Over the last few months, Hywel had come to realize that his vision of his own role in his father’s kingdom needed to evolve. The first step had been to recruit the Dragons, which in retrospect had been one of Gareth’s more brilliant ideas. The second was to promote Gareth from captain of his teulu to his distain, what the French called seneschal. At Christmastide, he would formally become Hywel’s right-hand man, the position that Lord Taran held in King Owain’s court.
In truth, Gareth had been playing that role for years. While Gwen knew her husband would be sorry to lose the camaraderie of Hywel’s fighting men, having entered his thirties, he was ready for greater challenges. And Gwen herself wouldn’t be sorry to see him spending less time thinking of war.
“Roger and Henry were educated together, though Roger himself is older than Henry,” Gwen added. “Twenty or thereabouts. So many of these men are quite young to be charged with so much. Doesn’t Henry have an older man in his household to advise him?”
“Not at this time. Earl Robert was the older man,” Gareth said. “You recall Henry mentioning his soldiers being paid wages by King Stephen so they could return to France after Henry’s ill-conceived invasion of Kent?”
Gwen nodded, some of the details bubbling to the surface of her mind.
Gareth made a dismissive gesture. “Never mind if you don’t. We were busy at the time. It happened just before we went to Shrewsbury, and Henry’s arrival was the reason the sheriff had been called away by Stephen. Neither Henry’s mother nor Earl Robert condoned his action. Stephen gave Henry the choice of returning to France with his men, his tail between his legs, or traveling to lands controlled by his mother’s faction under safe conduct from Stephen.”
“I remember now. He chose to remain in England.”
“The caveat was that he was allowed only his household guards and a small number of supporters, Hamelin and Roger among them. The rest went home to France, presumably charged with explaining to Henry’s father what he’d done.”
That prompted a laugh from Gruffydd. “Undoubtedly Henry stayed away in hopes his father’s wrath would have been spent by the time he returned. Bad enough to face his mother unshielded.”
“And now Earl Robert is dead.” Gwen sighed.
Gruffydd grunted. “A bad business. Is it your thought he was murdered?”
“It’s too early to say,” Gwen said.
“Still, one accident on top of the earl’s death I could accept, but three?” Gareth shook his head. “Henry may not be right about his uncle, but how can I not think there’s been murder done at Bristol?” He related to Gruffydd the little they knew, particularly the mason’s conclusions.
Gruffydd put his heels together and gave Gareth a bow. “Consider me mortared to your side.”
Gareth groaned at the jest. But while Gruffydd’s response was playful, it was also very serious, and he didn’t argue. Gwen herself patted Gruffydd on the arm. “Don’t mind him. Prince Hywel knew what he was doing when he sent you here. None of us have any interest in risking our own lives, especially not in a Norman castle so far from home, over a cause which, no matter how grave, has nothing to do with us.”
A tall, slender, thin-faced young man entered the outer ward from the inner gatehouse and stopped, looking around as if searching for someone. It was the aforementioned Roger. At the sight of him, both Gareth and Gruffydd lifted a hand. Roger immediately hastened towards them, followed by five men-at-arms. Gwen was starting to think that Gareth would be wise to wear a bell around his neck, to make the finding of him easier. This castle was so huge that it would be hard to know the whereabouts of any one person, especially if that person didn’t want to be found.
Roger stopped in front of them while his five companions remained a respectful three paces away. “My cousin requests your presence in his chamber.” He paused, his eyes on Gruffydd. “Of course, any of your Dragons would be welcome to join us.”
Gruffydd bowed, but after Roger turned away and set off towards the keep, assuming they’d follow, he said in an undertone to Gareth, “Why would he want to see us?”
“You are renowned throughout England now, didn’t you know?” Gareth laughed and clapped Gruffydd on the shoulder. “It is the Dragons who are Henry’s heroes. Sad to say, I have been usurped.”
