The Renegade Merchant (19 page)

“That’s why he tried to kill you, my lord,”
Evan said, “to get you out of the way.”

“Back in the room,” Cadifor said, “I said
that I thought Madog may have put something in our drink. I still
feel that’s true.”

“We drank from communal cups,” Gruffydd
said. “I made sure of it.”

“Were any of the men sitting beside you at
the table sleeping beside you in the barracks?” Cadifor said.

There came a hitch in Gruffydd’s step. “Come
to think on it, no.”

“Madog has enough men that he could afford
to let a few sleep out the night so that others who hadn’t been
affected could fight,” Cadifor said.

“So how did I survive?” Cadell said. “I
drank quite a bit.”

“I know you did, boy, despite my warning,”
Cadifor said. “Why do you think your wine was so watered? I swapped
out our carafe for one from another table.”

“I shared a cup with my aunt,” Hywel said,
“and when I was given my own when it came time to sing, I didn’t
touch it.”

“Luck,” Gruffydd growled.

“Good training,” Cadifor said.

“Except for me.” Cadell’s shoulders
hunched.

“Lesson learned then, son,” Cadifor
said.

“I have a further worrisome thought, my
lord,” Evan said. “Madog may have acted tonight on his own, but I
wouldn’t put it past him to be in league with Cadwaladr.”

“My aunt implied that might be true,” Hywel
said. “I will believe anything of Madog now.”

Their conversation, undertaken piecemeal and
in low tones, had carried them three-quarters of the way down the
mountain. Hywel glanced back, expecting a sign of pursuit and
seeing none, but he didn’t allow himself to breathe easier—and
wouldn’t—

until they were well away from Dinas
Bran.

Hywel had known that treachery was a
possibility before he’d brought his men up to Dinas Bran, though he
hadn’t truly believed that his uncle would violate the peace of his
own house. But if Madog was in any way allied with Cadwaladr, which
now that Hywel thought about it seemed more than likely, Hywel had
also underestimated the tenor and quality of his hatred—which,
along with the promise of a magnificent reward, could be the only
thing that would have made Madog risk open war with Gwynedd on the
chance that he could murder Hywel and get away with it.

Unless, as was sometimes the case with
Cadwaladr, he hadn’t seen it as a risk. The move against Hywel had
been both bold and calculating. But like many of Cadwaladr’s
schemes, Madog also had reached too far and hadn’t counted on the
betrayal of his own wife—or that Hywel would have surrounded
himself with men who slept with one eye open, if they slept at
all.

“Our deaths, coupled with Father’s grief
could provide an opening for Cadwaladr to return to Wales,” Cadell
said.

Hywel nodded, though they’d reached a
straight stretch and Cadell, walking second behind Cadifor,
couldn’t see him. The comment was, at first blush,
uncharacteristically insightful for Cadell. And yet, while Hywel’s
brother might be young, he’d grown up a prince of Wales. Even a man
with a sweet nature like Cadell learned intrigue by necessity, or
he didn’t survive.

Except for Rhun, who’d
risen above it. But Rhun had been the
edling,
and he’d had Hywel always at
his back, protecting him and allowing him to take the high road.
Now that Rhun was dead, Hywel could admit that when he was younger,
he’d sometimes resented their differing roles. His father’s
countenance and favor had been bestowed on Rhun. Hywel had been the
second son—loved, but not respected or adored in the same way as
Rhun. But as he’d grown older, he’d come to appreciate the way Rhun
protected
him
.
Hywel would give anything to have him back.

The thought of his brother had Hywel
stepping a bit faster down the trail. Surely they had to be near
the bottom by now.

In years to come, Hywel would retain very
little memory of their descent out of Dinas Bran beyond
overwhelming emotion: a fear of being followed, as images of
Madog’s men snapping at their heels like dogs at a boar consumed
him; an embarrassing and unexpected fear of heights that had his
heart pounding and his knees weakening almost more than the far
more real danger of discovery; and a raging anger at himself that
he’d led his men into danger and had been able to lead only half of
them out of it.

That rage, which they all shared, was
ultimately what kept them upright as their legs trembled from the
sharp descent and as the stew of emotions in their bellies left
them sick at heart. The fire in the stable must have spread to
other buildings, because it continued to blaze above them, sending
the smoke east with the wind that always blew on the top of the
mountain. And still, nobody followed them out the postern gate.

