“Yes, my lord.”
Hywel looked back to Gwen. “Where’s Gruffydd?”
“With his nanny,” Gwen said. “How’s Mari?”
Hywel made a rueful face. “Sleeping. I don’t think this is going to be a good day.”
Gwen missed her friend but accepted the realities of marriage and child bearing. Hopefully Mari would give Hywel many sons, and not all of them would be as difficult to produce as these first two.
Prior Rhys pointed with his chin towards the gatehouse where a man and a woman had just entered. “Your wish may have come true already, my lord.”
“Is that—?” Gwen looked at Gareth.
“Madlen and Iolo,” Gareth said. “Does Madlen know about Carys?”
“Not unless someone else told her,” Gwen said. “I haven’t even been introduced to her yet.” Before they knew for certain that Gryff had another wife, Prior Pedr had sent word to Iolo as to when he and Madlen should arrive at the monastery this morning for Gryff’s funeral. For her part, Gwen hadn’t had any contact with the pair at all.
“Good,” Gareth said. “Go to her. She’s going to notice that Carys is weeping over Gryff’s body and wonder at it. I want you to be there when she asks who Carys is. I want you to be the one to tell her.”
“Me?” Gwen shook her head. “You are a bad man, Gareth ap Rhys.” But Gwen squeezed his hand and walked to intercept Madlen and Iolo before they came any farther into the monastery courtyard. Gareth had described Madlen’s clothes from yesterday, and what she wore today was equally fine. Sewn from the finest wool, Madlen’s deep blue dress, the same color as Iolo’s tunic, wouldn’t have looked out of place at the high table in Hywel’s hall.
Madlen’s long hair was braided into many separate strands, in the old tradition for a widow at her husband’s funeral. Carys hadn’t done anything to hers but put it into a chignon at the back of her head and cover it with a scarf. After a five-mile cart ride, wisps of hair had come loose and framed her face. She must have been at least twenty, but today she looked no more than fourteen.
When Gwen reached Madlen and Iolo, she introduced herself. Neither looked happy to meet her, though they were polite enough. Madlen barely looked at her, instead standing on her tiptoes to look past Gwen to the cluster of people in the central area of the courtyard. Without explaining who they were, Gwen gently guided the pair to one side, out from underneath the gatehouse as well as out of the path that the monks carrying Gryff’s body would follow. “The funeral procession should begin soon. You’re just in time.”
Madlen’s brows drew together. “Who is the abbot talking to?”
The abbot had been talking to Carys and Alun, and now he gestured that they should follow him into the chapel, Carys continuing to sob all the while. Prince Hywel had already left to return to the festival. Not only should his father be arriving today, but Hywel himself would be performing that evening.
Gwen had been going over in her mind how to broach the subject of Madlen’s status. As the woman Gryff married first, clearly Carys should have pride of place, and regardless of what had been written in the contract, Madlen’s marriage was invalid—in the sight of both God and man. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Madlen, but that woman is Gryff’s wife and the mother of his two children.”
“What are you saying?” All color leached from Madlen’s face as she stared at Gwen. “No.”
“I am sorry, Madlen,” Gwen repeated, “but he had a wife before you. If you believed yourself married to Gryff, your relationship was in no way legal.” Gwen didn’t say that because Madlen hadn’t given him a son, she wasn’t entitled to any inheritance either.
Iolo rubbed his chin. “You’re saying that Gryff deceived us?”
“That does appear to be the obvious conclusion,” Gwen said, without adding the possibility that they had some responsibility for what had happened as well. Particularly Iolo, as Madlen’s guardian, should have done some more checking. “My lord husband is in no doubt that Gryff was married to Carys long before he met Madlen. They never divorced, and she bore him two children.”
Madlen was standing with her hand over her mouth. Then she dropped her hand, looking wildly around in a manner that had Gwen thinking she was looking to run. Iolo must have thought the same thing because he caught Madlen’s arm. “Don’t. You’re here now. You made your bed. Now lie in it.”
