“Yes, sir.” Llelo looked down at his feet.
Gareth put his head close to Llelo’s. “I won’t mention this to anyone if you don’t.”
“Thank you, Da.” The color slowly returned to Llelo’s face.
Hywel shot Gareth a sliver of a smile and tipped his head towards the boy. “Is he all right?”
“He will be,” Gareth said, “once he calms down and his courage returns.”
Hywel had lit the candle again and now proceeded around the room with it, surveying the contents of the house: a bed in the far corner, a table with two stools tucked underneath it, and a shelf holding platters and cups. A broom leaned against the wall by the cupboard.
“Warm and dry, as I said.” Hywel gestured to the beams that supported the plank board ceiling. “Wena hung her herbs here. They never grew mold, not even during the worst of the winter rains.”
“How did she manage that?” Gareth said.
Hywel shrugged. “She always said it was in the house’s nature, though she did keep a fire burning in that brazier.” Hywel pointed to a grate that Gareth hadn’t noticed earlier, located in the back of the room at the front of a hollowed-out section of the wall a foot above the ground.
His brow furrowed, Gareth looked around the room for a chimney, but there wasn’t one. Nor was there a hole in the roof.
“When the fire was lit, the smoke was sucked right out of the house through that hole. Clever, really.” Hywel had always valued cleverness in people more than any other quality.
Gareth found a lantern on the shelf next to the cups. He lit it and brought it over so it could shine into the opening. While the surface of the wall was dirt, he saw now that it was of variable width and backed up by solid rock. This opening was a channel through the rock that went straight up before curving away into the hill. He could feel the breeze on his face as it passed through the house from the door.
“Wena thought that a stream might have run through the rock long ago,” Hywel said. “It’s why the door slammed shut and the candle blew out. A time or two Gwen and I tried to find the exit point further up the mountain, but we never could.”
After one last look into the hole, Gareth moved to the only other feature of the hut that looked interesting: a ladder, the top of which disappeared into the ceiling above them. “Where does that go?”
“There’s a second level above us. Sometimes Gwen and I would play among the jars and boxes of herbs that Wena stored there. She always said that they would keep forever because it was so warm and dry and safe from wet.”
Holding the lantern with one hand, Gareth climbed the ladder until his head poked through the opening in the ceiling. As wide as the floor below, the loft no longer stored Wena’s herbs and in fact held nothing at all. The air was warmer up here, as Hywel had said, and the wooden floor held a layer of dust and dirt that could have been years old, if not decades, but probably wasn’t. Wena seemed the type to keep a neat house.
Gareth held up the light. “Someone has been here recently.”
“That’s good news, I think.” Hywel came to the base of the ladder and looked up at Gareth.
“More than one someone, if I’m not mistaken,” Gareth added. Many footprints marred the dust. Starting at the ladder, they crossed the floor to a stone retaining wall at the back of the loft and then returned, crisscrossing back and forth as if their owners had made multiple trips. Dirt and footprints marred the ground around the wall too. Gareth climbed all the way up the ladder to get a better look.
Hywel’s head appeared through the opening, and he took in the room with a sweeping gaze. “What happened to the retaining wall?”
“I was waiting for you before I found out.” Gareth cat-walked across the floor, staying to the left of the line of footprints. The wall had been built to a height of six feet. Stones at the top of the wall had come down, such that one section rose only to slightly below Gareth’s chest. He peered into the gap, careful not to disturb any more stones.
“Wena had trouble with dirt and rock crumbling off the back wall. She liked things neat,” Hywel said.
The builders had piled debris to waist height in the space between the hillside that made up the back wall of the house and the retaining wall. For most of its length, that space was six inches to a foot, but where Gareth stood, a natural curve in the hillside made the gap more like two feet. His brow furrowed. “There’s something here.”
In a moment, Hywel was beside him. His candle flickered over the scene but didn’t go out. The draft in the loft wasn’t as strong as downstairs but indicated that more fissures and tunnels besides the large one downstairs wound through the hill.
