“Are you sure that it wouldn’t be better to deflect and stall?”
Conall’s brow furrowed. “Why would you say that? Don’t you want to know what happened this morning?”
“We know what happened.” Brodar held up the warrant. “As I see it, better that you fail. It will be one more black mark against Ottar’s rule. This is a perfect opportunity to push my case with the merchants of Dublin.”
Conall stepped closer, not happy to hear this suggestion. “Rikard didn’t ransack his own warehouse.”
“Ottar killed Rikard. Or Sturla did in Ottar’s name, in which case you will only put yourself and Godfrid in danger by pursuing this investigation. No animal fights with greater ferocity than one that is cornered. Come the summer solstice, I don’t want Ottar on the defensive.”
“I grant you the point, but there’s something you perhaps haven’t thought of yet. Ottar never takes the blame for anything. If we fail to discover the truth about Rikard’s death, he will blame Godfrid—and so will some of the leading men of Dublin, those still on Ottar’s side. One of their own died under suspicious circumstances in his own warehouse. They will not like that the mystery of Rikard’s death remains unsolved—and unavenged.”
Brodar nodded thoughtfully. “You are correct, and I apologize for not seeing it sooner. I’ve changed my mind. You and my brother should pursue this matter, whomever it brings down. It will make my brother lauded throughout Dublin, and—” his eyes brightened, “—I am starting to see a way to turn this entire event to my advantage. I have been looking for a means to more closely align myself with a certain faction of Dublin’s merchants. Sanne is not only Rikard’s widow but the daughter of Thorfin, who owns twenty ships in his own right. And she is a beautiful woman.”
Conall barely managed not to glower at him. “Brodar, your wife gave you a son today.”
Brodar blinked at the rebuke, and then his face split into a wide smile. “I didn’t mean for me! Godfrid needs a wife.”
Conall wet his lips, hesitating to argue again, but he felt compelled to say, “I don’t know that Godfrid would agree.”
Brodar’s expression hardened. “He knows how important it is for us to acquire allies among the men of Dublin. Once he realizes how perfect Sanne is for him and for our purposes, I have no doubt he will be pleased to do his duty.”
Chapter Thirteen
Day One
Godfrid
As befitting one of the wealthiest merchants in Dublin, Arno’s house rivaled Rikard’s in size. Although Dublin continued to experience a genuine cramping inside the city walls, the population of Dublin had gradually been decreasing over the last few decades. Nobody liked to talk about it—or admit it openly—but these days, every fourth of fifth house was empty. Thus, by razing several empty homes to the ground, Arno had carved out a patch for himself that gave room not only for his house but also for pens to house animals, a stable for his horses, and workshops. Like Ottar at the palace, Arno had created a small kingdom for himself.
And like all wealthy men, Arno had many servants and retainers, one of whose entire job was to maintain a presence at the entrance to his compound. The man perked up at the approach of Godfrid and Cait, and while he didn’t leave his post to escort them to the house, he did send one of the servant boys running to warn Arno of their arrival.
Once inside the courtyard, Godfrid could still smell the pig that had been roasted the evening before, and he sensed a certain somnambulance among the people, understandable since none of them had slept—possibly at all—the night before. With the discovery of Rikard’s body, they would have been on call to Arno and his family all day too.
By the time Godfrid and Cait arrived at the front door, another servant was opening it. She curtsied politely and ushered them into a large hall, again very similar to Rikard’s or Godfrid’s own. Virtually every Dublin house, regardless of size, was constructed according to the same basic principles. Family life was centered on the main downstairs room, where there was a central fire, a table for eating, and fur-lined stools and benches to sit on in the evening. Most peasants could afford to build only a single room but, given opportunity and wealth, men endeavored to build up and out.
