The Unlikely Spy (12 page)

“We understand,” Gareth said. “Grief can do
strange things to people.”

“We will take our leave,” Rhun said.

Iolo bowed. Gareth and Rhun departed, though
Gareth glanced back as they were leaving and caught a glimpse of
the blond man who’d been speaking to Iolo earlier. He approached
Iolo’s stall, as if he’d been waiting for Gareth and Rhun to leave,
but when Iolo looked up, he frowned, clearly not happy to see him.
Gareth stopped before he turned the corner, his hand going to
Rhun’s arm. “Wait, my lord.”

Gareth peered through the crowd, but a
half-dozen people filled the aisle, blocking his view of the stall.
He took a step to one side, hoping to get a better view, but the
blond man had already gone.

“What is it, Gareth?”

“Nothing, apparently.” Gareth shook himself
and continued walking towards the entrance to the fair. “What were
you going to say about the purse, my lord?”

“Its contents hardly could be viewed as
worth stealing, no matter how poor the thief.”

“I thought the same,” Gareth said.

“Something isn’t right. I’d like to know
what.” Rhun wrinkled up his nose as though he’d caught a whiff of a
foul substance.

Gareth gave a laugh. “You sound like
Hywel.”

“Good. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rhun
gave Gareth a quick smile.

“Do you have any other thoughts about the
interview?” Gareth said.

“I have many, but only one that might be
important.” Rhun said. “Did you notice that Iolo isn’t doing much
grieving?”

Gwen

W
hen the two priors
reached Gwen, she asked the young monk, Fychan, to tell them what
he knew of Gryff and this other wife. Elspeth came out of the
guesthouse at the tail end of Fychan’s explanation, her eyes
widening even at the little bit she heard. Gwen moved closer to
Elspeth, passing Tangwen off to her as she did so.

“What’s going on?” Elspeth had changed into
a thin blue dress, which matched the color of her eyes, and a clean
white overtunic. Fortunately, it wasn’t as hot on the cobbles as it
had been earlier, especially in the long shadow cast by the
guesthouse across the monastery courtyard.

“It has to do with the dead man,” Gwen said.
“I’d prefer Tangwen stayed well out of it.”

“Gryff had two wives?” Elspeth said. “Can a
man do that?”

Gwen laughed. “No, he can’t. Don’t worry.
Gareth and I will get to the bottom of whatever is going on
here.”

Elspeth nodded, her eyes still wide. “I’ll
take Tangwen to dinner, shall I?”

“I would be grateful,” Gwen said.

Then Elspeth showed a toothy grin—one that
Gwen hoped she wasn’t turning on any of the monks lest it tempt
them to forsake their vows—and said, “I want to hear about it
afterwards.”

Gwen shook her head. “Only if Gareth
agrees.”

Elspeth pouted, and Gwen reminded herself to
speak to Gareth before the girl turned her wiles on him. He would
resist them, but it would be easier to do so if he knew in advance
that Elspeth was going to direct them at him.

Gwen returned to the two priors and Fychan,
and the four of them trooped back into the chapel so Fychan could
give Gryff’s face more than a passing glance. Before they reached
him, Gwen put out a warning hand. “This won’t be easy to see.”

The boy sighed. “I’ve seen dead people
before. I saw Gryff’s body before.”

No child reached the age of fourteen without
encountering a dead loved one, whether parent, grandparent,
sibling, or friend, so Gwen let him go. As Fychan approached the
head of the table, Prior Rhys peeled back the cloth that covered
Gryff’s face.

Fychan nodded. “I swear it’s him.”

“Thank you, Fychan,” Gwen said.

“Who’s ‘him’?”

Relief swept through Gwen to hear Gareth’s
voice, and she intercepted him a foot from the table on which
Gryff’s body lay. He’d come through the doorway of the chapel
alone, and Gwen asked, “Where is Prince Rhun?”

“He went back to the castle to speak to
Hywel and aid him in his time of need,” Gareth said.

Gwen smirked. Hywel was being run off his
feet, even with a competent steward and many underlings to serve
him. He wanted the festival to be perfect. More to the point, he
wanted his father to be proud of him. Sometimes it was hard for a
son to see what was in his father’s eyes when he looked at him. In
Gwen’s opinion, too often he mistook concern for disappointment.
Gwen listened to the tones in King Owain’s voice when he spoke of
Hywel, and she knew, even if Hywel didn’t, that King Owain was
already proud of his second son.

