The Fallen Princess

by Sarah Woodbury

  “Perhaps you can get Mari to eat something too,” Gwen said. “She often feels better when she does.”

  “What about you, madam?” Hafwen said.

  “I’ll dress and then eat breakfast in the hall,” Gwen said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  As Gwen re-entered the bedroom, she made for the lone window. The shutter had been closed for the night, but she opened it to let the fresh air compete with the smell of sickness. Gwen kissed Mari’s cheek. “I love you dearly, but—”

  “Get out of here.” Mari waved her hand at Gwen. “I’m in good hands with Hafwen. Go before you end up sick too.”

  Gwen didn’t need to be told twice. She dressed as quickly as she could and departed. She knew she was a coward for not wanting to attend to Mari, but her friend had been right that Gwen’s stomach had been threatening to rebel.

  Wrapping her cloak tightly around herself against the chilly morning, Gwen stepped outside, reveling in the crisp air, and set off along the path to the postern gate. It was open, so she didn’t have to wait to be let in, and the sentry on duty nodded to her as she entered. She’d temporarily forgotten his name, so she hurried past him with a quick greeting and a wave. Then she stopped and turned back. “Has Sir Gareth passed this way recently?”

  “Not recently, madam,” the guard said. “He entered before dawn.”

  “Thank you.” It had still been dark when Gareth had left their bed. With the waning of the year, the days were getting shorter, and dawn on the last day of October was hours later than it had been in June.

  The first person Gwen saw as she came around the corner of the stables was Godfrid, talking intently to two of his men. He loomed over them, for all that they were big men too, and his face was set like granite. It wasn’t a look she had often seen on him outside of those moments when he spoke about Ottar or Ottar’s son, Thorfin. Even last night when Godfrid had walked into the hall and seen Cadwaladr sitting at the high table, his expression had been one of cynical amusement.

  For Cadwaladr’s part, at the sight of the Danes, he had looked like he’d swallowed a whole radish in one go. But other than turning red, he could say nothing once his brother had risen to his feet and flung out his arms in an expansive gesture, welcoming Godfrid and his men into Aber.

  When a man had made as many poor choices as Cadwaladr, humiliation could sneak up on him when he least expected it, even if he was a prince.

  Gwen halted a few paces away from Godfrid to allow him to finish his conversation with his men, though as he was speaking Danish, she understood none of it. Once he noticed her, his expression softened, and he turned to her.

  “Is something wrong?” Gwen said.

  “Not at all—” Godfrid broke off from what he’d been about to say. Then he sucked in his cheeks and said, “I forget that I am speaking to Gwen, the wife of Gareth the knight, not a woman of my court. Yes, there is something wrong. One of my men is missing.”

  “Oh dear.” Gwen didn’t ask if he was sure. That would be insulting.

  Godfrid read her expression, however, and added, “We checked the barracks and the stables. We are two dozen men and have explored the whole castle. It is possible, I suppose, that he found a bed in a room that remains closed to us, but it doesn’t feel right that this would be true.”

  “What’s his name?” Gwen said.

  “A man named Erik. He’s half-Welsh, which is why I brought him, so that he could be another who speaks your language,” Godfrid said. “He knows Gwynedd.”

  “Why would one of your men leave without warning?” Gwen said.

  A muscle in Godfrid’s cheek twitched. “I fear I have been betrayed. I personally chose each of the men who accompany me and would not have questioned the loyalty of any, Erik among them.”

  “So he’s been with you a long while?” Gwen said.

  “Not so much with me as with my father.”

  “You said he was Welsh. Is Gwynedd his home?”

  “He came into my father’s service from Rhos, I believe.” And then Godfrid froze, realizing, as Gwen did, what he’d just said.

  Sweet Mary. “Does Gareth know of this?”

  “He has spent the last few hours searching where I could not.” Godfrid made a look there gesture, and Gwen turned to see Gareth walking towards her from underneath the portcullis. When he came up to her, she put her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest, while he patted her on the back.

