They all thought about that for a moment. “He did marry two women,” Rhun said. “That is not the act of a righteous man.”
Gwen shook her head. “We need more information than we have. Perhaps when Gareth returns, he’ll be able to shed some light on these events.”
“Speaking of Gareth,” Hywel said, “I need to speak to him the moment he returns.”
“Oh no,” Gwen said. “What’s happened? Not another murder?”
“Barring the ones I committed in my head at the feast?” Hywel said, only half-jesting. “No. But Rhun and I have discovered that my treacherous uncle and King Cadell have each brought fifty cavalry with them to Ceredigion and hidden them in the woods around Aberystwyth.”
“What?” Gwen and Mari said together, looking from Rhun to Hywel.
Tangwen had looked up at her mother’s shocked voice, and Gwen put out a hand to her, bending forward and saying, “It’s all right, cariad.” Tangwen returned to her play, and Gwen straightened. “Where?”
“Evan found Cadwaladr’s force near St. Dafydd’s chapel.” Hywel motioned with his head to indicate where Evan stood with their horses. As Gareth’s second-in-command, Evan was standing in for him until he returned. Rhun had left his captain, Gruffydd, to stay with Morgan and keep an eye on the goings on at the castle. “It lies to the northeast of here. Cadell’s fifty cavalry are to the southeast. I sent men to scout his encampment as soon as I heard of it from Rhun.”
Gwen looked inquiringly at Rhun, who nodded. “Angharad told me of it.”
Gwen didn’t quite hide her knowing smile, but she managed to look down at her toes before it became too obvious. “I don’t expect Gareth to return tonight, my lord.”
“I know,” Hywel said. “We’ll have a look tonight without him.”
Prior Rhys came around the chapel and hastened across the courtyard towards them. “You received my message, my lord?” he said when he reached them.
“We did,” Hywel said. “Thank you for the information. We have doubled the guard around the monastery.”
Prior Rhys jerked his head in a nod. “I would hope that you are looking to your own back as well. An errant knife in the hands of a determined man can do a great deal of damage, as we saw with Gryff.”
“Rhun and I are both taking extra care,” Hywel said. “Thank you for staying here with Gwen and Mari.”
Prior Rhys bowed. “I am honored to have been so trusted.”
Hywel and Rhun, with Evan and a handful of men, rode northeast from St. Padarn’s. They rode without torches, but the moon was up in the starlit sky, illuminating the road to St. Dafydd’s Chapel. The road rose to several hundred feet above the monastery, and then fell again as they dropped into the adjacent valley, which like most of the area surrounding Aberystwyth consisted of green fields and stands of trees. This was rich land. Hywel was determined to keep it out of his uncle’s—or Cadell’s—hands.
At the point where Evan told them they needed to walk, they pulled their horses off the road and into a patch of woods that hadn’t been cleared for farmland. As he tied his horse to an oak tree, Hywel could hear a brook gurgling to the north of their position. And then he heard the unmistakable clip-clop of horses along the road they’d just come down.
All the men froze, with their hands over their horses’ noses to silence them. From the calls and shouts coming from the road, the riders were making no attempt to keep quiet.
Rhun stepped close to Hywel and said, “I count a dozen at least.”
“Cadwaladr’s men. That’s the approximate number he brought to the castle tonight.” Hywel pointed with his chin to Evan. “How close are we?”
“It’s a short walk to the camp,” Evan said, “a quarter of a mile, no more.”
“We should hurry.” Hywel gestured to the road along which the riders had now passed. “They’re making so much noise, we could walk openly and they’d never notice, but I want to be in position before Cadwaladr gets there.”
Rhun looked at Evan. “I assume they’ve posted sentries.”
“Not deep into the woods when I was here the first time,” Evan said, “just around the camp’s perimeter.”
“Cadwaladr doesn’t fear attack,” Hywel said.
“He has no reason to,” Rhun said.
They started forward, Evan in the lead.
“What’s he thinking, bringing so many men to Ceredigion?” Rhun said, articulating what was going on in Hywel’s own head. “How could he imagine you wouldn’t notice fifty men?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t care, or he actually wants me to know,” Hywel said.
