The Favored Son

by Sarah Woodbury

  The dark-haired man shrugged. “To speak to. Not to drink with except in passing.”

  The blond man’s brows drew together. “He and I shared a few flagons just the other day at a tavern in town. He bought them.”

  His friend glared at him. “Where would he get the money for that? He’s paid the same as we are.”

  The blond man shrugged again. “He didn’t say, but it wasn’t just me he bought for.”

  “Thank you,” Gareth said. “If you think of anything else, please come find me.”

  “Yes, my lord.” They both bowed.

  Gareth watched them go. Then he called to Llelo. “Where’s Hamelin?”

  “He felt he needed to attend to Prince Henry before returning to us.”

  Gareth had been walking back to the keep from the latrine in the outer ward when he’d run into Llelo, who’d already sent Dai back to the priory. His son had told him of the body immediately, so Gareth hadn’t returned to the conference nor disturbed it with the news of Aelfric’s death. That was to have been Hamelin’s job, and he’d been gone now for over an hour.

  Gareth checked the sky, trying to determine the time of day. Then a bell tolled in the distance.

  “Midday,” Llelo said from inside the room.

  Gareth gestured to the satchel. “Have you found anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Leave it for now, then. We have another task.”

  Llelo moved with alacrity, arriving nearly instantly in the doorway. “We do?”

  “Did you ever walk to the end of the tunnel?”

  “No, sir. We found the body first.”

  “Is that end guarded too?”

  Llelo paused. “Yes.”

  “Good,” Gareth said. “We have more questions to ask.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Llelo

  “How many people did you say came through the tunnel yesterday afternoon?” Llelo was unable to keep the tone of surprise from his voice.

  They were in a stone building built over the top of the tunnel entrance. Given that the town had guarded walls as well, for an enemy to reach the tunnel would have required significant effort—and couldn’t have been done in numbers anyway. Llelo thought it was a major weak point in the castle’s defenses, however, even if it made coming and going from the keep convenient at times. Then again, Aber had two tunnels, both also always guarded, and they’d proved useful in the past.

  “At least a dozen,” the old guard said. His name was Tom, and he was possibly four times Llelo’s age. Whether or not Harold was lying about Aelfric’s whereabouts, his assessment of the state of Bristol’s garrison appeared to be accurate: they had a host of inexperienced young men and a handful of greybeards and not much in between. If King Stephen realized this, he might be far more optimistic about the chances of an attack on Bristol succeeding—and far less concerned about the forces arrayed against him.

  Then again, he could be in the same situation as Henry. Eight years into the war, both sides had lost far too many fighting men.

  “How a dozen?” Gareth said.

  “It’s a gate like any other, the way is straight and well lit, even without one’s own torch. If the weather is inclement, or we intend to store something in the castle and it’s easier to bring in this way, we allow it. Every man is known to us, however. We don’t let just anyone pass.”

  “I want their names,” Gareth said.

  The man frowned, thinking. “One was Sir Harold, of course, checking that all was well.”

  “Wait—” Gareth put up a hand, asking the guard to pause while he brought out a paper and lead to write with. The pencil was a present from Abbot Rhys, with the lead wrapped in a thin skin to make it easier to hold and write with. The monks used them more for making lines in manuscripts than for actual writing, but it was perfect for Gareth’s purposes, since he could carry it in his pocket and make notes. “What hour of the day was that?”

  Tom looked at his companion, yet another man in his late teens, who said, “Around None, I think.”

  “That’s right,” Tom said. “The bell had just rung.”

  Llelo’s brow furrowed. “The captain had left us by then, Father. He said he had duties to attend to.”

  “So he did.” Gareth sighed. “Who else?”

  “Several men coming off shift who live in the town.” Tom turned to the table behind them. “You can read? Here.” He turned back and showed a piece of paper to Gareth.

  Llelo stepped closer to look. “It’s a list of names.”