Like the warehouse, Arno’s house had been augmented by a loft with stairs going up and curtains demarcating sleeping spaces for members of his family. In the rear of the house on the ground floor was a large loom surrounded by baskets of wool and sewing supplies. Back at the warehouse, Cait had spent her days weaving fabric to be sold at market and in foreign countries, but this loom was solely for the use of the women of the house. Weaving was the duty and responsibility of every Danish housewife. Thus, Sanne had been concerned that Marta learn the skill, and to that end, she had sent her to Cait for tutelage. Usually it was the privilege of a mother to teach her daughter, but perhaps Sanne wasn’t as skilled in that regard as she would have liked and wanted Marta to learn from the best.
Godfrid took in the space with a sweeping glance before accepting the cup of mead another servant offered. She’d brought only one, so she intended for him and Cait to share. All homeowners were obligated to offer refreshments to guests, but there was a further subtlety about the sharing of a cup by a man and woman. The servant clearly thought that Cait was his.
Cait knew the subtlety too, but she didn’t object and took a seat at the table. Thus, Godfrid chose to thank the servant as well and accept the chair set diagonally to Cait’s at the head of the table. On another day, Godfrid wouldn’t have sat in the seat that was clearly Arno’s own because a man was the ruler of his own house, and not even a prince should usurp that role. Today, Godfrid had a mind to put Arno at a disadvantage. Rikard was dead, and Arno was his business partner. Godfrid wasn’t interested in making him comfortable.
After a few moments’ wait, Arno himself appeared from his own private room in the back corner of the house near the loom. This room, like Rikard’s office in his warehouse, had been closed off more definitively from the rest of the house by wooden partitions, forming a square room and using the mighty beams that held up the roof as corner posts. If Godfrid had to guess, Arno stored his business ledgers and wealth somewhere inside.
“You honor my house with your presence, my lord.” Arno came to a halt a few feet away, brought his heels together, and bowed. He was a tall, thin man, what one might even call spare, with a full head of entirely gray hair. “How might I be of service to you?”
“We would like a moment of your time.” Godfrid gestured to Cait. “This is Lady Caitriona, sister to Lord Conall of Leinster. She has agreed to assist me in my inquiries into Rikard’s death.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help in this terrible time.” Arno bowed separately to Cait and seated himself on the bench adjacent to Godfrid and opposite Cait.
From the sidelong looks being given Cait by the servant who brought Arno a cup of his own, she had overheard. In a moment, she would return to the kitchen to tell her fellow servants, and then Cait’s identity would be all over Dublin.
Godfrid folded his hands on the table in front of him. He’d never led an inquiry before, but he’d participated in them, and he thought he knew what to do. He would ask questions and study the answers until something came along that sent him in a direction that would reveal the villain. That’s how Gareth and Gwen appeared to do it, anyway.
But before Godfrid could ask anything, Arno leaned forward. “It is my understanding that Rikard died sometime after midnight last night. Please, my lord. I am desperate for news. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I can confirm that Rikard is dead. Otherwise, I’m sorry, but it is best not to comment on an ongoing investigation. Instead, I do need to ask you some questions.”
Arno sat back in his chair, clearly unhappy, but unable to deny a prince what he wanted. “Of course.”
“I understand that you were the one to discover what you thought was a pool of blood and then roused Rikard’s slaves and the authorities?”
&
nbsp; “Yes.”
“What were you doing at the warehouse?”
“Rikard hadn’t come home last night. Naturally, Sanne was upset, and I saw it as my duty to find him for her. I saw the state of the warehouse.” Arno twitched. “Terrifying what happened to him. I found Holm at his house and told him what happened.”
“I’m curious that you didn’t stay,” Godfrid said. “I would have thought you’d be concerned about the potential loss of trading goods and wealth.”
“I am! Believe me, I am! But I had nothing to do with that aspect of the business. Rikard managed the ships and the warehouse. I dealt with our trading partners. I hardly ever went down there.” He sniffed.
Raised a prince, Godfrid hadn’t known there was a hierarchy within the hierarchy of merchants, beyond the amount of money they made. Rikard and Arno were at the very top, but Arno considered himself superior to Rikard. “You thought handling goods was beneath you?”
