A Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery
The Unlikely Spy
by
Sarah Woodbury
Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Woodbury
Cover image by Christine DeMaio-Rice at Flip City Books
The Unlikely Spy
August 1146. Prince Hywel has called all the bards of Wales to him for a music festival to mark the third anniversary of his rule over Ceredigion. He has invited all the lords of Wales too, including his father, his uncle, and his neighbor to the south, King Cadell. But with the highborn also come the low: thieves, spies, and other hangers-on. And when a murderer strikes as the festival starts, Gareth and Gwen are charged with discovering his identity—before the death of a peasant shakes the throne of a king.
The Unlikely Spy is the fifth Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery.
To Dan
My partner in crime for more than thirty years
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
A Long Cloud
The Last Pendragon Saga:
The Last Pendragon
The Pendragon’s Quest
The Paradisi Chronicles:
Erase Me Not
www.sarahwoodbury.com
Pronouncing Welsh Names and Places
Aberystwyth –Ah-bare-IHST-with (the ‘th’ is soft as in ‘forth’)
Bwlch y Ddeufaen – Boolch ah THEY-vine (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘they’; the ‘ch’ as in in the Scottish ‘loch’)
Cadfael – CAD-vile
Cadwallon – Cad-WASH-lon
Caernarfon – (‘ae’ makes a long i sound like in ‘kite’) Kire-NAR-von
Dafydd – DAH-vith (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘they’)
Dolgellau – Doll-GESH-lay
Deheubarth – deh-HAY-barth
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-SHLEE-an
Gwladys – Goo-LAD-iss
Gwynedd – GWIN-eth (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘the’)
Hywel – H’wel
Ieuan – ieu sounds like the cheer, ‘yay’ so, YAY-an
Llanbadarn Fawr – shlan-BAH-darn vowr
Llywelyn – shlew-ELL-in
Maentwrog – Mighn-TOO-rog
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
Usk – Isk
Cast of Characters
From Gwynedd
Owain Gwynedd – King of Gwynedd (North Wales)
Rhun – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)
Hywel – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate), Lord of Ceredigion
Cadwaladr – Owain’s younger brother, former Lord of Ceredigion
Gwen – spy for Hywel, Gareth’s wife
Gareth – Gwen’s husband, Captain of Hywel’s guard
Mari – Gwen’s friend, Hywel’s wife
Evan – Gareth’s friend
Gruffydd – Rhun’s captain
Goch – A soldier
Rhodri – A soldier
Meilyr – Gwen’s father
Gwalchmai – Gwen’s brother
Rhys – Prior of St. Kentigern’s monastery, St Asaph
Tangwen – Gwen and Gareth’s daughter
Gruffydd – Hywel and Mari’s son
Elspeth – Tangwen’s nanny
Bronwen – Gruffydd’s nanny
From Ceredigion
Cadell – King of Deheubarth
Angharad – Cadell’s niece
Pedr – Prior of St. Padarn’s monastery
Iolo – a cloth merchant
Madlen – Iolo’s niece
Sion – gatekeeper at St. Padarn’s
Morgan – Hywel’s steward
Pawl – tavern keeper
Chapter One
Late August 1146
Gwen
Gwen peered into the courtyard of the monastery before venturing across the hot cobbles into the mid-afternoon sun, which shone out of a rare deep blue sky. Heat radiated off the stones, and Gwen moved towards the garden, seeking the breeze coming off the brook. She’d swept up her brown hair into a chignon, but sweat clung to the tendrils at the back of her neck.
The guesthouse lay to one side of the large square, which was fronted on the road by a gatehouse and a long stone wall. The monks’ quarters, church, and college of priests were opposite, as far from the guesthouse as possible while still remaining in the same compound. Given her hour-long struggle to get her daughter to go to sleep, Gwen had to admit the genius of that decision.
In point of fact, that distance was not because the monks feared to hear a crying child but was left over from when Norman monks, who viewed women and children with a certain degree of hostility, had occupied the monastery. Now that Hywel ruled Ceredigion, the monastery had been restored to the native Welsh Church. Still, the presence of young women and children in the guest quarters made some of the older monks uncomfortable, and Gwen had been trying as best she could to keep Tangwen quiet and out of the way. She’d failed utterly at both today.
For the moment, however, Tangwen was asleep, and Gwen’s fourteen-year-old maid, extravagantly named Elspeth, remained with her. Gwen hoped her daughter would sleep for at least two hours. To say Tangwen was overtired after all the activity of the last few days was an understatement.
Unfortunately for the monks’ peace of mind, Gwen’s adorable baby girl was the least of the monks’ problems this week. Travelers filled the guesthouse, with more coming every hour. At Prince Hywel’s request, the abbot had agreed to suffer through the presence of whatever women came to stay with them, regardless of their seductive beauty.