  “We keep track of everyone coming and going.” Tom looked very proud, though almost immediately his smile faltered. “We did keep track, I mean. We’ve been told we don’t have to anymore.”

  “Told by whom?” Llelo asked, remembering that nobody had written down his name when they’d left the castle last night or when he’d entered that morning, though it had seemed very important the day before.

  “I don’t know. The men we relieved only said that we didn’t have to.”

  “Who wrote these?” Gareth said.

  “I did.” The younger man raised a finger. “I can write.”

  The list from yesterday had forty names on it, written in several different hands. Literacy seemed to be important at Bristol Castle. Then again, a man didn’t need to know how to read to write out letters if someone knew how to spell his name. Llelo pointed to one, towards the end of the day: Rose.

  Gareth turned the paper to show the young guard. “Do you remember her?”

  The guard flushed. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Was she coming or going?”

  “Going.” He leaned forward. “That’s the tick beside the name.”

  Now that the guard had pointed it out, roughly half the names had the mark—and half of those were on the list twice, since they’d returned this way as well.

  “Why the different hands?” Llelo said.

  “If someone can write, I have them do their own name. Sir Aubrey said that was best.” If possible, the guard turned even redder. “Sometimes I don’t spell so good. Better if they do it themselves.”

  Harold had clearly done his own, as had several others, including Charles, four names farther down. Llelo remembered the distinctive flourish he’d put at the end of each of their names when he’d written them down at the front gate. As at the front gate, and unlike Gareth with his pencil, the guards wrote in pen and ink on a standing desk.

  “What happens to the lists?” Gareth said.

  “We keep them here,” Tom said. “Sir Aubrey would collect them every few days.”

  “Do you know what he did with them?” Llelo said.

  “Kept ‘em.” Tom shrugged. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction to writing from someone who couldn’t read. The names were scratches to him, not necessarily foolish, but certainly useless.

  Gareth held up the list. “May I keep this?”

  Tom shrugged again. “Sir Aubrey’s gone, isn’t he? Nobody cares about them anymore.”

  Gareth thanked the two men and set off back through the tunnel. Llelo followed closely at his heels. “What now?”

  “I have to return to the conference. It is most inconvenient.”

  “Surely the investigation is more important?”

  Gareth stopped and fixed his son with a beady eye. “More important than keeping an eye on Cadwaladr? More important than being on hand when the barons of England make a decision to go to war again?”

  Llelo was taken aback at his father’s harsh tone. “No.” He shook his head. “I can see that it isn’t.”

  Gareth took in a breath and started walking again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken thus to you.”

  “It’s fine.” Llelo hurried to catch up, the tension in his stomach easing at his father’s apology.

  “It isn’t, but I appreciate you saying so. I’m not angry at you but at the circumstances in which we find ourselves.” He took in another audible breath and let it out. “The investigation is continuing
. It’s just going to be you doing what needs to be done instead of me.”

  It was not only an apology but a vote of confidence. Llelo quickened his pace. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Sir Aubrey obviously had a system in place with these lists. I’d like to go through his records, but I shouldn’t without permission, and I don’t know that I can corner Earl William before the banquet tonight. As it is, the day is waning, and we have too much to do. I’m also curious to know what your mother has been up to.”

  “She’ll have discovered something.”

  Gareth shot him a smile. “We’d all be disappointed if she didn’t. I will meet you at the priory once I’m let out of this conference. It’ll probably be long past sunset by then. In the meantime, go to each guardpost, collect these lists, see what you can make of them, and we will confer tonight.”

  “Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?”

  “I don’t know.” Gareth shrugged. “I accept that Aubrey’s memory could have been failing him—or Earl Robert’s—but my instincts tell me there’s more to these lists than that.”

  They’d reached the door to the tower. The guard had heard them coming and already had it open. Before climbing the steps to the guardroom, Llelo paused, speaking slowly as he thought things out, “Robert Fitzharding believed Sir Aubrey to be set in his ways and uninterested in anything new.”

