“Remember, it is Sir Robert who is dead.” Gareth looked at the abbot. “How is it you are not ill? You were at the feast last night.”
“I briefly attended the festivities. Certainly I was pleased to give the opening blessing, but I find revelry after battle not to my taste,” he put a hand to his stomach, “and the food at the castle is too rich for me.”
“So you didn’t eat the pie?” Gwen said.
“I had a bowl of chowder and a goblet of wine. And then I left.” His expression grew haggard. “So many dead. So many good people dead.”
Gwen put out a hand to the abbot. “I’m sorry for your losses.”
“Look at this, Father.” Llelo, who’d continue to search the graveyard, held up a thick branch some three feet long.
Gareth motioned that he should bring it to him and, when Llelo obeyed, was sadly unsurprised to find a few strands of hair that matched Sir Robert’s and dark blood marring one of the rough ends.
Mathew sighed. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.”
That was from Job, another passage with which Gareth was distressingly familiar. He had by now patted Robert up and down and come up with two things of interest: one was a slim iron key that had been sewn into the hem of his cloak. A man didn’t do that unless he feared losing it—or someone else finding it. Gareth put it in his scrip to show to Cadell and Maurice at their next audience.
The second was a signet ring stamped with the head of a horned goat. Gareth paused as he looked at it and then showed it to Abbot Mathew. “It isn’t exactly Walter FitzWizo’s mark, but—”
“But it’s close.” Mathew shook his head. “If you’re thinking treachery, think again. I knew the man well. Sir Robert was loyal. He could have acquired this signet in any number of ways, including from his late wife, who was Flemish.”
That gave both Gareth and Gwen pause. “His wife was from FitzWizo’s colony?” she asked.
Abbot Mathew nodded. “That was many years ago, of course. He could be carrying it in memory of her, or he could have acquired it recently when Wiston was sacked.”
“Or it could be a token he bore as proof of his allegiance to whomever he was meeting in this graveyard,” Llelo said, “who then killed him.”
Gareth stowed the signet away too. “I’m sure you can understand the need for urgency and discretion in this matter.”
“Of course.” Mathew nodded. “King Cadell asked you to look into these deaths, and I know Abbot Rhys thinks highly of you. Just tell me what I can do.”
“Give us a private space to work,” Gareth said, thinking of Meicol’s body back at the castle, also in its private room, “and free rein to ask questions. We can only pray somebody, somewhere, saw something that will help us.”
Chapter Ten
Gwen
“What is happening here, Gareth?” Hoping to let in more light, Gwen opened the shutters in the little room in the monastery they’d been given to examine Robert’s body. “Robert was murdered, but not by Meicol, and more and more I’m thinking Meicol was murdered too, rather than a casualty of his own malfeasance. In fact, I have to wonder if Robert isn’t somehow at fault for some of this.”
“But poison? Treachery? I can’t believe it of him.” Evan’s casual stance, braced as he was against the frame of the door with his arms folded across his chest, in no way belied the seriousness of his words. He was on guard. Admittedly, he may well also not have wanted to come any closer.
Gareth glanced at his friend. “The poisoning was an urgent enough case to solve, but I think Gwen is right. We not only have a poisoner on the loose, but a cold-blooded killer as well, who may or may not be the same person.”
“The world has suddenly become far more dangerous,” Evan said.
Gareth returned his attention to Robert’s wounds. “It was dangerous enough as it was.”
Every monastery had different procedures for dealing with the dead. Here, they were in the washing room, adjacent to the actual washroom, to make easy the process of preparing the body for burial. Gareth had stripped Robert of most of his clothing.
“Maybe Meicol snuck a piece of pie early,” Llelo said.
“He had the vial in his satchel,” Gwen pointed out.
Llelo made a face. “I forgot about that.”
“If Meicol was murdered, the vial could have been planted,” Evan said. “Meicol would be dead and take the blame for the poisoning.”
“If the poisoner knows what’s good for him, he’ll be long gone, and we’ll never find him,” Llelo said.