Hywel could only hope that his aunt was
discouraging anyone from looking for them there, and it would take
some time for Madog to realize that they’d gone and hadn’t died in
the rubble that was all that was left of the barracks.

A heart stopping hour later, they found
refuge in a stand of trees two miles east of the castle. The
decision to head east had been the result of cold calculation on
Hywel’s part. If Madog were to look anywhere for them, it should be
west back to Aber or north to Mold, not east into England.

“On to Shrewsbury, then?” Evan was taking in
big gulps of air.

They’d kept to the shadows, staying off the
road whenever possible. It had meant that they’d had to lead the
horses rather than ride them and risk the sound of hoof beats
echoing through the hollows and bluffs that surrounded them. That
could change now that they’d reached the plains of England.

“Where else?” Hywel said.

While neither he nor Cadell should be
wandering the roads and byways of England, and certainly not with
so few men to accompany them, nobody in England knew who they were
either. With his perfect French, thanks to years of lessons with
Meilyr and Gwen, Hywel could pass for a Norman if he tried. While
his companions looked and acted very Welsh, here in the March, a
Norman lord often had Welsh retainers.

“We’ve come this far. If Madog decides I was
telling the truth about where we were going, and that I would
continue on to Shrewsbury despite the loss of my men, he can’t
follow us there. Shrewsbury is in England, and his writ doesn’t
stretch that far.”

“If anything, we’ve picked up Cadwaladr’s
scent now even more than at Mold,” Gruffydd said, and there was a
fire in his eyes as he spoke.

“It’s also possible that what prompted Madog
to act tonight was the knowledge that you intended to ride to
Shrewsbury today,” Evan said. “It could be that Cadwaladr really is
there, and Madog knows it, or that Cadwaladr has been there
recently enough that if we go there we have the possibility of
tracking him.”

“It’s the closest we’ve been to Cadwaladr in
months,” Gruffydd said.

“It would be good to know if Cadwaladr has
allied with Madog before we make war on Powys,” Cadifor said.
“Cadwaladr has been banished from Gwynedd, but he still has support
in other regions of Wales, and many a lord would rather that a
weaker king sat on the throne of Gwynedd.”

Hywel glanced up towards where Dinas Bran
perched on its mountain. “Madog must have been so gleeful when he
learned that he had me in his lair. He’s probably been dreaming
since Rhun’s death of what he would do to me once he had me.”

“Kill you,” Gruffydd said dryly.

Hywel snorted laughter. “Indeed.”

Cadell spoke into the general amusement. “I
have bad news.” He’d been tending to his horse rather than
participating in the conversation, and now he straightened. “His
hock is bleeding.”

Cadifor tsked through his teeth and went to
look, squinting at the wound in the murky light. Dawn wasn’t far
off now, and they needed to be on their way before the sun rose.
“The wound isn’t deep, and he should be fine to walk, but Cadell
can’t ride him to Shrewsbury.”

Hywel sighed and ran a hand through his
hair, coming away with ash, which he shook off his hand with an
impatient flick. “One wonders if this isn’t a sign that I’m headed
in the wrong direction. Father needs to know of Madog’s
treachery.”

“He does, but who’s to say he will listen or
care,” Cadell said.

“Whether he does or not, my brothers and I
have a new war to prepare for,” Hywel said. “Even now, Madog could
be marshaling his forces to march against Gwynedd.”

Gruffydd went to the edge of the trees and
gazed out across the fields. A mist hovered just above the ground.
“I will see Cadell to Mold. He and I can ride two on my horse, with
the lame horse in tether. Our progress will be slow, but we could
make Mold by the end of the day. And then I will personally ride to
your father at Aber.” He came back to Hywel and spoke in an
undertone. “I want revenge against Cadwaladr as much as any man
here, but the most important thing is to get you away, and we may
all do better if we split up.”

Hywel offered Gruffydd his forearm, and he
grasped it. Perhaps all of them should return to Mold and forsake
this possibly fruitless quest. But while Gruffydd could make Mold
today, so too could Hywel make Shrewsbury. “If Cadwaladr is in the
vicinity, Gareth will know about it. By tomorrow evening, I could
have collected him and be riding home to Aber.”