“Why?” Rhun said.
“Because he is looking to get the better of me, to make me squirm,” Hywel said. “He believes I would never challenge him while he is my guest. You know how his mind works. Cadwaladr sees what is right in front of him, and if he thinks it’s good for him, he never thinks of the consequences.”
“Such has been his downfall up until now,” Rhun said.
“Do we have any reason to believe he has changed?” Hywel said.
“I fear the day that we don’t discover what he is up to until it is too late,” Rhun said.
“I don’t. I look forward to it.” Hywel pushed aside a tree branch and held it for Rhun. This time of year, the branches were fully leafed, green and glossy, though he couldn’t see their color in the darkness. “For then Father will be forced to banish him from Gwynedd forever.”
Rhun stopped beside Hywel. “You don’t want that, brother. You think you do now, but you don’t. Cadwaladr has the power to wreak a kind of havoc on us that even he doesn’t appreciate. Right now, he is containable. But the moment he commits himself to betraying Father completely, or you, there’s no telling what he might do.”
Hywel didn’t answer. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe what Rhun was saying, but when it came to Cadwaladr, Hywel was incapable of reasoned thought. He couldn’t see how Cadwaladr banished from Wales forever could be worse than Cadwaladr sitting beside his father’s chair in Aber.
Rhun put his hand on Hywel’s elbow to emphasize his point. “Have you truly encompassed the worst of what Cadwaladr could do? What if his plan is to attack the festival in conjunction with Cadell?”
“Cadell doesn’t want to openly attack me,” Hywel said, “not with Father arriving at any moment and war on his southern flank.”
“What if his plan is to murder Father?”
Hywel stared at his brother, whose face was just visible in the bit of moonlight that filtered through the tree branches.
“What if he were to succeed?” Rhun urged. “We would retaliate, chase him from Wales, and kill him if we could, but would Father’s death be worth that bit of revenge?”
“Of course not,” Hywel said.
“Then be careful what you wish for.” Rhun dropped Hywel’s elbow and continued walking.
“I’m sorry, Rhun.” Hywel hustled after him. “I didn’t think of that.”
“I know. And that’s the danger we all face. We have grown so used to hating Cadwaladr that we cannot see him clearly. Even Father has allowed the sickness to infect him. Hate blinds you to what is before you in favor of what you want to see—or hope to see—or perhaps even need to see.”
Hywel studied Rhun’s back as they strode onward. This summer had changed his brother, or perhaps Hywel was just noticing the change that had been taking place gradually over the last few years. When he was younger, he’d dismissed Rhun’s open demeanor as innocence. He’d looked down on him for it—Hywel could admit that now—and he could also admit that he’d been wrong to do so.
“You are right, of course,” Hywel said.
“We need to discover what he’s up to and stop him before he starts.” Rhun’s long legs caught up to Evan, whom they’d allowed to get ahead of them, though the rest of their men had stopped when they had, protecting their rear.
Hywel was glad that Cristina, his father’s wife, was not accompanying King Owain to Ceredigion. She whispered into the
king’s ear and often told him things that weren’t true. Cristina was already campaigning for Owain to favor her sons over any of his other sons. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, not just for Hywel’s own sake, but for Rhun’s.
Among the Welsh, illegitimate and legitimate sons inherited equally. Dafydd and Rhodri, Cristina’s two boys, were far down the hierarchy of Owain’s sons. First, of course, were, Rhun and Hywel. They were the children of King Owain’s first love whom he never married. Then came Cynan, Cadell, and Madoc, ranging in age from twenty-three to eighteen. Only after various of his women had given birth to these five had Owain fathered legitimate sons by Gwladys, his first wife: Iorwerth, just of age now at fourteen, and Maelgwn, his younger brother.
It occurred to Hywel only now that all the while he’d been playing his games—with his women, spies, and intrigue—Rhun had been keeping the kingdom together for their father in ways Hywel hadn’t appreciated except in that he hadn’t had to do it himself.
