The Fallen Princess

by Sarah Woodbury

  Hywel reminded himself that if he’d had a different brother that could have been his fate too: always in his brother’s shadow and never allowed an opinion or action of his own but expected to follow Rhun’s lead. Hywel was the second son, but he knew both his brother and his father loved and trusted him. He couldn’t say the same for Ifon, which made the irony of his elevation to the throne all the greater. With Ifon’s father and both older brothers dead, he was all that had been left to rule Rhos.

  “I apologize for adding to the size of your gathering by ten,” Hywel said. “It is not my intent to put you out.”

  “I say again that you honor us with your presence, my lord,” Ifon said.

  Hywel decided to take Ifon at his word and not mention it again. Ifon’s courtesy towards Hywel was slightly shaming, in fact, considering what Hywel had come here to task him with.

  “I have more apologies,” Hywel said as Ifon led him to an exterior staircase that took them to the floor above the great hall. As at Aber, Bryn Euryn consisted of a great hall, stables, craft halls, barracks, and a small chapel, but on a smaller scale. In particular, the hall didn’t have wings built off of it or an adjacent manor house in which to put Bryn Euryn’s residents, much less its guests. With the inhabitants quadrupled for the holy day, Hywel might be sleeping in the stables with his men.

  Ifon’s office was among the four rooms that took up the floor above the hall. Two of the other doors were open as they passed them, revealing a bedchamber and a narrow room housing stacked trunks and crates of household goods. Weapons and armor would be stored in the barracks or armory near the gatehouse. Turning into Ifon’s chamber, Hywel seated himself where Ifon indicated.

  Ifon then walked around a table and sat behind it, folding his hands and resting them in front of him. He kept himself stiff, his shoulders tight and his back straight. “You have me worried now.”

  Hywel had known his appearance would cause consternation in his host. No minor lord ever wanted his prince to appear unheralded and ask for a private audience, and for Hywel to appear so close to Hallowmas had to be even more disconcerting.

  “I have been searching my mind for what disaster could have brought you here on such a night,” Ifon said when Hywel didn’t immediately begin to explain. “It isn’t—it couldn’t be your father—?”

  Hywel put up a hand, wanting to put Ifon at his ease. “No. It is a matter that is far less urgent and at the same time far more so.” Hywel forced his own shoulders to relax. “We have found the body of Tegwen, your brother’s wife.”

  Across the table, Ifon sat frozen. The silence between them stretched out for ten heartbeats before he said, “Please explain.”

  Hywel gave a brief summary of the finding of Tegwen, leaving his uncle’s involvement out of it for the moment. “From the condition of the body, it seems that she has been dead for many years.”

  “If that is so, why do you think the body is Tegwen’s?” Ifon eased back in his chair, recovering from his initial surprise and allowing his intellect to begin to work.

  “It is a complicated matter, and to tell you all would give you more details than you might want to know, but suffice to say, the king has seen her, as have her grandparents, Gruffydd and Sioned. We have no doubt that the body is that of my cousin.”

  “Well—” Ifon let out a whuf of expelled breath and sat still for another moment, thinking. “Of all the things you could have told me, I would never have expected this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hywel said.

  Ifon tapped three fingers on the table in front of him. “What I don’t understand is why you, of all people, came here to tell me this, especially the night before Hallowmas? While Tegwen was a lady of Rhos, she disappeared a long time ago. You could have sent a message through someone of lesser stature.”

  “I needed to come,” Hywel said.

  Ifon canted his head, his attention focusing more closely on Hywel’s face. “There must be something about Tegwen’s body—or perhaps the manner of her death—that is troubling.”

  Hywel sighed. “Tegwen was murdered.”

  Ifon leaned closer. “You’re sure?”

  “There can be no doubt,” Hywel said.

  “How did she die? When did she die?” Ifon said.