Gwen glanced at her foster son. He was watching Gareth intently—and apparently thinking intently too. So she nodded encouragingly. “It would be good to know if anyone is missing after last night.”
Gareth chewed on his lower lip, though his eyes remained on the body. “I’ll be sure to check that too with Cadell and Maurice.”
“And our own men,” Llelo said, “just to be fair.”
“Alternatively, murdering Robert and framing Meicol implies that either or both of them knew something about the killer and they were a threat to him,” Gwen said.
“That implies the murderer is still here because if he was going to flee, he wouldn’t care,” Llelo said.
“I’m terrified to say I like the way you think, Llelo.” Evan straightened from his position in the doorway. “You realize anyone involved in the investigation is in danger now—particularly Gareth.”
Because of that possibility, they’d already decided Gareth alone would be the point man in all dealings with the lords of Deheubarth. Gareth was happy with Gwen’s participation, but the less said about it, the better. She’d been the target of bloody men, from Abbot Mathew’s quote, far too many times.
Gareth shook his head. “We swore we would be more careful, Gwen.”
“Tangwen is far away and safe,” she said, “and we can hardly turn our backs now. Who else is still standing and capable of finding the truth?”
She sensed more than heard Gareth’s groan. “I should send you away.”
Gwen folded her arms across her chest. “Who’s to say danger wouldn’t come with me to Aberystwyth? Perhaps the murderer would follow me, thinking I’d stumbled onto an answer I don’t have. I’m safer with you and the Dragons.” She tipped her head to Evan, who squared his shoulders.
“I’ll speak to Prince Hywel immediately. You’re going to have a guard whether you like it or not.” He left.
Gareth rolled his eyes at Gwen. “Now you’ve done it.”
“I’ve been watching the Dragons for a while now, and they’re no different from most of your men, albeit more individually skilled. They are happiest when they’re fighting or feasting. Protecting us will give them something to do—and keep them out of Cadell’s way.”
Gareth frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“The Dragons got Cadell into Wiston, and then Evan says they were reined in at the last moment, just when the keep was theirs for the taking. Why?”
“We don’t know why.”
“Exactly. Something is going on here we don’t know about. Don’t you think we should? How are we to solve these murders when the king himself is withholding crucial information?”
“Perhaps he thinks it isn’t pertinent.”
Gwen scoffed. “He’s the king. That’s for him to decide. But Robert was at Wiston. Perhaps his murder is related to whatever they’re hiding. And you realize who the king is going to blame if we don’t discover who did this.”
Gareth paused and sent Gwen a piercing look. “Cadell will blame me.”
“A man from Gwynedd. How convenient.”
Gareth suddenly looked very wary. “I didn’t consider that when I agreed to head up the investigation.”
Gwen canted her head. “Not to say you could have done anything else. It was up to Hywel and Cadell more than you.”
The doorway darkened, and Gareth and Gwen turned to see that it wasn’t Evan returning but Abbot Mathew, who had brought a stable boy
with him. “May I come in?” Mathew’s eyes tracked from Gwen to Gareth to Llelo, still in his corner. Mathew was a priest, so it was no surprise he sensed something amiss, but he didn’t speak of it. “Young Pedr has something to tell you.”
Gareth raised his eyebrows at Gwen, asking without speaking, which it seemed they were doing with each other more and more often, that she should take charge of this. He didn’t want the boy telling his story while standing over Robert’s dead body. Pedr’s eyes were wide enough as it was. Gwen moved to the doorway, blocking the boy’s view and at the same time gesturing that they should return to the shelter of the walkway between the cloister and the washroom.
Once there, Pedr couldn’t wait to speak. “I saw Sir Robert last night!” The boy was endearing, with his bright red hair that stuck straight up and a collection of freckles that covered his nose and cheeks. Gwen put him at about twelve years old.
“When was this?” Gwen flicked her eyes to Mathew, who was looking at the boy with a paternal air.
