The Bard's Daughter (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

by Sarah Woodbury

  When they reached the high table, Gwlachmai and Meilyr bowed and Gwen curtseyed.

  “Bard,” Cadfael said.

  Even with the unveiling of Robert’s deceit, Gwen was pleased to see no animosity in Cadfael’s eyes as he looked at them. From beside his father, Cadoc’s face was lit from within. He had become a man today, shot a deer with his own arrow and then slit its throat, and from now on would take up his duties as his father’s right hand man. Gwen hoped that he had learned something from these past few days and would not follow his father’s duplicitous example.

  “My lord,” Meilyr said, speaking formally. “We have prepared a song in honor of Lord Cadoc’s birthday. Do we have your permission to sing it?”

  “Yes,” Cadfael said.

  The three singers moved to one side of the dais and then turned to face the audience. Gwen allowed her focus to blur, so she couldn’t see individual faces. On a happier day, she might have enjoyed the guests’ expressions, but not tonight.

  Gwalchmai began with a long solo, and then Meilyr and Gwen joined him. The song was a complicated one, in which Gwen and her father traded melodies while Gwalchmai’s soprano soared above the rest. Gwen, Gwalchmai, and Meilyr held the last note in perfect harmony.

  And then Meilyr clutched his chest, staggered, and fell to the floor.

  The hall erupted once again in noise and confusion.

  Instantly, Cadfael was on his feet, Cadoc beside him, their faces a caricature of shock. Then Gwen caught Cadfael’s eye and lifted one shoulder, just slightly. Cadfael’s mouth snapped shut. With identically blank expressions, both men lowered themselves back into their chairs. Gwen was sorry to ruin Cadoc’s birth day feast, but since he was in on the deception, if not the exact moment it would occur, she couldn’t feel too bad. Meilyr and Gwen had felt that everyone’s surprise would be more authentic if the two of them chose the manner of Meilyr’s demise, rather than leaving it to the dark hours of the morning.

  Saran pushed her way through the crowd. “Let me past! I can help him.”

  The onlookers gave way, though Gwen heard an older man mutter something about it being “better this way.” Saran fell to her knees beside Meilyr and Gwen leaned over her father, to block them from the general view of the hall. Meilyr was trying to lie still and unmoving on his own but once Saran held a cloth under his nose and he breathed in the scent—only one breath but it was enough—he relaxed completely and his head flopped to one side.

  Saran slipped the cloth back into its pouch and sat back on her heels. Gruffydd, who had been crouching near Meilyr’s head, his hands resting on his knees, straightened. That motion quieted the hall and Gruffydd held up one hand. “He is dead.”

  Gwalchmai had pressed his back to the wall, watching the proceedings with wide eyes. Gwen went to him and pulled him into her arms. “It’s all right, Gwalchmai.”

  He’d known of the plan too, but even so, the shock of its implementation had a trickle of tears running down each cheek. Gwen kissed the top of his head and looked out at the other diners, most of whom had settled back into their seats. Gruffydd already had his men working to carry Meilyr from the hall.

  Cadoc appeared on Gwen’s left. “You saw Eva’s reaction to Robert’s announcement?”

  “I did,” Gwen said.

  “Did we miss something there?” Cadoc said.

  Gwen glanced at him. He was tall for fourteen, with a man’s voice, and his tone was that of a man too. He would make a fine heir to Cadfael if he kept his head. “Eva brought my father to the pantry the night Collen died.”

  “She what?” Cadoc spoke louder than he should have and several heads turned in their direction. He moderated his tone. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

  “I only found out about it a few hours before my father’s sentencing. And since I had no more evidence than a maidservant’s middle-of-the-night vision, I thought it best to leave it as it was,” Gwen said. “I had your agreement that my father didn’t murder Collen. Eva played a part, surely, but she didn’t murder her husband.”

  Cadoc pursed his lips. “Perhaps not.”

  “She is too small and slight to subdue a man twice her size. But did she help it along?” Gwen nodded. “I think so.”

  “I will keep an eye on Denis,” Cadoc said. “He’s worn gloves ever since he arrived.”