  His father was a few steps above him, and he stopped to look down. “Keeping lists like this is new to me. Aubrey had to have had a very good reason to require it. It takes an enormous amount of time and effort.”

  “Maybe Earl Robert, even on his deathbed, felt something was amiss at Bristol,” Llelo said. “He was confined to his bed, so this was a way to gather information without relying entirely on someone else’s recollections.”

  “Good. Good. I am thinking along the same lines. If there’s more to these lists than meets the eye, I want to know what it is.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gwen

  The next morning, their third day at Bristol, Taran woke before dawn as usual, nursed for an hour, and then decided he was tired of lying down. Before he could start squawking and wake everybody else in the guesthouse, Gareth and Gwen got him, Tangwen, and themselves out the door into the garden. Everybody slept longer in the winter, and the monks didn’t encourage early rising because it required the use of more candles. Breakfast would be served once the sun was fully up.

  The day had dawned clear and warm again, as if the strange snowfall of the day before hadn’t happened.

  “We have a long day ahead of us.” Gareth had been carrying Tangwen and now he put her down so she could run along the path ahead of them. “Practically the whole of my yesterday was wasted in conference with those barons. I feel the threads of this investigation slipping away from me with every moment that passes.”

  “We do what we can, as always,” Gwen said. “It’s hardly your fault you were missing. Prince Henry asks too much.”

  “He believes himself a king. He can ask what he likes.” Gareth shook his head. “I need time to really have a look at those lists of names Llelo collected, and we need to question the boatman and every servant in the castle.”

  “Not to mention Earl William himself,” Gwen said.

  “And then there’s Roger. He’s an odd one, isn’t he?”

  “He’s a younger brother who’s following a magnificent older brother, who himself is attempting to fill his father’s too-big shoes. It could be a recipe for brotherly love, but it usually isn’t.”

  “William is magnificent, eh?” Gareth said.

  Gwen elbowed him in the ribs. “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know that I do.” He turned to look at her, mischief in his eyes. “He looks that wonderful to you?”

  “Of course not. He’s a Norman.” Gwen reddened slightly and tried to backtrack a bit. “I’m just saying that he’s the essence of what a firstborn son should be—and look like. He’s a Norman version of Rhun, if you will. Roger is smaller and more intellectual. It’s as if nature knew that one was born to lead and the other was destined for the Church.”

  Gareth put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to kiss the top of her head and then Taran’s. “I was teasing you.”

  After another turn around the garden, Tangwen swinging between them, they found Cadoc standing underneath the gatehouse, staring out at the road and the towers of the castle, which shone in the sunlight four hundred yards away. The morning mist was burning off the moat and rivers, even as the sun rose higher and the sky grew lighter with the coming of the day.

  “When I returned to Wales, I swore I’d never serve in England again,” Cadoc said, surprising Gwen by revealing a bit of information about himself. “I couldn’t be here at all if Earl Robert were still alive.”

  Gwen found her eyes widening. “I’d forgotten about that. I’m sorry.”

  “Likely if anyone knew who I really was and what I’d done, I’d be in the basement of the keep.” Cadoc had worked for many years among the Normans as an assassin. Thus, his French was perfect, and Gwen had never met anyone who could blend in as well among the populace, though not usually when he wore his bow, which at the moment stuck up on his back behind his head, in its rest next to his quiver. He even had his cloak specially cut so that it lay flat against his back even when he wore all his gear.

  “Then it’s a good thing nobody knows.” Gareth clapped him on the shoulder. They were speaking in Welsh, so even if anybody else was up at this hour, they wouldn’t understand their words. “Have you ever been to Bristol before? I never thought to ask.”

  “No. And I made sure that, whomever I worked for, I never had contact with the great lords directly. Whatever I did, and for whomever I did it, it’s a long time ago now, and everyone involved is either dead or in France.”