  With every sentence Ifon spoke, Hywel revised his estimation of Ifon’s intelligence, which seemed to have developed since Hywel had seen him last. Ifon must have been hiding it all these years when he was in Bran’s shadow. In fact, thinking back, Hywel was sure of it.

  “She was bashed on the head, though from the condition of the body, it happened a long time ago, perhaps years. Perhaps even within a day or two of her disappearance.” Hywel didn’t like imparting such crucial information to potential suspects, but Ifon was hardly a suspect in Tegwen’s murder, and his cooperation was vital if Hywel was going to get anywhere in Rhos.

  Ifon expression showed distaste. “Hell.”

  Hywel nodded. “The finding of her remains has complicated my life considerably.”

  “As it will mine.” Ifon slapped his palm onto the table in front of him. “Tell me, what do you want from me?”

  “I need permission to speak to your people,” Hywel said. “Everyone at Aber believed that Tegwen had run away with a Dane. I need to talk to whoever reported that event.”

  “That would be her maid and a guard,” Ifon said. “The maid is dead, but the guard still lives. I will arrange a meeting for you tomorrow.”

  “I have other questions too,” Hywel said. “Who was this Dane? When did she meet with him? And what about her children? By all accounts, she was devoted to them. How could she have left them so precipitously?”

  “All good questions. I always thought that part strange too,” Ifon said. “I spent very little time at Bryn Euryn during those years, but I was aware that Tegwen wouldn’t visit her parents without them, and of course, my brother wouldn’t permit the girls to leave Bryn Euryn.”

  Hywel was glad to have that bit of information confirmed straight away. When Gruffydd had spoken to him of it, Hywel had thought it in keeping with Bran’s character. “How well did you know Tegwen?” Hywel wanted to ask as many questions as he could while he had Ifon’s full attention. Given the upcoming festivities and the demands on Ifon’s time, Hywel might not get another chance as private as this.

  Ifon raised one shoulder. “Not as well as you might think for a woman who was married to my brother for four years.” He waggled his hand back and forth at the wrist. “Admittedly, I spent most of those years overseeing my own estates, and once my father died and my brother assumed the mantle of Lord of Rhos—”

  “—that was shortly before Tegwen’s disappearance, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Ifon said. “At Epiphany. After my father’s funeral, I made myself particularly scarce.”

  “And why was that?”

  Ifon eyed Hywel. “You know why.” But when Hywel didn’t help him with his explanation, Ifon folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, his chin sticking out. “My brother was a tyrant. I became a man in his shadow, made worse after my eldest brother died and my father turned to Bran as his heir. He could never see Bran’s flaws—or at least he couldn’t admit to them.”

  Within Welsh law, lands and wealth were split among all sons upon a man’s death, but when lordships were at stake, usually it wasn’t quite that simple. Only one man could wear the mantle of Lord of Rhos. “Where are your lands?”

  “To the east. I kept them and have defended them with my own men, despite my brother’s insistence that all of Rhos should belong to him.” Ifon tipped his chin towards Hywel. “Your father came to my assistance before my brother and I came to actual blows.”

  Hywel was glad to hear it. He was liking this third son of Rhos more and more but told himself to remain wary. Ifon was looking like a better candidate for the hand behind Bran’s death with every word he spoke. “When did you last see Tegwen?” Hywel said.

  Ifon rubbed at his
jaw with thumb and forefinger. “I wasn’t here when she disappeared. I’d have to say it was when we marshaled our forces to march on Powys.”

  Hywel sat up straighter. “You were in Powys with the fighting?”

  Ifon snorted in apparent disgust. “I was, though my brother did everything in his power to ensure that I was kept to the rear. Again, it was your father who intervened and gave me command of a small force he used to scout for enemy locations around the River Dee. My brother didn’t want me anywhere near him.” He shrugged. “Your father trusted me, but I am able to admit that while I have a knack for managing men, my hand with a sword—” Ifon shook his head. “Let’s just say that I am not a fearsome sight.”

