The Favored Son

by Sarah Woodbury

  “The issue with Henry was in the spring, though, and the earl didn’t die until a few weeks ago.” An expression of horror crossed Angharad’s face. “That’s a long time to be dying.”

  “He had a cruel bout of sickness in late winter, but shortly after our company arrived, he rallied.” Hamelin canted his head. “Perhaps it was simply because we arrived, or maybe because we had such a beautiful spring. Regardless, he seemed better for some months, regaining much of his former strength, but come autumn, he fell ill again. He fought it for weeks, but ultimately was forced to take to his bed, after which he lasted ten days, if that.”

  Gwen continued to study Hamelin with some concern. “What disease does that to a man?”

  Hamelin shrugged. “Nobody ever gave it a name. You should ask the castle healer.”

  Gwen’s lips pressed together in a tight line before she said what everyone else at the table was thinking. “I hate to say it, especially given our last investigation, but as we discussed this morning with Henry, what you describe could be the result of poison as easily as illness.”

  Dai groaned. “Don’t remind me!”

  “Good men are murdered to silence them,” Evan ticked off the items on his fingers as Gareth had done earlier, “to get them out of the way, out of jealousy, or by mistake.”

  “Which brings us back to Sir Aubrey. Was he a good man? Could he have been killed by mistake? We don’t know enough yet to say.” Gareth scowled. “And that means our task for tomorrow is to dig.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Llelo

  But it wasn’t to be—or at least not in the way his father had envisioned the night before. Llelo and Gareth were up early as usual, and they stood together on the porch, watching fat flakes of snow fall from the sky. Four inches were already on the ground. They could make out the stables opposite, but it was through a veil of white. Llelo had a momentary thought that he should go back to bed. This investigation was urgent, particularly to Prince Henry, but they had long hours of work ahead of them. Tackling their tasks while deprived of sleep would do none of them any good.

  “It won’t last,” Gareth said finally, with something like acceptance in his voice, “but we won’t be searching upriver for that boat or the body either.”

  “I could still go—”

  Gareth put out a hand to him. “We work through rain because if we didn’t, we’d never work, but snow—” he shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  On the heels of that comment, the door to the dormitory burst open and eight young novices came shouting and laughing into the courtyard. They scooped up the snow, smashing the flakes together to make snowballs to throw at one another. Their guardian, a monk no older than Gareth with a kindly face that was trying to look stern, followed, sputtering his protests at the cacophony. But even he laughed when a snowball splattered on his chest.

  English or Welsh, snow made children of them all.

  Gareth turned to Llelo with a smile. “It’s just as well. Your mother and the children can rest after our long journey. Gwen won’t like it, but she needs it. I am due at the castle for a day of conferencing with men I’d rather have nothing to do with.” He rolled his eyes.

  Llelo grinned. “Better you than me.”

  Gareth shook his forefinger at him. “One day this will be you, God willing.” He paused. “So I gather you don’t want to come with me?”

  “Evan is a better choice for that, surely—” Llelo broke off, suddenly realizing what he wanted to do.

  Gareth mock glared at him. “What are you thinking?”

  “Everybody talks about these tunnels underneath the castle. Perhaps Dai and I can see what they’re about.”

  Gareth guffawed. “Perhaps you can.” Then he sobered. “Be careful. The tunnels under Aber are straightforward, but from what I understand, these here are not. If they’re of any length at all, they will take you under the dry moat at the north entrance to the castle, and maybe under the rivers themselves. While the ditch is dry today, that close to the river, any tunnel could flood at any time. As at Newcastle-under-Lyme, some might be more like catacombs.”

  “I will be careful, Father.”

  Gareth made a rueful face. “It isn’t you I’m worried about.”

  “I will take care of Dai too.”

  Dai was already awake, seeing to the horses. He’d gone to bed right after their meeting the night before. They had three rooms in the guesthouse: one for the Dragons; a tiny cupboard for Evan and Angharad; and the largest room for Llelo’s family and servants.

