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

by Sarah Woodbury

  He spoke so softly, Gwen wasn’t sure she’d heard him properly. She stood stiffly, watching her father put the rest of his spare clothing into the pack before she realized what he was doing. “We’re leaving?”

  “Heading north.”

  “Why?” And then Gwen swallowed, already knowing why. She gazed down at her feet.

  “It’s best that we leave,” Meilyr said. “Lord Cadfael told me as much just now. We’ll find a place to stay for the rest of the winter. Gwalchmai’s reputation will precede us.”

  Gwen nodded. “Did Cadfael pay you?”

  “He paid some, though not all, of what he owes. He swore if we come back in the summer, he will have the full amount.”

  “But we won’t be coming back,” Gwen said.

  “No.”

  “I’m sure Cadfael is counting on that,” Gwen said.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Gruffydd spoke to me too.”

  Gwen’s head came up. “What did he say?”

  “He asked that I thank you for your help, and he wished you the best.”

  “Oh.” Gwen bent her head again. She could feel her father’s gaze on her but she didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Lord Cadfael would have opposed a request from Gruffydd to marry you,” Meilyr said.

  Gwen bit her lip. She toed a crack in the floorboards and didn’t speak.

  “It wouldn’t do for his captain to marry a woman such as you,” Meilyr said. “You couldn’t really have thought he would approve of it.”

  “What do you mean, such as I?”

  “Gwen.” Her father’s voice held amusement, rather than chastisement, which almost irked her more. “You are outspoken. You defended me before Lord Cadfael himself. You can’t think that Lord Cadfael would want to see you in his hall every evening? Or that Gruffydd would be proud of such a wife?”

  Gwen took in a deep breath and let it out. “No. Of course not. You’re right.”

  Meilyr nodded and continued with his packing.

  “So we keep moving?” Gwen said. “Following the music?”

  Gwen had resolved to follow Saran’s advice and not wish her life away, but at the same time, a tendril of hope curled inside at the thought of heading north again. Gareth had gone north. Maybe he was out there somewhere. Maybe she really would see him again someday.

  Meilyr allowed himself a small smile as he tied the strings on his pack. “You are a bard’s daughter, Gwen. This is what we do.”

  The End

  A Brief Historical Note …

  For The Bard’s Daughter, I have drawn upon some very basic principles of Welsh law, though I have simplified the process for the purpose of story-telling. Welsh law was one of the founding pillars of Welsh society, and was codified by a King Hywel Dda, around 950 AD. Rarely was death a penalty for a crime, and it was instituted more often for theft than for murder.

  Later on, with the arrival of the Normans, Welsh law proved to be a rallying point for the Welsh resistance against Norman rule. The Normans objected to many of the laws (paying money instead of a sentence of death for various crimes, the relatively high status given to women, the ability to divorce, etc.), but the most contentious of all were Welsh rights of inheritance. In Wales, illegitimate sons and legitimate ones were treated identically before the law, which allowed Prince Hywel of Gwynedd, Gwen’s friend, to inherit equally with any of his father’s legitimate sons.

  For crimes such as murder and theft, the Welsh relied upon a system of courts, overseen by landowners and lords, to determine guilt. Often, this determination was based upon compurgation, whereby witnesses testified to the truthfulness of the accused.

  For the most part, Welsh law was in force in the parts of Wales under Welsh control until the death Llywelyn ap Gruffydd in 1282, when Norman law replaced Welsh criminal law. Welsh law continued to be used for civil cases until the annexation of Wales into England in the 16th century.

  In addition, there really was a bard named Meilyr, who sang for King Gruffydd of Gwynedd. In turn, his son, Gwalchmai, became one of the most revered bards of the twelfth century, exactly as Meilyr hoped.

  Continue reading for the beginning of The Good Knight, the first novel in the series of Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mysteries:

  The Good Knight

  Chapter One

  August, 1143 AD

  Gwynedd (North Wales)

  “Look at you, girl.”

  Gwen’s father, Meilyr, tsked under his breath and brought his borrowed horse closer to her side of the path. He’d been out of sorts since early morning when he’d found his horse lame and King Anarawd and his company of soldiers had left the castle without them, refusing to wait for Meilyr to find a replacement mount. Anarawd’s men-at-arms would have provided Meilyr with the fine escort he coveted.

  “You’ll have no cause for complaint once we reach Owain Gwynedd’s court.” A breeze wafted over Gwen’s face and she closed her eyes, letting her pony find his own way for a moment. “I won’t embarrass you at the wedding.”

  “If you cared more for your appearance, you would have been married yourself years ago and given me grandchildren long since.”