Rhun had been learning about people, about the way they thought and acted, and noting the difference between what they said and what they did. Hywel had said for years how glad he was to be the second son, that it was going to be Rhun rather than he who would some day become King of Gwynedd. He’d always meant it. But this was the first time he’d admitted to himself that Rhun really might make a better one.
“Well, well. What have we here?” Hywel crouched beside his brother behind a holly bush.
Evan stood against a pine tree, blending in against the dark bark in his brown cloak and plain tunic. He didn’t need to say anything because they all could see what Cadwaladr had brought: a small army. Men talked around three fires. One tent only had been put up towards the north end of the camp. The weather was clear and warm, and whatever warmth or protection from the elements anyone needed could be provided by the fire and the surrounding trees.
“He isn’t trying to hide that they’re here,” Rhun said.
Hywel shook his head. He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. “If Cadwaladr means to bring this force to bear on Aberystwyth, he would hardly have left it in plain sight. But he didn’t bring these men into the village for the festival, nor inform me of their existence, as simple courtesy demands.”
“Maybe it isn’t you Cadwaladr doesn’t want knowing about them,” Rhun said.
That set Hywel back on his heels. “Not me?”
“What if his true enemy is Cadell, for instance?” Rhun said.
“You mean they’ve had a falling out?” Hywel laughed low and mocking. His uncle had hired men to kill Cadell’s brother. The idea of them working as allies, in the past, present, or future, was almost obscene.
But Rhun’s suspicions had already gone there. “Or he is bringing these men across Ceredigion to the other side for some purpose of his own. It could be the opposite: he and Cadell, as allies, could be planning a campaign he doesn’t want you—or Father—to know about.”
“My lords.” Evan murmured the words, drawing their attention back to the camp. Cadwaladr himself had just ridden in with his guard. Hywel was relieved to know that his uncle was out of the castle, even if his absence meant he was plotting some new intrigue.
The sanctity of hospitality forbade aggression, either on the part of the host or the guest, and not for the first time Hywel understood why. To invite a man to dinner and then murder him as he ate was a crime beyond any other. Few would attempt it because in order to live afterwards, a man had to be so powerful that his enemies would continue to treat with him, despite their fear and hatred.
Cadwaladr dismounted and—almost as if he knew where Hywel and Rhun were hiding—strode towards their section of the woods. He didn’t come all the way, thankfully, but stopped at the fire pit nearest to Hywel’s hiding place. A man stood to greet him, bowing.
“What news, Erik?”
Only great effort stopped Hywel’s jaw from dropping.
“Nothing yet, my lord. The death of that man in the millpond is on everyone’s tongue. Nothing else.” The man spoke with a faint Dublin accent. Even without it, Hywel could have guessed who he was from his large stature and blond hair—blonder even than Rhun’s.
Rhun whispered low in Hywel’s ear. “I saw that man speaking to Iolo at his stall today.”
Hywel waved a hand at his brother, shushing him. He wanted to know what Rhun knew, but Cadwaladr was still talking to Erik.
“And my nephew?”
The big Dane gave a half-shrug. “I found few who consented to speak ill of him. And even those men were only discontented because Hywel had denied their claims to land or a cow in a dispute with a neighbor. He hasn’t put a foot wrong since he arrived.”
Hywel raised his eyebrows, glad to hear it but surprised too. He had felt he’d been misstepping right and left for three years. Cadwaladr gazed past Erik towards the trees, tapping on his thigh with his fist. Hywel could feel his uncle’s eyes burrowing into him, even though he knew Cadwaladr couldn’t see him. Still, he hardly dared breathe. Rhun held his breath as well.
“Try harder,” Cadwaladr said. “I must have something I can bring before my brother when he arrives.”
“Yes, my lord,” Erik said.
“What of this death? Is it murder?”
“I have no word on that, my lord.”
Cadwaladr grunted. “It must be. I haven’t seen that bastard Gareth around, and that means he’s out spying and asking questions about things he shouldn’t.”