  Instead of going to bed, Llelo had walked Hamelin most of the way back to the castle—not to protect him, but out of a sense of camaraderie. He wasn’t blind to the fact that they both had been lonely children, and he recognized the tendency in himself not only to want to please people, but to try to make sure they were happy. That trait perhaps wasn’t the most useful quality in an investigator of suspicious death, but in this instance, staying in tune with Hamelin might translate to good relations with his brother.

  The future King of England.

  It was strange to Llelo to know that he was rubbing shoulders with such powerful people. He’d come a long way from that friary at Newcastle-under-Lyme.

  So, leaving their father to his own preparations, Llelo collected Dai from the stables and headed out of the priory. Enough carts had passed on the road before them that the snow was packed down, and they followed the tracks, trying not to lose their footing on uneven stones they couldn’t see underneath the layer of white. They both wore waterproof leather boots, so neither was worried about cold feet, and Dai at times made a point to scuff his toes through the deepest parts of the accumulated snow.

  “Why isn’t the priory inside the city walls?” Dai asked as he stumped along beside Llelo. “You’d think the monks would want to be safe.” The wall that surrounded the castle had been extended to include the town, but it started at the northeast corner of the castle and looped around inside the Frome, leaving St. James’s Priory outside the city proper.

  “Did you hear what the monk who greeted us said? Earl Robert himself founded the priory, but as Benedictines, they wanted quiet and independence.”

  Dai’s shoulder’s hunched. “That’s what I want too. I like the bustle of a town, but I don’t like being in enclosed spaces I can’t get out of without passing an armed guard.”

  Llelo laughed. “You realize we’re about to enter a tunnel beneath the castle, right? It’s guarded on both ends—or should be.”

  “That’s different.”

  They’d arrived at the castle, so Llelo didn’t have a chance to mock his brother about how it really wasn’t any different. And maybe he didn’t need to tease him today—not until he was sure that Dai could handle the adventure upon which they were about to embark. They passed through the gatehouse with a wave to the guard, who nodded in recognition, and found Hamelin just inside the barbican, one shoulder propped against the wall, watching the snow fall.

  He straightened as Dai and Llelo approached. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

  “It’s only just past dawn,” Dai said, a little defensively.

  Llelo put out a hand to his brother and said in Welsh, “Never mind Hamelin. He’s jesting.” Then in French he said to his new friend, “We thought we’d have a look in the tunnels.”

  Hamelin’s expression turned curious. “Why?”

  “Because they’re tunnels,” Dai said, as if it were obvious, which to him it was.

  But Llelo chose to explain, even if it was a very much after-the-fact excuse to enter them: “Gruffydd went by the entrance yesterday when he was inquiring about Edith and was told she hadn’t been there. He was also told she hadn’t gone in or out of either main gate, and since she’s missing, someone isn’t telling the truth.”

  “So you think she left by the tunnels?” Hamelin looked dubious.

  Llelo shrugged. “We won’t know unless we take a look ourselves, not only at this end but at the other.�
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  Hamelin’s skepticism wavered. “The tunnel comes out in the middle of the town. If someone saw her—” He started walking towards the keep. “I suppose I ought to come with you, so you don’t get lost. The entrance to the tunnel is in the basement of one of the keep’s towers.”

  “I was hoping you would come.” Llelo pulled from his coat one of the sketches of Edith that Gareth had drawn. “We’ll show this around. Maybe it will jog someone’s memory.”

  Hamelin’s eyes widened when he saw the picture. “The whole time you were talking last night, I sat at the table not knowing who you were talking about. I didn’t think anything of it because the castle is full of servants, and I don’t know all their names.” He pointed to the sketch. “Her name isn’t Edith. It’s Rose.”

  Llelo looked down at the sketch and back to Hamelin. “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  Llelo found his eyes narrowing. “You know her?”