  “Given Eva’s anger, that he is involved is a natural assumption,” Gwen said.

  “I, for one, would like to know the reason behind her anger,” Cadoc said.

  “I would say galanas, or the lack thereof,” Gwen said.

  “You may be right.” Cadoc eyed Gwen. “If your hunch is correct, we should know more soon.”

  “And if I’m wrong,” Gwen said. “Then my father will have a miraculous recovery.” She took a step towards the door, bringing Gwalchmai along with her. “I should be with him, my lord.”

  “Of course.”

  “Best wishes on your coming of age,” Gwen said, because she did truly wish him well.

  “Thank you. I will be sure to remember you the next time we have a murder at Carreg Cennen. My father should call upon you to solve it.” Cadoc gave her a slight bow before turning away, leaving Gwen speechless, staring after him.

  Chapter Nine

  Gwen tucked a blanket all around her father and leaned in to kiss his forehead. He lay on the table in an alcove in the chapel. In a larger, more well-appointed castle, the chapel would have had a room set aside specifically for housing the dead, but not here.

  A door banged and Gwen spun around to see Gruffydd marching towards her. He’d let in a waft of cold air and a swirl of the snow that had begun to fall after the midnight hour had passed. Gruffydd came to a halt beside Meilyr’s body. “How is he?”

  “Asleep,” Gwen said. “He’s barely breathing, but Saran says that’s normal. As we progress towards morning, he should come awake. He’ll be disoriented then.”

  “Can you leave him?” Gruffydd said.

  “I—” Gwen paused and narrowed her eyes at the captain of the guard. “Why?”

  Gruffydd took Gwen’s arm. “He’ll be fine. Come with me.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Gwen trotted beside Gruffydd, trying to keep up. He wasn’t exactly dragging her out of the chapel, but his grip on her arm was firm.

  “Cadoc told me what he saw in the hall this evening, and of your conversation with him.”

  “You mean Eva?” Gwen said, no closer to understanding why Gruffydd was hauling her halfway across the castle in the middle of the night. Unusually, given the hour, the courtyard was lit as if it were day and so many boot prints had marked the new snow that hers barely made an impression.

  They reached the barbican that guarded the castle and went through it. Built primarily in wood, with an accompanying wooden palisade, Carreg Cennen Castle primarily relied on its position on the top of a mountain for defense. The castle dominated the landscape with a spectacular view of the countryside for miles around. At the same time, Cadfael had done what he could to bolster the defenses.

  The castle was protected by a fortified gateway, beyond which a series of bridges crossed several deep pits. Each had been built so that anyone seeking entry to Carreg Cennen had to walk along a narrow walkway with no railings to reach the entrance. At any time, the bridges overlying the pits could be drawn away from their supports, creating an insurmountable chasm-like barrier.

  Gruffydd took Gwen to the second bridge, stopped in front of the guard standing in the middle of it, and pointed into the ditch below. The snow-covered body of a woman lay at the bottom, her torso jammed on a pointed stick, one of many that filled the hole and were designed to kill anyone who fell into it.

  “Sweet Mary,” Gwen said. “It’s Eva.”

  Gruffydd tipped his head to the two men-at-arms who had climbed into the pit to retrieve the body. “Bring her up.”

  “Who found her?” Gwen said.

  “At the change of duty, one of the men-at-arms spotted her from th
e tower,” Gruffydd said.

  “How could he even see her in the dark and the snow?”

  “He has eagle eyes,” Gruffydd said. “But it wasn’t her he spotted as much as the remains of footprints in the snow leading from the barbican to the bridge, and then stopping.”

  Gwen couldn’t take her eyes off the gruesome scene. “What a horrible way to die.”

  Gruffydd took Gwen’s shoulders and turned her around so she faced him instead of Eva. “Her satchel lies beside her. It looks as if she was leaving Carreg Cennen and slipped on her way across the bridge.”

  “It looks?” Gwen said. “She had to pass through the gatehouse to get here. Who saw her leave?”

  Gruffydd looked away, his jaw working. “No one.”