  Gwen stepped away, smiling to herself because that was the gesture he used when he wanted her to know that he loved her but was too busy to really show it.

  “No luck.” Gareth scrubbed at his hair with both hands. “I have one last place to look for Erik.”

  “Where is that?” Godfrid said.

  “Some place I shouldn’t show you, but it seems I’m going to anyway, since you’re here,” Gareth said. “No horse is missing from the stables, which means he can’t have gone far or be going far.”

  “Either that or he had outside help,” Gwen said.

  Gareth made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. “That too. Still, he didn’t leave by any gate.”

  “We’re going to show Godfrid the tunnel, aren’t we?” Gwen clapped her hands together. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Gwen—”

  “It’s damp and dark but not dangerous,” Gwen said. “And you’ve never even been down it.”

  Gareth tsked through his teeth at her. “I keep meaning to, and one thing always overtakes another and drives out the notion.”

  “What tunnel is this?” Godfrid said, looking from Gareth to Gwen, his eyes alight with interest.

  “It’s a back door out of Aber in times of need,” Gareth said.

  “How would Erik have known of it?” Godfrid said.

  “He wouldn’t have had to know about the tunnels before his arrival,” Gareth said. “You know how the men talk, and it’s an open secret in Gwynedd anyway.”

  “A man guards it at all times,” Gwen said.

  “Guards can be bribed,” Gareth said. “Let’s see if the one on duty this morning knows anything.”

  Gwen opened her mouth to suggest that Gareth speak to Hywel about it before they went but then remembered that not only was Hywel not at Aber, but that Gareth’s commission had been made clear. King Owain had given them nearly free rein to pursue the investigation as he saw fit. Gareth had come a long way since that bloody road from Dolwyddelan. If Gwen had spied Rhun on the way to the tunnel, she would have roped him in for the fun of it, but she didn’t see him. They hadn’t done a very good job of freeing him from his stepmother’s clutches last night, and she hoped he’d survived the evening still a bachelor.

  The guardroom for the tunnel that went north from the castle to the sea was on the ground floor of one of Aber’s ancient towers. Extra armor and weapons were stored there, but it had space enough within it for a man to put his feet up on a table in some comfort. Gwen knew for a fact that it was a favorite gathering spot for members of the garrison to entertain each other with dicing or drink.

  This tunnel, however, was in the basement of a southern tower, at the bottom of a flight of narrow stone steps. Dank, dark, and chilly, it was the least desirable posting in the castle. King Owain didn’t use it as a punishment as he could have. The tunnel’s existence made Aber vulnerable, and he needed trusted men to guard it.

  A lamp flickered on the table below her. When Gwen, who was in the lead, came around a curve halfway down the stairs, she saw the body of the sentry sprawled on the floor. The soldier was of an age with Gareth, and Gwen knew him only by his nickname, Goch, like Gareth’s horse, for his mane of red hair.

  Gareth put a hand on her arm to stop her from continuing, passed her on the stairs, and jumped the last three steps to reach Goch first. He put his fingers to the guard’s neck and then looked up at Gwen with relief in his face. “He’s alive.”

  At Gareth’s touch, Goch moaned and swept a hand across his eyes. He struggled to sit up
, and Godfrid and Gareth helped him to sit with his back against the wall. Goch lifted his head, looking blearily at the two men who crouched before him.

  “What happened?” Gareth said.

  Another groan escaped Goch’s lips before he suppressed it. “I hardly know. I was sitting there.” He gestured to the overturned chair. “I hadn’t considered the possibility that a threat might come from the stairs behind me.”

  “So you didn’t see who hit you?” Gwen said.

  Goch shook his head and then winced, putting his hand to the back of his head.

  “Where is the man who stood watch with you?” Gareth said.

  Goch rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “He … he went to relieve himself.” Then his brow furrowed. “No, that was earlier. I don’t know what happened to him.”

  Godfrid had a habit of sucking on his teeth as he thought, and he was at it again. “Who was it?”

  “A fellow named Dewi,” Goch said.

  “Really?” Gwen looked at Gareth, concern in her eyes.