  That must have been yet another strike against Ifon in Bran’s eyes, but Ifon’s ability to admit his flaw elevated him in Hywel’s. “Where was Bran?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Ifon said. “I didn’t see him more than once or twice that entire spring. He was with the main body of your father’s army.”

  “After Tegwen disappeared, did he return to Bryn Euryn?” Hywel said.

  “I suppose he did. I couldn’t tell you when or how he heard the news, though come to think on it, it must have been fairly immediately afterwards since he was involved in organizing a party of searchers.”

  “Can you tell me anything about that day? Anything about where Tegwen went and what she did?” Hywel said.

  Ifon shook his head regretfully. “I can tell you only what I was told. She was here over breakfast. Nobody saw what she did or where she went afterwards until she sailed off with that Dane. That’s all I know.”

  “Was that unusual?” Hywel said. “Bran wasn’t at home. Surely she had the run of the place. Someone must have seen her.”

  “You can’t be unaware of her—” Ifon stopped with a wary look at Hywel.

  “Her what?” Although Hywel thought he knew what Ifon was implying, he wasn’t going to help him out in this either.

  “She was a very unhappy woman and left most of the raising of her children to the maids and nannies. That’s not unusual, of course. Many women of her station do, but those mothers have other tasks to see to. Tegwen did not manage Bryn Euryn. She drank wine.”

  “I had heard that,” Hywel said without apologizing for not saying so earlier. “You’re telling me that she kept to herself?”

  “Most days, from what I understand, she wandered the beaches and the woods around the castle. Frankly, when the maid and guard said she’d run off with a Dane, we thought she’d met him on the beach and went off with him on a whim. If she was drunk enough, she could have.”

  “There’s a piece missing here,” Hywel said. “Don’t you see it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No Danish longship could close in on Aber’s beach without the castle marshaling its forces to meet it. How could one approach Bryn Euryn without raising an alarm?”

  “I-I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it. And of course, I wasn’t here when it happened.” Ifon hesitated.

  “What?” Hywel said.

  “I confess that I wanted the story to be true because I knew Tegwen was unhappy and … my brother was not good to her,” Ifon concluded in a rush.

  “I’d heard that too. How was he not good to her? Did he beat her?” Hywel said, looking for confirmation of Gruffydd’s version of events.

  Ifon pursed his lips. “No. Not that I heard or saw, but then, I didn’t spend much time here, as I said. It was more a matter of disregard. Certainly, he wasn’t faithful to her.”

  Hywel nodded. Tegwen’s grandfather had said that he beat her, but so far he was the only one to make that accusation. “Do you have any thoughts regarding how her body ended up half a mile from Aber?”

  Ifon looked down at the table in front of him. Hywel let the silence draw out, trying to be respectful of Ifon’s own emotions but sensing for the first time that what might come next out of Ifon’s mouth would be something less than the truth.

  “I have no idea,” Ifon said.

  “Is there anybody I can talk to this evening?” Hywel said. “Why can’t I speak to this guard now?”

  “He is elderly and has already retired for the night. In addition, he is hard of hearing. He may have trouble understanding what you say to him.”

  “Then I will take whomever you can find me,” Hywel said.

  Ifon bit his lip. “There’s no one, my lord.”

  Hywel’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean no one?”

  “No one lives at Bryn Euryn, other than the guard, who lived here when Tegwen was its lady.”

  A wave of unease rose in Hywel. “How is that possible? Surely not everyone from that time is dead?”

  “Some are dead. Many have relocated to other areas of Rhos,” Ifon said. “I hadn’t ever given it much thought, but my brother made some changes when he returned from the fighting in the east that summer. He said he wanted to distinguish his rule from our father’s. In truth, I felt the same after my brother died. I didn’t want to be surrounded by his former men.”