  “How is that possible?” Gwen glanced past him to the barbican. The heavy wooden door was open. “Wasn’t anybody guarding the gate?”

  “The main gate was closed at nightfall, but the wicket gate beside it can be opened at need. The guard on duty was drunk and doesn’t remember anything,” Gruffydd said.

  “Was the wicket gate found locked, even after she passed through it?” Gwen said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then—”

  Gruffydd understood where Gwen was going without her having to voice her question. “Then who closed it behind her? I don’t know.”

  “My lord!”

  Gruffydd turned towards one of his soldiers, who handed him the strap to Eva’s satchel. He opened it and allowed Gwen to peer into its depths with him. “Is that what I think it is?” he said.

  “I think so.” Gwen reached inside and removed a small, stoppered vial. She held it up. “The potion, do you think?”

  “It seems likely. I will inquire of Saran in the morning,” Gruffydd said, taking it from Gwen.

  “Were there two sets of footprints leading to the bridge?” Gwen said.

  “The guard didn’t notice,” Gruffydd said. “By the time one of the men woke me, the snow was too muddled to tell.”

  “Someone could have pushed Eva off the bridge,” Gwen said.

  “Someone,” Gruffydd said. The word came out a growl. “Our murderer is still here at Carreg Cennen. Let’s hope my plan works.”

  But by noon the next day, it didn’t seem like it was going to. Fortunately the weather prevented all but the hardiest from leaving the castle—and none left before Gruffydd had inspected their hands. Gwen sat alone on a bench at one of the far tables, feeling morose, while Cadoc picked at a trencher of food, mostly uneaten.

  Half an hour earlier, they’d been entertained by Denis berating Robert at his carelessness in letting Eva leave the castle under such severe weather conditions. The merchant was only appeased by the production of the three gold coins he’d coveted. That his unmarked hands had been bare for the first time since he’d arrived only added to the low mood of the watchers.

  Several men-at-arms were seated around the room, one of whom was asleep with his head on arms folded on the table. From the bleariness in Cadoc’s eyes, he’d had more to drink than he should have to celebrate his birth day.

  “Come this way, Ifan.” Saran’s voice came through the open doorway to the great hall. “I left my medicine bag in here last night after dealing with Meilyr.”

  Gwen looked up as Ifan and Saran entered the hall by the rear door.

  “I guess the bard got what he deserved,” Ifan said, following closely on Saran’s heels.

  Saran glanced at Gwen and then away again before Ifan noticed. Gwen sat frozen to her bench, fearful that she’d draw Ifan’s attention by any word or movement. Saran and Ifan headed towards the opposite wall.

  “Did he?” Saran said. “Does any man deserve to die?”

  Her heart in her mouth, Gwen rose to her feet and drifted along in Ifan’s wake. She came to a halt close to the dais and twenty feet away from Ifan. She put out one hand and rested on it the high table. As she’d stopped directly in front of Cadoc, he lifted his head. Gwen fisted her hand. Gareth had told her that men used their hands to speak to one another during battle, when a sound might give away their position. A fisted hand meant. “Danger!” It was the only signal Gwen could remember.

  Cadoc either understood what she was trying to tell him, or could sense that something was happening just by the tension in Gwen’s body. He rose to his feet just as Ifan sat on the bench that Gwen and Gwalchmai had occupied the other night. Gwen couldn’t breathe as Saran removed Ifan’s padded gloves and unwrapped the cloths with which Ifan had bound his hands, revealing bloody gashes across his palms and on his fingers.

  “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” Saran said.

  Ifan shrugged. “I thought they would heal.”

  “How did this happen?” Saran held each of his hands in hers, gazing down at the wounds.

  Gwen had eyes only for Saran and Ifan, but Cadoc must have signaled to someone to find Gruffydd and his father, because suddenly the captain of the garrison was on one side of Ifan and Cadfael came to lean against the wall behind him, out of Ifan’s view.

  “Forking hay for the horses.” Ifan blanched at the sight of Gruffydd so close to him, but continued, “It’s been so cold that the blisters split. They’ve gotten worse over the last few days.”

