Chapter Three
Gareth
When the fight started, Gareth had been standing on the far side of the room, but by the time Evan declared Meicol dead, he was watching as raptly as everyone else. If this had been Aberystwyth—or anywhere in Gwynedd—Gareth would have immediately gone to Evan’s side, knowing without being told that it was his job to begin the quest for answers. But Gareth had no authority here. More to the point, he wanted no authority here.
But then Evan straightened, and the first thing he did was search the room.
Gareth knew he was looking for him, and he resisted the temptation to hide behind Iago, who was standing beside him and could have easily blocked him from Evan’s view.
Instead he allowed Iago to nudge him forward. “He wants you.”
“I see that.”
Iago laughed at Gareth’s sour tone and added, “Go on. Cadell is sure to have someone else he’d rather have in charge, but Evan needs you now.”
Comforted by Iago’s reassurance, Gareth edged his way through the crowd of onlookers. Iago was right—Evan might need a staunch companion at his side in case someone decided to accuse him of killing the poor fellow. Gareth had been in Evan’s shoes himself more than once, and it was not a comfortable place to be.
“Move back! Move back! Give the man some room.” King Cadell himself could hardly have missed the commotion, and now he descended from the high table to approach the body. Cadell’s voice was one nobody dared disobey, and the circle around the body expanded.
Gareth was one of the few who continued forward, however, and he stopped a pace behind Evan. He really did prefer not to become involved and resolved not to call attention to himself unless someone did it for him.
“I swear I barely touched him, my lord!” Barri gazed up at King Cadell imploringly. “I haven’t seen him in years! Why would I hurt him?”
That was the question of the hour, and Gareth didn’t know either man more than to greet in passing so he didn’t know if what Barri said was true. He had encountered both men on separate occasions prior to the fight against FitzWizo. Gareth hadn’t seen them again, however, since he’d been among those who’d traveled back to Aberystwyth with the bulk of Hywel’s army, in part to disperse them in good order, but also to bring the news of the victory and to collect Gwen.
Cadell motioned with one hand to Evan that he should get to his feet. The King of Deheubarth was looking visibly older than the day he’d taken the throne over his brother’s dead body, with lines on his face and gray in his hair that hadn’t been there four years earlier. Gareth didn’t know if the reason for the change was guilt at conspiring to murder Anarawd or simply that being king had proved burdensome enough that his cares couldn’t help but be reflected in his physical state. Regardless, Cadell was not a happy man. He rarely smiled, and there was no joy in his heart.
That wasn’t to say Gareth thought he was a bad king. For the most part, he seemed quite capable of managing his kingdom. Fields were sown, families were safeguarded, and the country quietly prospered, despite being almost constantly at war with its neighbors. Hywel viewed this competence as something of a pity, of course, since it made Cadell a real threat to Hywel’s domain of Ceredigion.
“First of all, are we sure he’s dead?” Cadell said.
Evan (the traitor!) answered that question by moving to one side and indicating that Gareth should take his place beside Meicol’s body. With a sigh, Gareth did as Evan asked, seeing a degree of inevitability about the whole thing. Before crouching to the body, however, he glanced at Cadell. “May I, my lord?”
Cadell gestured again. “Please.”
Gareth bent to the body and put two fingers to Meicol’s neck, just as Evan had done earlier. He waited through a count of ten, knowing he would no more feel a pulse than had Evan—who was perfectly competent in such matters. And he was right. He twisted to look up at the king, though he stayed where he was, one knee on the floor. “He is gone.”
Cadell made a tsk of disgust. “How?” He glared around at the onlookers, taking the death as a personal affront and implying that any one of them might have had something to do with it. Then his gaze fell once again on Barri, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion, apparently not believing Barri’s initial denial. “It was you who shoved him, wasn’t it? What else did you do to him?”
“N—n—nothing, my lord! I swear it.”
Cadell made another gesture, this one indicating impatience, and turned back to Gareth. “What say you?”