Gwen frowned at the harshness of his tone. She cleared her throat, having more questions, but nonetheless feeling awkward about asking them. “Did you not wonder at his absences?”
“He said he had a sick grandmother he needed to visit,” Iolo said. “He would leave us every so often to do so.”
“Oh!” Madlen’s eyes widened. “He was seeing his wife! All this time he was seeing his wife instead!”
“It seems so.” Gwen found herself feeling sorry for Madlen. From Gareth’s description of her and what she’d done in the chapel, Gwen hadn’t felt drawn to her or even very sympathetic. But this was a different girl, not weeping like Carys, but shocked, her life without Gryff stretching before her.
Six monks appeared at the entrance to the chapel, carrying the body in its coffin on their shoulders. The circular graveyard lay adjacent to the monastery. It had its own small chapel and priest, and it was he who ministered to the villagers of Llanbadarn Fawr, who didn’t normally worship in the monastery chapel. Though the procession could have gone through the gardens and didn’t have to leave by the gatehouse, tradition demanded it. The monks paced towards the road and out onto it, turning north to walk with solemnity down the narrow road until they reached the gravesite, which had been dug earlier that morning.
Carys and Alun followed immediately after the abbot and Prior Pedr, and then two dozen monks fell into place behind them. Madlen held back. Even after Iolo urged her forward, her feet seemed to move reluctantly. “He’s really dead,” Madlen said, low enough so that only Gwen could hear her, since Iolo had lost patience and was striding to catch up to the last of the monks. “He’s really dead.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Gwen said.
Her mind shied away from putting herself in Madlen’s place. Someday, she might be the one following behind her husband’s coffin to see him into his grave. Gareth had faced death in the past at Hywel’s side and would again. It was the reality of being married to a soldier. It was the reality of being married.
Gwen still fought through sleepless nights when she lay awake for hours, her stomach in knots as she worried for him. Having Tangwen helped to distract her, but every night Gareth lay beside her in bed was one to be thankful for. She’d missed Gareth last night and had woken every few hours to reach out a hand to him, only to find that he wasn’t there. That would be Madlen’s fate for every night from now on.
Madlen’s face twisted into a grimace. “I saw that woman here in Aberystwyth on the day Gryff died, you know.”
“What woman?” Gwen said.
Madlen gestured ahead of her. “That woman. His wife.” The last word came out with an added sneer, for which Gwen couldn’t blame her.
“You saw Carys the day Gryff died? When and where?” Gwen said.
“She was near our lodgings in Aberystwyth,” Madlen said. “We always stay with a tavern keeper we know. She was outside the tavern. Watching it.”
Gwen looked ahead through the undyed robes and bowed shoulders of the monks between them to where Carys walked, herself with a bowed head. “Are you sure it was she?”
“Most definitely.” Madlen gritted her teeth. “She must have found out that Gryff loved me instead of her. She drove him to his death!”
Madlen’s sudden adamancy and anger were somewhat alarming.
“What do you mean, ‘drove him to his death?’” Gwen said. “Do you know something about Gryff’s death that you need to tell me?”
Madlen’s eyes widened as she realized she’d gone too far in making an unfounded accusation. “What? No! No, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t
listen to me.” She put her face in her hands and sobbed.
Gwen would have to check with Gareth, but with two small children at home, it would have been quite a feat for Carys to be gone all day to Aberystwyth, murder her husband in the early hours of the morning, and then return to Goginan. On top of which, Carys could have directed the same accusation at Madlen: Madlen had discovered Carys’s existence and murdered Gryff in a moment of passionate anger. Though, given Madlen’s emotional theatrics, the more likely scenario would have been for Madlen to murder Carys, not Gryff.
Gwen eyed the grieving girl, wondering if Madlen was such a good actor as to be able to deceive them all with her tears and regrets, and that she really did know something about Gryff’s death that she wasn’t telling. Honestly, Gwen couldn’t tell. She’d been lied to before and not known it, and she’d disbelieved another’s words and found them later to be true. People lied. It was the one and only thing Hywel and Gareth would have her assume.
