Hywel and Rhun began discussing the logistics of the march as they left the room, but Gwen stopped them. “I’m coming with you,” she said.
Hywel turned to look her. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
Gwen had prepared a list of reasons to justify her demand, but his approval cut her short. “Really?”
“It shouldn’t be dangerous,” Rhun said. “Tomos will come quietly.”
“No, he won’t,” Hywel said.
“Will Tomos really hold Rhuddlan against King Owain?” Gwen said.
“He will hold it until he gets terms he can live with,” Hywel said. “With the emphasis on live.”
“The only way that Tomos has a chance of living is if he surrenders,” Rhun said.
“We will see.” Hywel and Rhun each put their right hand on the other’s left shoulder in a attitude of solidarity. Then, the two brothers turned in separate directions, each to make their own preparations for the journey.
But Gwen stopped Rhun before he could stride away. “You’re angry. Is there something you haven’t said? Something we should know?”
Rhun’s jaw clenched. “The ripples of deceit spread ever outwards. I trusted Tomos myself. I appointed two stewards on his recommendation. I entrusted them with a large portion of my estates. What if they’ve been working for Tomos all along, rather than for me?” He strode towards the stables, leaving Gwen and Hywel looking after him.
“Treachery among friends and family is our birthright,” Hywel said. “We’d all be wise to keep it in the forefront of our minds from now on.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Are you out of your mind?”
That was Tomos’ voice, which Gareth had always felt was smooth and rich, but now sounded harsh, grating on Gareth’s ear.
“What do you mean?” Cadwaladr said.
Tomos modulated his tone. “Gareth has seen you, Cadwaladr. He’ll go to the king and tell him where you are. King Owain will come to Rhuddlan. He’ll take you and hang you for sure.”
“He’s my brother—”
“Your brother believes that you were the one who tried to kill him! There’s a limit to King Owain’s patience, even for you.”
“So what should I do?” Cadwaladr said.
“If you want to live, Gareth can’t leave Rhuddlan alive.”
Gareth lay slumped against the wall in a room off the stables, chained at the ankles and limited in movement, though his hands remained free. Like the cell at Aber, the room smelled of urine and wet hay, but that was its only resemblance. This was a prison cell, with solid walls and a hard-packed dirt floor that Gareth could possibly tunnel under if he were given a shovel and three weeks of effort. He had neither.
He’d known the moment Cadwaladr had appeared in the courtyard to greet Tomos that he was in trouble. Gareth had turned Dewi’s head, but the horse wasn’t Braith and hadn’t responded to his touch as quickly as he needed. The gate closed before he reached it and a moment later, Tomos’ men were upon him. They’d worked him over thoroughly, too, even before Cadwaladr took his turn.
Gareth had always known that Cadwaladr was a cruel bastard. Up until now, however, Gareth had only seen him get others to do the jobs that might cost him his soul. Gareth had thought Cadwaladr didn’t like getting his hands dirty. Now he knew better. And after overhearing that conversation in the foyer of the cell, Gareth guessed he had very little time.
The door to the cell opened and Cadwaladr entered. Two men followed, one with a chair and a three legged table which he set by the door, and a second with a tray of food and drink. Neither furniture nor food were for Gareth. Cadwaladr gestured for the men to arrange what they’d brought and then he dismissed them. They shut the door behind them, though Gareth didn’t hear the bar drop. As his feet were in chains, getting through the door would be only the first step in a very long journey.
Cadwaladr unleashed a grin at the sight of Gareth’s slumped figure. For Gareth’s part, his swollen and blackened eyes could barely focus on the prince’s face.
“Why do you let Tomos use you this way?” Gareth said.
Cadwaladr had settled himself into his seat and picked up his knife to stab at a turnip. He froze with the food half-way to his mouth. “Even in your condition, you mock me?”
“What do I have to lose?” Gareth said.
“Your life.”
“You’re saying it isn’t already forfeit?” The thought of never seeing Gwen again gave Gareth a sharp pang in his chest. Or maybe that was a broken rib.
