The Unlikely Spy (14 page)

The gatekeeper stayed in a little room
adjacent to the gate, in order to watch it at all times. In the
winter, he was allowed a brazier to warm himself, but today his
door stood open to allow that same breeze that stirred the air in
the courtyard to reach him. While the warmth of the day had
dissipated, it could hardly be called cool.

Gwen was pleased that it was the same
gatekeeper who guarded the door most days. Several of the older
monks took turns with the duty, because the gate had to be manned
through the night as well as the day, but Sion was the monk most
often present. White-haired and crotchety on the surface, he’d
fallen in love with Tangwen from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
To his mind, she could do no wrong. Fortunately, he included Gwen
in his adoration.

“My dear,” he said as she appeared.

“Brother Sion,” Gwen said. “Are you
well?”

“I am. Thank you for asking. This weather
agrees with these old bones.” Sion squinted at her. “But you aren’t
here about my health. I see urgency in you. What is it? Is
Tangwen—”

Gwen put out a hand to the old man. “She is
well. Covered in honey, but well.”

Sion smiled, as Gwen hoped he would. Some
men went through life with an edge to them, just waiting for
someone to cross them, and some couldn’t help but see the best in
people. Sion might have affected a gruff exterior, but from his
reaction to Tangwen, there was no doubt in Gwen’s mind that he was
of the latter type.

Then Gwen went on. “Yesterday afternoon, you
spoke with a young man. One of the guests saw him come and leave.
Do you remember him?” Yet again, Gwen brought out the sketch of
Gryff.

Squinting down at the image, which he
brought to within a few inches of his face, Sion frowned. “I do
remember him. We’ve had many comings and goings these last few
days, you know, but I remember this man in particular. Anxious
fellow. He wouldn’t give me his name or tell me what he wanted
except that he was looking for the prince. He’d already been to the
castle without any luck.”

“Did he know Lady Mari was here?” Gwen
said.

“He seemed to. Certainly he hoped to find
Prince Hywel with her.”

“When you said that the prince wasn’t here,
what did he say?” Gwen said.

“He sounded near to tears, to tell you the
truth.” Sion peered closer at her. “Why are you asking all
this?”

“Sion, the young man in question lies dead
in your chapel.”

“Oh!” Sion sat back on his stool.

“Did you not see him when they carried him
into the monastery?” Gwen said.

Sion looked at Gwen warily, and then he
leaned forward again, motioning conspiratorially for her to do the
same. Gwen did as he asked, putting her own face closer to his than
would normally have felt comfortable.

“My eyes are such that I can’t make out
faces from any distance.”

“It is a common problem,” Gwen said.

“Especially in a man with my years,” Sion
said. “Can you tell me the poor man’s name?”

“His name was Gryff. I am among those
charged with discovering his movements in the hours before he
died.”

“I’m afraid I never saw him again beyond
that afternoon,” Sion said. “I will pray for him.”

“I wish we knew what he wanted Prince Hywel
for,” Gwen said.

“It must have been something important for
him to have ended up dead by morning,” Sion said, and then his eyes
widened. “That means—that means his death wasn’t an accident!”

Gwen didn’t begrudge Sion his conclusion,
since he’d brought her the first piece of information that
indicated Gryff
might
have had a secret worth killing him
over. He seemed to have married two different women, which could
have been reason enough to murder him, but only if one of the women
herself had done it. Gwen hadn’t yet met either woman, but she was
struggling to picture one of them stabbing Gryff in the middle of
the night and throwing him into the millpond. Still, stranger
things had happened.

Gwen made a shushing motion with her hand
and moved even closer to the old monk. “Please keep this quiet. If
you would say nothing to anyone about what you told me, I would be
grateful. Only a very few know that we suspect Gryff’s death wasn’t
an accident.”

“Why shouldn’t I tell—” Sion’s voice broke
off as understanding spread across his face. “You don’t want the
killer knowing you suspect murder. Very clever, my dear.” Then his
eyes narrowed. “I assume the abbot knows?”

“Your abbot and your prior, and the two
monks who took him from the millpond.” Gwen made a rueful face.
“And maybe all the diners in the hall, though they’re still
guessing.”

“A secret stops being a secret when two
people know about it,” Sion said.

“This has reached the ears of far more than
two,” Gwen said, “but we can still try.”