Chapter Six
Llelo
Gareth had discussed with Llelo the times he’d had to enter an English domain during the course of an investigation. He’d gone to Chester years ago and met the Norman, Amaury, who turned out to be a villain at Newscastle-under-Lyme, where Gareth had rescued Dai and Llelo from the English friary. Gareth had worked with Saxons most recently in Shrewsbury, though Llelo hadn’t been there that time. By traveling with his parents to Bristol, Llelo had expected to meet many Normans, but he was still surprised to find himself accompanied on the first day by a foreigner—who as it turned out wasn’t even a Norman. Hamelin had been born in Anjou.
He was equally surprised by how accepting of it all he was, in large part because Hamelin was treating him with the respect he deserved as a man, but he was quite certain he didn’t deserve as an investigator. Still, it seemed better to Llelo to brazen out whatever insecurities were voicing themselves in the back of his mind rather than tell Hamelin that he’d been on his own during an investigation exactly once before. Llelo had comported himself well at the time, but it wasn’t as if he had a wealth of experience to draw upon today.
He had more than Hamelin, however, and perhaps that was all that was needed. Anyway, both men were gaining experience by the hour, and their first encounter with a soldier, whom they met coming out of one of the towers opposite the one Gwen had gone into, immediately showed the benefit of having Hamelin with him.
At their approach, the soldier halted and bowed his head, “My lord.” He wasn’t referring to Llelo.
“We have questions to ask you. What is your name?” Hamelin said in French. Now that he thought about it, Llelo realized he’d heard only French spoken since he’d arrived. It seemed to be a requirement for living at Bristol Castle, and Llelo was a little irritated that all his efforts this last year to improve his English might have been for nothing. The French, however, was proving to be very useful indeed.
The soldier replied in the same language, “Thomas, my lord. Please ask anything. It is my wish to serve.” His eyes flicked questioningly to Llelo.
Hamelin saw the motion and responded to it. “This is Llelo, son of Gareth, who has traveled to Bristol at the behest of the prince, my brother. Llelo himself was meeting with Prince Henry when Sir Aubrey was struck down. You will answer every question he puts to you.” Amazingly, and to Hamelin’s credit, he didn’t butcher the pronunciation of Llelo’s name as badly as every other foreigner Llelo had ever encountered.
His Adam’s apple bobbing, Thomas faced Llelo fully, implying with his wide-eyed questioning look that Llelo could ask him anything, and he would answer truthfully.
Llelo himself swallowed to see it, feeling the pressure now, but this was the task he’d been set, so he squared his shoulders and asked his first question. “Where were you when the stone fell on Sir Aubrey?”
“In the central guardroom, my lord.” Thomas answered without hesitation and pointed across to the gatehouse that allowed access to the inner ward. “I was at the morning meeting.”
“What was this morning meeting about? Who called it?”
“Our captain. We have it every morning.”
“Wait a moment.” Llelo couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying that the captain of the castle’s garrison holds a meeting of the guards every day at exactly the same time Sir Aubrey died?”
“I suppose so, when you put it that way. When the tower bell at St. James’s Priory tolls for Terce, it is echoed here at the inner gate, and we are to come to the guardroom. When Sir Aubrey died, the meeting was almost over.”
Terce was the monks’ mid-morning prayer. Bristol contained at least six monastic houses that Lle
lo knew of, plus several lay churches and the castle chapel in the far outer ward, so Llelo had heard bells tolling all morning. They’d sounded during his parents’ conference with Prince Henry, but he’d thought nothing of it, since the sound of bells was a constant backdrop to life in any town. He’d experienced it first-hand at Newcastle-under-Lyme.
Hamelin’s expression had also turned to one of dismay. “How many of your fellow guardsmen were there?”
“All of them, my lord.” Thomas hesitated. “Well, all but the few needed to maintain the security of the main gates and the outer curtain wall.”
Llelo bit his lip, giving himself time before speaking so he wouldn’t come across as accusing. “So, if I am to understand correctly, when Sir Aubrey died, every man on duty who wasn’t standing over one of the two main gatehouses was in the central guardroom?”