Cadwaladr twirled his knife in his hand. “That remains to be seen. For the moment, it looks like you are the entertainment for this evening.”
“Did you even think twice about going along with Tomos? What happened to your sense of self-preservation? It has clearly betrayed you.”
“What are you talking about?” Cadwaladr cut a piece of meat, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed loudly.
“Does Lord Tomos know that you’re in here, talking to me?” Gareth said.
“I can do what I like without asking permission from anyone. Why should I?” Cadwaladr gestured with his knife again. “Tomos is closeted with Caradoc. He doesn’t control me—”
“Tomos has deceived you. King Owain Gwynedd knows I’m here,” Gareth said. “I am his agent and I do his bidding.”
Cadwaladr’s mouth snapped shut.
“How could you think you could harm me with impunity? My death will not go unnoticed,” Gareth said. “Tomos is lying if he suggested otherwise.”
Cadwaladr didn’t answer, just grunted between bites of food. He acted as if he wasn’t paying attention. Gareth didn’t believe that to be true—in fact, he was counting on it.
“Don’t you see? If I die at your hands, it will be the final nail in your coffin. Tomos is using you, Cadwaladr.” Gareth wanted to shake his head, but it hurt, so he rested it very gently against the wall at his back.
Cadwaladr scoffed. “Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”
“Have you noticed how small Lord Tomos’ hands are?”
Cadwaladr looked up, proving how closely he’d been listening. “What of it?”
“The man who murdered Enid had small hands—smaller than mine. Smaller than yours.”
Cadwaladr set down his knife. “Wait a moment. What are you talking about?”
Now Gareth did shake his head because the effect was worth it. “Oh, Cadwaladr. Do you still not understand? It is Lord Tomos, not you, whom I suspected was the murderer. It was Lord Tomos who sent the boy to assassinate your brother. It was Tomos who killed Enid and the servant at Aber.”
“He did not!”
“When he was in here earlier, he pushed up the sleeves to his shirt. Did you see the long scratches on his left forearm?”
“What of them?”
“We found blood and skin under Enid’s nails. She marked her killer.”
Cadwaladr sputtered, shooting specks of food onto the floor of the cell. Rats would find them soon. Gareth had heard them in the corners.
“Think about it,” Gareth said. “It was Tomos who convinced you to hide in the chapel, wasn’t it? Was it he who also arranged for your men to wait for you outside the postern gate? And suggested that you’d be safe here, at Rhuddlan?”
Cadwaladr’s jaw was clenched so tightly it had to ache. “Yes.”
“I’m surprised Tomos left you loose in his castle, even for an hour,” Gareth said. “He must know that I suspect him. And now, by allowing you to hurt me, he confirms his guilt.”
“You were already supposed to be dead,” Cadwaladr said. “Nobody was more surprised to see you on the road than Tomos. He told me so. You didn’t return from that hunting trip …” He broke off as understanding dawned.
Gareth managed a wisp of a smile, though even that hurt. Cadwaladr wore a ring—not the dragon one—and it had caught the corner of Gareth’s mouth. The wou
nd had bled on and off all day. Mouth wounds were always the slowest to heal.
“My brother let everyone think you were dead on purpose, so you could more freely hunt down the killer.” Cadwaladr scooted back his chair. Leaving his food, he crouched in front of Gareth. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And you think now that it was Tomos?”
“All evidence points to him,” Gareth said.
Cadwaladr swallowed hard, his throat working. He was fair-skinned like his brother and now he flushed red to the roots of his hair. “Does the King know what you know?”
“Yes.”
“So that means …”
“That means you have to get me out of here. That means that if you continue to ally yourself with Tomos, your brother will hang you alongside him.”
Cadwaladr straightened and stared at the door.
“If you aren’t to go down with Tomos, you must free me so that I can speak to King Owain on your behalf. Which I will do, God help me, if you assist in my escape.”
Cadwaladr still didn’t answer. His jaw spoke of anger, but at whom? Time was slipping through Gareth’s fingers like sand. “What is your brother going to think when he finds you hiding out at Rhuddlan with a man he knows has betrayed him?”
