A Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery
The Renegade Merchant
by
Sarah Woodbury
Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Woodbury
Cover image by Christine DeMaio-Rice at Flip City Books
The Renegade Merchant
March 1147. Determined to escape the gloom that has descended on Aber, Gareth and Gwen travel to Shrewsbury in an attempt to find answers about Rhun’s death, about the whereabouts and plans of Prince Cadwaladr, and about Gwen’s family ties to England.
But when John Fletcher, now Deputy Sheriff of Shrewsbury, asks Gareth to help him investigate a pool of blood for which he has no body, Gareth can’t refuse. And when the investigation points to a conspiracy involving some of the leading citizens of Shrewsbury, Gwynedd’s foremost investigators go looking for answers—and find that trouble isn’t far behind.
The Renegade Merchant is the seventh Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery.
The Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mysteries:
The Bard’s Daughter (prequel)
The Good Knight
The Uninvited Guest
The Fourth Horseman
The Fallen Princess
The Unlikely Spy
The Lost Brother
The Renegade Merchant
The After Cilmeri Series:
Daughter of Time (prequel)
Footsteps in Time (Book One)
Winds of Time
Prince of Time (Book Two)
Crossroads in Time (Book Three)
Children of Time (Book Four)
Exiles in Time
Castaways in Time
Ashes of Time
Warden of Time
Guardians of Time
The Lion of Wales series:
Cold My Heart
The Oaken Door
Of Men and Dragons
The Last Pendragon Saga:
The Last Pendragon
The Pendragon’s Quest
The Paradisi Chronicles:
Erase Me Not
www.sarahwoodbury.com
To my mom
Pronouncing Welsh Names and Places
Cadwaladr – Cad-wall-ah-der
Cadwallon – Cad-WASH-on
Ceredigion – Care-eh-dig-EE-on
Cynon — KIN-on
Dafydd – DAH-vith (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘they’)
Deheubarth – deh-HAY-barth
Dai – Die
Dolwyddelan – dole-with-EH-lan (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘they’)
Gruffydd – GRIFF-ith (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘they’)
Gwalchmai – GWALCH-my (‘ai’ makes a long i sound like in ‘kite; the ‘ch’ like in the Scottish ‘loch’)
Gwenllian – Gwen-SHEE-an
Gwladys – Goo-LAD-iss
Gwynedd – GWIN-eth (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘the’)
Hywel – H’wel
Ieuan – ieu, sounds like ‘yay’ so, YAY-an
Llelo – SHEH-low
Llywelyn – shlew-ELL-in
Meilyr – MY-lir
Owain – OH-wine
Rhuddlan – RITH-lan (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘the’)
Rhun – Rin
Rhys – Reese
Sion – Shawn (Sean)
Tudur – TIH-deer
Cast of Characters
Owain Gwynedd – King of Gwynedd (North Wales)
Cadwaladr – Owain’s younger brother, former Lord of Ceredigion
Hywel – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)
Cynan – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)
Madoc – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)
Cadifor—Hywel’s foster father
Madog—King of Powys
Susanna—Queen of Powys, sister to Owain Gwynedd
Llywelyn—Prince of Powys
Gwen – Gareth’s wife, a spy for Hywel
Gareth – Gwen’s husband, Captain of Hywel’s guard
Tangwen – daughter of Gareth and Gwen
Meilyr – Gwen’s father
Gwalchmai – Gwen’s brother
Evan – Gareth’s friend
Gruffydd – Rhun’s captain
John Fletcher—Deputy Sheriff of Shrewsbury
Abbot Radulfus—of the Abbey of St. Peter & St. Paul
Chapter One
March 1147
Gareth
Gareth knelt by the dark liquid, careful not to come close enough to stain his breeches. The morning sun shone brightly down and glimmered off the film that had formed on the surface of the little pool.
This particular road was narrower than most Gareth had seen so far in Shrewsbury, more of an alley than an actual street, though it was still wide enough for a single cart to pass. The ground was so smoothed by the passage of years and many feet that the hard-packed earth had been worn nearly to the bedrock. Thus the liquid was taking its time to sink into the soil.
He hesitated briefly before dabbing the tip of one finger into the liquid. It was lukewarm to the touch, a second indication that it hadn’t been there very long. Holding his finger to his nose, he sniffed it before touching his tongue. The taste made Gareth’s heart sink. A half-hour ago, when John Fletcher, the newly appointed Deputy Sheriff of Shrewsbury, had requested that he come to the alley, Gareth had assented. But even as he’d agreed, inside he’d been thinking please God, don’t let this be a murder.
“Blood,” Gareth said. “It’s still warm, too.”
“How long could it have been here?” Beside Gareth, John bent forward with his hands on his knees.
Gareth lifted one shoulder, not really sure how to calculate such a thing, but he gave it his best guess anyway. “An hour or two before dawn.”
“You can see why I requested your assistance, Sir Gareth.” John spoke more formally than he might have four months ago when he was only an inexperienced undersheriff. Given the sheriff’s absence, John was temporarily the law in Shrewsbury, so Gareth didn’t begrudge him his pomposity. “I was hoping you could help me discover whose blood this is.”
