The Unexpected Ally

by Sarah Woodbury

  Hywel shook his head dismissively. “Madog has no power over my men, and he knows it. The timeline is easy to disprove, and I will be the one to do it. It’s a distraction to impress his own lords, who won’t believe a word I say, but it doesn’t matter because by naming Gareth, Rhodri has named the real culprit.”

  “Cadwaladr,” Gareth, Gwen, and Conall said together.

  Hywel canted his head. “It’s likely, but so far unprovable unless someone talks.”

  “Which brings us back to Deiniol and Lwc,” Gwen said.

  “The monastery has three cells, and now we have three men to fill them,” Hywel said. “I say we let them stew a while. Erik’s dead, but so far his is the only death. It’s a puzzle, but it’s my puzzle. I don’t want the conclave having anything to do with it.”

  “Even if when Deiniol sees Rhodri and tells us that he was the man with Erik, we can’t believe him, since it would be in his best interests to implicate someone else. And if Deiniol doesn’t recognize Rhodri, we can’t believe that either,” Gareth said.

  “I know it doesn’t look like it right now, but we are getting closer.” Hywel told them about Rhodri’s enormous hands, even if he had no broken or missing finger.

  “We can’t hang a man for having large hands.” Gareth ran a hand through his hair. “He feels as innocent in all this as Lwc.”

  “Which means not at all.” Hywel tsked through his teeth. “You’ll note that neither Lwc nor Deiniol has a damaged left hand either.”

  “I noticed,” Gareth said sourly.

  Hywel looked at Gwen. “Find Abbot Rhys and tell him what’s happened. We’ll take care of Lwc and Deiniol, secure the treasure, and then meet you back at the guesthouse.” He lifted his chin to draw her attention to the sound of returning firefighters, whose chattering could be clearly heard, coming from the monastery gardens. “We need to hurry before the conclave starts again.”

  Gwen stared at him aghast. “Surely with all that has happened, Abbot Rhys will postpone another session until tomorrow!”

  Hywel tsked through his teeth at her innocence. “He won’t. He has two factions in his monastery who hate each other. Leaving them to their own devices for the afternoon is a recipe for war, not peace, and he knows it.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Gareth

  The investigation was becoming more absurd with every hour that passed. That wasn’t something Gareth might have said about any murder a month ago, but with his new policy of not allowing these investigations to overburden him, he could see the humor in the situation. Gareth could take some consolation in the fact that Hywel was right that the only body they’d found so far had been Erik’s, even if they’d found it twice.

  Still, after the meeting with the horrified Abbot Rhys, Gareth went to check that Erik’s body, having been washed by now and prepared for burial, was still in the room off the cloister where he’d left it last night—and that the two monks whose job it was to pray over him hadn’t raced to put out the burning barn with the rest of their brothers and allowed someone to take it.

  At the sight of the two monks sitting where he’d left them, Gareth let out a sigh of relief. They looked up as he entered, but other than a raised hand, Gareth didn’t speak to them. This wasn’t one of those monasteries where silence was enforced—not like some of the English houses—but unnecessary conversation was frowned upon. Gareth had been spending so much time in monasteries lately that he was growing used to the habit of conversing with gestures rather than words.

  He’d been here until very late last night, doing more than his duty, in fact. Every soldier who’d spent any time at war had seen men’s insides spill to the ground, ripped open by a blade in the course of battle. But the Church looked askance at cutting open a man for any reason, as well they should, seeing such efforts as rooted in paganism. Gareth had been given permission to examine Erik, however, and he had made the most of it. He’d even put charcoal to paper, sketching the locations of each of Erik’s organs—what was left of them, that is. The length of a man’s intestines alone was a revelation. Gareth didn’t know when such a record might come in useful again, but he was neither squeamish nor one to waste an opportunity to learn more about his craft when it was presented to him.

  Having verified that Erik’s body was still there, Gareth returned to the monastery guesthouse, where a belated meal was finally being laid out. Gwen, Conall, and Hywel were there when Gareth arrived, along with Meilyr, Gwalchmai, and Iorwerth. Meilyr was looking daggers at Gwalchmai, and Gareth could well guess the reason why.