Cadifor rubbed at his chin, nodding slowly
at first, and then with genuine enthusiasm. “By then, if Madog was
preparing to march on Gwynedd, all of Powys would know. We could
bring word of his plans and the disposition of his men to your
father, and thus do Gwynedd a great service.”

“You’ll have to travel through Powys the
entire way,” Gruffydd said. “That’s Madog’s territory.”

“We’ll have Gwen and the others with us,”
Hywel said. “Nobody will bother a family group, not if war in the
north is on their mind. But if it’s any comfort, we’ll ride through
England to Shrewsbury and lose all pursuit that way. Ranulf is off
away to Lincoln, along with most of his fighting men. We should
have free passage north and south.”

“It is true that in England, the roads are
flatter and more straight,” Gruffydd said, though his expression
was dubious—as if flat, straight roads were a mark against a
country. Both he and Cadifor shared the same healthy distrust for
all things not Welsh.

In the distance, a rider came out of the
mist, and by his shape and seat on his horse, Hywel had a sudden
thought that he was Gareth. But then he passed by without stopping
or seeing them, and Hywel knew him for a stranger.

No, Gareth was thirty miles away in
Shrewsbury. Hywel was going to have to manage this next stage with
just Evan and Cadifor. He could only pray that it would go better
than the last one. 

Gwen

G
areth had returned from his meeting with John and told Gwen
all about it—confirming that he and John would be visiting the
brothel the next day without her—and then she’d slept untroubled
for the whole of the night.

Even she thought her ability to sleep
despite having seen two dead bodies that day was unusual, but since
having Tangwen, sleeping through the night had been a rare gift.
She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity on other people’s
troubles over which she had no control.

The next morning, leaving Gareth to his
brothel and to question the entire town of Shrewsbury if that’s
what it took to discover someone who might recognize the girl or
tell him where Conall had got to, Gwen returned to Shrewsbury with
her father, Tangwen on her hip. Few spring days could have dawned
as brightly as this morning had, and even two murders and the
prospect of presenting herself before Adeline’s father couldn’t
tarnish Gwen’s good mood.

 Adeline’s father lived and worked on a
street Gwen hadn’t been to yet. But as Gareth had pointed out the
day before, Shrewsbury wasn’t so large that any place was very far
from anywhere else. Tom Weaver’s shop lay on the west side of the
town, among other merchants selling similar wares. As with the
alley, this was a relatively flat part of the town, near the river.
All the houses and shops along this stretch were on the level, and
thus had room at the back for warehouses or craft halls, and space
enough to keep chickens and horses.

As they approached Adeline’s father’s home,
Meilyr put a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “All will be well. He simply
wanted to meet you.”

Gwen took in a breath and nodded, glad she
had brought Tangwen with her. The girl could provide a good
distraction in case Tom became emotional. Or in case Gwen herself
did. She might have been accepting of the deaths of two people in
Shrewsbury, but Adeline had died in part because she looked like
Gwen. That wasn’t something she could sweep under the rushes and
ignore.

Meilyr rapped on the door, which opened
instantly.

“I saw you coming.” Tom, a large man, with
shoulders like a side of beef, stood in the doorway, his eyes on
Gwen as if she were a large cup of beer and he was parched.

She dipped into a brief curtsey. “Hello.”
Then she frowned as her gaze went to a fresh cut above his left
eye.

Tom noted where she was looking and put a
hand to it. “Even in my own house, I sometimes forget to duck my
head under the doorframe.”

Gwen smiled, and then Tom did too, instantly
breaking whatever ice that could have formed between them. Tom
stepped back, gesturing that they should enter his house. “Come
in.”

Gwen had spent much of her life in castles,
but she had her own little house on Anglesey too, and hers
resembled this one, with its main single room containing a long
table scrubbed smooth, a bench, and several mismatched chairs. A
loft above was reached by a ladder. A bed big enough for two sat in
a far corner, covered by a patchwork blanket, and in another corner
a curtain was pulled back to reveal an empty space behind it. It
occurred to Gwen that the private space might have been Adeline’s
before she died, and that Tom had rearranged his house to get rid
of her bed, but he had left the curtain as a reminder of what had
been.