Gareth reached over the wall and lifted out a deerskin cloak, crumpled as if someone had balled it up and thrown it over the wall. It was heavily stained too, though it was hard to tell with what in this light, and had a Druidic look to it. If it had been Wena’s, it was no wonder the children had thought her a witch. Gareth shook it out and held it up to Hywel, who studied it while chewing on his lower lip.
“Is everything all right up there?” Llelo’s voice wafted up to them from below in a somewhat higher register than normal.
“We’re fine, Llelo,” Gareth said.
“I know what you’re thinking but not saying,” Hywel said, glowering at Gareth.
Gareth stayed where he was, simply looking at his prince.
Hywel sighed. “We have found Tegwen’s shroud.”
Chapter Eight
Hywel
“You can see it too, can’t you? Finding himself with a dead princess on his hands, the killer wrapped Tegwen’s body in Wena’s deerskin and threw her over the wall,” Hywel said.
“It’s what I’m thinking,” Gareth said. “It’s perfect. The wall should have been high enough such that it wasn’t possible to see over it. Nobody would ever have looked there if it hadn’t come down.”
Hywel shook his head. He had both wanted to find Tegwen’s grave and not wanted to. But now that they thought they had, he couldn’t back away from it. His next step must be to speak to old Wynn. Gareth sent Llelo back to the castle to recover from his ordeal, and he and Hywel entered the village. They stopped first at Wynn’s hut, but he wasn’t home, and his daughter pointed them to the tavern. They found Wynn seated on a stool at one of the tables, well into his cups.
“How many has he had?” Hywel asked Huw, the tavern-keeper.
“He started early today, my lord,” Huw said.
As the sun was still high in the sky, he must have started early indeed. Hywel regarded the old man, who so far hadn’t looked up and was gazing into his cup, which was half full of mead. “How early is early?”
“I don’t usually see him until mid-afternoon, but he arrived just after the morning meal. I was about to call for his daughter to take him home,” Huw said. “I don’t want him collapsing on the green and hurting himself.”
“Give us some time with him first. We need to talk to him,” Hywel said.
“Yes, my lord.” Huw touched his forehead with two fingers in a sign of respect, accepting that Hywel’s suggestion was actually an order.
Gareth and Hywel dragged stools to either side of Wynn, who looked blearily from one to the other of them over his cup of mead. “What’re you looking at?” He didn’t seem to recognize Hywel, or at least he gave no obeisance to him as befitted Hywel’s station as a prince of Gwynedd.
Hywel didn’t take offense. Wynn’s befuddlement amused him. He didn’t need Wynn’s respect, only his attention. Hywel reached out and gently removed Wynn’s cup from his hand. “I think you’ve had enough, my friend.”
“You’re no friend of mine.” Wynn made to grab at the cup but ended up knocking Hywel’s arm. Hywel lifted the cup high and managed not to spill what remained of its contents.
“I will give your drink back to you as soon as you answer a few questions.” Hywel set the cup two feet away from Wynn on the opposite end of the table.
Wynn peered blearily at
Hywel. “Have I seen you before?”
“Many times,” Hywel said.
Wynn waggled his finger at Hywel. “I remember now. I’ve heard you singing up at the castle.”
Gareth was trying not to laugh at Wynn’s befuddlement. “Our good prince might be singing for us today.”
Wynn cupped a hand to his ear. “What’s that?”
Gareth leaned in. “We have questions, Wynn.”
“Aye.” Wynn made another grab for the cup. This time, it was Gareth who whisked it away, though he wasn’t as agile as Hywel, and a measure of mead slopped onto his hand.
Hywel tapped his fingers on the table in front of Wynn to regain his attention. “We want to talk to you about where you went today.”
“I didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been here.” Wynn hunkered down over his elbows, which rested on the table.
“What about before the tavern opened?” Hywel said.
Wynn didn’t answer, just shook his head.
Hywel tried again. “Why did you decide to drink breakfast and dinner today?”