Sion bent at the waist. “I will say nothing
to anyone else until you give me leave.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said. “May I ask if Gryff
said anything else to you or did anything else while he was here?
Anything at all, no matter how unimportant it might have seemed at
the time?”

“Nothing.”

“So, you’re saying he came, he asked for
Prince Hywel, and he left,” Gwen said.

Sion’s brow furrowed. “Well, not exactly. He
did do one thing. As it was near the dinner hour, he asked if he
could bring my meal to me. Of course I was grateful, and I said
so.”

Gwen contemplated the gatekeeper, wondering
if Gryff’s action could have been a kindness only, or if his offer
had been rooted in another purpose. “That was kind of him.” She
wished Gareth were here because he might have seen what she was
missing.

“He appeared to be a thoughtful young man.
He would have made a fine monk,” Sion said.

Gwen smiled gently. “He was married.”

He shrugged. “In the old days that didn’t
matter.”

Sion couldn’t possibly have remembered those
‘old days’, back before the Normans came to Britain, but Gwen
wasn’t going to argue with him. And maybe Gryff would have made a
good monk—if he hadn’t been married to two women. She didn’t tell
Sion that. He’d learn it soon enough.

“And then what did Gryff do?”

“After he delivered the food, he left. I
never saw him again.” Sion shook his head sadly. “Such a nice young
man to be so troubled.”

Gwen looked towards the chapel where Gryff
lay. “Troubled appears to be one word to describe him. Clearly
there was more to him than we have discovered so far.”

Rhun

R
hun returned to
the castle to find that not only had his Uncle Cadwaladr arrived,
but so had King Cadell of Deheubarth with his niece Angharad,
coming to the festival a day late, along with all their retainers
and household staff. While King Cadell had brought his own tents
and pavilions rather than try to squeeze into the already overfull
castle, both he and Cadwaladr had deigned to dine with Hywel in the
hall for the evening meal, which was just getting underway when
Rhun arrived. Hywel had left both front and back doors open to
catch whatever breeze might pass through the hall.

Hywel had also saved a place for him next to
Angharad, whose shy smile at Rhun’s approach made his heart thump
uncomfortably in his chest. Maiden that she was, she wore her long,
dark hair down her back and held away from her face by a blue
mantle the same color as her eyes. Her long lashes pointed demurely
downwards as he found a seat beside her. But then he caught a flash
from her eyes—something along the lines of assessment and
curiosity—and he suppressed a smile. Cadell was dangling her in
front of him like bait for a particularly large fish, but he was
already well and truly hooked.

“Prince Rhun,” Cadell said from his prime
seat to the right of Hywel. Cadwaladr sat on Hywel’s other side,
making this dinner one of the most awkward occasions in living
memory. “Prince Hywel tells me that a man has been found dead in
the millpond?”

Rhun checked Angharad’s face, which turned
to meet his, her curiosity openly evident now, and then he looked
past her to meet Cadell’s gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

“And you are assisting in the investigation
as to how he arrived there?”

“Yes.”

“Is that usual?” Cadell said.

Rhun caught the look Hywel shot him from
beyond Cadell. Unfortunately, Rhun wasn’t sure how he was supposed
to interpret it—as discouraging or encouraging—so he soldiered on
as best he could. “Thankfully, I can’t say that men die in such a
fashion very often in my brother’s domain.”

“Surely the death of a peasant is hardly the
concern of the Lord of Ceredigion,” Cadell said.

Angharad stiffened beside him and looked
down at her trencher. She didn’t say anything, however, and it was
as if she’d withdrawn inside herself.

“I would disagree, my lord.” Rhun glanced at
Angharad again before looking to the King of Deheubarth. “If a lord
believes the death of any of his people—man, woman, or child—is
beneath his concern, by what right does he call himself a
lord?”

Cadell looked gravely at Rhun for a moment
and then reached for his goblet. “Well said, Prince Rhun.”

Rhun’s face reddened, first at Cadell’s
suggestion that Gryff’s death was of no consequence, and then at
the realization that the king didn’t agree with what he’d just
said. Cadell had been testing him. Rhun didn’t think he’d been
found wanting, but rather that Cadell thought him soft with
honor.