Arno replied smoothly, “Not at all. Rikard was simply much better at that sort of thing—” he gestured with one hand, “—dealing with sailors and workers and the like, than I was.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I returned to my house to tell Sanne what had happened.” He frowned. “I tried to stop her from going down there, but she wouldn’t listen. All that blood!”
Cait glanced at Godfrid, eyebrows raised, and he gave a slight nod, letting her know she could tell Arno the truth.
“As it turns out, it was mostly wine on the floor, not blood,” she said.
Arno blinked. “You tell me truly? But Rikard is dead.”
During their conversation, Arno had hardly looked at Cait. Godfrid didn’t think it was out of fear that she would seduce him, but because her beauty held little attraction for him—unlike Rikard, who’d had an eye for women. It was good to know what lured a man. Though Rikard had never said, he wondered now if the bribe Arno and Rikard had taken from Ottar had been at Arno’s insistence.
“He is.” Godfrid cleared his throat. “Are we the first to speak to you about the events of today?”
“I had a word with Holm earlier.” Arno drained the contents of his cup and poured himself another from the carafe in front of him. “He hasn’t returned to follow up, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“What about Finn?”
Arno barked a laugh. “That fool of a boy? Sanne told me he was alive, but I haven’t seen him.” The merchant eyed them over the rim of his cup. “You’re wondering if I’m concerned about his reappearance? Perhaps I murdered Rikard so that I might control the entire business, only to find his true heir brought back from the dead?”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“I didn’t kill Rikard. He was my friend and handled a portion of the business in which I have no interest. I travel a great deal, you see. Someone needs to stay at home. Rikard and I made a good team.” With that statement, the merchant showed the first sign of grief, swallowing hard.
Before Godfrid could think of another question, Cait half-rose from her seat and leaned across the table to speak to both Godfrid and Arno, “If you’ll excuse me a moment.” She pushed away from the table and walked off towards the back of the house.
Arno looked after her, half-rising from his seat as if he might protest. Godfrid smiled benignly. “I’m sure it’s just a woman’s matter.”
“No doubt.” Arno continued to follow Cait’s retreating back with his eyes, implying he was concerned about Cait roaming about his domain. But with Godfrid in front of him, and Cait as the sister to the ambassador from Leinster, he couldn’t do anything to stop her.
Godfrid waited a beat and then prompted the merchant. “You were saying?”
Arno blinked and finally turned back to Godfrid. “Yes. Certainly. I am gone from Dublin most of the spring and summer, journeying throughout Britain, even to Normandy and France. It was only because yesterday was the coming-of-age ceremony for my daughter that I was here at all.” He shook his head regretfully. “Lucky or unlucky, I can’t yet tell which.”
“What do you do in winter?”
Arno nodded, appearing to agree with Godfrid that it was good to be back to the main point. “The rest of the year I focus on the Irish trade. With peace, there is wealth to be made.”
The way Arno said the word wealth, giving it weight, made Godfrid think he was right about what drove the merchant. It was no great insight, of course. The man was one of the wealthiest in Dublin. It didn’t let him off the hook when it came to Rikard’s murder, of course, but unless he was an excellent liar, he really didn’t want to do Rikard’s job.
“Why was Rikard not at the celebration?”
“It was no surprise,” Arno said. “He was much happier working, believe me. I left him to it. His drive made us both money, and we have been partners for nearly forty years, as our fathers were before that. If he wanted to work, I wasn’t going to question it.”
“So the rumor that the two of you had a falling out isn’t true?”
“Of course not! Who told you that?”
Godfrid waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, implying it was of no matter. Nobody had said any such thing, of course, but he was looking to penetrate Arno’s relentless composure. “Did you know that he had sent all his servants away and ordered them not to return until he summoned them?”
Arno’s jaw dropped. “No. I had no idea.”
Do you know what he was doing or with whom he was meeting last night?”