Wynn eyed his cup, but Gareth kept an arm across the table to block his access to it. Any more lunges from Wynn and Hywel would return the cup to Huw at the bar.
“That’s mine. I paid for it,” Wynn said.
“I find that highly unlikely.” Hywel glanced at the tavern keeper, who was smirking as he dried a flagon with a cloth. “Shall I ask Huw what you owe him?”
Wynn cleared his throat and sat straighter on his stool. He adjusted his tunic with a look of righteousness on his face. “I can’t remember what I did this morning.”
“If I ask your daughter where you were, will she tell me you were in bed?” Hywel said.
Wynn couldn’t maintain his dignity for more than one sentence. He stuck out his chin. “I was asleep. That’s where I was.”
Hywel rubbed his jaw. “And before that? At what hour of the night did you find your bed?”
Wynn smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know? But I don’t kiss and tell.”
Hywel blinked. The image of Wynn sneaking home after carousing with one of the village’s widows had his eyeballs burning. Gareth seemed to be having the same problem.
Hywel decided to change tactics. “I understand that you maintain old Wena’s hut for Prince Cadwaladr, is that right?”
Wynn nodded, and now he really did look wary. “So?”
“Did you visit the hut yesterday?” Hywel said.
“I always do,” Wynn said. “I have to care for my horse, don’t I?”
“Did you notice anything unusual there yesterday?” Gareth said.
“No.”
“Have you seen Prince Cadwaladr in the last few days?” Gareth said.
“I saw him.” Wynn’s voice was sullen.
This was as painful as pulling teeth. Hywel glanced at Gareth, who shrugged and said, “What do you think?”
“I think he knows something he’s not telling,” Hywel said. “I’m not sure we’re going to learn what that is until he sobers up.”
And then, to prove Hywel correct, Wynn rested his head on his arms and closed his eyes. Within a count of ten, he was snoring gently. Hywel gave a snort of disgust and gestured that Gareth should remove the cup so Wynn wouldn’t knock it over if he startled in his sleep.
“We’re left with the same questions we had when we left Wena’s house,” Gareth said.
Hywel scrubbed at his hair with both hands. “At least we can confirm with the daughter that he was in his bed all night.”
Gareth handed off Wynn’s cup to Huw, promising to inform Wynn’s daughter of the state her father was in and ask her to collect him, and the two men strolled back to Wynn’s house. Hywel found the back and forth from one informant to another most irritating. They’d already spoken to the daughter, but she hadn’t mentioned her father’s absence in the night, and they hadn’t asked her about it because they’d wanted to speak to Wynn first.
They found her hanging the laundry on a line that stretched between two posts, taking advantage of the rare sunny day to dry her linens. “My lords!” She dropped the cloth she was holding into the basket of wet items. “Is my father—?”
“He’s fine, Elen.” Hywel put out a calming hand. “Drunk and sleeping it off at one of Huw’s tables. Huw asks that you collect him at your convenience.”
Elen let out a sigh. “I worry about him ever since my mother died.”
“Was he out last night?” Gareth said.
A wary look came into Elen’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Was your father absent from his bed at any time in the night?” Hywel said.
“He left to use the latrine at one point,” Elen said.
“Was he gone long?” Hywel watched Elen’s face carefully for any sign of deception.
“I-I don’t know.” Elen looked away. “I fell back asleep, and when I awoke, it was morning, and he was snoring in his bed.”
“Huw says that your father doesn’t usually visit the tavern until later in the day. Do you know why he is drinking so heavily today?” Gareth said.
“No,” Elen said. “Can you tell me what this is about?” When Hywel and Gareth didn’t answer immediately, she added, “Has my father done something wrong?”
“We won’t know until we find out where he was before dawn,” Gareth said.
“Is this about the body on the beach? My father couldn’t have had anything to do with that. He couldn’t!”
“We are making inquiries at this point, that is all,” Hywel said. “Calm yourself.”
Elen had taken several steps towards them, but she subsided, the wary look returning. “I’ll finish up here and go to him.”