Cadwaladr’s throat worked. He crouched again in front of Gareth, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him closer, much as Gareth had done to Pedr. But it wasn’t hostility that Gareth saw in the prince, but fear. “You have to help me!”
“Haven’t I said I would?”
“But how?” Panic rose higher in Cadwaladr’s eyes. He’d never been much of a soldier and his cowardice wasn’t serving him well now.
Gareth pointed with his chin to the door. “You still have men who are loyal to you. You brought several with you to Rhuddlan. Ensure that they guard my door for the night.”
Cadwaladr eyed Gareth warily. Gareth would have laughed if his ribs didn’t hurt so much. Was Cadwaladr wondering if he could trust Gareth? How did he think Gareth felt about needing Cadwaladr? But he would die here if Cadwaladr didn’t help him.
“Tell me what you know,” Cadwaladr said, turning the tables on Gareth. “If you don’t, I can gather my men and leave within the hour without you.”
“And where would you go?” Gareth said. “Not back to Aberffraw; not if you left Aber before the King’s wedding.”
Cadwaladr shrugged. “East.”
The word was a punch to the gut. “You mean to Chester? You would go to the Earl Ranulf?”
Cadwaladr shrugged. “He and I have spoken.”
“I’ve just come from Chester and the Earl is not in residence,” Gareth said. “Besides, I doubt you’d find a safe haven there, not if it means creating animosity between the Earl and the King of Gwynedd. I wouldn’t be surprised if King Owain is on his way here even now—”
“My lord!” One of the men whom Cadwaladr had brought with him opened the door to the cell.
Cadwaladr didn’t let go of Gareth’s shirt, just turned his head. “What is it?”
“Lord Tomos has called for dinner in half an hour.”
Cadwaladr didn’t even blink. “Is he still with Caradoc?”
“Yes.”
“Leave us.”
The man departed.
“Tell me what you know,” Cadwaladr shook Gareth once, “while there’s still time.”
Gareth licked his lips. “Give me something to drink and I will.”
Cadwaladr didn’t want to let him go, but he set Gareth down on the floor with remarkable gentleness and went to the table. He took up the cup of mead and the carafe and brought them back to Gareth. Gareth found when he tried to take the cup that his hands shook so badly he couldn’t hold it.
Cadwaladr tsked through his teeth, but held the cup with one hand and the back of Gareth’s head with the other and helped him drink. One sip … two sips … exhausted, Gareth nodded and Cadwaladr eased away.
“I believe it began when your brother told Tomos that he would be transferring control of Rhuddlan to Cristina upon their wedding,” Gareth said. “I don’t know what Tomos has been doing, but I don’t think it’s treason as much as theft.”
Cadwaladr nodded. “Tomos has never expressed interest in my dealings with Earl Ranulf.”
“Tomos’ first step was to encourage the boy—I don’t know if he paid him, but I don’t think so—named Pedr ap Marc, to assassinate your brother. He knew of Pedr’s resentment against King Owain. At the same time, he coerced Enid to come to Aber. She dosed Lord Goronwy with poppy juice. Afterwards, he killed her, as well as the servant who had assisted him in his activities. It was Lord Tomos, surely, who attempted to kill me after the boar hunt.”
“And all the while he was whispering into my ear, making me think that my own brother suspected that I was the killer,” Cadwaladr said.
“I’m not saying your brother didn’t suspect you,” Gareth said. “You were first on everyone’s list without the need for Tomos to spread the rumor of your involvement. Your recent behavior has done nothing to help your cause. Still, why would you kill Enid?”
“I wouldn’t have.” Amusement showed in Cadwaladr’s voice. “Tomos suggested that it was Hywel who was responsible for the deaths.”
“Which you believed because you already believe the worst of him,” Gareth said. “And of me.”
Gareth didn’t know what made him say that. He was in such pain that all his inhibitions were down. But Cadwaladr didn’t shout or rant. He didn’t storm out swearing. He just gazed at Gareth who peered at him through swollen lids.