“No. I wish I had. He didn’t say anything about it to me.”
“Do you know why?” Godfrid had already known that Rikard had not shared his spying activities for either Diarmait or Godfrid with Arno. He was the one who was secretive by nature, not Arno.
“Not at all.”
“Perhaps he was hoping to do a profitable deal on the side.”
Arno shook his head vehemently. “If you think that, you know nothing about Rikard. He would never be so underhanded. Besides, would he really be able to keep such a meeting secret? Nobody gossips like Dublin wives.”
Godfrid gave him a half-smile, knowing that this afternoon his name was probably on the tongue of every one of them. “I take your point. Then why?”
Arno spread his hands wide. “That’s your job to discover, surely?”
Godfrid made a motion with his head, not to quibble, but to clarify. “Obviously that is something we are working on. I still haven’t had a chance to examine the body and determine how he died.” The moment Godfrid spoke he wished he hadn’t. He’d given Arno a piece of information he didn’t need. Gareth would be ashamed of him.
Arno folded his arms and rested his elbows on the table. “I wish I could be more help.” He seemed to be breathing easier than he had a moment ago. Godfrid kicked himself again for somehow settling him.
Feigning relaxation, as if the interview was now over, he leaned back in his chair. “How is business, by the way?”
“Never better! I found a new producer of wine in the Moselle region of France.” Arno rubbed his hands together gleefully, before remembering that he was supposed to be somber.
“What will you do about Finn?”
“I would hope that he is interested in taking his father’s place. Have you spoken with him?”
“I saw him, of course, and while he is grieving, it does seem that he intends to step into his father’s shoes.”
Arno gave a sigh of relief that seemed genuine. “I was not looking forward to finding a new manager for the warehouse.”
“Who might you have turned to?”
Arno frowned as he thought. “Thorfin, perhaps. He is Sanne’s father, and if she had been the sole heir other than me, an alliance would have made sense, but now I don’t know ...” his voice trailed off.
Godfrid raised his eyebrows, implying that he was waiting for more. Arno hemmed and hawed, but Godfrid hadn’t dismissed him, so he couldn’t leave, and eventually he had to fill the silence. “Thorfin and I have been rivals for many years.
The wine contract I spoke of? He was pursuing it as well. It would be awkward to suddenly become allies.” And then he looked quizzically at Godfrid. “Speaking of allies and enemies, how is it that you are here to investigate Rikard’s death?”
“King Ottar appointed me.”
Arno let out a gasp that was partially a laugh. “Really.”
Godfrid leaned forward. “This surprises you? I have been nothing but loyal since my father died.”
“Yes, you have.” Arno shrugged. “Your brother lost the throne when we voted for Ottar. Nobody blamed him at the time for being angry, and since then, like you, his behavior has been impeccable. But none of you are close companions, are you?”
“We do well enough.” Godfrid eyed Arno for a moment. “And you? Do you see Brodar in a different light? Is he now worthy of the throne?” Then he threw out a hand. “I’m referring, of course, to a time in the future when Ottar is no longer capable of serving.”
Arno sat back in his chair, studying Godfrid, who reminded himself that this was a man who’d spent his life negotiating trade deals. Everything that he had said and done since they started talking could have been carefully calculated. “I am always open to a discussion.”
Godfrid found himself swallowing, wondering if Arno was subtly asking for a bribe, as he’d been bribed by Ottar. “I will tell my brother.”
“As you wish.” Arno grunted and half-rose to his feet as Cait had done. “I must seek out Finn. I was hoping he would come find me, but now it seems I must force the issue.” He paused still not standing fully. “That is, if you have no more questions.”
“Not right now. If I haven’t said already, please accept my condolences at the loss of your friend.”
“Thank you.” Arno strode away towards the back of the house.
Godfrid stayed where he was, going over his conversation with Arno in his mind. It hadn’t been entirely unfruitful, but he found himself still with all the same questions. He hoped Cait had found more answers than he had.
The Viking Prince Page 12