“That would be best,” Gareth said.
Then Hywel bent towards Elen. “If your father can tell us where he was last night, if he went anywhere besides the latrine, we would be grateful. We aren’t accusing him of any wrongdoing. We simply need to know what he knows.”
Elen swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord.”
Hywel nodded at Elen. “We’ll take our leave.”
“Ceri thought he may have seen two men with the cart,” Gareth said as they walked back to where they’d tied the horses.
“If Uncle Cadwaladr was one, it makes sense that Wynn was the other,” Hywel said. “Let’s check in with Gwen, and then I’m afraid it’s time to speak to my father.”
Hywel wished he could avoid that conversation, but it seemed he had no choice. “We may have to pretend we know for certain that Cadwaladr is a part of this.”
“He is a part of this,” Gareth said.
Hywel shot Gareth a quelling look. “I am certain my uncle was on the beach this morning, but we have no evidence of his further involvement.”
“If he didn’t murder Tegwen himself,” Gareth said, “he can at least confirm that her body was found in Wena’s hut.”
“True,” Hywel said. “If we’re very convincing, he will be anxious to absolve himself of any other crime and will have seen something or know something else that will help us. We must get whatever that is out of him.”
Hywel wasn’t sure how he was going to do that. Cadwaladr was an accomplished liar. In fact, he lied as well as Hywel himself did. Hywel was grateful that if Gareth had the same thought, he chose to keep his observation to himself.
Chapter Nine
Gareth
Gwen greeted them at the gatehouse upon their return to the castle. It appeared she’d been waiting for them. Gareth could tell at once by her expression that something was wrong.
“It’s not good news, is it?” he said.
Gwen’s look was apologetic. “I thought it might be better to talk here where we can’t be overheard. Your father is sitting at the high table with Cadwaladr even now, waiting for your return.”
“Does he know that we suspect Cadwaladr of something?” Hywel said.
Gwen nodded. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Your uncle was glaring at me, and King Owain saw him.”
&n
bsp; Hywel grimaced. “Tell me quickly what you’ve learned.”
Gwen obeyed. Both Hywel and Gareth knew Brychan—Gareth better than Hywel, since he’d been among the garrison in Ceredigion all those years ago. Neither had known that he’d been Tegwen’s lover, however. That bit of news, and that Tegwen and Brychan had met at Wena’s hut, left Gareth shaking his head and staring at his boots. Then Hywel told Gwen what they’d found.
“Old Wena.” Gwen sighed. “I asked about her when I returned here a year ago and was sad to learn that she’d died. I never thought to wonder what had become of that marvelous house of hers.”
“It’s still there,” Hywel said, “but now the children say that it’s haunted.”
“I find that fitting,” she said. “Could be what they’ve heard is the wind moving through the mountain. In bad weather, it could scare anyone away.”
“It scared Llelo,” Gareth said.
It had occurred to Gareth also that the squeaky door and the moaning of the wind through the tunnel wouldn’t have been the only sounds that the boys could have misconstrued as the result of ghosts. To come upon the house at a time when Brychan, Cadwaladr, or who knows what other man had brought a woman to it could frighten any innocent boy. He bit his lip and looked down at his feet, suppressing his amusement.
“Where is Llelo, by the way?” Gwen looked past Gareth, her eyes searching. “I didn’t see him come in.”
“We sent him home before we visited Wynn in the village,” Gareth said. “I hope he’s licking his wounds in the kitchen.”
Gwen smiled. “Dai was upset to have missed all the excitement. That will teach him to be such a lay-about when intrigue is afoot.” Then she sobered. “I don’t mean to make light of Tegwen’s death, my lord.”
“I know,” Hywel said. “Our grief at her loss was tempered by the thought that she had gone of her own will. None of us who loved her are having an easy time of it today.”
“There is something I don’t understand, my lord,” Gwen said.
Hywel had been about to head off across the courtyard but turned back to Gwen.
The Fallen Princess Page 10