Gwen was looking forward to the arrival of
King Owain’s entourage for another reason: he would be bringing her
father and brother. Gwalchmai would soon be fifteen. His voice had
started changing within a few days of Tangwen’s birth. Her father
had spent many months on pins and needles, terrified that it would
change into a disappointing baritone, but the pure tenor that had
emerged six months ago was all that anyone could have hoped for. As
when Hywel’s voice had changed, Meilyr had continued to work with
Gwalchmai daily, falling back on the long years of training to ease
him through the worst of it.

Gwen put a hand on Gareth’s chest to stop
him from moving and lowered her voice so as to avoid disturbing the
conversation Fychan was having with the two priors. “First, did you
discover anything interesting?” She wanted him to tell her his news
first because the moment he found out about the two wives, that
knowledge would drive out all other concerns.

Gareth raised one shoulder in a half-shrug.
“I can’t say that I found out very much or am any closer to
discovering who murdered Gryff. Rhun and I had a discussion with
Iolo and Madlen, but it left me with more questions than answers.
We can pick it apart later.” He pointed with his chin to Gryff.
“What’s going on here?”

Prior Pedr overheard his question. He
steepled his fingers in front of his lips, and said, “It seems that
we have a slight wrinkle in our understanding of who Gryff was.
Fychan here—” he gestured to the young monk, who turned bright red
as everyone’s gaze fell on him, “—believes this Gryff to be the
same as the one who married his cousin, a woman named Carys.”

There were few occasions that could flummox
Gareth, but this appeared to be one of them. He looked at the body
and then back to Fychan. Then he pulled out a piece of paper from
his pocket and showed it to the boy. “When he was alive, did he
look something like this?”

The boy stared at the paper. “Yes! Yes!
That’s exactly him.”

Gwen never grew tired of watching Gareth’s
skill with a piece of charcoal. He collected scraps of discarded
paper and parchment wherever he could and would draw anything: her
or Tangwen, his horse, a castle, or the sea outside their house on
Anglesey. The looks of surprise on the faces of those who had never
seen him draw before always warmed her heart. Too often people
assumed they knew him. As with his ability to read, which wasn’t
common in knights, he had hidden depths of which most people were
unaware.

Prior Rhys was not among those who
underestimated Gareth, however. He rubbed at his chin. “What do you
want to do?”

“We have to find her,” Gareth said, “and
bring her here if we can.”

Gwen looked at Fychan. “Do you know where
she might be living?”

“Yes,” he said, but then he paused, looking
back into Gryff’s face. “At least, I know where they used to live.
It isn’t far, some five miles to the east, in the village of
Goginan.”

Prior Pedr nodded. “I know of it.”

“Might I borrow Fychan, then?” Gareth said.
“We have to pursue this matter of Gryff’s death beyond the usual,
and if Carys can help—” He broke off, suddenly wary, and Gwen knew
why. So far, the only people who knew that Gryff hadn’t drowned
were Gwen and Gareth, Rhun and Hywel, and a small group of monks.
If they expanded that circle beyond these few, they faced the real
danger of all Aberystwyth knowing the truth by morning.

Prior Pedr seemed to understand what Gareth
had been going to say without him saying it, because he nodded. “He
must be buried tomorrow morning. Anything else would be
unacceptable. You should go now.”

Nobody argued with that. By dawn, the man
would have been dead for more than a full day. Another day of heat
like they’d had today and nobody would be able to enter the chapel
because of the stench. It would be bad enough by tomorrow
morning.

“I will endeavor to return with her before
the ceremony,” Gareth said. “If it’s only five miles to Goginan, we
can reach it before full dark if we hurry.” They were two months
past the solstice, but the sun still set well past dinnertime and
many hours later than it would come December.

Prior Pedr gave a slight bow. “As you
wish.”

Everyone but the two monks who’d been
guarding the body before they entered—and who would continue to do
so after they left—filed out of the chapel. Against all
expectations, given where she’d just spent the last half hour,
Gwen’s stomach growled. She was well on her way to having missed
dinner. Gareth hadn’t eaten either, and he also looked with regret
towards the dining hall. “I have an apple in my saddle bag. Perhaps
this second widow will offer me some bread and cheese.”