“I can’t say as to cause of death just by looking at him.” Even though Gareth was inclined to agree with Barri that he’d done nothing wrong, he found the man’s childish pleadings objectionable. Regardless, it was too soon to confirm or deny his claim to innocence. “Perhaps someone here who witnessed what happened could shed some light on the series of events leading up to it?”
Evan sighed. “I saw the whole fight, my lord. Barri threw Meicol to the floor, but all that happened was he fell on one shoulder. He didn’t even hit his head.”
Cadell pursed his lips. “Did anyone else witness the altercation?”
There was some nervous shifting among the onlookers, which puzzled Gareth, who’d risen to his feet, not feeling the need to spend any more time by the body than he had to. Gareth had wondered about the undercurrents he’d been feeling in the hall since they arrived, and he wished he’d asked someone, who might know more than he, about them earlier. It was as if, by supporting Barri’s statement, the residents of the castle would be taking sides—but in what dispute, Gareth didn’t know.
“My lord, we did.”
Gareth jerked around abruptly at the sound of his wife’s voice. She was standing a few paces away with the young Prince Rhys and Angharad, Rhun’s former betrothed. At Cadell’s encouraging wave, all three of them came closer, and in a show of unity, Evan moved to stand with them.
“We saw the whole thing,” Gwen said. “Barri speaks the truth about what he did.”
Beside Gwen, Rhys nodded vigorously, and Angharad added more fully, “From what we saw, Meicol started the fight, Uncle. He swung the first punch, which Barri avoided, and it was only when Meicol came back for more that Barri threw him to the floor.” She gestured to Evan, who was standing beside her. “My lord Evan caught Meicol’s arms when he got up to try again and prevented the situation from growing any worse.”
Cadell frowned at her, but Angharad looked bravely back. Evan had told Gareth about her confrontation with her uncle over the way the attacks on FitzWizo’s people had been carried out. He had to admire her fortitude, even as he would have advised against speaking her mind. This time, however, she was buttressed by Gwen, Rhys, and Evan, who had a hand to the small of her back, silently giving her support, and the king didn’t choose to counter all those nodding heads.
Instead, Cadell turned to Prince Hywel, who’d arrived within the circle that had formed around Meicol. “The man I might normally task with heading up an inquiry was injured in battle and remains unavailable, and the second man—” he paused, and then after a moment added somewhat awkwardly, “—isn’t here. May I borrow Sir Gareth, Hywel? He is well acquainted with untimely death, accidental or otherwise. If his skills are even half as good as his reputation says, then there is nobody better for the job.”
Iago, who had mocked Gareth earlier but had followed him anyway, guffawed under his breath and poked Gareth in the back. Gareth ignored him, but at the same time barely managed to swallow down his own disdainful laugh.
He believed what Cadell said about the two men being unavailable, but what the king had left unsaid was that the second man who wasn’t at Dinefwr was most likely Anselm, his spy whom Gareth had encountered a few months ago in St. Asaph. There, Anselm had masqueraded as a monk while spying for Cadell. Gareth hadn’t seen Anselm since, and Hywel hadn’t wanted to mar the current truce by bringing up past offenses. Better to husband the grievance until such a time as he could profit from bringing it out.
Undoubtedly realizing this, Cadell had been loath to say Anselm’s name. Still, even if Cadell was short a trained investigator, Gareth was honestly surprised to learn Cadell would entrust him with any investigation. It wasn’t that Gareth’s reputation was unearned, but that Cadell himself had been implicated in three investigations Gareth had brought to a successful conclusion: the death of Anarawd, the murders last summer at Hywel’s eisteddfod, and the recent incident in St. Asaph. Gareth wouldn’t have thought Cadell wanted to be reminded of any of them.
Hywel might have been thinking all this too, but like Gareth, he hid his real thoughts and said obligingly, “Of course you may borrow Sir Gareth.”
Gareth tipped his head, his eyes focused intently on Cadell, trying to read what was in his mind from what was on his face—which was nothing. “My lord, I will need a quiet place to work.”