  Gareth’s brow furrowed. “Dewi was on the beach when we found Tegwen. Maybe he knows something about her death.”

  “If that’s the case, he looked at her and said nothing,” Gwen said.

  “I realize we don’t believe in coincidences, but with the arrival of the Danes, it’s possible that what Dewi knows—or fears—has nothing to do with Tegwen’s death,” Gareth said, “but with the Book of Kells.”

  Godfrid frowned. “Who is this man?”

  “He’s been nobody of importance up until now,” Gareth said. “I mean that quite literally. And Dewi isn’t new to the king’s service any more than Erik is to yours or your father’s, Godfrid. I joined Hywel’s company after he did.”

  “Gareth, I just had a thought,” Gwen said. “Could Dewi know Erik because he came from Rhos too?”

  Godfrid clenched a hand and dropped it onto the table in a fist. “What is going on?”

  “I can’t tell you what may have changed between last night and now, but perhaps we’ve finally started asking the right questions.” Gareth looked towards the tunnel.

  Gwen could see him hesitating, torn between chasing after Dewi and his duty, which was to warn the king of what had happened. “I will take Godfrid through the tunnel while you raise the alarm at Aber. You can meet us at the hay barn on the other side with more men and a horse for Godfrid. Perhaps they aren’t that far ahead of us. We don’t want to risk anyone else obscuring the evidence before we get there.”

  “As usual, she speaks sense,” Godfrid said. “I will keep her safe.”

  Gareth made a growling sound deep in his chest but nodded. “Hurry.” He raced away up the steps.

  While Godfrid lit a second lamp, Gwen went to the door to the tunnel and pulled it wide. She glanced back to Goch, who had righted the chair to seat himself at the table, his head resting in the palm of one hand.

  “I’ll stay here until you return or someone relieves me,” Goch said.

  “Keep your knife at the ready,” Godfrid said.

  Goch nodded and pulled out his boot knife, a long blade with a viciously sharp point and a leather handle, worn black with use. He laid it on the table in front of him. Godfrid nodded approvingly, and then he and Gwen entered the tunnel together.

  The last time Gwen had come here it was with Hywel, and he’d spent the whole walk reassuring her that everything was going to be fine. Gareth had been waiting for her in the barn at the other end, and it was comforting to know that he would meet them there again. Godfrid hunched his shoulders, since he was tall enough for his hair to brush the ceiling.

  “Watch your head when you reach the beams,” Gwen said. “I think you’re the tallest man who’s ever walked here.”

  That prompted a laugh from Godfrid, and she sensed him relaxing. “You would make a fine leader of men, Gwen.”

  “You don’t like small spaces any more than I do,” Gwen said.

  “I like the sea.”

  “I know this is outside your comprehension, but I dislike the sea even more than this tunnel,” she said.

  Godfrid’s white teeth glinted in the lamplight as he grinned at her. “I remember.”

  The tunnel was less than half a mile long, walkable in ten minutes above ground but an endless journey in the dark. Gwen made herself focus on nothing else but the circle of light thrown out by Godfrid’s lantern, which he held out before him. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she kept a hand on the roundness of her belly and told herself that all she had to do was breathe and walk.

  Godfrid, however, was focused on their mission and had been keeping his eyes on the ground. They had gone only a hundred feet when he put out a hand to stop Gwen from walking. He crouched low and shone his light on the path. “I’ve been watching them. We have two sets of footprints.”

  Gwen bent to look, her hands on her knees. “The guards walk through here every week to make sure it’s clear. No breeze stirs the air, so their footprints would remain undisturbed.”

  “These men were running.” Godfrid pointed to the distinct impressions in the soft ground.

  Gwen thought she could see what he meant, the way the footprint was deeper at the toes; a man walking had more of a heel-to-toe movement. “We had good reason to think that they came this way. I just don’t understand why they thought they had to.”

  “What do you mean?” Godfrid said.

  “I suppose knocking out Goch made sense to them,” Gwen said. “But why not leave by the postern gate? With the crowded castle, they could have walked out together plain as day and nobody would have thought anything of it.”