“My lord—”
“Find him. I want to know what Gareth is doing, what he knows, and if we can turn this man’s death to our advantage,” Cadwaladr said. “If a murderer is walking free, I need to know it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
With another grunt, Cadwaladr turned away from Erik and strode back towards his horse. One by one, his men bobbed to their feet in order to bow as he passed. He mounted and rode out of the clearing without looking back, surrounded by the men he’d ridden in with. Gradually, the men around the fires returned to what they’d been doing before their lord’s arrival, and Hywel began to breathe again.
Rhun let out a burst of air. “Well.”
All of a sudden, Hywel found himself surprisingly cheerful. “We don’t know why he brought all these men, but we’ve solved one mystery, anyway.”
“What mystery is that?”
“Did you hear what Cadwaladr called that man? It’s Erik, Godfrid’s missing guard from two years ago,” Hywel said.
Rhun stared at Hywel and then turned to look where Erik sat on a log before the fire, contemplating the flames and drinking from a flask. “He’s been working for Cadwaladr all this time?”
“It seems so.”
“The Book of Kells is long gone, though,” Rhun said. “We returned it to Ireland two years ago. What could have kept Erik beside Cadwaladr all this time?”
“Money,” Hywel said. “He couldn’t return to Godfrid after he ran away, could he?”
“My lords, should we send word to Gareth of the threat against him?” Evan said.
Hywel tapped his brother’s shoulder, and they both retreated with Evan deeper into the woods, back towards Aberystwyth. Hywel’s men formed a perimeter around them as they slunk away.
“How many know that Gareth rode to Goginan this evening?” Rhun said.
“A handful only. The connection is through the monastery.” Hywel looked back to the camp. They’d come far enough now that trees hid it from view, though he could smell the wood smoke.
Rhun nodded. “Sending a man might only call attention to his whereabouts.”
Hywel agreed. “Gareth, of all of us, seems safe enough until morning. Now, shall we see what Cadell’s men are up to?”
Chapter Fourteen
Gwen
Gwen was sitting at the entrance to the guesthouse as Gareth and Fychan rode through the gatehouse the next morning. They were followed by a large man driving a cart with a woman on the seat beside him.
Tangwen had been toddling
back and forth in the courtyard since breakfast, picking up stones and dropping them again. Gwen hadn’t managed to coax Mari downstairs yet today, but Gruffydd was walking across the cobbles holding onto Bronwen’s thumbs. At the sight of the horses and cart, Bronwen scooped the baby up and retreated with him out of the way of any hooves.
Gwen stood, her eyes on the woman on the cart seat. From her blotchy face—and the resigned look on the face of the man beside her—she’d been crying for much of the journey. Gareth dismounted and bent to Tangwen, picking her up and kissing her. “Were you a good girl while I was gone?”
Tangwen squealed as he tickled her. Since he didn’t need an answer, Gareth set Tangwen down and motioned to Elspeth and Bronwen that they should take both babies away. The two girls and their charges disappeared into the monastery gardens. Gwen watched them go and turned back as the man helped the woman down from the cart.
With the arrival of the cart, the stable boy appeared out of the stables, and the abbot, Prior Rhys, and Prior Pedr came through the open door from the monks’ dining hall. The abbot and Prior Pedr strode towards the woman, but Prior Rhys headed to where Gareth and Gwen stood, interrupting Gareth’s brief summary of his visit to Goginan.
“I see you found her,” Prior Rhys said.
“I did. Carys is her name, and that’s her brother, Alun.” Gareth gestured towards the pair, who were bowing before the abbot. “Carys is distraught at Gryff’s death. Alun is a bit more philosophical. Neither confess to any knowledge of his relationship with Madlen.”
“Then this may start to get interesting.”
The voice came from behind her, and Gwen turned to see Hywel stepping through the guesthouse door. Sometimes she wondered if he waited around doorframes and in corridors for instances like this, just so he could say something witty while making his entrance. He was tightening the bracer on his left arm.
“When did you arrive?” she said.
He raised his eyebrows at her surprise. “Late last night. Rhun and I had an adventurous evening.” He looked at Gareth. “We have much to discuss.”
The Unlikely Spy Page 14