He didn’t want to alienate Thomas, but he was having trouble encompassing what he’d just said. Llelo understood the need to meet with the men together every day. Every captain had to set out the daily duty roster, and it was much more efficient to call everyone together and speak to them at the same time. But at Denbigh, where Llelo had trained most recently, the new shift came on before the old shift was over, and that meant the meeting could take place while the current shift was still active. It meant the towers and walls were always manned.
For the security of Bristol Castle, Llelo couldn’t imagine a worse scenario. He was shocked that any castle, never mind one in the middle of a war, would implement such a system—though in regards to his need to question everyone at Bristol, it essentially eliminated the majority of the garrison, since its members had been together in the same room when Sir Aubrey had died.
Despite Llelo’s efforts, and even with French as Llelo’s second language, the guard heard the criticism in his voice. Probably it would have been impossible for him to miss the horror on Hamelin’s and Llelo’s faces anyway. So now Thomas said, somewhat combatively, “Men remained on the outer walls! What do you take us for here?”
Fools was what Llelo was thinking, but of course he couldn’t say it. Instead, he said, “How long did the meeting last?”
“A quarter of an hour, no more. It was just long enough for everyone to get their assignments for the day.”
Llelo took in a breath, rearranging his expression so as not to rile the man further. This was not a good beginning, and he was sure his father wouldn’t have allowed his emotions to show. “That your commander requires this of you is completely understandable, and certainly whatever arrangements are made for the rotation of duty at the castle are not within your purview.” Llelo bent his head slightly, and at his understated apology, the soldier looked slightly mollified. “May I ask if you noticed anything unusual in the moments leading up to your departure for the meeting?”
Thomas pursed his lips. “No.”
Llelo couldn’t tell if the guard was being difficult on purpose, so he tried again. “Where was your post?”
Thomas tipped his head. “Right here.”
Llelo and Hamelin had come to the right person. “Is this your usual posting?”
“Oh no. We rotate duty every day, and often every few hours so that no man becomes bored and complacent.”
That sounded like good management, so perhaps the captain knew what he was doing—at least in this. “Do you remember who, if anyone, was about?”
Thomas didn’t even have to think. “In the moments before the bell rang, I saw Earl Robert’s widow, Lord Roger, Robert Fitzharding, John the ewerer, several kitchen helpers, and three servant girls carrying laundry to the washing room.” He shrugged. “I don’t see how that helps.”
The castle was a busy place. Llelo had noticed that as they’d been talking on the wall, at least twenty people had passed by the spot where Sir Aubrey had died—morbid curiosity, perhaps, or simply because it was on the way to wherever they were going.
“Was there anybody on the rampart of the keep?” Hamelin said.
Now Thomas shook his head regretfully, to all appearances having forgiven them both for their earlier criticism.
“Did you see Sir Aubrey?” Llelo said.
“He always came late for the meeting, and nobody expected him sooner.”
Llelo tried very hard not to stare at Thomas, even as he was grateful for the unprompted bit of information. “Sir Aubrey was meant to attend the meeting?”
“Yes, of course. That’s why he was crossing the courtyard, but as I said, he’s always late. On purpose, I think, to give the captain a chance to settle us.”
“Why did he attend at all?” Hamelin said.
“He was the steward,” Thomas said, as if it were obvious.
Patience filled Hamelin’s voice. “I understand that he was the steward, but I would have thought he had more pressing duties at that hour of the day.”
The guard shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that. Didn’t he need to know what was going on with every aspect of the castle?”
“Of course,” Llelo said, again attempting to be reassuring. “Did he usually speak to you?”
“Almost never. Mostly he poked in his head at the end and conferred with the captain after we left.” Thomas made a motion with his head to imply he wanted to modify his earlier comment. “It was in some of our minds that he was checking up on the captain more than us.” He stopped, pressing his lips tightly together as if he’d said too much and now regretted his frankness.