“Perhaps it isn’t human blood at all.”
Gareth looked up at the man who’d spoken. His name was Luke, and he was one of John’s underlings, a watchman nearing fifty, with a graying beard that hid most of his face.
“You are perfectly correct to wonder that,” Gareth said, “and I would like nothing more than for you to be right. While it is my experience that human blood tastes different from pig blood, one can never be sure without a body. Still, I would say this is human.”
“But you could be wrong.” Luke spoke with a snide tone that Gareth couldn’t help thinking was due to Gareth’s Welshness.
Calling upon his very limited well of patience for such behavior, Gareth decided to look upon Luke with amusement rather than irritation. “Indeed. Though, sadly, I think we can all agree that it would be surprising to learn that a pig had been butchered in this alley.”
John wasn’t nearly as forgiving of Luke as Gareth. “He isn’t wrong, and you know it. Get back to your post, Luke.” John pointed with his chin to a few curious onlookers who’d gathered near the eastern entrance to the alley. “We don’t want any of them to disturb the scene.”
“Yes, sir.” But as Luke turned away, Gareth saw the sneer cross Luke’s face again, directed this time at John.
When John had given Luke the order, Gareth had grimaced inwardly. As John was a good twenty years younger than Luke, the older man had to be wondering why he hadn’t been appointed Deputy Sheriff instead of John. Having eaten a late meal with John last evening, Gareth could have told him why: while younger than Gareth by half a decade, John Fletcher came from a good family. He was the stepson of the castellan of Bridgnorth Castle, located on the Sev
ern River some ten miles as the crow flies to the southeast of Shrewsbury.
John wasn’t a Norman, not with a last name like Fletcher and a Welsh mother, but he was born to be more than a guard, which was all Luke would ever be. In addition, John was passionate about wanting the job—and not solely for use as a stepping stone to better things. To Gareth’s mind, the sheriff could have done far worse than pick John as his second.
“Luke may have a point, you know—not about the pig but about whether or not someone is dead,” John said, once Luke was out of earshot. “I admit it’s a terrible amount of blood, but the person whose blood this is could be merely injured.”
“I would be overjoyed if that were true.” Gareth rose to his feet and contemplated the pool, tired to the point of despair at the way death had become his life no matter where he went. “But to have bled so much might mean he’s dead by now anyway.” He glanced at John. “I didn’t come to Shrewsbury to deal in death.”
John ducked his head in acknowledgement of that truth. “I know why you came here, my lord. But with the sheriff called to war, along with most of the garrison, I’m alone with these remaining men. I need you.”
The blatant appeal softened Gareth’s heart, as it was meant to. “I will help in any way I can as long as I am here, but—”
John cut him off, speaking more fervently than ever. “Anything you can do would be helpful.” He bobbed his head again at Gareth in an after-the-fact apology, his sincere brown eyes shining brightly from underneath his mop of unwashed brown hair.
Gareth narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “John.” His voice held warning, because John’s behavior indicated that his request was the result of more than simple need or because John felt momentarily out of his depth.
John flushed, giving himself away as he always seemed to—not only in Gareth’s presence but in everyone’s. John would need to learn to control his expressions if he was going to ultimately earn the respect of men like Luke. “The sheriff ordered me not to pursue any investigation while he was gone beyond what was absolutely necessary. I need to be able to show him that everything I do in his absence was well-thought out and purposeful.”
“What would make the sheriff say such a thing?”
John made a rueful face. “He didn’t explain specifically, but I know what he was thinking: he fears that in his absence I will act impulsively and accuse a worthy of the town of wrongdoing or do something else in my ignorance that will embarrass the office of the sheriff. He doesn’t want to have to clean up after me when he comes home.”
“Surely you’re being overly hard on yourself.” Gareth laughed under his breath. “I’ve found that trying to impress one’s superiors is the surest way to disappoint them.”
Like all men in his position, the sheriff served at the pleasure of the king, so when the king called his army to him, the sheriff went, along with most of the men in the castle garrison. Gareth understood completely, for his life was similarly ruled by the demands of his lord.
Understandably also, the sheriff had taken his best and most able-bodied men with him, which left him with the dilemma as to who to leave in charge of Shrewsbury’s garrison and the watch. All of the watchmen Gareth had encountered so far were either not yet twenty or well past forty. It could be true that the sheriff hadn’t brought John Fletcher on the march because he was young and inexperienced—in war as in everything else. By the same token, he hadn’t made an older man deputy sheriff either.
“Still, I can see that if you do a good job here, if you discover what this pool of blood is all about, the sheriff will be favorably disposed towards you.” Gareth hoped he was right, and he felt it was important to be encouraging, especially when men like Luke appeared to be constantly trying to undermine John’s authority. He looked John in the eye. “Your sheriff wouldn’t have left Shrewsbury in your hands if he didn’t think you could do the job.”
