The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (5 page)

“Had to get Anarawd’s seal. Prove the king was dead.”

“Prove to whom, Bran! Who bought you—”

Silence.

Gwen reached over and closed Bran’s eyes while Gareth settled Bran onto the road. He put a hand to his forehead, with his elbow resting on his knee. He held that position, his throat working, though he didn’t make a sound. Gwen put a hand on his shoulder and Gareth reached back with his other hand to grasp it.

“Who was he?” she said.

“He was my milk brother. Though why—” Gareth swiveled to survey the men around his fallen brother.

“Why would he ride among Danes?” she said.

“I don’t know,” Gareth said. “The last news I had from him was that he rode in Anarawd’s
teulu
. I looked for him among the fallen earlier, thinking he might have died defending Anarawd, and was relieved to find him absent. But now…”

Gwen didn’t know what to say other than, “I’m sorry.”

Gareth got to his feet, his shoulders stiff and frozen. He stared at his brother’s body as if he would stand there forever. Then he gave a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Come. We’ve work to do.”

“Why would Bran have been with a Danish company if he rode with—”

“I don’t know, Gwen.” The words came out sharp and she knew instantly that it would be better not to ask what he didn’t want to answer. Not with the grief so near. And betrayal.

In silence, they labored among the dead and wounded. With the help of Madog’s surviving soldiers, they stripped the foreigners to their loincloths. Their own soldiers could use the armor and weapons and it gave Gwen and Gareth an opportunity to look for any indication of who had paid the mercenaries, if that was indeed what they were. Perhaps the King of Dublin himself wanted Anarawd dead, though Gwen couldn’t imagine why.

They found nothing useful, no seal or ring that a lord might give to an underling to provide him safe passage through Wales. A pair of boots appeared beside Gwen’s knee.

“It’s time to put the lyre on the roof.” Meilyr dropped her satchel of clothing beside the body of the man she’d searched most recently. “Here. It’s time to go.”

“I hate giving up,” Gwen said. “Owain Gwynedd will not be pleased.”

“Then he can come himself and search,” Meilyr said, uncharacteristically dismissing his lord’s concern. “It’s time we were going if we are to arrive at Caerhun before darkness falls.”

Gwen got to her feet and hefted the two satchels—one of clothing and the other of the much-depleted medicines. Madog needed their repaired cart to carry the dead and a soldier had calmed their horse enough to haul it. For the rest, they piled the weapons, bodies, and goods in the already heavily laden carts, and traveled the last miles to the Conwy River. Meilyr and Gwalchmai carried the box of precious instruments between them.

Madog spent the journey grilling Gareth and Gwen about King Anarawd’s death and everything they’d culled from the Danish soldiers. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much. Most of the loot would be divided among Madog’s company, with a tithe set aside for Owain Gwynedd. Gareth had acquired a short knife, which now rested at his waist.

“Take these.” He handed three coins to Gwen.

“I—I can’t,” she said, rejecting them out of hand, even though her eyes widened at the sight of them. Coins were rare in Wales and she’d never had any of her own.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Gareth said.

Gwen shook her head. “A man who is dead last held those coins. Perhaps the lord who ordered Anarawd’s death gave them to him. How can I take them for myself?”

Gareth tsked at her through his teeth but didn’t push them on her, and instead slipped them into his own scrip. “I’ll hold them for you until you need them.”

Gwen hadn’t banished the sick feeling in her stomach at the events of the day. “I can’t believe someone has plotted to murder a king.”

Gareth laughed under his breath. “What you can’t believe is that you witnessed it. Murdering one’s king is a well-established tradition in Wales and you know it.”

Of course Gareth was right. And if Gwen were smarter, she wouldn’t be the one to tell Owain Gwynedd about this particular murder. Unfortunately, leaving the task for Gareth alone was the coward’s way and that was a path Gwen refused to take.

It was another long walk before the fort of Caerhun rose before them, half-finished—or rather, half-falling down and patched here and there with wattle and daub or foraged stone. King Owain understood the importance of the old Roman fort. It guarded a centuries-old east-west road across Gwynedd. The Romans had built the fort and improved the road, but the Welsh themselves had passed this way for as long as they’d peopled these lands.