Gwen looked up into Gareth’s face. The
strong summer sun had bronzed his skin—where it had brought out the
freckles across her cheeks. She stepped closer, putting both hands
on his chest. “You take care.”

Gareth nodded. “I will. But I have some
concern for you.” He swung around, spying Prior Rhys conversing
with Pedr in the shade of the chapel. He lifted a hand to him. Rhys
acknowledged his signal with a raised hand of his own, finished his
conversation with Pedr, and came over to them.

“What can I do?” Prior Rhys said.

“I would ask for the loan of your horse for
Fychan to ride,” Gareth said. “The monastery nags are too
slow.”

“Done.”

With a wave of his hand, Rhys sent Fychan to
the stable to retrieve the horse and then turned back to Gareth.
“What else? I would be happy to come with you. The abbot has
relieved me of all duties until this matter is resolved. He agrees
that bringing Gryff’s murderer to justice takes priority over
everything else.”

Gareth shook his head. “While I value your
company and perhaps could use another pair of eyes, there’s a
murderer on the loose. We have no leads to his identity, no notion
as to his whereabouts, nor any clue as to why Gryff was murdered.
Gwen, however, was one of the first to see the body, and I am
concerned for her safety. She has already been hurt too many times.
I won’t allow it to happen again.”

Prior Rhys frowned. “The monastery is not
defensible. Nor is it meant to be. Perhaps she should move to the
castle?”

If it had been only for herself, Gwen might
have protested that she didn’t need anyone to watch over her. Two
years ago, she would have asked to travel to Goginan with Gareth.
But Tangwen’s birth had changed everything. As when she’d been
pregnant, Gwen agreed that she must restrict her investigating to
places closer to home. But moving to the castle wasn’t the answer
either. “All the beds at the castle are full. I’d be sleeping with
Tangwen on the floor of the hall. Surely sleeping among so many
strangers cannot be safer than the guesthouse.”

Gareth rubbed at his forehead, studying
her.

“It isn’t that I’m so brave,” Gwen said. “I
would never do anything to endanger Tangwen. You know that.”

“I do,” Gareth said, “but too many times you
have become the point of interest to a culprit who thinks you have
learned something, or know something, and acts before he thinks
things through.”

“These murderers have a habit of giving me
too much credit,” Gwen said, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work. Gareth didn’t even twitch a
smile. “It is my job to protect you.”

Prior Rhys cleared his throat. “I admit that
I have failed you in the past, but if you entrust your wife and
daughter to my keeping, I will see to their safety in your
absence.”

Gareth let out a breath. “I confess that is
as I hoped. And Newcastle wasn’t a failure. You had no idea of the
threat we were facing. None of us did. But there are few arms I
would trust more than yours.”

“I have only a knife,” Prior Rhys said.

“Are you telling me that wouldn’t be
enough?” Gareth said.

The two men held each other’s gaze through
several heartbeats. Prior Rhys had been a spy for Empress Maud
before giving up that life for the Church. That didn’t mean he’d
locked himself away from the world or forgotten all his skills.

“It will be enough,” Rhys said.

“I do feel better knowing you’re here, Prior
Rhys,” Gwen said.

Prior Rhys bowed. “I’m glad to be of
service.”

Gareth pulled Gwen to him and kissed her
temple. “Kiss Tangwen for me and tell her I will see her tomorrow
morning.”

“I will,” Gwen said.

Gareth reached into his pocket and pulled
out the sketch of Gryff.

Gwen took it, her brow furrowed. “Don’t you
need this?”

“I drew more.” He glanced up at the sky. The
sun was heading into the sea. “It’s too late today to canvas the
village or the festival grounds to discover Gryff’s movements on
the day he died. We’ll start that tomorrow, but you could show the
picture around the monastery if you get the chance.”

Gwen nodded.

Gareth put a hand to her cheek. “If Tangwen
lets you, that is. If not, don’t worry about it. There is always
tomorrow, and I will return with Carys and—hopefully—some
answers.”

Prior Rhys caught Braith’s bridle as Gareth
mounted, and Fychan pulled up beside him on Rhys’s horse. “I will
send word of your absence to the castle,” Rhys said. “Prince Hywel
might see fit to increase the guards around the monastery. His wife
and son are here too, after all.”