“After compline.” Compline was the prayer vigil before the monks retired to bed.
“Should I not ask what you were doing awake at that hour?” Gwen said.
The boy looked sheepish, his eyes going to Mathew, who shook his head gently. “We will discuss your infraction later. Tell Lady Gwen what you told me.”
“Sir Robert was leading his horse around the side of the church, heading to the cemetery.” Pedr paused. Where before he had been anxious to tell his story, now he was suddenly hesitant.
“It’s all right, Pedr,” Mathew said. “Just say it.”
“I’d startled him, and he took the name of the Lord in vain.” Pedr hastily crossed himself. “But then he smiled and said he had a treat for me.”
“A treat? What kind of treat?” Gwen’s intensity had Pedr leaning away from her, and she took in a breath to calm herself. It was rare enough for someone to come forward with information, rather than her having to pry it from him, she was almost flustered.
“He rummaged in his saddle bag and pulled out a tart wrapped in a cloth.” The boy’s eyes went to the ground.
Gwen suspected he was feeling guilty about taking it, but it was another infraction for Abbot Mathew. She didn’t care about that. “Did you eat it?”
Pedr’s head came up. “No! I wouldn’t!” Then he looked rueful. “I know that tart, and something the cook puts in it gives me a rash and makes my mouth itch. Besides, Sir Robert had already cursed, and I wasn’t supposed to be out of the dormitory, and … and he’d muffled his horse’s hooves with cloth so they wouldn’t sound on the cobbles.”
Mathew nodded. “I spoke to the gatekeeper. He knew none of this and heard nothing in the night.”
“I’m telling the truth!”
Gwen turned back to Pedr. “We believe you. How long after compline was this?”
Pedr’s eyes skated to Mathew and back to Gwen again. “Maybe … three hours?”
That would be midnight, which would be in keeping with the state of Robert’s body if he died shortly thereafter. “You were alone the whole time?”
This time his nod lacked conviction. Abbot Mathew sighed. “You were running with that village boy, weren’t you?”
Pedr let out a breath, but he didn’t look unhappy to discover Mathew already knew—quite the opposite. He was relieved. “He’d just left.”
Gareth probably could have related to these boyish hijinks. For Gwen’s part, she was trying to make sense of Pedr’s story. Not that she didn’t believe him. The problem was what he’d described Robert to have done. It was a simple matter to reach the graveyard without going through the church, and it made no sense that he would risk waking the gatekeeper and being seen. But then, perhaps the issue was the horse. If the animal had been kept in the stables, Robert had to go through the monastery to take it away. Why he’d left it there and why he was taking it away at midnight remained a mystery, along with the location of the horse now.
None of those questions were necessary to share with Mathew or Pedr. “I’ll leave that to your abbot. Where’s the tart now?”
“In the stables. I’ll show you.” Pedr set off at a run, leading them along the walkway and around the main monastery buildings until they arrived back at the courtyard and the adjacent stables. Once inside, he went straight to a pile of hay, knelt to dig within it, and came up with a small, wrapped package.
Gwen hadn’t expected to find the large pie that had been served in the hall, and this was, indeed, hardly larger than her palm. She took it from Pedr, who eased back on his heels, glad to be rid of it.
“After he gave this to you, did he leave by the graveyard gate?” Gwen asked.
Pedr nodded.
“And you didn’t see him again?”
“I went straight back to bed.”
Mathew put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Pedr. Off you go.”
With a buoyant smile, relieved of his burden, Pedr left. Mathew’s expression immediately sobered. “Why do you care so much about the tart?”
While Gareth preferred not to share information with anyone who might be a suspect, Gwen didn’t include Father Mathew among the possible villains. The whole castle probably knew the truth by now anyway. It was only a matter of time before everyone in the monastery did too. “It was the custard pie that killed all those people last night.”