The English had sought to force the Conwy River many times over the years. While today King Owain’s domains were at peace and stretched all the way to the city of Chester on the border between England and Wales, that hadn’t always been the case. King Owain, and his father Gruffydd before him, had chosen to defend what amounted to the only useable ford on the Conwy River.

Gwen checked the sky as they turned into the entrance. The long summer dusk was upon them, giving them perhaps another two hours of light. They’d traveled all of ten miles the whole day—a few hours’ walk when things were going well. A pity they hadn’t. Particularly for Anarawd.

“How long before we must ride?” she asked Gareth.

“Give me an hour, two at most,” Gareth said. “Both Braith and your father’s horse need food, rest, and the comfort of a stall for a short time at least.”

Gwen nodded and turned towards the dining hall with some of the other men, looking forward to the opportunity to sit down. She bent at the waist, stretching her back. Her hair had come loose and she pushed it out of her face, and then looked up to find Gwalchmai planted in front of her.

“Father says you’re going on without us.”

“Yes,” Gwen said. A wave of soldiers swept around and past them and she wrinkled her nose at the press of humanity. Maybe she wasn’t hungry after all if she had to eat with all of them.

“I’m sorry about Father,” he said. “You know he doesn’t mean anything by what he says. Or doesn’t say.”

Gwen smiled at her brother. He was only an inch or two shorter than she was. By next year he’d top her and the year after that he’d be a man, according to Welsh law. “Thank you for trying to protect me, but there’s no need and you’ll only make Father angry.”

“It’s time someone stood up to him,” Gwalchmai said.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to do?” Gwen shook her head. “Leave that to me too. You have a great future ahead of you, from the moment you sing your first note in King Owain’s hall. And it’s Father who’s taught you everything he knows, who’s poured all of his love of music into you. There’s nothing there to feel sorry about or regret.”

A man brushed past her and Gwen started when she realized it was Gareth. He glanced back at her and winked before entering the hall.

“Are you sure?” Gwalchmai said.

Gwen’s heart swelled with love for her brother. If nothing had gone the way she’d wanted in her own life, at least she’d done the right thing by him. “I’m sure. As I told Father years ago, I’m ready to follow my own road.”

Chapter Six

G
areth and Gwen had ridden through the dark and now reached the highest point on the road that led across the high, windswept moors of Gwynedd from Caerhun to Aber. The standing stones of Bwlch y Ddeufaen stood stark in the moonlight, looming over them eight feet high on either side of the road that wended among the hills. Those stones had guarded the pass from all comers since before the Romans came. At least the fine weather continued, and they weren’t forced to ride these ten miles in the rain.

 “What did my father say about me traveling with you?” Gwen said.

“This and that,” Gareth said, having no intention of sharing anything about that conversation.

At first, all Gareth had done when he’d encountered Meilyr standing with his hands on his hips, blocking Gareth’s retreat from the dining hall, was hand him the few coins Madog had set aside for Gwen. Gareth hoped she’d accept them later, even if they made her uncomfortable now. Although he didn’t like Meilyr, the man was neither a wastrel nor a miser. He would save them for Gwen.

“Fine time for you to appear,” Meilyr had said. “You mind telling me what you’ve been up to all these years before I allow my daughter to go off with you?”

Gareth could read nothing in Meilyr’s face but his usual suspicion, so he ventured to reply. “You heard I was a mercenary?” Gareth asked the question even though he already knew the answer from his earlier conversation with Gwen.

Meilyr gave him a short nod.

“Those days are past,” Gareth said.

“Landed on your feet, then?” Meilyr’s voice remained casual, denying the intensity of his expression.

Gareth warred with himself as to whether or not to tell Meilyr the truth. If Meilyr was going to give his approval, Gareth preferred he gave it to him because he trusted him, instead of being blinded by an obsession with rank. Still, if he was to have any chance with Gwen, it was better if Meilyr heard it from him.

“I am a knight.”

 Meilyr grunted. “Are you now?”

“I understood it to be the requirement,” Gareth said.

“Left it a bit late.”

“Is she betrothed?” Gareth’s gut roiled. Gwen hadn’t said as much to him but she might not, given how awkward that conversation could become.