  Gwalchmai hadn’t yet reached his adult height, but he carried himself with the ease of a man far older. He was used to the weight of responsibility. He was growing up, whether Meilyr (and Gwen) liked it or not. And if not for his and Iorwerth’s curiosity, they would be farther behind in this investigation than they were, so before Meilyr could upbraid his son for involving himself in yet another investigation, Gareth told him so.

  Meilyr subsided, somewhat reluctantly, and then set to his food with a will, as they all did. For a quarter of an hour, the room was completely silent as everyone ate and drank. Then Gwen sighed, pushed away her bowl, and tipped her head at her father. “Saran has been keeping Tangwen since this morning. Could I ask you to collect her? I would hate for Tangwen to be a burden on their first day together.”

  Meilyr narrowed his eyes at his daughter, knowing that she was sending him off so as not to involve him in what they were doing any more than he already was. But there was something else in his manner that almost made Gareth laugh when he realized what it was: Meilyr wanted to go. And Gareth didn’t think it was because he missed his granddaughter. Gareth would have to ask Gwen, who was better at these things than he, but it came into his head the Meilyr was personally interested in Saran.

  Then everyone’s ears pricked up at the sound of chattering voices coming through the open window that faced the courtyard. Gareth pushed back from the table. “People are starting to arrive.”

  Hywel’s eyes were sober. “Father should be returning from the encampment at any moment.”

  Everyone rose to their feet and left the room. As if Hywel’s words had been some kind of warning, King Madog’s party appeared from underneath the gatehouse within a few moments of them stepping outside. This time Queen Susanna rode beside Madog, and King Owain and his men followed a few lengths behind.

  Evan was among the first to dismount, and he hastened to speak to Gareth. “Where have you been?”

  “Busy, as I will tell you in a moment.”

  “That’s him! That’s him!”

  They all swung around to look at who had spoken. Madog’s men held back Rhodri, who was wrenching at his captors’ arms and trying to throw himself across the courtyard at Gareth. Everyone stared at the young man as he pointed, “He’s the one! He’s the one who paid me!”

  Every man in the vicinity of Gareth closed ranks at the same moment, blocking any direct path to Gareth. For Gareth’s part, he was gratified by the loyalty of his men, but the sickening feeling at being falsely accused came slithering once again into his belly.

  King Madog’s face was alive with triumph, exactly as it had been in the chapter house several hours earlier. “Arrest that man!”

  Alone, Hywel took one step forward. “You will not.”

  Although Rhodri had put the courtyard into an uproar, there was something about the way Hywel’s voice carried—his assurance and clarity of purpose—that closed people’s mouths and brought silence to the onlookers.

  Then Abbot Rhys appeared from around the church and walked between the parties of opposing men. “Accusations are to be saved for the conclave, which shall commence momentarily.” He looked directly at King Madog and then at King Owain, both of whom nodded at him, accepting his authority.

  Madog’s enthusiasm diminished slightly, but even so, he radiated an air of righteousness that couldn’t be dispelled by having his victory delayed for another quarter-hour. Rhys preceded
the kings towards the chapter house, which meant returning the way Rhodri had come, along the path behind the church.

  Watching the various groups of men follow, Gareth’s eyes narrowed. “Why was Rhodri brought down to the courtyard when it only meant that he would have to retrace his steps a few moments later?”

  “To accuse you, of course, in a fine, dramatic fashion.” Hywel snorted and looked at those who surrounded him. Gwen had opened her mouth to protest, but Hywel forestalled her with a raised hand. “We know the truth, and it will come out if only we let it.”

  Gareth put an arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “We’ve been here before, only last November.”

  Conall raised his eyebrows. “After Shrewsbury, you promised to tell me the full tale.”

  “Now probably would be the time, since I’m wondering if it pertains to this one,” Gareth said.

  “I’m wondering many things.” Hywel jerked his head at Iorwerth, indicating that he should attend the conclave too.