Upon arriving at the gravesite to witness the funeral, Gwen was glad she’d arranged in advance for Elspeth to keep Tangwen inside the monastery grounds. Emotions were running high between the two grieving widows, and the difficulty of the situation would only have been compounded by Gwen’s chattering daughter, who wouldn’t have understood the gravity of the occasion.
Still, it was a beautiful spot in which to be buried. Gwen hoped the peacefulness here, aided by the scents of the late summer flowers and the leaves twirling in the breeze above their heads, would ease the hearts of the two women Gryff had loved. The heat of the day hadn’t yet risen, and as the priest began to read the words of the Latin prayer at the gravesite, Gwen closed her eyes and allowed the warm sun to bathe her face.
The mourners stood with bowed heads around the grave until after the priest finished and the gravediggers began shoveling the dirt over the top of Gryff. Carys and Alun turned away with the abbot, who had invited them to break their fast with him. Poor Madlen, as the second woman in Gryff’s life, received no such recognition.
So as the small group dispersed, only Madlen, Iolo, Gareth, and Gwen remained to watch the final stages of Gryff’s burial. Madlen stepped forward and tossed a handful of dirt into the grave, and then dropped a lavender blossom after it. “My life is over.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Iolo put an arm around Madlen’s shoulder, the first real sign of comfort Gwen had seen him give her today. “The world is full of men.”
That was a singularly unhelpful comment, and Iolo should have known better. Of course, Gwen’s own father had said the exact same words to her once upon a time. She’d been sixteen and had to watch Gareth ride out of her life after being banished from Ceredigion by Cadwaladr, who’d been his lord at the time.
Gareth had been standing on the other side of the grave from Gwen, and she glanced up to meet his eyes, which flashed with something akin to amusement before turning serious again. “If you can think of anything else that could tell us why Gryff was by the millpond that night,” he said to Madlen, “please contact me at the castle or here at the monastery.”
Iolo sighed. “I heard we have you and Prince Hywel to thank for keeping Gryff out of a suicide’s grave.”
Gareth nodded in brief acknowledgment of the truth. “I don’t believe Gryff killed himself.”
“Obviously, your word was enough for the abbot.” Still with his arm around Madlen, Iolo turned away. “Come, girl. We have work to do.”
Sniffing and dabbing at her eyes, Madlen went with her uncle. Their stall at the market fair needed manning.
Gareth watched them go, his hands on his hips.
“What are you thinking?” Gwen said.
Without answering, Gareth held out his hand to Gwen. She took it, and they started walking back to the monastery. “I’m thinking that before we go any further, we need to clarify our timeline. I want to make sure we haven’t missed anything.”
Gwen nodded. When an investigation had this many moving parts, it was always important to reassess with each new snippet of information. Sometimes Gareth sketched out a chart on one of his pieces of paper so he could keep it straight in his mind.
“Well,” Gwen said, “the first thing anyone has admitted—though whether or not it’s true is based only on Iolo’s word—was that Iolo, Madlen, and Gryff have been in the vicinity of Aberystwyth for two weeks, though they only reached the town four days ago.”
Gareth opened a narrow wooden gate in the hedge that surrounded the monastery gardens and led Gwen through it. She could hear Tangwen and Gruffydd shouting somewhere in the distance. Gareth heard their voices too and picked up the pace, heading in their general direction. “The next day,” he said, “Alun came here and spoke to Gryff, though he claims they spoke about nothing out of the ordinary. Before Alun saw Gryff in the street, he hadn’t even realized he was in Aberystwyth.”
“The following day,” Gwen said, “Madlen says she saw Carys outside their lodgings. We have no evidence for that either save Madlen’s word.”
Gareth stopped in the middle of the path. “Madlen saw Carys outside their lodgings?”
“So she told me just now,” Gwen said.
Gareth rubbed his chin. “Carys could have learned of where he was staying from Alun.”
“If Madlen isn’t lying,” Gwen said. “Regardless, later that afternoon, Gryff sought out Prince Hywel, spoke to the gatekeeper, and went away disappointed. He was murdered in the early hours of the following morning. We still have no idea why he wanted to speak to Prince Hywel or why he was murdered.”