Hywel’s hand had been resting on the table
by his cup, and he clenched it into a fist before removing it to
his lap. “When we have been visited in the past by curious events,
my brother has been helpful in unearthing the truth. My father
trusts him in all things.”

“That is good to know,” Cadell said.

With something akin to horror, Rhun realized
that Hywel and Cadell weren’t talking about this current death, but
about the death three years ago of Cadell’s brother, Anarawd. It
was a wonder that Cadell could remain in his seat, knowing that
Cadwaladr, the man who’d ordered the ambush of Anarawd and all his
men, sat on the other side of Hywel, chewing unconcernedly on a
piece of mutton.

Only now did Rhun understand the look Hywel
had given him. It had said,
tread carefully. “
With the
festival underway and many strangers in Aberystwyth, it seems
particularly important that the matter of this man’s death be laid
to rest quickly,” Rhun said into the silence that had fallen on the
high table.

Hywel shot him a quick smile. Rhun had
finally said something right. At the same time, Rhun felt awkward
about taking even a thimbleful of credit for Hywel’s
accomplishments. His brother didn’t appear to want Cadell to know
of his own role in their father’s affairs. Rhun would have to
corner him about that later, but in the meantime, it wasn’t a lie
to say that he had
helped
Hywel in the past. Since the
finding of Gryff’s body, he’d certainly received an education from
Gwen and Gareth.

“My brother, of course, assists my father in
Gwynedd’s affairs at all levels,” Hywel said. “He came to
Ceredigion because I had need of his wisdom in various matters, and
it’s a lucky accident that he’s here to assist me in this too.”

Now Hywel was stretching the truth.
“Nonsense, Hywel has—” Rhun stopped at the look of horror on
Hywel’s face, one Rhun hoped only he had seen. He coughed, took a
drink of mead, and waved a hand dismissively. “Ah … nothing.”

That wasn’t what he’d been about to say, of
course. He’d been about to say,
Hywel doesn’t need me and has
both Ceredigion, and this investigation, well in hand
. Which
was stupid of him. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten who he was
talking to or about Anarawd’s death. But this was the King of
Deheubarth, the domains of which had once stretched as far as this
very castle. His discontent was usually masked, but it was
nonetheless well known.

Regardless of the polite face he showed
Hywel and King Owain, everyone knew that Cadell deeply resented
Gwynedd’s annexation of Ceredigion. After the 1136 war King
Gruffydd, Rhun’s grandfather, had given it to Cadwaladr, but he’d
mismanaged it so badly that Hywel was still cleaning up after him
three years on. After Cadwaladr arranged for Anarawd’s death,
Cadell had argued that Ceredigion should return to him. Instead,
Rhun’s father had given it to Hywel.

Some had whispered that Cadell might have
colluded with Cadwaladr to bring about Anarawd’s murder, though
Cadwaladr had never gone so far as to sell out Cadell to save his
own skin. Which would have been very like him. To Rhun’s mind,
there could be only two reasons for this: one, Cadell hadn’t been
involved; or two, he had been involved, and three years ago
Cadwaladr had valued their future relationship over forcing Cadell
to take some of the blame. Cadwaladr had been interested—forever
and always— only in helping himself.

Rhun decided it was time to change the
subject. “What news from the south? I congratulate you on your
conquests of Carmarthen and Llanstephan.”

Cadell bent his neck graciously. “It has
been a good summer. Before long, we will drive the Normans from our
land once and for all.”

That was going to be quite a task, though
one everyone at the table was heartily in favor of. It was easier
said than done, however. It had been eighty years since the Normans
first landed on the shores of England. They had launched their
invasion of Wales almost immediately thereafter, supposedly
provoked by attacks by Gruffydd ap Llywelyn. He’d been a ruler of
all Wales, though hated by Rhun and the people of Gwynedd for
usurping the throne from the House of Aberffraw, Rhun’s
ancestors.

Still, the truth then had been the same as
now: Norman lords chipped away at Welsh territory whenever they
could. They’d gained almost the whole of it during the lifetime of
Rhun’s grandfather, only to have the Welsh rise up and beat them
back again. King Owain, Rhun’s father, was the strongest king among
all the kingdoms of Wales, and he kept a constant and watchful eye
on his eastern border. Every victory against the Normans—even by a
somewhat distrusted ally such as Cadell—was a cause for
celebration.