Abbot Mathew’s eyes widened. “Surely Sir Robert didn’t know the tart was poisoned. He couldn’t have meant to kill the boy!” He gazed unseeing at the open doorway through which Pedr had disappeared. “I’ve known the man our entire lives. He was a warrior. How could he be involved in something so underhanded?”
Gwen tipped her head from side to side, conveying doubt. “His behavior is suspicious, but again, he was the one who ended up dead, and he didn’t murder himself.”
Mathew looked down at the ground. Fresh hay had recently been laid across the dirt floor. “I’m not sure that’s a comfort. What was he doing here so late? Whom did he meet?”
“His murderer.” She felt sorry for the abbot, but nobody could ever truly see what was in another’s heart. “Can you tell me when Robert left King Cadell’s service for Earl Gilbert’s?”
Mathew’s head swung around to look at her. “Who said he did?”
Gwen blinked. “Richard, Earl Gilbert’s son, told Gareth that Robert was his swordsmaster now. You confirmed it in the graveyard.”
“Oh, that.” Mathew waved his hand dismissively. “That was a courtesy from one lord to another. Richard has designs on becoming a great warrior. Last year, his father asked Cadell for the loan of Robert, in preparation for Richard’s ascension to knighthood next year.”
“When he’ll be eighteen.”
“Yes. He, Prince Maredudd, and Prince Rhys will be knighted together, even though Rhys is two years younger than the older boys.”
“In Wales, boys become men earlier,” Gwen said, thinking of Llelo.
Mathew nodded. “Maredudd could have been knighted already. Should have been in my opinion.”
“Why hasn’t he?”
Mathew gave her a baleful look.
Gwen tipped her head, putting one small piece of the very large puzzle in place. “Cadell doesn’t want it for him? He is worried about being outdone?”
“I shouldn’t speak of this,” Mathew said, but then continued anyway. “Maredudd is a natural leader. What’s more, he and Rhys are close companions in temperament and wisdom. All the men know it. They are young now, but Cadell already feels them pushing up behind him.”
Gwen was pleased to know more about the intricacies of Cadell’s court, because it would help her understand some of the undercurrents. Sir Robert’s death touched both the court at Dinefwr and at Pembroke. They needed to find his killer.
Mathew knew it too. “I’m wondering what happened to Sir Robert’s horse.”
Gwen looked down the row of stalls. “Do we know for certain it isn’t here in your stables?”
“Not th
at I’ve heard or that I see.” Mathew walked down the aisle. When he got to the end, he shook his head regretfully. “Perhaps it returned to the castle or found its way to Robert’s manor.”
“Robert has a manor?”
“Oh, yes. His father was well rewarded for his service to King Cadell’s father. It’s just too bad Robert himself never had any children.”
“Did he ever marry?”
“When he was a young man, his wife and child died, and he never formed another attachment.”
Some would say he had shirked his duty to his name, but Gwen could understand not wanting to risk going through that kind of pain and loss again. She was just happy that her father, after nearly sixteen years of being alone, had found it in his heart to love again. “Who oversaw Robert’s possessions when he was away?”
“That would be a member of Cadell’s retinue, one Alban. His wife, Caron, is Robert’s niece.”
Chapter Eleven
Gwen
Gwen waited patiently for her husband to finish his examination of Sir Robert’s body, by which point the Dragons had arrived to escort them to the manor Robert owned (and Alban oversaw).
“Alban and Caron were among the diners at the castle,” Evan said when Gwen told him what she’d learned from Abbot Mathew.
“Did they survive?” Gareth said.
“I have not seen them since last night, but they are not among the dead,” Evan said.
Gwen hadn’t thought to do a more complete accounting of the survivors, beyond those from Aberystwyth. “Robert’s murderer, as well as the person who poisoned the diners last night, would not be among the ill—unless he was very clever and willing to risk his own life for his cause.”
Evan nodded. “So we’ll add two more to the list, if only because of their connection to Robert.”
Gwen shot him a look. “Are you all right with that? These people were your friends.”
“It was a long time ago, Gwen.”
The Worthy Soldier Page 9