“You comfort me, but I fear you’re wrong. He left me in charge because he was making the best of a bad situation.” John’s eyes skated away, and he spoke in an undertone, making sure his voice didn’t carry to the other men a few yards away who were waiting for his instruction. “More than anything, I need the incident with Cole Turner to be forgotten.”
Cole Turner had been a brigand whom Prince Cadwaladr had recruited for the purpose of deceiving the Earl of Chester into helping him overthrow King Owain for the throne of Gwynedd. After the failure of the plot and the death of Prince Rhun in the process, Cadwaladr had fled Wales for England and, as far as Prince Hywel had been able to discover, hadn’t been seen or heard from since. It was too much to hope for that Cadwaladr was dead, so that meant he was out in the world somewhere. Prince Hywel was fierce in his determination to find out where that was.
Thus, upon arriving in Shrewsbury yesterday afternoon, Gareth had put in an appearance at the castle. He’d assumed he would be meeting with Shrewsbury’s sheriff. Instead, it had been John who’d greeted him with the news that the sheriff and most of the garrison had been called away in service of King Stephen. And, unfortunately, John had no news of Cadwaladr to give him.
Discovering Cadwaladr’s whereabouts couldn’t bring Rhun back, but it might do something to ease the grief that had consumed Gwynedd in the months following the prince’s death. King Owain’s lamentations were ongoing, such that Hywel had effectively taken over the running of the kingdom. Here it was, nearly three months past the Christmas feast, and the king had hardly stirred from his bed at Aber, unwilling to face life without his eldest son.
Gareth’s absence from Gwynedd had required him to leave the planning for the assault on Mold Castle in others’ hands. It was a small price to pay for the opportunity to spend several weeks in the company of his wife and daughter, and Gareth had been thankful to leave Aber.
Thus, as Gareth stared down at the pool of blood at his feet, it came to him that if he was to quickly discover what this whole matter was about, the next and most important step in the investigation had to be to send for Gwen.
Chapter Two
Gwen
“Why are we worrying about a murder when we don’t even know that someone is dead? Fletcher clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing, and this Welshman—” Luke, one of the men at the east entrance to the alley, made a dismissive gesture with one hand to indicate Gareth, “—how could he possibly help?”
“I hear he serves Prince Hywel of Gwynedd.” This was put forth by a second, gray-haired man named Alfred. They, and men like them, guarded each gate to the city and worked alongside the castle’s garrison to patrol the streets and discourage crime in the town.
Except for a quick glance in Luke’s direction, Gwen kept her attention determinedly on the ground, forcing her shoulders to relax and resigning herself to the inevitable curious looks and whispered conferences that were going on around her.
Gwen’s spoken English marked her as Welsh from the moment she opened her mouth, but from the years her father had traveled throughout Wales and the March, she understood much more English than she spoke. While she didn’t assume Alfred and Luke were involved in whatever had happened to the poor person who’d bled in the alley, understanding the undercurrents among the English who surrounded her could only help her discover who was.
In truth, Gwen should have been grateful that neither man was gossiping about her. Maybe they had sense enough not to do so while she was in close proximity. Certainly, a better question they could be asking would be how she might be helpful to the investigation. Gwen had enough experience with men and their expectations to understand how unusual she might seem to them. As always, however, she wasn’t going to let other people’s opinions stop her from doing what needed to be done.
Turning away from the two useless watchmen, she swallowed hard, refusing to allow her stomach to revolt at what lay before her. The blood itself wasn’t vile or terrible smelling—it was the stench of the whole town that had her holding her breath from the moment she set foot inside the walls. Thankful
ly, a brisk wind had come with the dawn, and if she faced into it, she could momentarily banish the odors that threatened to upend her hard-won serenity.
More importantly, she didn’t want Gareth to regret her presence. As she was newly pregnant with their second child, he would have been well within his rights to use her pregnancy as an excuse to exclude her. Instead, he had sent for her specifically. She loved working with him. She loved being with him, even when it meant standing over a pool of blood in a stinking alley in Shrewsbury.
Debris of all sorts lined the street on both sides. Earlier, sunlight had been shining directly into the alley, but as the sun had risen farther in the sky, one wall now cast a shadow across most of the alley’s width. Gwen kicked at the detritus that had accumulated in the darkness against the south wall. Then, as she moved within a few feet of the pool of blood, she saw something that didn’t belong there lying beneath scattered leaves and sticks of splintered wood.
Bending, Gwen picked up a stick and used it to move leaves aside to reveal what they were covering: a string of wooden rosary beads with a simple wooden cross, strung on a slender leather thong.
“Has John returned yet?” Gwen spoke in Welsh, so that only Gareth, who was looking at something on the ground on the other side of the pool, could understand her.
He rose to his feet and came towards her before answering. “No. He’s still questioning the residents of the adjacent streets. Did you find something?”
Gwen craned her neck to look past her husband to the spot he’d been standing over. “You first.”
Gareth gestured past the pool. “Can you make out the wheel tracks from here? Someone rolled through the blood as he drove through the alley.”
The Renegade Merchant Page 1