“That single incident—that he wanted to speak to Prince Hywel about something—raises my hackles,” Gareth said.
“Mine too,” Gwen said.
“It’s our only indication of any motive for murder other than the surprising fact of having two wives,” Gareth said.
Gwen sighed. “It isn’t much to go on, is it? Both sides say he didn’t have an impressive intellect, or at the very least he was a dreamer. He doesn’t sound like a master manipulator who could have maintained such an elaborate deception for so long, much less become involved in something bigger that got him killed.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Gareth said. “We know that if we know anything.”
“Then I am well and truly deceived,” Gwen said.
Gareth started walking again. “He knew his killer.”
Gwen nodded. “That seems clear because of the knife to the chest. His death looks like a confrontation gone wrong more than a sneak thief.”
“Gryff had nothing worth stealing,” Gareth said.
“That we know of,” Gwen said, “though if he did have something worth stealing, the murderer would have taken it, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” Gareth said, “and until we find our killer, we won’t know what that was.”
Just then, Tangwen came around from behind a large lavender bush—of the same color flower as the one Madlen left on Gryff’s grave—and held out her arms to Gwen. Gwen picked her up and carried her towards the herbalist’s hut, which had a bench resting against the south facing wall. Most of the bench lay in the full sun, since it was now mid-morning, and the sun was well up above the trees.
Gwen sat on the end that was still shaded by the eave of the roof and adjusted Tangwen in her lap so she could nurse her.
Gareth sat beside them and put a finger through one of Tangwen’s brown curls, letting it curl around it. Elspeth appeared briefly, checking on her charge, but Gareth waved her away. Tangwen would nurse for a while, possibly falling asleep in the process, and they didn’t want to discuss their investigation in front of her nanny.
Gwen’s brow furrowed in thought as she cradled her daughter. “We need to talk to Carys about her whereabouts on the day Gryff died. Could we be wrong about the time that he died?”
“The gatekeeper saw Gryff towards the dinner hour. He was alive then,” Gareth said. “Iolo and Madlen saw him later in the evening. Did Carys stay in Aberystwyth until nightfall?”
“Maybe somebody saw her,” Gwen said. “You can sketch her too and ask around. What about Alun?”
“Are you thinking that Alun could have lured Gryff to the millpond?” Gareth said.
“I imagine it wouldn’t have taken much luring,” Gwen said. “Carys and Gryff were married. She was the mother of his children. To me, it’s a matter of why either of them would have wanted Gryff dead. By all appearances, he hadn’t been good for much before this, and now he had enough money to support Carys. Why kill him?”
“Jealousy,” Gareth said.
“That applies to Carys, but not to Alun,” Gwen said. “And even if Carys was jealous, killing Gryff wouldn’t have solved her problem. Better to have killed Madlen.”
Gareth tugged on his ear. “That’s a difference between a man’s response to being cuckolded and a woman’s: a man is more likely to murder his wife, while a woman is more likely to murder the object of her husband’s attention.”
“I’m not sure what that says about us women that our anger is directed at the other woman, rather than the cheating, lying husband.”
Gareth put up both his hands, laughing at Gwen’s vehemence. “I know where my loyalties lie, my dear.”
Gwen laughed too. “That still leaves hate as the motive, however, which implies a crime of passion. I don’t like it. Meeting by the millpond like Gryff did with his killer couldn’t have been a spur of the moment thing.”
“Unless Gryff went there for reasons of his own and the murderer—who admittedly he knew—followed him. They argued, and Gryff died.” Gareth looked towards the courtyard, a corner of which they could see from where they sat in the garden. Alun had appeared beside his cart. “Maybe we can get some of these questions answered. I’ll send Alun and Carys to you.”
“Where are you going?” Gwen said.
“I think it’s time I used the resources I have to my advantage.” Gareth grinned. “I have several dozen men at my disposal. Even leaving many on guard duty and others asleep, we can cover a great deal of ground. Let’s see who else saw Gryff that day.”
The Unlikely Spy Page 15