“I well remember.” Cadell’s tone was dry, revealing that Gareth wasn’t wrong to think that, regardless of his complimentary words, he remembered past events as well as Gareth did. Then, sweeping out one arm, he turned to the crowd in the hall and lied, “Meicol was obviously unwell. It is unfortunate he didn’t think to consult a healer. There is nothing more to learn here. You may return to your meal in peace.” With a nod to Prince Hywel and completely ignoring the dead body, Gareth, and Barri, he strode back to the high table.
Hywel moved closer to Gareth and said in an undertone, “Sorry.”
This time Gareth allowed himself a real laugh. “No, you’re not.”
Hywel grinned. “You’re right. I’m not.” The prince was ever one to gain any advantage if opportunity presented itself. “Cadell is not wrong, however. You are the best man for the job.”
“I gather I should inform you of anything I find before I seek out Cadell?”
“Naturally you should. It would be absurd of you to do otherwise.” He clapped Gareth on the shoulder, his eyes alight. “I am your liege lord after all.”
Chapter Four
Gareth
Hywel dimmed his good humor and returned to the high table to sit two seats down from Cadell in the same place he’d been sitting before Meicol died.
Most of the onlookers had also obeyed their king, realizing there wasn’t anything more to see anyway. That was fine with Gareth, who sighed as he stared down at the body. It was just his luck he had to top off a war with an unexplained death that might well prevent him from going home tomorrow.
He undid his cloak and handed it to Gwen, who took it without speaking. It was warm in the hall with all the people, and Gareth, who was dressed more formally than he might have been at home, was sweating in his fine wool shirt and tunic. He’d left off his armor for the night, though he still wore his sword as a matter of course. A man had to leave his sword at the door in the presence of the English king, but Welsh kings had always been a bit more trusting, and in the history of Gwynedd, the only king who’d almost lost his life in his own hall had been Owain. In retrospect, perhaps that record should have been viewed less as a tradition than a miracle.
Barri remained close by, his hand gripped so tightly about the hilt of his ornate belt knife that his knuckles were white. His nervousness had Gareth wondering if perhaps he hadn’t told the entire truth about what had gone on with Meicol. Meicol had certainly thought he’d known something about Barri, as he’d called him traitor and thief. Admittedly, they’d just fought together in battle, and it was perfectly possible something had happened out there that had carried over into the celebration in here.
Regardless, Gareth thought it was odd behavior for a seasoned soldier—especially for a man who’d spent a lifetime with a sword on his hip. Even if all soldiers dreamed of the horrors of battle, the unwritten code was not to show their fears to anyone else.
So Gareth raised his eyebrows at Evan, who was still standing with Angharad, and tipped his head in Barri’s direction, asking without speaking for Evan to take him aside and question him.
Evan mouthed, “You’re sure?”
Gareth motioned with his head again, this time asking Evan to come closer. Angharad came with him, which now that Gareth thought about it, might not be a bad idea. She knew Dinefwr better than any of the men from Gwynedd, and she had supported Barri’s version of events. “You two would be doing me a great favor if you could get him to talk.”
Evan blinked, and then he looked at Angharad. “Are you willing to give it a try?”
“Of course!” She paused. “If you really think I can help.”
“I think you could,” Gareth said. “A woman sometimes gets the best answers from a man—whether because her presence makes him boastful or because he doesn’t realize he is even being questioned.”
Evan grunted. “I suppose it’s the least I can do, seeing as how it’s my fault you were brought to Cadell’s attention.”
Gareth clapped a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “You owe me one.”
“That’s sure to be something I regret.” Now Evan laughed under his breath. “I’ve hunted with you before.”
“And now you will again.” Gareth paused. “I’m sorry. I know Barri is a friend.”
“Not so close a friend. Not anymore.” Evan pressed his lips together, his eyes going to Barri, who had seated himself on a bench at one of the nearby tables, though facing outward. He was talking to Alban, the second-in-command of Cadell’s teulu. After Evan had told him about what happened at Wiston’s keep, Gareth had made a point to find out who he was. From the expression on Alban’s face, he was extremely put out, and Gareth wished he were closer so he could hear what they were saying.