And it wasn’t just the guest quarters at the monastery that were filling up. Aberystwyth castle, the villages of Aberystwyth and Llanbadarn Fawr, and the entire surrounding area were full to bursting with travelers who had arrived at Prince Hywel’s invitation. He’d put out a call to every corner of Wales for bards to travel to Ceredigion for a music festival with him as the host. Even King Owain—along with Gwen’s father, Meilyr, and brother, Gwalchmai—were journeying from Aber for the celebration.
Gwen (and Prince Hywel too) had hoped they would have arrived already, since the festival had opened that morning. Given the distances involved and the number of people traveling, however, it was hard to judge how long any journey would take. Regardless of when they arrived, they would stay for a week afterwards, which was some consolation. Gwen had missed her father and brother in the two months she’d lived in Ceredigion.
As Gwen stood i
n the shadows of the guesthouse, a party of riders entered through the monastery gate and halted on the cobbles. Gwen stood on tiptoe to look past them, hoping Gareth might be among the stragglers. He wasn’t, and Gwen sighed in disappointment. Then a frazzled stable boy ran to hold the bridle of the lead horse, and the hosteler, a fat, balding monk in charge of the wellbeing of guests, waddled out of the chapter house to greet them.
Although Gareth had not come, Gwen smiled when she recognized Prior Rhys riding in at the tail end of the group. His soldierly bearing was unmistakable even underneath his bulky monk’s robe. He wasn’t in Aberystwyth for the festival but had come because his abbot had sent him to St. Padarn’s to consult with the members of the college of priests on a spiritual matter. Gwen hadn’t seen him since the evening meal the night before, and at the sight of him, she lifted her hand and finally stepped into the hot sun so she could greet him.
But instead of allowing her to come to him, Prior Rhys dismounted and ran to her, hitching up his robe to reveal the breeches and boots he wore underneath. Just looking at the weight of his clothing made Gwen feel hotter. In addition, his behavior was unusual enough to turn her expression from a smile of greeting to a frown of concern.
“Where might I find your husband?” Rhys said when he reached her. He was of the same generation as Gwen’s father, but unlike Meilyr, Rhys’s age was revealed not in a burgeoning paunch but in the lines on his face, evidence of many years spent outdoors in the wind and sun. At the moment, his bushy eyebrows had drawn together, making the lines on his forehead more pronounced than ever.
“He was at the castle last I heard.” Gwen sidled back to the guesthouse wall so she could stand in the shade. She also wanted to put a few more feet between Rhys and the new arrivals, who were shooting curious glances at the prior. She didn’t want him to be the subject of anyone’s entertainment, and, had they known him at all, they would have realized that something was very much wrong for him to behave with anything less than absolute dignity.
“I already checked. Both he and the prince were absent. I had hoped to find them here.”
Gwen shook her head. “I haven’t seen Gareth since this morning. What’s wrong?”
“Do you have someone to keep an eye on Tangwen?” Rhys said.
“Elspeth is sitting with—”
“Good. You must come with me.” Rhys took Gwen’s elbow and urged her across the cobbles to his horse without waiting for her to finish her sentence. He paid no attention at all to the guests, who were now openly staring as they passed. Hoisting himself into his saddle, he held out his elbow for Gwen so she could mount behind him.
She didn’t question him, merely took his proffered arm.
The hosteler, however, gazed up at both of them, open-mouthed. “Whatever is the matter? Where are you taking Lady Gwen? What should I tell the abbot?”
Rhys made an exasperated sound at the back of his throat. Glancing at the guests, none of whom were making any pretense of minding any doings but his, he leaned down to speak to the hosteler, lowering his voice so nobody else could hear. “The body of a man has been found in the millpond.”
“He’s dead?”
Generally ‘body’ implied ‘dead’, and Rhys didn’t deign to answer in words but simply nodded.
The hosteler stepped back, shocked and sputtering. “But—but—”
“Just tell him,” Prior Rhys said.
Then, as Gwen clutched Rhys around the waist, the prior turned the horse toward the exit. Once underneath the gatehouse, however, Gwen said, “May I please have a moment?”
Rhys stopped to allow Gwen to lean down to the gatekeeper, who had come out of his small room next to the gate in response to all the commotion. He was an aged man with white hair and hunched shoulders. “Sion, would you tell my husband or Prince Hywel if he arrives that I have left with Prior Rhys on an urgent matter?”
“Where am I to say you’ve gone?” Sion said.
Gwen glanced at Rhys, who spoke for her. “The millpond.” The millpond had been carved out of the north bank of the Rheidol River, southeast of the monastery. Everyone in the region brought their grain there to grind, though it was most often used by the castle and the monastery, since they had the most land planted in grain.
“Of course, Prior Rhys,” Sion said. Gwen didn’t know that the gatekeeper could actually see the prior at that distance, but Rhys had a distinctive gravelly voice that Sion would have recognized. “Go with God’s blessing.”