“Why would you think that?” Llelo said.
Thomas took in a deep breath through his nose. “I shouldn’t say.”
Few comments could have done more to pique Llelo’s interest.
Hamelin too leaned in. “Now you have spoken of it, you have to tell us.”
Thomas chewed on his lower lip, his eyes moving uncertainly from Hamelin to Llelo and back again.
Llelo spoke gently. “Sir Aubrey is dead. Whatever you have to say can’t hurt him now.”
“It isn’t him it’ll hurt.”
Llelo canted his head. “Your captain?”
Thomas turned away for a moment. Llelo had no idea what he would do if the soldier actually walked off, but then he turned back. Bastard or not, Hamelin was a high-ranking lord and could not be snubbed, no matter how unwanted these questions. For a moment, Thomas glowered. “If you speak of this to anyone, it didn’t come from me, my lords. Please.”
“We promise.” Hamelin nodded vigorously. Llelo decided it was too late to mention that he wasn’t a lord himself.
“The captain went through a spell this past year where he didn’t ... wake early.”
Llelo narrowed his eyes. “He was late for duty?”
“Some days he never came in at all.” Thomas cleared his throat. “He would be well into his cups before the noon meal. But these past months he’s been better!”
Llelo and Hamelin had the exact same response to the guard’s confidences, which was to ease back and make something of a dismissive gesture. A soldier who drank his way through the day—and night—was nothing new. What was different was that he’d brought himself back from the brink of ruin.
“So the purpose of the meetings—and Sir Aubrey’s attendance at them—was more for your captain’s sake than yours?” Llelo said.
“We needed our orders, of course, but Earl Robert insisted the captain be given a chance to make amends, and he has done so. All the men respect him,” Thomas concluded staunchly.
Earl Robert had been at the end of his life and had perhaps had felt the need for forgiveness and absolution himself. Llelo was fifteen—not even a man yet by English standards—but he’d seen death. He’d also lived in a monastery. Men behaved differently when they knew they were about to be facing God himself in person.
“Can you tell us anything else about this morning—anything at all that might help us discover why Sir Aubrey died?”
The guard frowned and did appear to be trying to think. “No.”
Llelo tipped his head. “Thank you fo
r your cooperation. If you could direct us to where your captain might be at this hour, we will let you go about your duties.”
“Of course, my lords.” The guard’s expression had cleared. Gone was his outrage and fear, replaced by straightforwardness, without obsequiousness or uncertainty. By Llelo’s reckoning, Thomas should feel satisfied: he’d told the truth as he knew it, and nobody was going to punish him for it. “He should be in his office next to the guardroom in the gatehouse to the inner ward. As I said, that’s where we meet each day.”
Hamelin dismissed Thomas, and as they watched the guard pace along the wall-walk away from them, Hamelin said, “That puts vinegar in the beer, doesn’t it?”
Llelo had never heard that expression before, and he despised the taste of beer—but he could imagine that vinegar would do nothing to improve it. “The entire guard of this castle was gathered in one place for a quarter of an hour, barring a few on the outer walls. This is something everyone in the castle had to know, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t.” Hamelin grunted. “I suppose I’ve noticed on and off since we’ve been here that fewer guards patrolled the walls for a brief time every morning, but I didn’t think anything of it. It has never mattered before.”
“When he told us of it, my first thought was dismay, and my second was ridicule,” Llelo said, “but as I look at the walls and the fortifications, I can see why the steward thought no harm could come from it. The purpose of the castle garrison is to guard the castle, not to watch the residents and inform on their misdeeds.”
“This arrangement seems to have been in place for some time, and it has never been a problem until now,” Hamelin said.
Llelo gave a snort. “That’s always the difficulty with guard duty, though, isn’t it? Days and weeks and months of nothing. Years even, but you must be ever vigilant because that one time it will make all the difference.”
Hamelin eyed him. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
“I have been on guard duty, yes.”
The Favored Son Page 6