“I enjoyed hurting you.”
Gareth shivered but didn’t answer. As footsteps sounded in the entry way to the cell, Cadwaladr acted swiftly. He stuck his finger in Gareth’s face. “You are an insolent whelp.” He back handed Gareth across the face. Hard. It rocked Gareth’s head against the stones behind him and Cadwaladr’s ring opened up the wound in the corner of Gareth’s mouth again.
Cadwaladr stood to leave while Gareth bent at the waist, his head nearly to the ground. He moaned. It was a noise he didn’t have to fake.
“I will see that you die in here!” Cadwaladr said.
Tomos had arrived in time to see the blow. “We could kill him now.” He made the comment as if it were a simple observation.
“I’d rather he suffered,” Cadwaladr said.
“We can see to that.” The two men left the cell, Tomos closing the door behind them and leaving Gareth in the dark—but not quite as much in the dark as before Cadwaladr had entered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As his day turned to night and his captivity wore on, Gareth retreated more and more into himself. He’d never known such misery. He’d failed Hywel. He’d lost Gwen. Every muscle in his body ached and his chest hurt every time he took more than a shallow breath. He wiggled his toes within his boots, grateful Tomos hadn’t taken them from him. It was a small mercy, even if unintended. At the same time, he didn’t know what good they would do him if Cadwaladr didn’t help him. Boots weren’t useful to a dead man.
He guarded the little strength he had left, breathing in and out, resting his eyes if not his body. He wasn’t quite at the end, but a part of him would have preferred the silence of oblivion. He almost wished now that Cadwaladr had withheld the few sips of mead he’d given him, because his thirst had increased for having had a taste. The pounding of the rain on the thatch above his head only made the thirst worse. The roof leaked here and there: another mark against Tomos and an indication of the way he’d lined his own pockets at the expense of the estate that was in his charge.
Gareth listened for noise outside his door—anything that would signal a change in his status, any change at all. It had been hours since Cadwaladr had left him, and the only sound he’d heard, other than the staccato of rain on the roof, was his own breathing. That and the rats in the corner. His head drooped lower.
“Got a crust for the prisoner.”
Gareth started awake as
the door to his cell swung open.
“I thought Lord Tomos said no food for him,” the man who’d opened the door said.
Gareth could almost hear the first man shrug. “Changed his mind. Doesn’t want the prisoner to die just yet.”
Which was both good and bad from Gareth’s perspective. That Tomos cared to feed him meant that more torture might be in his future. On the other hand, it meant he’d still be alive to experience it. The first man entered the room and approached Gareth. He set down the tray and departed without another word.
Gareth stared at the food, though it was hardly worthy of the name. Lord Tomos had literally given him a crust of bread, no bigger than his fist, and a bowl of water. Tomos probably meant to humiliate Gareth by forcing him to lap at the water like a dog, but even though Gareth’s hands remained unchained, he couldn’t have lifted a cup without spilling it. He leaned forward and sucked at the water.
Nothing in his life had ever tasted so good and every slurp increased his strength a notch. Gareth swallowed, paused, and swallowed again. More at ease, he sat back and picked up the bread. The cook had hacked off the end of a loaf—stale, mind you—leaving him mostly crust plus a small portion of soft insides. He broke the bread in half. Something tinked as it hit a stone on the floor. His cell was so dark Gareth couldn’t see anything but shadow, but he felt on the ground between his legs and came up with a key. If the rain hadn’t lessened, he might not have heard the key fall at all.
Gareth gazed at it for half a heartbeat, and before doubt set in about this course of action, he tried to jam the key into the lock that held his ankles. He missed. Gareth clenched the key in his fist and breathed deeply before trying again.
A moment later, his ankles were free. He stretched his legs, took up the bowl of water in hands that no longer shook, and drank it all down. Then he got to his feet—staggered really—and with one hand on the wall, moved to the door. He knelt and put his head to the floor so he could peer through the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor. He couldn’t see much, since the only light available came through the far doorway that led to the courtyard of the castle.
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