“Thank you,” Rhys said and then continued under his breath as he spurred his horse out onto the road, “We’re going to need it.”
Once on the road, he skirted another group of travelers, some walking, one driving a cart, and two on horseback. This party was bypassing the monastery in favor of continuing south to the castle and the festival grounds.
Instead of following them, at the crossroads Gwen and Prior Rhys headed east towards the mountains. A half-mile farther on, they turned into a clearing in front of the mill, a stone building built on the edge of its pond. Several empty carts were parked by the entrance, and the giant water wheel spun as the water flowed past. A small group of people had gathered near the edge of the millpond.
At Rhys’s and Gwen’s appearance, the man in the center, who’d been crouching low over something on the ground, looked over his shoulder. It was Prince Rhun, Hywel’s brother and the eldest prince of Gwynedd. His bright blond hair was lit by the afternoon sunlight that filtered through the green leaves overhanging the pond. Even with a dead body at his feet, Rhun’s blue eyes remained bright. Gwen had seen this prince somber, but not often. Prince Rhun had been in Aberystwyth longer than Gwen, escaping (he said) his stepmother’s matchmaking.
Prince Rhun had confessed to Gwen upon her arrival that circumstances had reached such a dire point in Gwynedd that his father had decided to become involved. He’d warned Rhun before he left that if he didn’t find a wife for himself by the Christmas feast, King Owain was going to allow Cristina to choose one for him.
Recognizing Gwen, Rhun stood. “Thank the Lord the prior found you.”
Two monks, instantly recognizable in their undyed cloaks, and two men, wearing the breeches and sweat-stained shirts of laborers, surrounded the body. The monks had kilted their robes and were soaked to the waist, implying that they’d waded in to retrieve it. Although some monasteries employed day laborers or lay brothers—peasant members of the order who were restricted to agricultural work—this monastery required everyone to work and made no distinctions among types of labor.
Rhys and Gwen dismounted, and Gwen studied the dead man from a few feet away before approaching Prince Rhun and the others. The body lay in the dirt and grass beside the pond out of which it had been dragged, far enough away from the water that it didn’t lap at its feet. At other murder scenes, how and when the body was moved could make a difference between solving a murder and allowing the murderer to walk free. Today it didn’t, since this wasn’t the spot where he’d died. Nobody had yet said the word murder, but Prior Rhys had to suspect that the man’s death wasn’t an accident, or else he wouldn’t have come to fetch her.
Gwen hadn’t been involved in an unexplained death since before Tangwen’s birth. Men had died in Gwynedd since then, but none mysteriously as far as she knew. And she would have known: while Prince Hywel was absent and living in Ceredigion, she’d served as a liaison between Hywel’s spies and King Owain. Gareth had sworn more than once that he would protect her from these investigations. But since he wasn’t here, Gwen was fully capable of stepping into his place, even if she couldn’t be pleased that a dead man had been found in the millpond.
“What happened?” she said.
One of the men, larger than most, with thick muscled arms characteristic of heavy labor, scoffed. “He drowned.”
Prince Rhun pinned the man with a gaze that would have shot right through him had it been an arrow. “Start at the beginning. Tell Lady Gwen what you know.”
Gwen wasn�
�t surprised at the man’s dismissal of her question. Until they learned more of her, most men treated her that way. Rhun, however, was a prince, and the man’s face flushed red to be chastised by him. He didn’t defend himself but merely ducked his head in apology. “Yes, my lord.”
“What is your name?” Gwen said.
“My name is Bran. I work the mill,” the man said. “I’m the journeyman, though I know more about milling than the miller.” He made a motion as if to spit on the ground but stopped himself at the last moment.
“So you’ve been here all day?” Gwen said.
“Since early morning,” Bran said. “I had a short break at noon, but I’ve been grinding since just after dawn.”
“That means you’ve been inside all day?” Gwen said.
Bran nodded. “It is necessary to pay attention all the time in case something goes wrong. I didn’t notice anything amiss out here until young Teilo came running in to tell me about a body in the water. I don’t know how long it’d been there. I didn’t notice anything this morning or after my noon meal, but I didn’t look hard either.”
“Thank you.” Gwen looked at Teilo, the other laborer not dressed as a monk. His brown hair was cropped close to his head, and like everyone else, sweat beaded in his hairline. He wore a filthy shirt that might have once been the color of cream, brown breeches cut off at the knees, and bare feet. In regards to the heat, he had to be the most comfortable of all of them. “What did you see?”
Teilo looked as if answering the question physically hurt his throat, but he cleared it and said in a low whisper, “I was coming by like I always do—”
“From where?” Prior Rhys said.
Teilo swallowed, and his eye skated from Gwen to Prior Rhys and back again. As with Prince Rhun, Prior Rhys’s authority was unmistakable. “From swimming in the river with my friends. We’ve all worked in the fields since dawn.” He said these last words somewhat defensively.
The Unlikely Spy Page 1