  “Even so, maybe it would be a good idea to keep you out of the castle today,” Gareth said.

  “I will take on the task of speaking to the servants and maidservants,” Gwen said. “You know I’d love to go over those lists with you, but—”

  Gareth growled his dismay. “—but you’d be of better use questioning the women in the castle. I know.”

  “My grandfather was a boatman,” Cadoc said. “Give me Llelo and that Norman lad, and we will find out everything we can about the dead valet.”

  Gareth nodded his thanks. “I will take Gruffydd and Aron or Evan with me to Prince Henry’s meeting.”

  “Aron. You don’t want to separate Evan from Angharad.” Cadoc smirked. “Send them to question the men in the castle. Most will be drawn to Evan as a fellow soldier and member of the Dragons, and they will be so bemused by Angharad’s beauty they won’t balk at answering the questions she puts to them.” He paused and his expression turned somewhat musing himself. “I believe the two of them make quite a good team.”

  That left Steffan and Iago, the Dragons whom Gwen knew least well, to patrol the priory and castle.

  “What about Dai?” Gwen asked her husband.

  Gareth thought for a moment. “He’s had enough excitement for the week with the discovery of Aelfric’s body, don’t you think?”

  “He wouldn’t want to be left out. That would shame him,” Gwen said.

  “You should keep him with Evan and Angharad,” Cadoc said.

  This was truly the longest conversation Gwen had ever had with the archer, and when she raised her eyebrows questioningly at him, he added, “As Llelo is apprenticing to Gareth, it makes sense for Dai to apprentice to Evan. Those boys are not the same, and their futures won’t be the same. Dai’s a Dragon at heart.”

  Gwen had never thought about her younger son that way, but Gareth said, “You may be right that it’s a better fit for him.”

  “In light of the loss of Aelfric, what now do you make of these other deaths?” Gwen asked. If Cadoc wanted to talk, she had more to talk about.

  Cadoc raised his eyebrows. “We came to Brist
ol because Prince Henry called, and the day we arrive there’s another death? And then another? Hard to argue with him now, isn’t it?”

  Gwen’s head came up. “You’re not suggesting that Henry arranged for Aubrey’s death—or, God forbid, Aelfric’s—are you?”

  “No! Not in the least!” Cadoc laughed. “I’m just saying that whoever killed Aelfric may have done so because we’d arrived.”

  “That’s what Angharad said about Aubrey’s death.” Gwen lifted a hand to Deri, who’d come out of the guesthouse, signaling that she should see to Tangwen, who was digging a stick into the dirt between the stones of the courtyard. “Hard to imagine what either of these men could have said to us that he wouldn’t have already told Earl William or Prince Henry. Even if this is about those intercepted messages, killing Sir Aubrey isn’t going to prevent us from seeing them. Prince Henry and who knows who else already has.”

  “And what light does Aelfric’s death shed on Earl Robert’s?” As Llelo had done, Gareth gave Taran his finger to squeeze his little hand around.

  Cadoc shook his head. “None at all as far as I can tell.”

  * * * * *

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Gareth said an hour later, as they gazed together up at Bristol’s towers, having been bowed through the gatehouse with an almost disconcerting amount of respect.

  Gruffydd and Aron had come with them too, along with Taran, of course. They’d breakfasted with Tangwen and then consigned her again to the care of her nanny. Tangwen was accepting of the lack of attention for now, but once life returned to normal, she would spend a few days clinging to Gwen and fearing her possible departure. Such was life with a two-year-old.

  Dai, Angharad, and Evan had already gone off to question the castle’s male population.

  “I am anxious to find this murderer before he strikes again,” Gareth added, “but that might be all the more reason for you not to involve yourself.”

  “I am involved. Better to work quickly so as to neutralize him sooner.” She canted her head. “I may dread doing this sometimes, but inactivity doesn’t suit me either. A day like yesterday is nice every once in a while, but not all the time.”