  “Don’t bother lying, Ifan. We know why you didn’t seek aid,” Gruffydd said.

  Ifan licked his lips. “What—what do you mean?”

  “You killed Collen.” Gruffydd said.

  All of a sudden, it was just that simple.

  From her pocket, Gwen pulled the harp string she’d been carrying with her since Collen’s murder. She handed it to Gruffydd who laid it across Ifan’s hands. The servant flinched as it touched him.

  “That would do it,” Gruffydd said.

  “Why did you murder Collen?” Cadoc said.

  Ifan still hadn’t answered, whether to deny or admit what he’d done, but with the same flash of inspiration, Gwen thought she knew. “It was Eva.”

  Ifan’s jaw clenched as he stared down at his hands, and then his face twisted in hatred. “Eva.” He spat onto the rush mats on the floor.

  “She told you that you would inherit the cart, didn’t she?” Gwen said. “She suggested that she might even share the galanas with you, if only you would do this one thing for her.”

  “Did she kiss you, too?” Gruffydd said. “Make you other promises you believed?”

  Ifan’s teeth clenched and unclenched. “She swore—she swore that—” Ifan broke off and pressed his lips together.

  Gruffydd crouched in front of Ifan. “She swore that it would be easily done, is that it? And that the two of you would be together afterwards?”

  Where anger might have closed Ifan’s tongue, Gruffydd’s gentle voice persuaded. Ifan must have been bursting to speak of what he’d done for days, and now that it seemed he was caught … “She was the one to lure Collen to the pantry with promises of renewing their affections. It was dark when he entered and I surprised him. We grappled with one another, but I was the stronger, and there was the harp string … it was over quickly. I slipped away before Eva brought Meilyr in shortly afterwards.”

  “How could you do it? He was like a father to you,” Gwen said.

  Ifan shot a glare in her direction. “He was no father. I was his slave!”

  Gwen recoiled at the venom in his voice, recalling what Wyn had told her about Collen’s penchant for beatings.

  “I stayed with that cart, I did what I was told, for ten years. Did I ever receive a kind word from him? You say he treated me like a son, but what son is tied forever to a cart, even in the dead of winter?”

  “And you got nothing for it,” Saran said.

  “Nothing.” Ifan spat again.

  “Why the harp string?” Gruffydd said. “Why blame Meilyr?”

  Now a sulky expression came over Ifan’s face. “Eva chose him. She said that he had money and nobody liked him anyway. With the boy’s voice coming into its own, Cadfael could let the father go.”
<
br />   All the blood left Gwen’s face but she struggled not to take offense on her father’s behalf. “You didn’t think that wrapping a thin iron string around your hands might hurt them?”

  Ifan’s chin fell and he shook his head. Gwen supposed that he didn’t have many thoughts in his head but resentment. Eva had given him hope for the future when he’d had none.

  “Two murders, then,” Cadoc said. “You committed two murders in my father’s house.”

  Ifan had been gazing at his wounded fingers and at first didn’t seem to hear Cadoc. Then he looked up . “What? You mean—?” Ifan stared at Cadoc and then swung his head from side to side, no, no, no. “I didn’t kill Eva.”

  Disbelief coiled tangibly in the air around him.

  “I didn’t!” Ifan said. “Yes, we fought after dinner when I learned that not only would there be no galanas, but that with Meilyr dead, she had no more use for me. But I went back to my cart. I didn’t know what else to do. It was because I was sleeping there as always that I heard Eva come out of the keep.”

  “She was leaving Carreg Cennen?” Gwen said.

  “She dosed the guard at the wicket gate right then and there,” Ifan said. “One whiff of her potion and he was on the ground, just as Meilyr had been. She slipped away immediately after. I ran to the gate. I called to her—well, whispered really. Even so, I startled her. She spun around, but with the ice and snow on the bridge …”

  “She slipped,” Gruffydd said.

  Ifan rubbed at his temples with his fingers. Tears had begun to leak from his eyes. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  Gruffydd gazed down at the wayward assassin. “They never do.”

  Chapter Ten

  Meilyr stuffed a nightshirt into his satchel. “I suppose I should thank you.”