  “Hywel, no! Surely you aren’t going to turn Gareth over to Powys!” Iorwerth was horrified in a way only a seventeen-year-old boy could be. He’d missed the unspoken underpinnings of the conversation. He should know about the events of last autumn and why his friend, Gwalchmai, had gone to Shrewsbury, since Gareth couldn’t imagine that Gwalchmai hadn’t told him, but he was not yet sophisticated enough to make the connection without help.

  Though Hywel didn’t have the time to do it for him, he did wink at his brother. “Watch and learn, young man. Watch and learn.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Gwen

  Gwen was alone again in an empty courtyard. It was odd enough that she stood still for a moment considering her options. Her duty was first and foremost to Tangwen, and she debated whether she should follow after her father to collect her daughter. Before she could, however, Brother Ben, the monk who’d been hurt when Erik’s body had been taken, evident by the bandage wrapped around his head, loped into the courtyard. He pulled up at the sight of Gwen all alone. “Where is your husband?”

  “In the chapter house with the other men.” Gwen moved towards him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “If your husband isn’t abed, then I shouldn’t be either.”

  Gwen couldn’t argue with that. “Why do you need him?”

  Brother Ben dipped his chin. “Mathonwy requests his presence at the barn. We’ve found—” he coughed apologetically, “—another body.”

  Gwen didn’t often gape. She took pride, in fact, in her ability to remain unshocked, but her mouth fell open as she looked at the monk. “I can’t disturb the conclave. It’s too important.”

  Ben turned up one hand. “What should we do?”

  Gwen sighed. “Mathonwy will have to make do with me.” She tugged her cloak closer around herself. They were well into afternoon now, but instead of being the warmest part of the day as it often was in summer, the wind had picked up and was scattering the last of autumn’s dead leaves across the courtyard.

  She headed to the stable to get her horse and then was hugely relieved to find Llelo and Dai inside, brushing down the horses who’d come with King Owain’s party. Under normal circumstances, Gwen would hardly have said that St. Kentigern’s monastery was a dangerous place, but there had been an ominous tone in the courtyard even before Rhodri’s accusation. Gareth didn’t know about the second body yet, but he wouldn’t want her going anywhere without protective men around her, even if the only men available were the youngest in the king’s party.

  “Are you going to tell us what’s going on, Mother?” Llelo said once they were on their way, riding down the track to the barn.

  Gwen laughed under her breath. “You’re assuming that I know. The gaping holes in our understanding of what’s going on here are about to swallow us whole.” She threw a glance over her shoulder.

  Llelo caught the look and put out a hand to her. “Father will be fine. Really.”

  And then from behind them Dai added in a sour tone. “Next time Da finds himself in the thick of things, he needs to make sure we’re with him!”

  Gwen turned more fully in the saddle to look at Dai. “Putting yourselves in danger isn’t going to help Gareth. What I’d prefer is if the three of you could keep yourselves out of trouble entirely. A faint hope, I know.” She turned back to Llelo, who was looking at her gravely. She hadn’t answered his question about what was going on, and as she studied her foster son, she decided that it would do no harm to tell him. He and Dai served in the king’s army, and since they were accompanying her to see a body, if anyone deserved to know what she was thinking, it was they.

  “I speak the truth when I say that I’m not sure what’s going on. We know more about what is happening politically than the actual facts of what happened.”

  “Are you speaking of Madog and Cadwaladr?” Llelo said.

  Gwen nodded. “They were the end of our investigation last time. Now, when our only tangible evidence is Erik’s body and competing accounts of events that occurred for reasons we don’t know, their actions have to be our starting point.” Gwen chewed on her lower lip.

  “I know these people far less well than you, Mam, but since Dai and I came to Denbigh, I’ve learned about King Madog. He wants to get the better of King Owain. Paying either his own men or a band of ruffians, which on the whole seems likely, to sack his own monastery sounds like something he’d do. I heard about how he and Prince Cadwaladr sold Madog’s own people for silver. Sacking a monastery is a small matter in comparison—though blaming Father for the deed says to me that Prince Cadwaladr is involved.”