  Hamelin scoffed. “Not the way you’re thinking. She knew what she had and was aiming for a husband, not a romp in the hay. She is beautiful, though, isn’t she? I would have to be older than Sir Aubrey and blind not to see it.”

  “Did you ever see her with anyone we might be able to question?” Dai asked.

  Llelo grinned at his brother, impressed rather than resentful that he’d thought to ask that first.

  Hamelin rolled his eyes exactly like Gareth had done an hour earlier. “She flirted with every man in the castle—or at least every man of a station higher than hers.”

  “Would one of those men Bernard, be the valet who died?” Llelo asked hopefully.

  Hamelin pursed his lips. “No, oddly. Not him. But ... the captain of the guard, Harold, for certain. And—”

  “Sir Aubrey?” Dai prompted.

  “No. I was going to say Robert Fitzharding, though her interaction with him most recently was actually more of an argument.”

  They were still outside the keep, and Llelo stopped at the bottom of the steps, not wanting to carry on the conversation in the crowded hall. “How so?”

  “Late one night a few days ago, I overheard them talking inside the laundry drying shed. I’d been drinking with some of the guards at the gate between the two outer wards and was returning from the latrine when I heard the sound of someone getting his face slapped. I went to investigate, but arrived just as Rose left the building, followed almost immediately by Fitzharding. They went off in different directions.”

  “When was this?”

  Hamelin put his clasped hands to his lips as he thought. “Three or four days ago? Before you arrived. But, come to think on it, this was after you’d sent word you were a few days away.”

  “You have no problem consorting with the local men?” Llelo said. “And they with you?”

  “We amuse each other at times.” Hamelin snorted. “And recently the latrines in the castle have been unfit for use, even before Aubrey died. He was tearing his hair out about it. The ones in the outer ward are always fresh.”

  The three young men moved together up the stairs, perhaps a little more slowly than usual since the steps were slick with snow. A servant appeared to have swept them off not long ago, but the snow continued to fall thickly, making mockery of his work. Then they were through the door and into the anteroom. The main entrance to the keep faced northwest, in line with the gatehouse that allowed entrance to the city. This time, instead of moving to the right, towards the tower Llelo and Hamelin had gone up yesterday, they went left, to the northwestern tower of the keep.

  The stairs were positioned to the left of the entrance to the guardroom, circling around the inner wall of the tower. Hamelin went down the stairs, and they emptied into a second guardroom, something of a mirror to the one above, except this one contained no slits through which to shoot an arrow or crossbow bolt.

  Two torches blazed from sconces on either side of the room, which was fifteen feet across and also contained a table, benches, and a brazier from which hot coals were doing a credible job of warming the room. An open trap door took up the center of the floor, revealing a gaping hole four feet on a side. Steps led down to an iron-barred door.

  Two men lounged on separate benches placed against one wall, though both looked up as Hamelin entered the room and stood to see the prince’s brother. “My lord, how may we be of service?” one of them said with a bow.

  “We are going down the tunnel.” Hamelin wasn’t asking.

  “Yes, my lord.” The same guard plucked a ring with a single key on it from a nail on the wall and brought it to the trap door. “If you would follow me?” He led the way down the steps.

  Hamelin went first, and Llelo was content to let him do so. He was starting to think maybe he was with Dai, and enclosed spaces with only one way out weren’t really his favorite thing. Once down at the bottom of the flight of stairs, the guard unlocked the door and swung it open. Cool air bathed Llelo’s face.

  “You might want a torch, my lords, just in case!” Torch in hand, the second guard trotted down the steps and gave his torch to Llelo, who was closest.

  Thus, because he had the light, it became his job to lead the way. With no desire to be seen a coward by Hamelin or these English guards, Llelo entered the tunnel first. Thankfully, the space turned out not to be as cramped as he’d feared, as the ceiling arched a good three or four feet above his head and the tunnel’s width was at least that of a man. His torch wasn’t the only light, either, since torches shone out from sconces placed on the wall every twenty feet.

  Holding the torch in front of him, he made to march forward alone.

