Chapter Eighteen
Back in the stables, Gwen and Hywel gazed down at Gareth, who lay flat on his back on the hard, dirt floor, rather the worse for this incarceration. “I’m tired of being thrown in here for something I did not do!” His tone was emphatic, but the volume was weaker than Gwen liked. “And now you tell me that King Owain thinks that because Bran was with the Danes, I was too? To what end? Nothing could be further from the truth.”
Gwen knelt beside him and felt his head. “Are you much hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Gareth grasped her hand. “But what about you?” He touched the redness that spread from the corner of her mouth to her cheek. And then his voice hardened. “Who did this?”
Gwen glanced up at Hywel, who lounged against the doorframe, one hand resting on his sword. He grimaced, but didn’t answer.
“Gwen—” Gareth’s voice had a warning tone to it.
She sighed. “Cadwaladr.”
“Goddamn—” Gareth swallowed whatever else he was going to say, squeezed her hand hard, and then let go. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and glared at Hywel. “Nice of you to intervene, my lord.”
“I have no obligation to explain myself to you,” Hywel said. “But I will repeat what I told Gwen: this is a long game I’m playing, and it wouldn’t do to confront Cadell—or Cadwaladr—over something that doesn’t matter.”
Gareth opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. “Doesn’t matter—” He mumbled further under his breath, but didn’t openly protest.
“What did you discover on your journey?” Hywel said.
“A couple of bodies.” Now Gareth scrambled to his feet, holding a hand to his belly and moving more stiffly than usual. Gradually he straightened and stretched. “A few bruises, Gwen, that’s all.” He’d read the concern on her face correctly. “As Lord Hywel pointed out, it’s a small matter.”
Gwen nodded, going over in her head what she’d seen earlier in front of the cell. At the time, it had looked as if Cadell’s men had beaten Gareth badly, but maybe her eyes had fooled her. They might have been pulling their punches, wanting to make it look good to please their lord. Gareth had told her that for the years he’d served Prince Cadwaladr, many of his friends had learned to shade their actions so as to not openly violate their orders, but not exactly follow them either. It was a matter of living with oneself afterwards.
Then Gareth’s words registered. “More bodies?” she said.
“I found one in the Roman fort near the intersection of all those trails,” Gareth said, “and a second at Dolwyddelan. The castellan discovered that death an hour before I arrived. The murderer had stuffed him into the latrine. It was just his bad luck that the slops came to clean it when they did. The body was cold and stiff; it had been in there—or at least dead—no more than two days.”
“Do you know the identities of the dead men?” Hywel said, still leaning against the doorframe.
“The first was a Dane. Someone killed him with a knife to the chest.”
“The same method as Anarawd,” Hywel said.
“Yes, but a different knife,” Gareth said, “one that the killer left behind. In addition, the killer drove a spear through the man’s middle—after he was dead, mind you.”
“How very interesting,” Hywel said.
“Why skewer a dead man?” Gwen said.
Hywel turned to her. “Why indeed?”
Gareth nodded. “I brought his effects home to Aber. They’ll be in my saddlebags still.” He paused. “Someone saw to Braith, I hope?”
“I made sure of it,” Hywel said. “And the second?”
“The second was a stable boy at Dolwyddelan Castle.”
“Really?” Gwen catalogued the boys she’d seen when she was there with her family. Then she pulled herself up short, disturbed that she could be so calm about so many murders. It wasn’t right that she should get used to them. But as it was… “Why would someone want to kill a stable boy?”
“We don’t know the answer to that, but he had been assigned to tend King Anarawd’s horse,” Gareth said.
“That could be important,” Hywel said.
Gwen wrapped both arms around her middle, a sick feeling in her belly. “Anarawd’s horse died in the ambush.”
“Stinks to high heaven now,” Gareth said. “Putrid.”
“I can’t present any evidence of course, not from here,” Gwen said, ignoring him. “But that boy … could he have been the one who looked after my father’s horse?”
Gareth canted his head. “It’s possible. Though several boys could have shared the task, just as they do here.”
“My father’s horse turned up lame the morning King Anarawd left Dolwyddelan.” Gwen spoke slowly as she thought it out. “Father was so very angry. The boy was terrified. At the time, I didn’t think anything more of it than that the child feared my father’s wrath, but what if he’d been instructed to nobble Anarawd’s horse, and he hurt the wrong one? What if it wasn’t my father he feared, but someone else who’d tasked him with a job he failed to accomplish—someone who killed him?”
“Why would the murderer have wanted to prevent Anarawd from leaving Dolwyddelan?” Gareth said. “That makes no sense.”
“Anarawd arrived at Dolwyddelan Castle a day early,” Gwen said, “and thus left a day early too. The killer could have wanted to delay Anarawd past a dawn start—which is exactly what happened to us instead. Perhaps he feared the mercenaries wouldn’t have time to get into position. As it turned out, it was my father who was forced to borrow a horse and Anarawd who wouldn’t wait for him.”
“There are too many murders in this. Too many murderers altogether. It’s nonsensical.” Hywel pushed off the frame, no longer relaxed. If there had been more room to pace, he probably would have. “We’ve got someone who ordered the ambush; someone who killed Anarawd; someone who killed the servant woman; someone who killed the Dane; someone who killed the boy; someone who poisoned Gareth; someone who moved Anarawd’s body.”
“Seven someones? Three? All the same?” Gareth swiveled on one heel and kicked at the wall. A board split. “And what makes even less sense is that I find myself back in this cachu cell!”
Gwen took a step back at his anger. Maybe because he saw it, Gareth stopped himself from aiming another kick at the wall. And then he laughed, though there wasn’t much amusement in his voice, and threw out a hand to Gwen. “Sorry. Sorry for my mouth too.”
Gwen waved a hand. It was hardly the first time she’d heard profanity. She preferred it to when a man swore by the saints, who might actually be listening.
“I’ve spoken with my father,” Hywel said. “He once again will entertain the notion that you didn’t kill Anarawd, but he leaves you here, Gareth—and is happy to do so—because Cadell still has his ear.” He paused. “Just be thankful Cadell doesn’t have more power at Aber than any other prince, myself included.”
“There’s something else—” Gwen cast her eyes sideways at Hywel, wondering if she should speak or if he would prefer to tell Gareth the rest of what had passed between Hywel and his father.
Hywel nodded and delivered the bad news: “You should also know that Prince Cadwaladr’s latest accusation against you is that you were a spy for the Normans.”
“What?” Gareth gaped at him. “When—when was I supposed to have done that?”
Hywel smiled. “He implied that you passed vital information to fitz Martin that allowed him to hold Cardigan Castle against us.”
“He’s mad!”
Hywel smirked. “I thought you’d say that.”
“So you’re letting Gareth out?” Gwen said, relieved that at last something was going to go right.
“No. Not until Cadell goes home.” Hywel shrugged. “Unfortunately, that might be a while as my father seems set on marrying Elen to him in Anarawd’s place.”
Gareth’s jaw clenched. Then he mastered himself and turned to Gwen. “And that means you have to stay away from me.”
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“What? No I don’t. Why would you say that?”
“I won’t have suspicion falling on you.”
Gwen stared at him, so irritated she couldn’t respond.
Then Hywel tugged her arm. “Come. Gareth’s right.” He shot Gareth a grin. “Not for the first time, but don’t get used to me saying so.”