  That was a well-reasoned speech for a man as young as Llelo, and Gwen took his words as he intended—as an attempt to make sense of what she and Gareth were facing. “Our thoughts always go to Cadwaladr—and sometimes we’ve been wrong.”

  Llelo let out a puff of air. “Perhaps. Still, it could be that Cadwaladr arranged for the same band to maraud all over Powys as long as they promised to share the treasure with him and as long as he could blame the reign of terror on King Owain.”

  Gwen had no trouble picturing that scenario in her mind either. “So we work backwards from the ending: Madog and Cadwaladr are to blame. Who have they hired, and how have they constructed this plot—and how does that lead us to the man who killed Erik?”

  “I don’t know.” Llelo shook his head like he had flies about his ears.

  They arrived at the barn to find a handful of somber monks waiting for them, all that was left of the host of men who’d worked to put out the fire. Gwen gazed at the desolation and couldn’t help but sigh. There was something particularly forlorn about the burned husk of a building, whether barn, house, or monastery. In the aftermath of the struggle to control the fire, everything was soaking wet. Burned beams stuck up at random, blackened along their full length and likely unsalvageable. The roof, which had withstood the initial onslaught of the flames, in the end was still made of thatch and was entirely gone. A half-dozen monks continued to pace around the exterior of the barn, full water buckets in hand, dousing any spark that might still be smoldering.

  His robe and cloaked bunched between his knees, Mathonwy crouched by the body, which had been dragged free of the wreckage and was lying on a scrap of board some twenty paces from the burned barn. Although the dead man’s hair was burned off and much of the skin was blackened or covered with ash, he wasn’t completely charred. That it was a man there was no doubt since his features could still be made out. Nor could any woman be that tall or have such large feet and hands.

  Even though most everyone was conveniently forgetting that Gwen was pregnant, she had not, and if she’d been inclined to ignore the child inside, her stomach wouldn’t let her. It clenched uncomfortably, and she wished she hadn’t eaten just now since she feared her meal was about to end up on the ground. As it was, once she dismounted, she bent over, her hands on her knees, breathing hard.

  Llelo dismounted too and put out a hand to her. “Stay here.�
�� He and Dai went to where Mathonwy waited.

  “Do any of you recognize him?” Gwen called from several yards away.

  “No, my lady,” Mathonwy said. Dai and Llelo shook their heads.

  Gwen closed her eyes, struggling for composure. She didn’t want to get any closer, and the men were kindly speaking loud enough so that she didn’t have to, but this was too great a burden to put on her sons. She was having second thoughts about exposing them to such carnage. “Dai—”

  “I’m fine, Mam,” Dai said immediately. He was bent over the body, in the same posture as Gwen, though without the vomiting. Even from twenty feet away she could see that his eyes were intent.

  Mathonwy ignored their side conversation and continued to speak to Llelo. “We pulled him from one of the stalls. When the roof came down, it knocked out a side wall, exposing the body. I sent two men to get him just as soon as it was safe.” The monk shrugged helplessly. “I apologize that the body is badly burned, but it’s better than it could be. Its location in the stall sheltered it from the worst of the fire.”

  Llelo frowned. “How does that make sense? Wasn’t the fire set to prevent us from finding the body? Whoever did this should have started the fire around the body itself.”

  Mathonwy stood abruptly and walked to where one of the monks was in the process of lighting a torch. The day was waning and clouds had come in—typically, after the fire was already out—so it was growing hard to see. He waited patiently for the monk to light the torch and then took it. “Come with me.” He led the boys around the side of the barn.

  Gwen decided that her stomach was enough under control that she could follow, and should follow, in fact, though she averted her eyes as she passed the dead man. When she arrived on the other side of the barn, she found Llelo, Dai, and Mathonwy just inside it where one wall had stood. “What is it you’re looking at?”

  Llelo scraped at the ground with his boot. “Ash.” He canted his head. “Pieces of straw.”