  But he’d gone only a few paces when the first guard appeared beside him, holding an unlit torch in his hand, which he kept down at his side. “Perhaps I may be of further assistance?”

  “We’d be grateful.” Llelo wasn’t one to dismiss guards or servants as beneath him. He hadn’t always been a knight’s son, having spent the first twelve years of his life as the son of a wool merchant. He hadn’t really looked at the guard until now, however, not because he was inferior but because Llelo had been just a bit nervous about this adventure. Now that the guard was beside him in the torchlight, he proved to be hardly older than Llelo himself, not yet twenty, with curly brown hair and brown eyes full of curiosity.

  “What’s your name?” Llelo asked, determined to follow through on his decision to be better about introductions.

  “Bob,” the man said.

  “You’re Saxon?” Llelo said, switching to English. ‘Bob’ was a Saxon nickname for ‘Robert’, one of the most common names in Christendom.

  Bob thumped his chest with his free hand. “Born and bred right here in Bristol, my lord.”

  Llelo was getting so used to being called my lord he almost didn’t even mark it. The tunnel had started to slope more steeply downward—on the map in Llelo’s head they were passing under the moat—and then rose again. At that point it split into two branches, one going off to the right and the other straight on.

  Bob stopped at the crossroads and spoke in French, since Hamelin didn’t speak English, “Is there some place in particular you wanted to go?”

  Hamelin looked to the right, down a tunnel that was completely dark. “Where does that lead?”

  “It dead ends at a cavern.” Bob shrugged. “We sometimes use it for storage.”

  “And the other?” Llelo asked.

  “It comes out near the market in the center of the town.”

  “Is it guarded too?” Dai said, speaking for the first time.

  Llelo felt bad that he hadn’t been paying attention to his brother. A close look at Dai’s face revealed it to be paler than usual, maybe even a little green around the edges, like Llelo had been yesterday, though for a different reason.

  “Of course.” Bob glanced around at the three companions. “Two men guard it as well. It is a favorite posting.”

  “Why is that?” Hamelin asked.

  Bob looked like he wished he could take back
what he’d said, but he answered anyway. “Less supervision. Sometimes one of the tavern girls brings beer.”

  Llelo was about to suggest that they go straight to the town, for Dai’s sake if for no other reason, but Dai tipped his head towards the right-hand tunnel. “Let’s see what’s in here. If nobody goes inside but rarely, it would be a good place to hide something, wouldn’t it? Maybe this is all about treasure!”

  Thankfully, Dai had spoken the final phrase in Welsh, so neither Hamelin nor Bob understood. They’d been sworn to secrecy about the discovery of Empress Maud’s lost treasure last summer. The last thing they wanted was to be responsible for word of its reappearance getting back to her son, and thus through him to Maud herself.

  “Treasure? How could it be about treasure?” Llelo said in the same language.

  Dai started walking. “Maybe Earl Robert’s servants were stealing from the castle. Sir Aubrey found out about it, and he killed them so he could have it for himself—no wait.” Dai faltered. “He’s dead too.”

  “It isn’t a bad thought.” Llelo was glad to distract his brother from how the tunnel was making him feel, and he didn’t look so much like he was going to vomit now. “It’s as good a motive for murder as any, as we well know—”

  They’d reached the end of the passage and arrived at the entryway to the natural rock cavern Bob had mentioned. Llelo’s torch was close to going out, but he held it higher, trying to eke from it the last of the light and illumine the walls more clearly. Bob hustled up and lit the torch he’d brought just before Llelo’s torch plunged them into darkness.

  This second torch flared, revealing a space twice the size of the tunnel behind them. It was filled with overturned barrels and empty crates. “See,” the guard said. “There’s nothing of interest.”

  Dai, being Dai, however, took nothing at face value, and wandered towards the back of the cavern where beer barrels had been congregated. Since empty ones would be exchanged for full ones at the castle dock, it was curious that any had ended up here, so Llelo asked the guard about them.