  Hywel bowed to Ifon’s greater knowledge of his cantref, but whatever the current strength of Ifon’s rule, he couldn’t help thinking that all had not been well in Rhos in the year Tegwen disappeared.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gwen

  The revelry among the diners was waning, and many of the guests had begun to disperse to their crowded bed chambers. The barracks were full to bursting with men, and twice that number would sleep on the floor of the hall. Tomorrow evening would bring Hallowmas. Tegwen would be put into the ground before then. Gwen wasn’t looking forward to the ceremony, not with the grief so fresh and close to the surface. Earlier, when the king had finally stood at the high table and announced Tegwen’s death (though not that she was murdered) and then when Gwalchmai sang a lament without accompaniment, the outpouring of emotion had left Gwen stricken along with everyone else.

  She had told Mari that she pitied Tegwen and was trying not to judge her. But Gwen wished Tegwen had shown a little more spine. Gwen understood that Tegwen loved Bran—or had at one time—but love should have set her free, rather than cowing her as it seemed to have done.

  “Why me?” Gareth said, bringing Gwen’s attention back to the table where she was sitting with him and Godfrid.

  “You are good at finding things,” Godfrid said.

  Gareth leaned forward. “You want something found?”

  “The Book of Kells.”

  Gwen’s mouth dropped open. “The Book of Kells is missing?” The Book of Kells was a three-hundred-year-old manuscript containing the first four gospels of the New Testament. The monks had so beautifully illuminated it that the book was treasured by all the peoples of Ireland, regardless of what kingdom they lived in.

  “It has been stolen,” Godfrid said, “by Ottar’s son, Thorfin. I believe he brought it to Wales.”

  “You’d better start at the beginning,” Gareth said.

  “Like you did with your story?” Godfrid said and then pursed his lips, his eyes raised to the ceiling as he thought. “You are aware of the troubles in my country?”

  “I am aware of the conflicts between the kingdom of Dublin and the four kingdoms of Ireland,” Gareth said. “It seems to me that with your people holding only Dublin and all the kings of Ireland after it like a prize, you are in a precarious situation.”

  “They eye us like dogs with only one bone among them,” Godfrid said.

  “I gather that things have grown more difficult in the year since we were there?” Gwen said.

  “My father maintained a tenuous peace, and he was happy to allow the Irish kings to fight among themselves for the high kingship,” Godfrid said. “In turn, they did not actively object to his rule of Dublin.” He made a motion as if to spit on the ground. “Since last year, however, we have grown weaker under Ottar.”

  “Ottar?” Gwen said. “I hear you speak of your father as if he is no longer king. I thought Ottar and Torcall sh
ared power.”

  “Not anymore. My father is unwell, and my brother and I have been unable to win over to our side enough of the men who once supported my father and now support Ottar. They see my father’s illness and call him weak.”

  That was a sin of the greatest magnitude—for any king, though more for the Danes than for some.

  “It is Ottar who threatens our very existence,” Godfrid said.

  “How so?” Gareth said.

  “He fails to strategize and use our men and resources wisely. He fights when he should run and retreats when he should stand.”

  While Godfrid’s body remained relaxed in his seat, his words belied his external calmness. This was important to him. In fact, there might not be anything more important to him than this. He’d been born a Prince of Dublin, raised to believe that the throne would one day be his, and now found himself to be a grown man without a kingdom.

  Despite his denials, Gwen hoped he hadn’t come to Wales expecting King Owain to give him an army to lead against Ottar. The king had his hands full as it was with the wars to the east and south, among the Normans, the lords of the March, and lesser barons in Powys. In addition, King Owain was cousin to the same Irish kings that threatened Dublin. He would have to see a huge advantage in angering them by taking the side of the Dublin Danes.

  “How does the Book of Kells come into it?” Gareth said.

  “Ottar’s son, Thorfin, sacked Kells and burned it as part of a summer campaign to expand our territory and create a buffer around Dublin,” Godfrid said. “In the course of the fighting, he stole the Book of Kells.”

  “He meant to hold it hostage?” Gwen couldn’t think of another reason to take it. It wasn’t a person, but the Irish of Leinster might be willing to move heaven and earth to get it back.