“Was Meicol also?” Gareth said. “A friend, I mean.”
“He was even less of one.” Evan took in a breath. “Gareth, there’s something you need to know. The last thing Meicol said to me was, Help me.”
Gareth looked down at the body. “So he knew something was wrong. The question for us now is what?”
“I’ll do what I can to help.” Evan cleared his throat, and then added, with a sideways glance at Angharad. “As I know I told you once, my father served Gwynedd until Princess Gwenllian married Cadell’s father. It was actually Prince Cadwallon, whom your uncle served, who asked my father to switch to her retinue, under circumstances similar to when King Owain asked you to serve Cadwaladr after the 1136 war. I was trained in this court, as were Barri and Meicol.”
“You never speak of it.”
“Those were some—” Evan paused, again with the glance at Angharad, who was looking at him with both interest and concern, “—difficult times. I haven’t seen any of these men in ten years. I don’t know how much bearing that experience can have on the present circumstances.”
“That’s why you have Angharad,” Gareth nodded at the young woman, “who does know them and the situation.”
“Maybe I do. What in particular do you want to know?” Angharad asked.
“I need to know about Barri’s relationship with Meicol. Obviously they knew each other well. Why were they fighting?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time they’d come to blows.” Evan pursed his lips. “Still, Barri seemed genuinely surprised to find Meicol taunting him. I didn’t see them together earlier, but then, I wasn’t with the main body of the army.”
“You were winning the war for us.” Gareth’s hand was back on Evan’s shoulder. “And now I need you to do a little more. See what you can discover from him. Please. I could question him myself and probably will, but let’s see what you two can get out of him first.”
Evan held out his elbow to Angharad, who took it, and together they moved towards Barri, who at the sight of them coming towards him spun around on his bench so his legs were under the table. Evan walked Angharad around to the other side by the wall, and they both sat across from him, though not before Evan swiped two cups and a carafe of mead from an adjacent table on the way.
Gareth met his friend’s eyes one last time, exchanging a mutual look of amusement. Good soldier that he was, Evan always sat with hi
s back to the wall if he could. While it was true that in a room full of fighting men, not everyone could sit defensively, Barri had not chosen to do so even though the seat was available. That raised even more questions in Gareth’s mind as to the kind of soldier he was.
Still, he could trust Evan with the questioning, no matter how friendly he had once been to Barri. Though as a rule Gareth didn’t favor including people outside his immediate circle in an investigation, he was actively interested in what Angharad’s perspective would turn out to be. He didn’t know the girl well at all, but she’d proved to be loyal to Rhun and to Gwynedd in a way he wouldn’t have expected from a woman from Deheubarth, and he hoped he could learn something from her about the way things worked here at Dinefwr. Angharad didn’t trust her uncle and, in fact, had been at odds with him. That was definitely a mark in her favor in Gareth’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Gareth knew where his current duty lay, and he returned to the body. Thankfully, a servant had cleaned up the vomit on the floor. Gwen was waiting for him, along with Prince Rhys, who spoke first. “Shall I find men to move him?” The boy’s eager expression told Gareth he’d seen how Gareth had put Angharad to work, and he couldn’t wait to be of some help himself.
“It would certainly be better if I didn’t examine him here.”
Rhys ran off, and Gwen laughed as she watched him go. “I like him.”
“What’s not to like?” Gareth smiled at his wife. “You do have a way with young men.”
Gwen wrinkled her nose at him. “I am mother to three, as you may recall.” She was referring to Llelo, Dai, and Gwalchmai, her younger brother, whom she had mothered from birth.
He held up one hand to show he hadn’t meant to criticize. “I’m just teasing.”
Gwen harrumphed, but she folded their cloaks and put them on the end of a bench. Then she crouched over Meicol with Gareth and gently put her hand over his eyes to close them. Meanwhile, Gareth adjusted the dead man’s limbs into more seemly positions, rolling him more fully onto his back in the process and straightening his legs so he would be ready to be carried away to wherever Cadell designated.
The Worthy Soldier Page 3