  Gwen opened her eyes, her forehead wrinkling in annoyance. “And whose fault is it that I’m unmarried?” Her fingers flexed about the reins but she forced herself to relax. Her present appearance was her own doing, even if her father found it intolerable. In her bag, she had fine clothes and ribbons to weave through her hair, but saw no point in sullying any of them on the long journey to Aber Castle.

  King Owain Gwynedd’s daughter was due to marry King Anarawd in three days’ time. Owain Gwynedd had invited Gwen, her father, and her almost twelve-year old brother, Gwalchmai, to furnish the entertainment for the event, provided King Owain and her father could bridge the six years of animosity and silence that separated them. Meilyr had sung for King Owain’s father, Gruffydd; he’d practically raised King Owain’s son, Hywel. But six years was six years. No wonder her father’s temper was short.

  Even so, she couldn’t let her father’s comments go. Responsibility for the fact that she had no husband rested firmly on his shoulders. “Who refused the contract?”

  “Rhys was a rapscallion and a laze-about,” Meilyr said.

  And you weren’t about to give up your housekeeper, maidservant, cook, and child-minder to just anyone, were you?

  But instead of speaking, Gwen bit her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. She’d said it once and received a slap to her face. Many nights she’d lain quiet beside her younger brother, regretting that she hadn’t defied her father and stayed with Rhys. They could have eloped; in seven years, their marriage would have been as legal as any other. But her father was right and Gwen wasn’t too proud to admit it: Rhys had been a laze-about. She wouldn’t have been happy with him. Rhys’ father had almost cried when Meilyr had refused Rhys’ offer. It wasn’t only daughters who were sometimes hard to sell.

  “Father!” Gwalchmai brought their cart to a halt. “Come look at this!”

  “What now?” Meilyr said. “We’ll have to spend the night at Caerhun at present rate. You know how important it is not to keep King Owain waiting.”

  “But Father!” Gwalchmai leapt from the cart and ran forward.

  “He’s serious.” Gwen urged her pony after him, passing the cart, and then abruptly reined in beside her brother. “Mary, Mother of God…”

  A slight rise and sudden dip in the path ahead had hidden the carnage until they were upon it. Twenty men and an equal number of horses lay dead in the road, their bodies contorted and their blood soaking the brown earth. Gwalchmai bent forward and retched into the grass beside the road. Gwen’s stomach threatened to undo her too, but she fought the bile down and dismounted to wrap her arms around her brother.

  Meilyr reined in beside his children. “Stay back.”

  Gwen glanced at her father and then back to the scene, noticing for the first time a man kneeling among the wreckage, one hand to a dead man’s chest
and the other resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The man straightened and Gwen’s breath caught in her throat.

  Gareth.

  He’d cropped his dark brown hair shorter than when she’d known him, but his blue eyes still reached into the core of her. Her heart beat a little faster as she drank him in. Five years ago, Gareth had been a man-at-arms in the service of Prince Cadwaladr, King Owain Gwynedd’s brother. Gareth and Gwen had become friends, and then more than friends, but before he could ask her father for her hand, Gareth had a falling out with Prince Cadwaladr. In the end, Gareth hadn’t been able to persuade Meilyr that he could support her despite his lack of station.

  Gwen was so focused on Gareth that she wasn’t aware of the other men among them—live ones—until they approached her family. A half dozen converged on them at the same time. One caught her upper arm in a tight grip. Another grabbed Meilyr’s bridle. “Who are you?” the soldier said.

  Meilyr stood in the stirrups and pointed a finger at Gareth. “Tell them who I am!”

  Gareth came forward, his eyes flicking from Meilyr to Gwalchmai to Gwen. He was broader in the shoulders, too, than she remembered.

  “They are friends,” Gareth said. “Release them.”

  And to Gwen’s astonishment, the man-at-arms who held her obeyed Gareth. Could it be that in the years since she’d last seen him, Gareth had regained something of what he’d lost?

  Gareth halted by Meilyr’s horse. “I was sent from Aber to meet King Anarawd and escort him through Gwynedd. He wasn’t even due to arrive at Dolwyddelan Castle until today, but …” He gestured to the men on the ground. “Clearly, we were too late.”

  Gwen looked past Gareth to the murdered men in the road.

  “Turn away, Gwen,” Gareth said.

  But Gwen couldn’t. The blood—on the dead men, on the ground, on the knees of Gareth’s breeches—mesmerized her. The men here had been slaughtered. Her skin twitched at the hate in the air. “You mean King Anarawd is—is—is among them?”

  “The King is dead,” Gareth said.

  ________________________

  The Good Knight is available wherever ebooks are sold.

  www.sarahwoodbury.com