick homespun, maids with long hair down their back, and old grannies with wispy curls.