  “Frightened men don’t always think as clearly as those hunting them,” Godfrid said.

  Gwen grumbled to herself, granting him his point, even if she didn’t like it. Cadwaladr had been a fool to have abducted her last year, since she and Gareth hadn’t been close to catching him. Arguably, he had been a fool to have ambushed Anarawd in the first place. Sometimes guilty men panicked.

  “One of the men steps heavily on the outside of his feet as he walks.” Godfrid looked up at Gwen. “I wouldn’t have said my man had such a gait.”

  “If we find Dewi, we can check his boots,” Gwen said. “It’s not something I would know.”

  They followed the tracks all the way to the ladder that led up to the hay barn. Gwen sighed in relief when they reached it and hoped that no spiders had hitched a ride on her hair when she wasn’t looking. Godfrid went up the ladder first. In order to open the trapdoor, he had to push at it with his shoulder. Given the effort involved, Gwen wasn’t sure she would have been strong enough to lift it.

  “Come on up, Gwen.” Godfrid crouched over the hole and reached down a hand for Gwen to grasp. Gwen’s belly had grown since the last time she’d climbed a ladder, and she found it awkward to maintain her balance on the narrow rungs. She grasped Godfrid’s hand and allowed him to haul her the last few feet until she stood on the floor beside him.

  The hay barn was just as neglected as she remembered, though it looked as if King Owain had ordered some work done on one of the walls to shore it up. The intent was to keep it looking dilapidated but not to allow it to actually fall down. Godfrid closed the trap door and scattered hay from a nearby mound across the floor, in order to make it look as if no one had come through the tunnel.

  “What do we have here?” Gwen pointed to a corner of fabric that Godfrid had exposed. She pulled at it, and it came loose with a tug.

  “That’s King Owain’s lion crest,” Godfrid said. “Now we know Dewi came here.”

  Gwen held it up and made a noncommittal motion with her head. “We know someone was here who didn’t want to be seen outside Aber in King Owain’s colors.”

  “I have failed again,” Godfrid said.

  “What was that?” Gwen said, dropping her arms.

  Godfrid laughed. “It is as Gareth has said to me more than once: never assume.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Hywelr />
  Hywel was thankful to be riding out of Bryn Euryn, even if the delay meant that he was going to miss Tegwen’s funeral. He was already regretting his father’s disappointment at his absence. Still, Tegwen was dead, and Hywel’s presence at her funeral wasn’t going to bring her back. His inquiries at Bryn Euryn, however, might bring her justice.

  Instead of taking the high road through Caerhun and the standing stones at Bwlch y Ddeufaen on the return journey, Hywel directed his men to the ferry across the Conwy. They had ten miles to cover, and if they were going to reach Aber with a few hours to spare before sunset, they couldn’t dawdle. The weather had remained fine as they left the ferry, but by the time they took the beach road to Aber, it had begun to rain.

  The farther they traveled, the more the wind whipped the fine sand into swirls over the road and bent back the bracken and the scrubby trees that managed to survive here despite the poor soil and constant wind. Hywel hunched his shoulders against it, cursing at the raindrops that blew into his face. Before they’d gone half a mile, he was wet, and after five miles, he was soaked from head to foot.

  Evan rode to Hywel’s right, and the closer to Aber they got, the more alert he’d become. For the last mile, ever since the road had begun moving inland, he’d ridden with his hood pushed back and his head swiveling all around.

  “What is it, Evan?” Hywel pushed back his own hood too. Oddly, the rain bothered him less now that he’d given in to it. He wished he’d realized that earlier. He blinked the drops out of his eyes and then shielded them with one hand. Having passed the crossroads where the high road came down from the hills to intersect with the road on which they were traveling, they were hardly more than a mile from Aber. Hywel could practically smell the cooking fires from here.

  “Something doesn’t feel right, my lord.” Evan lifted his spear as a signal to the men. As the company rounded a curve between a field on the right and a series of tree-covered hills to the left, they slowed the horses.