Meilyr laughed, but the sound came out more sour than humorous. “Could have been. Just last month I had someone asking for her. Wasn’t thinking of you, of course, but I couldn’t let her go to just anyone, especially not a spoiled child-man like him.”

Gareth’s heart settled a bit. He still had time. “With your permission, I’d like to speak of this further. For now, I’m afraid I’ve work to do.” He gestured towards the stables where Braith waited. “Aber isn’t getting any closer and King Owain won’t like to have been kept waiting.”

“Owain Gwynedd doesn’t like anything that he doesn’t control or foresee,” Meilyr said. “How did you end up under his wing?”

“I’m not under his, but Hywel’s,” Gareth said.

Meilyr grunted again, acknowledging the difference.

“Though it was King Owain’s eldest son, Rhun, who knighted me, and that raised my standing in the King’s eyes,” Gareth said.

“King Owain knows of your troubled history with his brother, Cadwaladr?”

“He knows,” Gareth said.

For the second time that day, he’d had a civil conversation with Meilyr. With that, Gareth hadn’t wanted to tempt his luck any further, not after the traumatic events of the day, and retreated to the stables.

“What did your father say to you?” Gareth said. “When you demanded to come with
me
, that is.” He smiled because he had no doubt that’s exactly what Gwen had done.

Gwen didn’t rise to the bait. “He accepted it, and since the kitchens at Caerhun would be there to prepare his breakfast in the morning, he could dispense with me. He didn’t want to give me his horse, necessarily, but in the end he gave way. What payment did you promise Madog to get him to loan my father a better one?”

 “Gwen—”

“Don’t try to deny it. I know how these things work.” Gwen matched him smile for smile, as if to indicate that she was comfortable with these kinds of machinations and her own perceived value. He wasn’t fooled.

“Your father loves you,” he said.

“Does he?” Gwen said. “Fathers are supposed to love their daughters, but … Would he miss me if he awoke one morning and I was gone forever?”

“He loves you enough not to give you to just anyone,” Gareth said, and then bit his tongue because of what that statement gave away.

Gwen glared at him. “He told you about Rhys?”

“Not his name,” Gareth said. “But the circumstances.”

“I’ve had enough of my father’s opinions,” she said. “Don’t make me dislike yours as well.”

“I know it’s been hard—”

Gwen cut him off. “I’ve not wasted all these years mourning your absence,” she said. “I’d hoped we’d have three children by now, and be living on a bit of land somewhere by the sea.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be. I can accept that we can’t always live the life we imagined.”

“I’ve paid for my choices, Gwen,” Gareth said. “I’d prefer not to have to keep paying.”

Gareth felt Gwen’s eyes on him, but didn’t know if he should say anything more as she didn’t. Cadwaladr had dismissed him the same day he’d intended to ask Meilyr for Gwen’s hand. She’d been only sixteen, he twenty-three and far more sure of himself than he should have been. Cadwaladr had been right to dismiss him, if outright disobedience was grounds for dismissal. But then, Cadwaladr’s insistence that Gareth cut off the hand of an eight year old boy who’d stolen a piglet had been one order too many for Gareth. Still, looking at Gwen now, it was hard not to have regrets.

The lights of Aber shone in the distance and they slowed. “It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” he said.

“Six years. I cried when we left.” Gwen paused, and then to Gareth’s surprise, added, “I was pleased to work for Hywel again because of those memories. But you can’t go back, not really, even if you follow the same road.”

Gareth swallowed. Was that comment meant for him? Was she telling him to walk away from her? “I do think Hywel missed you,” he said, instead of asking either of those questions. And then kicked himself again. What compelled him to mention Hywel’s name every third sentence?

“Did he?” she said. “He didn’t even seek me out to say goodbye.” Before Gareth could formulate a reply, they reached the walls and Gwen’s mouth fell open at what confronted them. “What are they doing to the castle?”

King Owain didn’t have the wherewithal to improve the defenses of all his holdings, but Aber was an important seat, his stronghold on the north coast of Gwynedd. He’d ordered the building of a stone wall around the fort, turning what had been little more than a large manor house nearly into a fortress. Many of the English bastions along the border between England and Wales were going up entirely in stone. It was dangerous not to keep up with the times, but the cost was exorbitant.